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mummifymecaptain · 3 years ago

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ghost in your eye

Read me on ao3!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter One

The thing Lena hated most about her job was, without question, having to leave it every day.

Abandoning the cozy solitude of her basement workspace— full of artifacts, old papers, and yellowed newspaper clippings –for the unchartable conversations and missed social cues of the outside world. It wasn’t that Lena hated people. Rather, she loved them. She just...wasn’t good with them. She didn't understand them and they, in turn, didn’t understand her. Any attempt at friendship always ended painfully awkward.

“Managed to tear yourself away, Miss Lena?”

With the exception of Hank.

Kind, sweet, mild-mannered Hank, the museum’s nightguard. Arguably the closest thing to a friend she had in this world.

“Mary keeps denying my request to move in down there.” Hank chuckled, as though he’d thought she’d been joking with him. She wasn’t.

“Maybe next time, eh?” It was the same exchange they had almost nightly and the familiarity was comforting. All she would have to do is make some sort of noncommittal gesture or noise, breeze by the admissions desk and then it was just a short jaunt to her apartment building four blocks away.

She made it about halfway to the doors before her steps faltered, head canting to the side slightly to watch the shadow that paced. Hank was still at her back, stationed at his post, when she said, “Did you know that there were 12,000,000 soldiers enlisted in the US Army by the end of World War II?”

“I did not.” A rustle of fabric as he shifted in his seat. When he spoke again, his tone was fond. “You learn that from your artifacts?”

The smile she sent him over her shoulder could only be described as enigmatic. “I found an old lockbox of World War II memorabilia today. A few letters, a handful of coins and medals, and a couple of loose dog tags.” She thought of the worn journal in her satchel, nestled between her collection of stolen pens and spare pair of gloves, with its warped pages and newly inked list of names. “I’m going to see what I can find about who the stuff belonged to. Maybe they’ve still got family in the area.”

The box she’d found— a dinged up, tarnished thing –stamped with U.S. ARMY, looked as though it had been abandoned long before the war ended. Lena had surrounded herself with enough history over the years to know what that meant. Her empathetic heart wept for boys she did not know, dead decades before she’d even been born. And forgotten, judging by the layer of dust she’d cleaned off first.

“That’s our Lena,” Hank teased, not unkindly. “Always lookin’ for a mystery to solve.”

Her answering shrug was anything but nonchalant, too stiff and jerky. Her hands started to sweat inside her leather gloves, fingers clenching against the strap of her bag. Did he know? “No one deserves to be forgotten,” she said after an awkward beat, pleased that her voice had remained steady. “Isn’t that why we have museums? To remember history we might otherwise forget?”

“Wise words, Miss Lena.” She heard him shift again and chanced another glance over her shoulder, quickly averting her eyes to the shiny waxed floor. Still there. “You a smart girl. Whatchu doin’ hidin’ away in our dusty basement for?”

“I happen to like dusty basements.” Hank gave another amused chuckle and she felt a glow of pride in her chest for a successfully landed joke. Still, she risked raising her gaze to fix him with a brief mock glare. “It’s starting to sound like you’re trying to get rid of me, Hank.”

His smile was bright and encompassing, taking years from his weathered appearance. “And miss our talks?”

Her own laugh was genuine. “Highlight of my day. Night, Hank.” She twiddled her fingers at him over her shoulder, finally unsticking her feet to walk forward.

“Night, Miss Lena. You be safe gettin’ home now!”

He’d said the exact thing to her every night since she’d started, first as a volunteer, before slowly carving out a job position for herself. On paper, she was an Assistant Curator. Never mind the fact that the museum already had one. In actuality, she was a walking, talking, living archive. She kept a record of every single piece that passed through the doors, displayed or not, all inside her head. And she spent her days in the basement, cataloging the mismatched mess of abandoned items. Mary, the museum’s actual curator, had told her that most of what was down there had been for the better part of twenty years, and that despite working there for nearly thirty five herself, even she wasn’t positive on what all it contained.

The basement itself spanned the entirety of the upper floors, and in her own four years of her self-appointed project, she’d organized maybe a third of it. For every new thing she discovered down there, days of research followed in an attempt to learn everything she could. And some things...some things she simply couldn’t resist touching with bare hands.

They spoke to her when she did that. Shared their stories through impressions and still images in her head. The more history an object held, the more it would tell her. But opening herself up to them also invited the ghosts.

They never stayed for long— thankfully –and they never acknowledged her, too busy reenacting events that had been stored inside, but their presence was...unsettling, at best. And since she’d been unable to ignore the call, brushing a single, ungloved finger over one of the dingy medals, she now had the haggard ghost of a young soldier unknowingly dogging her steps.

From the brief glance she’d gotten at his first startling appearance, it was clear that he’d gone through something heavily traumatic. There was a reason she made a point to not touch items she knew to be from wartimes. A notion she had idiotically disregarded upon finding the lockbox.

Her unwanted companion dragged silently behind her, despite the heavy limp he now held from his plainly broken leg. His clothes were dirty and torn, hair in a complete disarray and patchy stubble hiding what had once been a youthful face. But it was the eyes that stuck with her, visible even when she closed her own. They were wild and empty at the same time, giving him a constant feral expression. The way his irises had shifted the room, seeing untold horrors invisible to her, had made her heart throb. Whatever incident had earned him that medal couldn’t have been worth it.

He was still there when she stopped in her building’s lobby to check her mailbox. It was always empty, but she still checked it every day.

“Empty again, pet?” She would have started at the voice of her neighbor, Mrs. Boyle, had she not been expecting it. For months now, she’d been catching Lena in the lobby after work, trying to convince her to go on a date with her grandson. She frowned. Maybe she ought to consider forgoing the mailbox. “No letters from home?”

Her frown twisted into a reluctant fond smile. “Most people don’t write letters anymore.”

She’d hoped it would be enough of a deflection and she could make her escape, but Mrs. Boyle wasn’t going to let her off easy tonight, it seemed. The soldier made a sharp, jerking movement, mouth wide in an unheard scream of agony. She hurriedly reverted her attention back to her nosy neighbor. “You do. Every morning. I see you drop a letter in the box when you leave, when I take Starla out.” Her expression was nearly one of pity. “They don’t write back?”

“I never expect them to.” She left it at that, climbing the stairs, her war-torn ghost trailing after her. “Have a good night, Mrs. Boyle.”

Lena knew that, one day, her carefully practiced aversions would no longer be enough. But how could she possibly confess to the woman that she wrote letters to the dead? She was aware that it was an odd practice, even by her own standards.

She spent her days surrounded by the left behind belongings of those who’ve passed on, items that have slipped through cracks of time, hidden from the world and consigned to oblivion. However, Lena’s ability granted her the unique opportunity to rectify. By opening herself up to the various articles, gleaning what she could and piecing together all the little bits, she’d been able to identify original owners, and eventually, their final resting places. Then, she would write to them, explaining who she was, and what she did.

Logically, she knew it was a silly thing to do. The people she wrote to were long departed, mere bones and ash beneath the earth. There was no one to read her letters, let alone respond to them. But was almost cathartic, in its own way. And there was naïve hope she carried in her ever-bleeding heart that she was somehow making a difference. That maybe, just maybe, the dead would know that they hadn’t been forgotten. That she would remember them, even if no one else did.

Her keys hitting the counter was harsh in the otherwise quiet of her apartment, sliding across the already scratched up worktop. Haphazardly strewn papers and research books on loan from the library littered most of the island, the odd mug of half-finished tea squeezed in wherever she’d managed to find room. A chaotic, disorganized mess to anyone that wasn’t her. Despite the clutter, she knew the exact location of anything she might need.

Her ghostly compatriot lingered near the paint chipped door, his visage wavering at the edges as he wordlessly shouted orders to comrades she could not see. He would be gone soon enough, and she would finally, truly be alone.

Well, aside from Carlyle, her lone fish.

Lena had attempted introducing friends to him at one point, but it hadn’t ended well. Which she could definitely sympathize with. Granted, he’d eaten all of his tankmates. She was just terribly inexperienced when it came to dealing with people. And given that she could hardly stomach eating animals, she didn’t think she was in any danger of suddenly developing a desire for human flesh.

“And how was your day, Mr. Carlyle?” she asked the striped blur zooming around the tank. She paused, canting her head as though listening intently to his reply. “Well, that sounds absolutely riveting. You certainly know how to live life to the fullest, my friend.”

Resting her chin in her palm as she rested her elbow on the countertop, her soft eyes tracked Carlyle’s wild movements as he weaved in and out of the decorations she’d placed for him without a care in the world. There were times in her life where she was almost...envious of him. How nice it must be, to be able to pass from day to day without worry or responsibility. But even Lena knew that such an existence would be terribly dull. For all her oddities and peculiarities, she was not immune to the plight of dullness.

“They reported another sighting,” she told her fish, blowing her short bangs from her eyes. They immediately fell back into the same place. “Just a glimpse. Some hotel in Calgary. It’s the first one since D.C.”

For all that she loved history, in all its forms, Lena Taggerty held one specific area in the highest of regards.

She loved the conspiracy theories of history. The ghost stories. The unknowns and unanswered questions. Endless mysteries, all waiting to be unraveled by her fingertips.

After the events that had transpired in Washington D.C., just two months before, events that even Lena— disconnected from the modern world as she was —caught wind of, had brought forth whispers of what was, arguably, the greatest historical ghost story of them all, and had her nearly chomping at the bit.

The Winter Soldier.

A topic of much controversy on the forums she’d frequented since learning the name. Some believed that it was a title, passed on throughout the decades, making it appear as though the same man haunted behind the scenes of the criminal underground over several lifetimes. Others claimed it was a group, operating under one name so as to keep their identities and intentions secret. And others still believed that the Winter Soldier wasn’t a man at all, but an idea. A violent threat used to inspire fear and upset.

The only thing that anyone seemed to agree on was that whoever the man from D.C. had been, Winter Soldier or otherwise, was extraordinarily dangerous. A fighter of immense skill, based on what little footage had been recovered. Not someone to be trifled with. And definitely not someone’s radar you wanted to be on.

Lena was fascinated. Truly, utterly, fascinated.

The story of the Winter Soldier was possibly the biggest unknown mystery on Earth at the moment. There was virtually nothing on the man, and what she’d managed to uncover at first often contradicted itself. Nearly every time, in fact. Almost as though someone were purposefully trying to spread misinformation. Which, naturally, only made her all the more curious.

Her secret pet project. A mystery no one had been able to solve. One that, until recently, most didn’t even know existed.

Though not owning a computer of her own, she’d spent hours at the local library, pouring over the recently declassified files that had been leaked online in the wake of D.C. Admittedly, most of what she’d read in those early days had gone straight over her head. Anything that sparked a note of interest, but wasn’t relevant to her current investigation, was printed off to be carefully filed away for a later date. It was this exact practice that had led to her accidental breakthrough.

For weeks, she and the internet alike lamented over the lack of information regarding the Winter Soldier. He was well and truly a ghost, even among the organization that employed him. The name hadn’t been found in any of the examined files at the time, and users on the forums were frustrated over it, Lena among them. She found it difficult to believe that of all the thousands of documents now accessible to the general public, not a single one mentioned him.

The answer had come to her late one night, as she’d lied in bed, unable to sleep.

What if he went by a different name?

It was the internet that had dubbed him The Winter Soldier, taken from long ago leaked files, back before the internet had really taken hold. So, it wouldn’t make much sense for that to be the one appearing in the documents. With a renewed sense of purpose, she abandoned any and all idea of sleep that night, pouring over her printouts for anything that might smack of the person she was looking for. And on the second night, she’d found it, while reading a mission report recounting the successful termination of a target by ‘the asset’.

She’d read a similar report before, of a failed mission that had been compromised by the Winter Soldier.

By the asset.

Lena had returned to the library early the next morning, having not slept, and armed with her find. Now that she knew what to look for, she’d ended up with hundreds of hits, file upon file upon file that had ‘the asset’ sprinkled liberally throughout. She’d saved every single document it appeared in— regardless of whether or not she understood it or even knew the language.

She’d since added learning Russian to her to-do list.

Settling down on the one cushion of her secondhand couch that wasn’t covered with her research, she shoveled a forkful of instant noodles into her mouth, breathing in sharply as she stupidly burned herself in her haste. Balancing the foam up on the arm of the couch, she reached for a stack of papers she’d printed off days before.

They looked to be mission reports of some nature, different from the ones she’d encountered before in that they were inordinately coded and completely in Russian. Much of the top page was scored with thick black lines, and the same heavy redaction treatment appeared on the subsequent pages. Resting the Russian/English dictionary she’d checked out on one knee and a spiral notebook on the other, she picked up where she’d left off the night before in translating the documents.

From what she’d had so far, which wasn’t much thanks to an unfamiliar alphabet and more than half of the information missing, ‘the asset’ had been dispatched to an undisclosed city in Belgium at some point in 1977 to retrieve an unnamed scientist of some import. Extraction had gone smoothly, with the intended target being delivered with only minimal injury to his person.

Blowing her cheeks out in exasperation, she stretched cramping fingers and shook out her hand. The only genuinely useful information was that he’d been in Belgium in ‘77. She circled both findings as a reminder to add them to her timeline map and flipped to the next file to begin the process again.

Lena worked well into the night, her meager dinner all but forgotten. She’d finished translating three and a half documents before her eyes grew too heavy to continue, burning with gritty sand every time she blinked. Digging her palms into them, and dislodging her reading glasses in the process, her groan was pained as she unbent her stiff legs.

Stumbling her way to the bedroom, she barely managed to chuck her glasses on the end table by her alarm clock before collapsing on top of the covers with another groan. She was asleep within seconds.

She did not dream.

✪ Chapter Two ->

#ghost in your eye #it's tortured white boi hours 24/7 here

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thedivinemisshepburn · 7 years ago

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Bringing Up Baby - a timeless classic

I can’t give you anything but love, baby

First of all, I’d like to thank Crystal for organizing the Katharine Hepburn-Spencer Tracy blogathon and for letting me write about one of my favorite Katharine Hepburn pictures. ‘Bringing Up Baby’ was actually the first Hepburn picture I ever saw so it will always be special to me.

On May 3, 1938 the Independent Film Journal printed an article by Harry Brandt titled ‘Box Office Poison’. The piece was written on behalf of the Independent Theatre Owners of American and labeled many well-known movie stars of the time as ‘box office poison’, including Katharine Hepburn. A few months earlier, ‘Bringing Up Baby’ had been released and Katharine Hepburn’s fourteenth picture was another failure in a string of flops that had characterized her career over the previous years. Her last big hit had been ‘Alice Adams’, but that had been almost three years ago. When RKO, her film studio at the time, offered her a movie called ‘Mother Carey’s chickens’, she knew that it was time to buy out her contract and move on to greater things. The movie that had been her last one at RKO and that the New York Times had called ‘a farce which you can barely hear above the precisely enunciated patter of Miss Katharine Hepburn and the ominous thread of deliberative gags’ would also move on to greater things.

In 2000, the American Film Institute ranked ‘Bringing Up Baby’ at number 14 in their list of the 100 funniest movies in American cinema. ‘Bringing Up Baby’ is one of the great screwball comedies which feels timeless and is just as funny when you watch it for the 100th time as it was when you first watched it. The magical chemistry between Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant, the absurd situations in which they find themselves, the song-loving leopard and bone-loving dog, and the great supporting cast - from Miss Swallow to Major Applegate - all helped make this movie the classic that it has become. This is not so much a review – as I can’t really find anything bad to say about it – as an appreciation, a behind-the-scenes look and an incentive to give this movie a chance (if you haven’t already).

Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant and director Howard Hawks on the set

‘Bringing Up Baby’ is the story of madcap heiress Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) and paleontologist David Huxley (Cary Grant) who find themselves drawn to each other, though not in the way you would expect. David only wants two things: to complete his brontosaurus – the last bone he needs is on its way – and to marry his assistant Miss Swallow. That is, until Susan Vance makes a mess of everything. The day before he is supposed to get married, they meet on the golf course. David has an appointment with Mr. Peabody whom he hopes will give one million dollars to the museum where he works. Susan manages to steal his golf ball, his car and his dignity. They keep running into each other, much to David’s dismay. When David finds outs that Mr. Peabody – aka ‘Boopy’ – is a close friend of Susan’s, he asks for her help – that is until he finds himself throwing pebbles at Mr. Peabody’s window in the middle of the night. The next day, Susan calls David because she needs his help. Since he is the only paleontologist she knows, he has to help her bring a leopard (Baby) – which her brother sent her from Brazil – to her country home in Connecticut. David is forced to agree and what follows is a series of absurd events, including leopard hunting in the Connecticut countryside, chasing George (the terrier of Susan’s aunt) who has stolen David’s brontosaurus bone, eventually ending up in prison where everyone involved is suspected of being a member of the ‘Leopard Gang’. The next day, when Susan comes to apologize for everything that happened – she only wanted to keep him near her – she manages to destroy David’s brontosaurus. Even then, David insists that the day he spent with her was the best day of his life.

Shooting on ‘Bringing Up Baby’ began on the 23th of September 1937. It was the second collaboration between Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn after they had starred together in ‘Sylvia Scarlett’ a few years earlier. Howard Hawks – perhaps now best known for directing two of the Bogart-Bacall pictures - directed the picture. Katharine Hepburn had a hard time at first with the character she was playing – often trying to be ‘too funny’. Howard Hawks asked vaudeville veteran Walter Catlett to coach her and Kate was so impressed with him that she insisted he play Constable Slocum in the picture.

Apparently, the search to find ‘Baby’ the leopard wasn’t easy. One leopard – which was supposed to be tame – attacked a woman who was playing with him and another one was useless after someone thought it would be a good idea to have a puma instead and decided to paint spots on the leopard – which didn’t want to come off after they had changed their minds. Eventually, eight-year-old Nissa was assigned to play Baby. Olga Celeste, the animal’s trainer, was always around with a whip in case of problems. Everyone was afraid of Nissa apart from – you guessed it – Katharine Hepburn. She would put on perfume – Nissa was a pushover for French perfume - to make the animal playful. Everything went fine until Kate put on a skirt lined with little metal pieces and the leopard made a lunge for her back. Luckily, Olga Celeste was around to save the day. Cary Grant never did hit it off with the leopard and a double was used in the scenes where he and Baby were supposed to be together. Once, Katharine Hepburn put a stuffed leopard through a vent in the top of his dressing room. ‘He was out of there like lightning’, she wrote in her autobiography ‘Me’. Of course, the movie stars another animal: George, aunt Elizabeth’s terrier. Skippy, George’s real name, was a big star as far as dogs go. He became famous by playing ‘Asta’ in the ‘Thin Man’ movies and was given the real star treatment (separate dressing rooms, vegetarian diet…). He went on the star in the ‘Awful Truth’ and of course ‘Bringing Up Baby’. At the time, training animals was very important because special effects weren’t yet what they are nowadays.

‘I went gay all of a sudden’ is probably one of the most-quoted lines from this movie. It is uttered by Cary Grant when Susan’s aunt asks him why he is wearing a negligee. Whether or not this use of the word ‘gay’ is the first time in movies that it refers to ‘homosexual’ remains a topic of debate. However, one of the subsequent lines ‘I’m sitting in the middle of 42nd street, waiting for a bus’ might very well indicate it was. At the time, 42nd street was the primary cruising strip for the city’s male prostitutes. Other instances of sexual innuendo are also quite obvious. After all, this is a movie about a man looking for his bone (‘it’s rare, it’s precious’) and a woman looking for her… well, leopard. Luckily for us, the people working at the Hays office didn’t see any problem. The only thing they objected to was showing Susan’s panties when David ripped off the back of her skirt.

For me, ‘Bringing Up Baby’ is the definitive screwball comedy. This genre was popular during the Great Depression until the early 1940s. ‘It Happened One Night’ starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert is often cited as the first true screwball comedy. The main elements are: a female lead who challenges or dominates the male lead, fast-paced talking, absurd situations and conflict in social classes. Ironically, these were the elements of the film that were often criticized at the time. I guess it’s safe to say that ‘Bringing Up Baby’ was ahead of its time and fortunately has now been given the praise it so rightly deserves. Over the years, filmmakers have been inspired by the movie and the 1972 film ‘What’s Up, Doc?’ starring Barbra Streisand was even a homage to ‘Bringing Up Baby’.

‘Bringing Up Baby’ will always by one of my favorite Katharine Hepburn pictures. It’s still as fresh and witty 80 years later. I know all the lines by heart and never get tired of watching it. If you haven’t seen it already, give it a chance, you definitely will not regret it. And my, what would I give to be a member of the Leopard gang!

This piece is part of the Spencer Tracy/Katharine Hepburn blogathon hosted by ‘In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood’. Be sure to check out all of the amazing contributions here: https://crystalkalyana.wordpress.com/2017/07/20/announcing-the-spencer-tracy-katharine-hepburn-blogathon/

After all, we can never have enough Spencer and Kate in our lives!

#Katharine Hepburn #bringing up baby #blogathon #cary grant #1930s #1938

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misskittydenoire · 7 years ago

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Can I Be Him?

Title: Can I Be Him? Character(s) Mentioned: Bruce Banner, Tony Stark Pairing: Bruce Banner x Reader Genre: Romance Rating: E (Everyone) Words: 1,913 Author’s Note: Hello kitties and gentle-cats! Been a long time since I’ve updated, right? Again, I am sorry for that. It’s been really difficult to break through this writer’s block. However, I have managed to finish up this Bruce x Reader song-fic that I’ve had on my mind for a while now. I don’t know if it’s any good to be honest. It is shorter than my other stories, but I hope it will entertain you for a brief period. This is based on a song sung by James Arthur titled Can I Be Him?. He apparently won in the X Factor or another competition that Simon Cowell is part of, I don’t know. But you have heard his name but not the song, he is the same singer who sang Say You Won’t Let Go from his Back From The Edge album. It’s a beautiful song that many hopeless romantics can relate to. If you have an opportunity, definitely take a listen to it. Alright, on to the story! Presenting,Can I Be Him? Summary: Once again, Bruce Banner had found himself dragged into another one of Tony’s parties. He always found these pointless and dull since he never felt participating in random banters or discussions. However, this time became completely different. It could actually be worth coming, because you stepped into the door and into his heart.

Bruce Banner adjusted the white cotton collar of his shirt for the third time tonight as he attempted to keep himself far from the throng of people on the dance floor. He stood in the corner as he pondered to himself, Why did I agree to attend Tony’s party again? Oh, now I remember, I was forced to come. Though he didn’t mind socializing, Banner preferred to be away from the crowds. Maybe if Stark didn’t make this a black tie event, he’d might be more comfortable but tonight wasn’t the case. Tony had orchestrated this extravagant gala for a new charity he’s organizing, filled with many star studded celebrities, members of the Avengers, and some sponsors behind the organization along with him. Bruce already forgot what the charity was exactly for. Frankly, he always drowns out Tony’s incessant chattering.The physicist sighed deeply, debating if he should call it a night or not. Despite the reprimanding, he knew he would be receiving from his science partner, he took the chance and decided to make a run for it. Banner casually walked towards the bar, Tony leaned against it as he conversed confidently with one of his guests. “Tony, I’m gonna head out. It’s getting late.” Bruce lied, gesturing to the door over his shoulder. “What? The party’s just getting started. From what I recall, you don’t have a curfew, grandpa.” Stark quipped, crossing his arms in skepticism. He knew Banner well enough to know when he’s making excuses. “Well, not everyone can be as energetic as you, Tony.” Bruce replied, sarcastically. “Just—stay awhile longer,” raising his hands as a gesture to stop him from leaving before he went back to his guest. The physicist inwardly groaned before he nodded, accepting his suggestion. Now he knows, it was worth staying; the moment you walked into the ballroom. My heart has been stolen, Bruce thought to himself when he noticed your presence by the main entrance. You glowed with excitement as you gazed in wonder at the surroundings. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen before. The chandelier itself was eye catching, its crystal baubles shining brightly against the light. It felt like the atmosphere filled with your glow the moment you set foot into the festivities and Banner was captivated by you. It was as if your aura brought him back to the time he wasn’t living in a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde novel. He continued to watch you as you scanned the wide room, his senses heightening with a feeling he hasn’t felt in years. Bruce felt like the man he once knew, the man before the Hulk. As if on autopilot, he made his way towards you, like a gravitational pull he was unable to escape. You walked absent-mindedly, not paying attention to the strangers around you as you walked through the classical architecture of the museum that was rented for the evening. Suddenly, the high heel of your right foot caught the hem of your f/c mermaid gown, causing you to fall on your rear. You silently whimpered from the soreness slowly emerging beneath the skin of your behind. Your cheeks burned red from embarrassment, mentally hitting your forehead for your clumsiness.Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed it. Well, you believed no one noticed. “Are you alright?” An older gentleman asked, offering his hand. You paused for a second, captured by the distinguished handsomeness of the person in front of you. You shook your head of such thoughts to answer him. “Yeah, just bruised my pride. Maybe even broke my butt bone, but I’ll live.” You answered with an awkward smile. You placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours as he lifted you from the marble flooring. “I don’t think you broke your tail bone, but your pride, on the other hand…” “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, though I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” You introduced yourself as you laughed from his remark, not realizing you both continued to hold hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Bruce Banner.” He replied back. You both looked down, noticing your hands were still joined. You two chuckled, embarrassed as your hands loosened their grip and fell to your sides. A faint blush rose to your cheeks, you bit your lower lip before you uttered another word. You weren’t too sure how he’d react to what you’re going to say. “I know who you are, Dr. Banner.” “Oh, you’re familiar with some of my work?” “Um…More like I’m familiar with you turning into a big green guy.” You stated with a worried grin. “I was there when you and the rest of the Avengers fought with those creepy alien…thingys.” Bruce chuckled, not surprised that the other guy would recognized before him. He’s come to terms with it, especially after he finally found the formula to keep his mind intact as he transformed. “Ah, that was my next guess. Love your elegant description, by the way. ‘Creepy alien…thingys.’” You became all that Bruce wanted. And he knew it from the very first moment. For the first time, Banner didn’t want the night to end. As long as he can spend it with you. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. First of all, thanks for coming tonight. I know you probably had to call your babysitters, your nannies, or…whatever, to come tonight. I mean, it’s me so why wouldn’t you?” Tony smirked, holding the microphone close to his lips as his guests’ voices rose in laughter. “Now, I didn’t just invited you to bask in my glory. You guys do that everyday.” Once again, the crowd chuckled. Some clapped in amusement while Sam and a few other of his teammates teased him to get a move on. Bruce paid no attention to Stark on stage. He was more enthralled in what you were saying, making jokes and intrigued by his work. Granted, you had no clue what he was talking about but he made sound Science fascinating. The excited physicist was in the middle of explaining molecular energy when he blushed from raving over his field, pausing to look down at his shined dress shoes. “I don’t want to bore you with all this.” “No, no! I’m actually curious about what you do. Though I should warn you I’m not going to remember any of the terminology.” He slightly threw his head back in laughter. Banner hasn’t laughed this hard in ages. “So tell me, what do you do for a living? I’ve never seen you before.” “Oh well, I—” Stark’s voice drowned you when he announced, “Without further ado, presenting up and coming artist Y/N L/N!” A spotlight shined above as the applause of people boomed. You turned to the scientist, your cheeks turned rosier. “I’m the entertainment.” You nervously chuckled as you walked towards the stage, leaving Banner surprised and astonished but with his curiosity piqued. Your lips stretched into an earnest smile, taking the microphone from Tony’s hand before he walked off stage. “Thank you very much, Mr. Stark. Good evening, everyone. Um, I’ve written a song that is very dear to me. It came to me on a rainy Sunday morning. I hope you enjoy it.” A soft, gentle melody snuck in as your voice carried throughout the large space. Your song was a slow ballad, filled with the hope of finding your soulmate again. You sung of the constant pain of missing someone you’ve never met and how you send your love to them every night. Like a prayer, a lullaby that was only for your beloved and how you waited for their return. When Bruce heard that song, as if a light came on and began to flicker in his heart. Your heartfelt yet sorrowful song ended, the last note echoing before the crowd applauded your performance. Your e/c eyes turned to Bruce, a soft smile extending to your round cheeks. He looked back, completely mesmerized by you. He wanted to hear you sing again, allow himself to be captured by that melody that could almost break your heart as you waited for your love. However, he swore that every word you sang, you wrote it just for him. His thoughts, his woes, it was as if you felt it too. The whole room felt like it dissolved, leaving you and him alone. It was Bruce’s private show, though he knew you never knew him until tonight. As you stepped gingerly down the stairs, his eyes never left you. Bruce whispered to himself as you headed towards him, “Could I be the one you talk about in all your stories?… Can I be him?”

It’s two weeks since the gala ended. Bruce, in the lab with Tony, continued on with their work; however, his mind always went back to you and the sweetness of your voice. Besides you, the lyrics of your song haunted him. You both continued to speak after that evening, and created a bond like no other you’ve felt before. “So there’s this guy…,” You began, averting your eyes to the cup of coffee in your slender fingers as you sat on the cream leather couch near him. “Oh? I- I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Bruce stated, a tone of disappointment laced within his words. You made a face of uncertainty, your nose scrunching up causing the older gentleman to chuckle. Perhaps there was a chance? He doesn’t deserve you, Banner thought. His lips touched the rim of his paper coffee cup in order to hide his frown. “Frankly, it’s not serious. He’s hurt me so many times that I’ve cried more than I’ve smiled. I don’t know why I haven’t broken up with him yet.” You sighed, recalling all the times your significant other has broken a promise, lied, or just ignored your presence for something of “more importance”. If you were mine, I’d never let anyone hurt you, Y/N. I wanna dry those tears, kiss those lips… It’s all I’ve been thinking about. He said internally what he couldn’t say out loud. However, the moment he noticed your eyes welling up with tears; your face clearly displaying sadness and frustration, he couldn’t hold his words back any longer. “Leave him.” You turned to him in surprise, “What?” “Leave him, Y/N. Be with me. ‘Cause a light came on when I heard your song and I want you to sing it again. I swear that every word you sang that night, you wrote them for me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. Everything disappeared and it was like a private show, even though you weren’t singing it for me,” He said, nervously chuckling at what was spilling out of his mouth and heart. Bruce knew that he’s going out on a limb here, declaring his feelings to someone he’s only known for a few short months but he knew that this connection wasn’t one-sided. You must have felt it too. “Bruce…,” You whispered, a soft grin emerging as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “Can I be the one you talk about in all of your stories?” Banner moved closer to you, closing the small gap of cushion. His large and rugged hand reached out for your cheek, which you leaned in without hesitation. “Can I be him, Y/N?” You brushed your soft pink lips against his, your e/c eyes never closing as you met his deep coffee brown ones. “…Yes.”

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inkyardpress · 7 years ago

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Read a sneak peak of IF THERE’S NO TOMORROW

PROLOGUE

I couldn’t move, and everything hurt—my skin felt stretched too tight, muscles burned like they’d been lit on fire, and my bones ached deep into the marrow.

Confusion swamped me. My brain felt like it was full of cobwebs and fog. I tried to lift my arms, but they were weighed down, full of lead.

I thought I heard a steady beeping sound and voices, but all of it seemed far away, as if I was on one end of the tunnel and everything else was on the other.

I couldn’t speak. There...there was something in my throat, in the back of my throat. My arm twitched without warning, and there was a tug at the top of my hand.

Why wouldn’t my eyes open?

Panic started to dig in. Why couldn’t I move?

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. I just wanted to open my eyes. I wanted—

I love you, Lena.

I love you, too.

The voices echoed in my head, one of them mine. Definitely mine, and the other...

“She’s starting to wake up.” A female voice interrupted my thoughts from somewhere on the other side of the tunnel.

Footsteps neared and a male said, “Getting the propofol in now.”

“This is the second time she’s woken up,” the woman replied. “Hell of a fighter. Her mother is going to be happy to hear that.”

Fighter? I didn’t understand what they were talking about, why they thought my mom would be happy to hear this—

Maybe I should drive?

Warmth hit my veins, starting at the base of my skull and then washing over me, cascading through my body, and then there were no dreams, no thoughts and no voices.

CHAPTER ONE

Thursday, August 10

“All I have to say is that you almost had sex with that.”

Scrunching my nose, I stared down at the phone Darynda Jones—Dary for short—had shoved in my face five seconds after walking into Joanna’s.

Joanna’s had been a staple in downtown Clearbrook since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. The restaurant was kind of stuck in the past, weirdly existing somewhere between big-hair bands and the rise of Britney Spears, but it was clean and cozy, and practically everything that came out of the kitchen was fried. Plus it had the best sweet tea in the entire state of Virginia.

“Oh man,” I murmured. “What in the world is he doing?”

“What does it look like?” Dary’s eyes widened behind her white plastic-framed glasses. “He’s basically humping a blow-up dolphin.”

I pressed my lips together, because yep, that was what it looked like.

Whipping her phone out of my face, she cocked her head to the side. “What were you thinking?”

“He’s cute—was cute,” I explained lamely as I glanced over my shoulder. Luckily, no one else was within hearing range. “And I didn’t have sex with him.”

She rolled dark brown eyes. “Your mouth was on his mouth, and his hands—”

“All right.” I threw up my hands, warding off whatever else she was about to say. “I get it. Hooking up with Cody was a mistake. Trust me. I know. I’m trying to erase all of that from my memory and you’re not helping.”

Leaning over the counter I was standing behind, she whispered, “I’ll never let you live that down.” She grinned when my eyes narrowed. “But I understand. He has muscles on top of muscles. He’s kind of dumb but fun.” There was a dramatic pause.

Everything about Dary was dramatic, from the often abhorrently bright clothing she wore to the super-short hair, cropped on the sides and a riot of curls on the top. Right now her hair was black. Last month it was lavender. In two months it would probably be pink.

“And he’s Sebastian’s friend.”

I felt my stomach twist into knots. “That has nothing to do with Sebastian.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re so lucky I actually like you,” I shot back.

“Whatever. You love me.” She smacked her hands down on the counter. “You’re working this weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Why? Thought you were going to DC with your family this weekend.”

She sighed. “A weekend? I wish. We’re going to DC for the whole week. We leave tomorrow morning. Mom can’t wait. I swear she actually has an itinerary for us, like which museums she wants to visit, the expected time in each one, and when we will have our lunches and dinners.”

My lips twitched. Her mom was ridiculously organized, down to labeled baskets for gloves and scarves. “The museums will be fun.”

“Of course you think that. You’re a nerd.”

“No point in denying that. It’s true.” And I had no problem admitting it. I wanted to go to college and study anthropology. Most people would ask what in the hell would you do with a degree in that, but there were a lot of opportunities, like working in forensics, corporate gigs, teaching and more. What I wanted to do actually involved working in museums, so I would’ve loved a trip to DC.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dary hopped off the red vinyl bar stool. “I got to go before Mom freaks. If I’m five minutes past my curfew, she’ll call the cops, convinced I’ve been abducted.”

I grinned. “Text me later, okay?”

“Will do.”

Waving goodbye, I grabbed the damp rag and ran it along the narrow countertop. Pots clanged together, echoing out from the kitchen, signaling it was close to shutting down for the night.

I could not wait to get home, shower off the scent of fried chicken tenders and burnt tomato soup, and finish reading the latest drama surrounding Feyre and the fae courts. Then I was moving on to that sexy contemporary read I’d seen people talking about in the Facebook book club I lurked in, something about royals and hot brothers. Five of them.

Sign me up for that.

I swore half the money I made waitressing at Joanna’s went to buying books instead of filling my savings account, but I couldn’t help myself.

After wiping around the napkin dispensers, I lifted my chin and blew a strand of brown hair that had escaped my bun out of my face as the bell above the door rang and a slight figure stepped inside.

I dropped the lemony-scented rag with surprise. A breeze could’ve knocked me flat on my face.

For the most part, the only time anyone under the age of sixty came into Joanna’s was on Friday nights after the football games and sometimes Saturday evenings during the summer. Definitely not on Thursday nights.

Joanna’s made its bread and butter off certified AARP members, which was one of the reasons why I started waitressing here during the summer. It was easy and I needed the extra money.

The fact that Skylar Welch was standing just inside Joanna’s, ten minutes before closing, was a shock. She never came in here alone. Never.

Bright headlights pierced the darkness outside. She’d left her BMW running, and I was willing to bet she had a car full of girls just as pretty and perfect as her.

But nowhere near as nice.

I’d spent the last million years harboring a rabid case of bitter jealousy when it came to Skylar. But the worst part was that she was genuinely sweet, which made hating her a crime against humanity, puppies and rainbows.

Tentatively walking forward like she expected the black-and-white linoleum floor to rip open and swallow her whole, she brushed her light brown, blond-at-the-end hair over her shoulder. Even in the horrible fluorescent lights, her summer tan was deep and flawless.

“Hey, Lena.”

“Hey.” I straightened, hoping she wasn’t going to place an order. If she wanted something to eat, Bobby was going to be pissed, and I was going to have to spend five minutes convincing him to cook whatever she wanted. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much.” She bit down on her glossy bubblegum-pink lip. Stopping next to the red vinyl bar stools, she took a deep breath. “You’re about to close, aren’t you?”

I nodded slowly. “In about ten minutes.”

“Sorry. I won’t take long. I actually wasn’t planning to stop here.” I silently added a sarcastic Really? “The girls and I were heading out to the lake. Some of the guys are having a party, and we drove past here,” she explained. “I thought I’d stop by and see if...if you knew when Sebastian was coming home.”

Of course.

I clenched my jaw shut. It should’ve been obvious the moment Skylar walked through those doors that she was here about Sebastian, because why else would she be talking to me? Yeah, she was sugary sweet, but we didn’t operate in the same circles at school. Half of the time I was invisible to her and her friends.

Which was okay with me.

“I don’t know.” That was a lie. Sebastian was supposed to come home from North Carolina on Saturday morning. He and his parents were visiting his cousins for the summer.

A twisty pang lit up my chest, a mixture of yearning and panic—two feelings I was well acquainted with when it came to Sebastian.

“Really?” Surprise colored her tone.

I fixed a blank expression on my face. “I’m guessing he’ll be back this weekend sometime. Maybe.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Her gaze dropped to the counter as she fidgeted with the hem of her slinky black tank top. “He hasn’t... I haven’t heard from him. I’ve texted and called, but...”

I wiped my hands along my shorts. I had no idea what to say. This was so incredibly awkward. Part of me wanted to be a total bitch and point out that if Sebastian wanted to talk to her, he would’ve responded, but that just wasn’t me.

I was the kind of person who thought things but never said them.

“I think he’s been really busy,” I said finally. “His dad wanted him to check out some of the universities down there and he hadn’t seen his cousins in years.”

Someone out in the BMW slammed on the horn and Skylar looked over her shoulder. My brows rose while I silently prayed that whoever was in the car stayed in that car. A moment passed, and Skylar tucked bone-straight hair behind her ear as she turned back to face me. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure.” Not like I was actually going to say no even though I was picturing a black hole appearing in the diner and sucking me into its vortex.

A faint smile appeared. “Is he with someone else?”

I stared at her, wondering if I lived through a different history of Sebastian and Skylar.

From the moment she moved to Clearbrook, population meh, she’d attached herself to Sebastian. Not that anyone would blame her. Sebastian came out of his mom’s womb stunning and charming everyone around him. Those two got together in middle school and had dated all through high school, becoming the King and Queen of Coupledom. I’d resigned myself to the fact I’d have to force myself to attend their wedding at some point in the future.

But then spring happened…

“You broke up with him,” I reminded her as gently as I could. “I’m not trying to sound like a bitch, but what does it matter if he’s with someone else?”

Skylar curled a slender arm across her waist. “I know, I know. But it matters. I just... Have you never made a huge mistake?”

“Tons,” I replied drily. The list was longer than my leg and arm combined.

“Well, breaking up with him was one of my mistakes. I think, at least.” She stepped back from the counter. “Anyway, if you see him, can you tell him that I stopped by?”

That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I nodded because I would tell him. Because I was that person.

Eye. Roll.

Skylar smiled then. It was real, and made me feel like I should be a better person or something. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you at school in a week or so? Or at one of the parties?”

“Yep.” I fixed a smile on my face that felt brittle and probably looked half-crazed.

Wiggling her fingers goodbye, Skylar turned and walked toward the door. She reached for the handle but stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. A strange look crossed her face. “Does he know about you?”

The corners of my lips started to turn down. What was there to know about me that Sebastian didn’t already know? I was legit boring. I read more than I actually talked to people and was obsessed with the History Channel and shows like Ancient Aliens. I played volleyball, even though I really wasn’t that good at it. Honestly, I would’ve never started playing if it hadn’t been for Megan conniving me into it when we were freshmen. Not that I didn’t have fun, but yeah, I was as stimulating as white bread.

There were literally no hidden secrets to uncover.

Well, I was scared to death of squirrels. They were like rats with bushy tails, and they were mean. No one knew that, because that was super embarrassing. But I doubted that was what Skylar was talking about.

“Lena?”

Jarred out of my thoughts, I blinked. “What about me?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Does he know you’re in love with him?”

My eyes widened as my mouth dried. I felt my heart stutter and then drop to the pit of my stomach. Muscles locked up in my back and my gut churned as that wall of panic slammed into me. I forced out a wheezing-sounding laugh. “I’m...I’m not in love with him. He’s like a...like a brother I never wanted.”

Skylar smiled slightly. “I’m not trying to get up in your business.”

Sort of sounded like she was.

“I saw the way you would look at him when we were together.” There was no bite to her tone or judgment. “Or maybe I’m wrong.”

“Sorry, you’re wrong,” I told her. I thought I sounded pretty convincing.

So there was something that I thought no one knew about me. One hidden truth that was just as embarrassing as being afraid of squirrels but completely unrelated.

And I’d just lied about it.

CHATPER TWO

I lived about fifteen minutes from the center of downtown Clearbrook, in a neighborhood that was within walking distance of the elementary school where I used to spend my time daydreaming. The streets had a mixture of small and large homes and all sizes in between. My mom and I lived in one of the medium-size ones—a house that Mom could barely afford on her own with her insurance-agent salary. We could’ve moved into something smaller, especially now that Lori had gone away to college and I’d be doing the same in a year, but I didn’t think Mom was ready to let go of the house. Of all the memories and all that should have been instead of what was.

It probably would’ve been for the best for all of us if we had moved, but we hadn’t, and that was a flood under the bridge now.

I pulled into the driveway, passing the used Kia that Mom had parked on the side of the street. I turned off the engine and breathed in the coconut-scented interior of the decade-old silver Lexus that had once belonged to Dad. Mom hadn’t wanted it, and neither did Lori, so I ended up with it.

It wasn’t the only thing Dad had left me.

I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and climbed out of the car before quietly closing the door behind me. Crickets chirped and a dog barked somewhere on the mostly silent street as I looked over at the larger house next to ours. All the windows were dark and the limbs of the thick maple in the front swayed, rattling the leaves.

A year from now I wouldn’t be standing here, staring at the house next door like a bona fide loser. I’d be away at college, hopefully at the University of Virginia, my top choice. I was still going to carpet-bomb other colleges in the spring just in case I didn’t get in on early admission, but either way, I would be gone from here.

And that would be for the best.

Getting out of this town. Moving away from the same old same old. Putting much-needed distance between the house next door and me.

Tearing my gaze away from the house, I walked up the flagstone sidewalk and went inside. Mom was already in bed, so I tried to be as quiet as possible as I grabbed a soda from the fridge and made my way upstairs to take a quick shower in the hallway bathroom. I could’ve moved into Lori’s bedroom at the front of the house after she left for college. It was larger and had its own bathroom, but my bedroom had privacy and it had an amazing second-story deck that I wasn’t willing to give up for a multitude of reasons.

Reasons I didn’t want to think about too much.

Once inside my bedroom, I set the soda on the nightstand and then dropped the towel by the door. I pulled my favorite sleep shirt of all time from the dresser and slipped it over my head. After turning on the lamp on the nightstand and flooding the bedroom with soft buttery light, I picked up the remote and clicked on the TV, turning to the History Channel with the volume on low.

I glanced at the scribbled-on world map tacked to the wall above my desk. The map to everywhere I planned on eventually visiting. The red and blue circles drawn all over it brought forth a grin as I grabbed a massive red-and-black hardcover from my desk, which was pretty much used only to stash books now. When we first moved in, Dad had built shelves lining the wall where the dresser and TV were, but those bookshelves had been overflowing for years now. Books were stacked in every spare place in the room—in front of my nightstand, on both sides of the dresser and in my closet, taking up more room than the clothes did.

I’d always been a reader and I read a lot, usually sticking to books with some sort of romantic theme and a classic happily-ever-after. Lori used to make fun of me nonstop for it, claiming I had cheesy taste in books, but whatever. At least I didn’t have pretentious taste in books like she did, and sometimes I just wanted to...I don’t know, escape life. To delve headfirst into a world that dealt with real-life issues to open my eyes, or a world that was something else, something completely unreal. One with warring faes or roaming vampire clans. I wanted to experience new things and always, always, reach the last page feeling satisfied.

Because sometimes happily-ever-after existed only in the books I read.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I was just about to crack the book open when I heard a soft rapping coming from the balcony doors. For a split second, I froze as my heart rate spiked. Then I hopped to my feet, dropping the book on my bed.

It could be only one person: Sebastian.

After throwing the lock, I opened the doors and there was no stopping the wide smile from racing across my face. Apparently there was also no stopping my body either, because I propelled myself through the threshold, arms and legs moving without thought.

I collided with a taller and much, much harder body. Sebastian grunted as I threw my arms around his broad shoulders and practically face-planted on his chest. I inhaled the familiar fresh scent of detergent his mom had been using since forever.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation from Sebastian as his arms swept around me.

There never was.

“Lena.” His voice was deep—deeper than I remembered, which was strange, because he’d been gone for only one month. But a month felt like an eternity when you saw someone nearly every day of your life and then suddenly didn’t. We’d kept in touch over the summer, texting and even calling a few times, but it wasn’t the same as having him here.

Sebastian hugged me back as he lifted me up so my feet dangled a few inches off the floor before he settled me back down. He lowered his head as his chest rose sharply against mine, sending a wave of warmth all the way to the tips of my toes.

“You really missed me, huh?” he said, fingers curling through the wet strands of my hair.

Yes. God, I did miss him. I’d missed him way too much. “No.” My voice was muffled against his chest. “I just thought you were the hot guy I waited on tonight.”

“Whatever.” He chuckled against the top of my head. “There was no hot guy at Joanna’s.”

“How do you know?”

“Two reasons. First, I’m the only hot guy that ever steps one foot into that place and I wasn’t there,” he said.

“Wow. Real modest, Sebastian.”

“I’m just speaking the truth.” His tone was light, teasing. “And second, if you thought I was someone else, you wouldn’t still be attached to me like Velcro.”

He had a point.

I pulled back, dropping my arms to my sides. “Shut up.”

He chuckled again. I always loved his little laughs. They were infectious, even when you were in a bad mood. You couldn’t help but smile.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until Saturday,” I said as I stepped inside my bedroom.

Sebastian followed. “Dad decided I needed to be back for the scrimmage game tomorrow night, even though I’m not playing. But he’d already worked everything out with the coach. You know how Dad is.”

His father was the stereotypical football-obsessed father who pushed and pushed and pushed Sebastian when it came to playing ball. So much so that I was downright shocked when Sebastian announced that they would be out of town while there was football practice. Knowing his dad, I bet he had Sebastian up every morning at the butt crack of dawn running and catching.

“Your mom’s asleep?” he asked as I closed the balcony doors.

“Yeah...” I turned around and got a good look at him now that he was standing in the light of my bedroom. As embarrassing as it would be to admit, and I would never admit it, I completely lost my train of thought.

Sebastian was... He was effortlessly beautiful. It wasn’t often you could say that about a guy...or about anyone, to be honest.

His hair was a shade somewhere in between brown and black, cropped close on the sides and longer on the top, falling forward in a messy wave that nearly reached dark brown eyebrows. His lashes were criminally thick, framing eyes that were the color of the deepest denim jeans. His face was all angles, with high cheekbones, a blade of a nose and a hard, defined jaw. A scar cut into his upper lip, just right of a well-formed Cupid’s bow. It had happened our sophomore year during football practice, when he’d taken a hit that had knocked his helmet off. His shoulder pads had caught him in the mouth, splitting the upper lip.

But the scar fit him.

I couldn’t tear my gaze from his basketball shorts and a plain white T-shirt as he glanced around my bedroom. When he was younger, back in middle school, he’d been tall, all arms and legs, but now he’d filled out in every way, with muscles on muscles and sculpting that rivaled Greek marble statues. Years of playing football would do that to a body, I imagined.

Sebastian wasn’t simply the cute boy who lived next door anymore.

We’d been doing this for years, ever since he figured out it was easier than going to my front door. He’d head out his back door and come into our backyard through a gate, and then it was a short walk up the steps that led to the balcony deck.

Our parents knew he could get to my bedroom this way, but we’d grown up together. To them—and to Sebastian—we were like brother and sister.

I also suspected they didn’t know the visits occurred at night. That hadn’t started until we were both thirteen, the first night my Dad was gone.

I leaned against the door, biting the inside of my cheek.

Sebastian Harwell was one of the most popular guys in school, but that wasn’t surprising. Not when he was gorgeous. Talented. Funny. Smart. Nice. He was in his own league.

He was also one of my best friends.

For reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, he made my bedroom appear smaller when he was in it, the bed too tiny and the air too thick.

“What in the hell are you watching?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he stared at the TV.

I looked at the screen. There was a guy with bushy, crazy-looking brown hair waving his hands around. “Um...Ancient Aliens reruns.”

“All righty, then. Guess it’s less morbid than the forensics show you watch. Sometimes I worry...” Sebastian trailed off as he faced me. His head tilted to the side. “Is that...my shirt?”

Oh. Oh my God.

My eyes widened as I remembered what I was wearing: his old freshman practice shirt. A couple of years ago he left it over here for some reason or another, and I kept it.

Like a stalker.

My cheeks flushed, and the blush raced down the front of my body. And there was a whole lot of body on display. The shirt hung off one shoulder, I had no bra, and I fought the urge to tug on the hem of the shirt.

I told myself not to freak out, because he’d seen me in bathing suits a million times. This was no different.

But it was.

“It is my shirt.” Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes as he sat on my bed. “Wondered where that went.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was suddenly petrified, plastered to the door. Did he think my wearing his shirt to sleep was weird? Because yeah, it was kind of weird. I couldn’t deny that.

He threw himself down on the bed, then immediately sat up. “Ow. What the hell?” Rubbing his back, he twisted at the waist. “Jesus.” He picked up my book and held it out. “You’re reading this?”

My eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“This thing could double as a weapon. You could hit me over the head with this thing, kill me and then end up on one of those shows you watch on Investigation Discovery.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a bit excessive.”

“Whatever.” He tossed the book to the other side of the bed. “Were you getting ready for bed?”

“I was getting ready to read before I was rudely interrupted,” I joked. Forcing myself away from the door, I slowly dragged my way over to where he was now stretched out on his side, lying there like it was his bed, cheek resting on his fist. “But someone, no names mentioned, is now here.”

His lips kicked up at the sides. “Want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He patted the spot next to him. “Come talk with me. Tell me everything I’ve missed.”

Ordering myself not to act like a complete dork, I sat on the bed, which wasn’t easy because of the shirt. I so did not want to flash him. Or maybe I did want to flash him. But he probably didn’t want that.

“You haven’t missed much,” I said, glancing at my bedroom door. Thank God I’d closed it already. “Keith’s thrown a couple of parties—”

“You went to them without me?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “My heart. It hurts.”

I grinned at him as I stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “I went with the girls. I didn’t go by myself. And so what if I did?”

The grin went up a notch. “Did he have any down by the lake?”

Shaking my head, I tugged on the hem of my shirt as I wiggled my toes. “No. Just at his place.”

“Cool.” When I looked over at him, his lashes were lowered. His free hand rested on the bed between us. His fingers were long and slender, skin tan from being outside all the time. “You do anything else? Go out with anyone?”

I stopped moving my toes, and my head swung back toward him. That was a random question. “Not really.”

An eyebrow rose as his gaze lifted to mine.

I quickly changed the subject. “By the way, guess who stopped in at Joanna’s tonight, asking about you?”

“Who wouldn’t stop by asking about me?”

I shot him a bland look.

He grinned. “Who?”

“Skylar. Apparently she’s been messaging you and you’ve been ignoring her.”

“I haven’t been ignoring her.” He reached up, knocking the flop of hair off his forehead. “I just haven’t been responding.”

A frown turned down the corners of my lips. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“What did she want?” he asked instead of answering.

“To talk to you.” I leaned back against the headboard and grabbed the pillow, thrusting it into my lap. “She said... She asked me to tell you that she was asking for you.”

“Well, look at you, doing as you’re told.” He paused, his grin increasing. “For once.”

I chose to ignore that comment. “She also said she thought breaking up with you was a mistake.”

His head jerked back and that grin faded. “She said that?”

My heart started pounding in my chest. He sounded surprised. Was that a happy surprise or bad one? Did he still care about her? “Yeah.”

Sebastian didn’t move for a second and then shook his head. “Whatever.” His hand moved lightning fast, snatching the pillow out of my lap. He shoved it under his head.

“Help yourself,” I muttered, tugging the shirt back up my shoulder.

“Just did.” He smiled up at me. “You have another freckle.”

“What?” I turned my head to him. Since I could remember, my face looked like it got hit with a freckle cannon. “There is no way you can tell if I have another freckle.”

“I can tell. Lean over. I can even show you where.”

I hesitated, eyeing him.

“Come on,” he coaxed, hooking his finger at me.

Inhaling a shallow breath, I leaned toward him. Hair slipped over my shoulder as he lifted his hand.

That grin was back, playing over his lips. “Right there...” He pressed the tip of his finger to the center of my chin. I sucked in air. His lashes swept down. “That’s a new one.”

For a moment, I couldn’t move. All I could do was sit there, leaning toward him with his finger touching my chin. It was crazy and stupid, because it was just the softest touch, but I felt it in every cell of my body.

He lowered his hand to the space between us again.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “You are... You are so stupid.”

“You love me,” he said.

Yes.

Madly. Deeply. Irrevocably. I could come up with five more adverbs. I’d been in love with Sebastian since, jeez, since he was seven and brought over the black snake he’d found in his yard as a gift. I don’t know why he thought I wanted it, but he’d carried it over and plopped it down in front of me like a cat bringing back a dead bird to its owner.

A really, truly weird gift—the type of gift one dude would give another dude—and that pretty much summed up our relationship right there. I was in love with him, painfully and embarrassingly so, and he mostly treated me like one of his guy friends. Had since the beginning and always would.

“I barely tolerate you,” I said.

Rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms out above his head, clasping his hands together as he laughed. His shirt rose, revealing his flat lower stomach and those two muscles on either side of his hips. I had no idea how he got them.

“Keep lying to yourself,” he said. “Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

He had no idea how close to the truth he was.

When it came to Sebastian and how I felt about him, all I did was lie.

Lying was another thing Dad had left me.

It was something he’d also been so, so good at.

CHATPER THREE

It was too early for this crap.

Standing behind Megan, I was hoping I could just blend into the wall and be forgotten. Then I could lie down and take a nap. Sebastian had stayed till three in the morning, and I was way too tired to do anything remotely physical.

Coach Rogers, also known as Sergeant Rogers or Lieutenant First Class Jerk Face, crossed his arms. His face held a permanent scowl. I’d never seen him smile. Not even when we made it to the playoffs last year.

He was also the ROTC drill instructor, so he treated us like we were in boot camp. Today was going to be no different.

“Hit the bleachers,” he ordered. “Ten sets.”

Sighing, I reached up and tugged on the tail of my hair, tightening the ponytail as Megan bounced around, facing me. “Whoever finishes last has to buy the other a smoothie after practice.”

The corners of my lips turned down. “That’s not fair. You’re going to finish first.”

“I know.” Giggling, she tore off toward the indoor bleachers.

Reaching down, I tugged on my black practice shorts and then resigned myself to death by bleacher.

The team hit the metal seats. Sneakers pounded as we worked our way up. At the top row, I smacked the wall as expected. If we didn’t do it, we’d be starting all over. Back down I went, gaze focused on the rows in front of me as my knees and arms pumped. By the fifth round, the muscles in my legs burned, along with my lungs.

I almost died.

More than once.

Once it was over, my legs felt like jelly as I joined Megan on the court. “I’d like a strawberry banana smoothie,” she said, her face flushed pink. “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” I muttered breathlessly as I glanced over to the bleachers. At least I wasn’t last. I twisted back to her. “I’m getting McDonald’s.”

Megan snorted as she fixed her shorts. “Of course you are.”

“At least I’m eating eggs,” I reasoned. I’d probably have a hell of a lot toner legs and stomach if I got that smoothie after practice instead of the Egg McMuffin and hash brown I was planning to do bad, bad things to.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think those kind of eggs count.”

“That’s sacrilegious to even utter.”

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” she replied.

“I don’t think you know when to shut up.”

Tipping her blond head back, Megan laughed. Sometimes I wondered how we’d become such close friends. We were polar opposites. She didn’t read unless it was flirting tips in Cosmo or the weekly horoscopes in the magazines her mom had around the house. I, of course, read every book I got my hands on. I was going to be applying for financial aid, and she had a major college fund. Megan ate McDonald’s only if she’d been drinking, which wasn’t often, and I ate McDonald’s so much I was on a first-name basis with the lady who worked the window in the morning.

Her name was Linda.

Megan was more outgoing than me, more willing to try new things, while I was the person always weighing the pros and cons before doing something, finding more cons than there were pros to almost every activity. Megan seemed years younger than seventeen, oftentimes acting like a hyper kitten climbing curtains. She was downright goofy half the time. But what seemed like cluelessness was only surface deep. She was an ace at math without even having to try. On the outside, she appeared to take nothing seriously, but she was as bright as she was bubbly.

We both planned—or hoped—to get into UVA, prayed that we’d get housed together and strived to give Dary the hardest possible time, with love, every day of our lives.

Deciding I was going to order two hash browns and eat them right in front of her face, I cut in front of her as we walked to where our captain was waiting.

Practice was grueling.

Since it was preseason and a Friday, it was all calisthenics. Lunges. Squats. Suicide sprints. Jumps. Nothing made me feel more out of shape than these kinds of practices. I was dragging ass by the time we wrapped up, sweating in places I didn’t even want to think about.

“Seniors, I need you guys to stick around for a few minutes,” Coach Rogers called out. “Everyone else can head out.”

Megan shot me a look as we lumbered to our feet. My stomach ached a little from the sit-ups, so I concentrated on not bending over and crying like a teething baby.

“Our first game is a couple of weeks off, as is our first tournament, but I want you all to make sure you realize how important this season is.” Coach straightened his cap, pulling the bill down. “This isn’t just your final year. This is the time that scouts will be coming to the tournaments. Many of the colleges here in Virginia and surrounding states are looking for freshman players.”

Pressing my lips together, I loosely crossed my arms. A volleyball scholarship would be sweet. I wanted one. Was going to gun for it, but there were better girls on the team, including Megan.

The likelihood of both of us landing positions at UVA was slim.

“I cannot stress how important your performance will be this season,” Coach droned on. His dark gaze lingered on me in a way that made me feel like he’d noticed just how crappy my sprints had been. “You’re not going to get a do-over. You’re not going to get second chances to impress these scouts. There isn’t a next year.”

Megan’s gaze slid toward mine and her brows lifted about an inch. This was a wee bit dramatic.

Coach went on and on about good life choices or something, and then he was done. Dismissed, our group made our way toward the remaining burgundy-and-white gym bags.

Megan bumped her shoulder into mine as she reached to grab her water from the top of her bag. “You kind of sucked today.”

“Thanks,” I replied, mopping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I feel so much better after hearing that.”

She grinned around the rim of the bottle, but before she could respond, the coach yelled out my last name. “Oh crap,” Megan whispered, widening her eyes.

Swallowing a groan, I pivoted around and jogged over to where he was standing near the net we often had to repeatedly jump in front of. When Coach used your last name, it was a lot like your mom using your full name.

Coach Rogers’s neatly trimmed beard was more salt than pepper, but the man was fit and more than intimidating. He could run those bleachers in half the time Megan could, and right now he looked like he wanted to order me to do another set of ten. If he did, it would be RIP Lena.

“I was watching you today,” he said.

Oh no.

“Didn’t look like your head was in practice.” He crossed his arms, and I knew I was in for it. “Are you still working at Joanna’s?”

Tensing because we’d had this conversation before, I nodded. “I closed last night.”

“Well, that explains a lot. You know how I feel about you working when you have practice,” he said.

Yes, I did know. Coach Rogers didn’t think anyone who played sports should work, because work was a distraction. “It’s just during the summer.” That was kind of a lie, because I planned to work weekends during the school year. I needed to keep my McDonald’s fund fluffy, but he really didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m sorry about practice. I’m just a little tired—”

“A lot tired by the looks of it,” he cut in with a sigh. “You were forcing yourself through every set.”

I guess I wasn’t going to get credit for that effort.

He lifted his chin and stared down his nose at me. Coach was a beast during practice and the games, but most days I liked him. He cared about his players. Really cared. Last year, he organized a fund-raiser for a student whose family lost everything in a house fire. I knew he was against animal cruelty, because I saw him wearing ASPCA shirts. But right now, in this moment, I did not like the man at all.

“Look,” he continued, “I know things are tight at home, especially with your father... Well, with all of that.”

Clenching my teeth until my jaw ached, I fixed a blank expression on my face. Everyone knew about my dad. It sucked living in a small town.

“And you and your mom could use the extra cash—I get that—but you really need to look at the big picture here. Take these practices more seriously, dedicate more time, and you can up your playing this year. Maybe catch the eye of a scout,” he said. “Then you get a scholarship. Less aid. That’s what you need to be focused on—your future.”

Even though I knew he meant well, I wanted to tell him that my mom and I and my future were really none of his business. But I didn’t say that. I just shifted my weight from one foot to the next, picturing the greasy hash brown in my head.

Oh my God, I was going to smother that baby with ketchup.

“You have talent.”

I blinked. “Really?”

His expression softened a bit as he clapped a hand down on my shoulder. “I think you have a shot at landing a scholarship.” He squeezed gently. “Just keep your eye on tomorrow. Work for it, and there’ll be nothing standing in the way. You understand?”

“I do.” I glanced over to where Megan waited. “A scholarship would be... It would help a lot.”

A way lot.

It would be nice not to spend a decade or more after college working myself out of student-loan hell I’d already been warned about.

“Then make it happen, Lena.” Coach Rogers dropped his hand. “You’re the only person standing in your way.”

* * *

“I don’t care what you say, Chloe was the better dancer!” Megan shrieked from where she was perched on the edge of my bed. I expected her hair to rise and turn into snakes at any given moment, to snatch out the eyeballs of anyone who disagreed with her.

Okay, maybe I was reading way too much fantasy lately.

“We seriously can’t be friends if you disagree!” she added vehemently.

“It’s not a question of who is a better dancer, but I personally think you’re going with the ‘blondes have to stick together’ route.” Abbi was sprawled on her belly on top of my bed. Her hair was a mess of tight, dark curls. “And honestly, I’m Team Nia.”

Megan frowned as she threw up her hands. “Whatever.”

My phone rang on my desk, and when I saw who it was, I sent the call to voice mail without even thinking twice.

Not today, Satan.

“Y’all really need to stop watching reruns of Dance Moms.” I turned back to my closet and restarted my search for a pair of shorts to wear on my shift. Smothering a yawn, I wished I had time for a nap, but Megan had come over after practice and I had only about an hour before I had to head to work.

“You look tore up from the floor up,” Abbi commented, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking about me. “Did you not sleep last night?”

“Wow. Thanks,” I responded, frowning. “Sebastian came home last night, so he stopped over and stayed for a while.”

“Ooh, Sebastian,” cooed Megan, clapping her hands. “Did he keep you up all night? Because if so, I’m going to be upset that you didn’t mention this earlier. I’m also going to want details. All the dirty, juicy details.”

Abbi snorted. “I seriously doubt there is any juicy or dirty details.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that statement or not,” I said.

“I just can’t see that happening,” Abbi replied with a lopsided shrug.

“I don’t know how you spend so much time with him and not want to jump on him like a rabid mountain lion in heat,” Megan mused. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

I leaned my head back. “Wow.” My friends were kind of weird. Specifically Megan. “Aren’t you back with Phillip?”

“Kind of? Not sure. We’re talking.” Megan giggled. “Even if I were back with him, it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that fine specimen of a guy living next door to you.”

“Have at it,” I muttered.

“Have you noticed how hot people flock together? Like all of Sebastian’s friends—Keith, Cody, Phillip. All of them are hot. It’s the same with Skylar and her friends. Kind of like birds migrating south for the winter,” Megan continued.

Abbi murmured under her breath, “What the hell?”

“Anyway, I’m not ashamed of my not-so-friendly thoughts toward Sebastian. Everyone has a crush on him,” Megan said. “I have a crush on him. Abbi has a crush on him—”

“What?” shouted Abbi. “I don’t have a crush on him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You have the hots for Keith. My bad.”

I twisted halfway to see Abbi’s reaction to that and I was not let down.

Abbi lifted up onto her elbows, turning her head toward Megan. If looks could kill, Megan’s entire family would’ve just died.

“I might seriously hit you, and since you weigh, like, eighty pounds wet and I have about a hundred on you, I’m going to snap you like a KitKat bar.”

I grinned as I turned back to my closet and dropped to my knees, rummaging through the books and jeans on the bottom of the narrow closet. “Keith’s cute, Abbi.”

“Yeah, he’s hot, but he’s also the school bike and everyone has had a ride,” she commented.

“I haven’t,” Megan said.

“Me neither.” Finding the cutoffs, I snagged them off the floor and rose. “Keith has been trying to get with you since you developed breasts.”

“Which was, like, the fifth grade.” Megan laughed as Abbi threw my poor pillow at her. “What? It’s the truth.”

Abbi shook her head. “Y’all are crazy. I don’t think Keith is into girls darker than your lily-white asses.”

I snorted as I dropped into the desk chair. The back bumped into the edge of the desk, rattling the stack of books. “I’m pretty sure Keith is into girls of all skin tones, shapes and sizes and then some,” I said, bending over and grabbing the pens and highlighters that had fallen from the desktop.

Abbi huffed. “Whatever. We are not talking about my nonexistent attraction to Keith.”

I turned to Abbi. “You know, Skylar stopped into Joanna’s last night and asked if Sebastian knew I was in love with him.” I forced out a casual-sounding laugh. “That’s crazy, right?”

Megan’s blue eyes widened to the size of planets. Not Pluto...more like Jupiter. “What?”

Abbi was also paying attention. “Details, Lena.”

I filled them in on what Skylar had to say last night. “It was just really weird.”

“Well, obviously she wants to get back with him.” Abbi looked thoughtful. “But why would she ask you that? Even if it was true, why would you admit that to her, his ex-girlfriend?”

“Right? I was thinking about that earlier.” I toed myself around in a slow circle on the chair. “I’ve been around her a lot because of her dating Sebastian, but it’s not like we’re friends. I wouldn’t admit my deepest secrets to her.”

Abbi tilted her head to the side and looked like she wanted to say something but kept quiet.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Megan exclaimed as she dropped her feet to the floor, clearly on to the next topic. Pink flooded her heart-shaped face. “I heard that Cody and Jessica are seeing each other again.”

“Not surprised.” Cody Reece was the star quarterback. Sebastian was the star running back. Friendship made in football heaven right there. And Jessica was, well... She wasn’t particularly the nicest person I’d ever met.

“Didn’t Cody try to get with you at Keith’s party back in July?” Abbi asked, rolling onto her back.

I shot her a death glare more powerful than the Death Star’s laser. “I had forgotten all about that, so thanks for bringing that back up.”

“You’re welcome,” she quipped.

“I remember that party. Cody was super drunk.” Megan started twisting her hair in a rope, which she’d loved doing since we were kids. “He probably doesn’t even remember hitting on you, but you better hope Jessica doesn’t find out. That girl is territorial. She will make your senior year a living hell.”

I wasn’t really worried about Jessica, because, logically, how could she be that upset over Cody hitting on me at a party when they weren’t even together? That didn’t even make sense.

Megan cursed, jumping to her feet. “I was supposed to meet my mom ten minutes ago. She’s taking me back-to-school shopping, which really means she’s going to try to dress me like I’m still five.” She picked up her purse and then her gym bag. “By the way, it’s Friday, and don’t think I’ve forgotten my weekly reminder.”

I sighed heavily. Here we go...

“It’s time for you to get a boyfriend. Anyone really, at this point. And a real one, too. Not a book boyfriend.” She walked to my bedroom door.

I threw up my hands. “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me having a boyfriend?”

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” mimicked Abbi.

I ignored it. “You do remember that I had one, right?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin. “Had. As in past tense.”

“Abbi doesn’t have a boyfriend!” I pointed out.

“We’re not talking about her. But I know why you aren’t interested in anyone.” She tapped the side of her head. “I know.”

“Oh my God.” I shook my head.

“Heed my words. Live a little. If you don’t, when you’re thirty and living alone with a ton of cats and eating tuna fish for dinner, you’ll regret it. Not even the good tuna fish. The generic kind steeped in oil. All because you spend every waking minute reading books while you could be out there, meeting the future daddy to your babies.”

“That’s a little excessive,” I murmured, side-eyeing her. “And what’s wrong with generic tuna fish in oil?” I looked over at Abbi. “It tastes better than when it’s soaked in water.”

“Agreed,” she replied.

“And I’m really not interested in meeting my future baby daddy,” I added. “I don’t even think I want kids. I’m seventeen. And kids weird me out.”

“You disappoint me,” Megan stated. “But I still love you, because I’m that good of a friend.”

“What would I do without you?” I gave myself a twirl in the chair.

“You’d be a basic bitch.” Megan gave me a cheeky grin.

I pressed my hand to my heart. “Ouch.”

“I’ve got to go.” She wiggled her fingers. “Text ya later.”

Then she flounced out of the room. Literally. Head back, arms flailing and prancing like a show horse.

* * *

“Talk about basic.” Abbi shook her head as she stared at the empty doorway.

“I will never understand her fascination with my singleness.” I looked at Abbi. “Like, at all.”

“Who knows with her.” Abbi paused. “So... I think my mom is screwing around on my dad.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Abbi stood and planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah. You heard me right.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say and it took a couple of seconds to get my tongue to work. “Why do you think that?”

“Remember how I was telling you that her and Dad had been arguing more lately?” She walked over to the window that overlooked the backyard. “They try to keep it quiet so my brother and I don’t hear it, but it’s been getting pretty heated and Kobe is having nightmares now.”

Abbi’s brother was only five or six years old. Rough.

“I think they’ve been fighting over her working so late at the hospital and, you know, why she’s working so late. And I mean late, Lena. Like, how often are there call-ins that make other nurses stay? Is my dad that stupid?” She turned from the window, came back over to the bed and plopped down on the edge. “I was still up when she came home Wednesday night, four hours after her shift would’ve ended, and she looked a hot mess. Her hair was sticking up in every direction, clothes all wrinkled like she rolled out of someone’s bed and came home.”

My chest squeezed. “Maybe it was just a rough night at work for her.”

She shot me a bland look. “She smelled like cologne, and not the kind my dad wears.”

“That’s not...good.” I leaned forward in the chair. “Did she say anything to you when you saw her?”

“See, that’s the thing. She looked guilty. Wouldn’t look me in the eye. Couldn’t get out of the kitchen quick enough, and the first thing she did when she got upstairs was shower. And the whole showering thing might not be abnormal, but when you add all of that together...”

“Damn. I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, twisting my shorts in my hands. “Are you going to say anything?”

“What would I say? ‘Oh, hey, Dad, I think Mom is slutting around on you, so you might want to check on that’? I don’t see that ending well. And what if, by a snowball’s chance in hell, I’m wrong?”

I cringed. “Good point.”

She rubbed her hands over her thighs. “I don’t know what happened between them. They were happy up until about a year ago and it’s just all gone to shit.” Pushing her curls out of her face, she shook her head. “I just needed to tell someone.”

I toed my chair closer to her. “Understandable.”

A brief smile appeared. “Can we change the subject? I really don’t want to deal with this longer than five minutes at a time.”

“Sure.” I got that more than anyone else. “Whatever you want.”

She drew in a deep breath and then seemed to shake out all those thoughts. “So... Sebastian came home early.”

That wasn’t necessarily the conversation I wanted to go back to, but if Abbi wanted to use me as a distraction, I could be that for her. I shrugged and let my head fall back at the same moment my stupid heart did a giddy little flip.

“Were you happy to see him?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied, going for my usual bored tone when talking about Sebastian.

“Where’s he at now?”

“At the school. They’ve got a scrimmage game tonight. He’s not playing, but they’ve probably got him practicing.”

“You’re working this weekend?” she asked.

“Yeah, but this is my last weekend for a while, since school starts. Why? You want to do something?”

“Of course. Better than being stuck on babysitting duty at home and listening to my parents bitching at one another.” Abbi nudged my leg with her sandaled foot. “You know, I hate to even point this out, but do you think Skylar might’ve had a point asking—”

“About me and Sebastian? No. What? That’s stupid.”

A doubtful look crossed her face. “You don’t love Sebastian at all?”

My heart started pounding in my chest. “Of course I love him. I love you and Dary, too. I even love Megan.”

“But you didn’t love Andre—”

“No. I didn’t.” Closing my eyes, I thought about my ex even though I really didn’t want to. We’d dated almost all last year, and Abbi was right: Andre was awesome and nice, and I felt like a jerk for ending things with him. But I tried, really tried, even by taking it to the next level—the level—but my interest just wasn’t there. “It wasn’t working out.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You know what I think?”

I let my arms fall to my sides. “Something wise and sage?”

“Those two words mean the same thing, idiot.” She kicked my leg again. “If you’re not being entirely honest with yourself about Sebastian, then applying to UVA is a smart idea.”

“What does he have to do with UVA?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Are you saying it’s a coincidence that the one school that’s not high on his list is the one school you’re gunning for?”

Stunned into silence, I wasn’t sure what to say. Abbi had never insinuated that I was interested in Sebastian beyond being friends before. I was confident I’d kept that embarrassing yearning desire well hidden, but obviously not as well as I believed. First Skylar, who really didn’t know me, and now Abbi, who did?

“UVA is an awesome school and has an amazing anthropology department.” I opened my eyes and my gaze fixed on the cracked plaster of the ceiling.

Abbi’s voice softened. “You’re not...hiding again, are you?”

The back of my throat burned as I pressed my lips together. I knew what she was talking about, and it had nothing to do with Sebastian. It had everything to do with the missed call earlier. “No,” I told her. “I’m not.”

She was quiet for a moment and then said, “Are you really going to wear those shorts to work? You look like a low-rent Daisy Duke in them.”

* * *

At Keith’s. You coming out?

The text from Sebastian came just as I was pulling into my driveway after my Friday shift. While I normally didn’t pass up an opportunity to hang with Sebastian, I was feeling a little weird after the whole conversation with Abbi. Plus I was exhausted, so I was ready to climb under the covers and lose myself for a little while in a book.

Staying in tonight, I texted back.

He promptly replied with the smiling poop emoticon.

Grinning, I replied with Turd.

The triple dots appeared and then, You going to be up later?

Maybe. I climbed out of the car and headed toward the front door.

Then maybe I’ll swing by.

My stomach dipped as it twisted. I knew what that meant. Sometimes Sebastian snuck over really late, usually when something was going down at home he didn’t want to deal with...that something usually being his dad.

And I knew, I knew deep down, that even with all the years he’d been dating Skylar, he’d never done that with her. When something was troubling him, he sought me out, and I knew I shouldn’t have been thrilled about that, but I was. And I held that knowledge close to my heart.

I followed the low hum of the TV, passing through the small entry room that was overflowing with umbrellas and sneakers and the small table piled with unopened mail.

The glow of the TV cast soft, flickering light over the couch. Mom was curled up on her side, one hand shoved under a throw pillow. She was out cold.

Stepping around the love seat, I grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch and carefully draped it over Mom. As I straightened, I thought about what Abbi had told me earlier. I had no idea if her mom was cheating on her dad, but I thought about my mom and how she would’ve never cheated on Dad. The mere thought almost made me laugh, because she loved him like the sea loved the sand. He’d been her universe, her sun that rose in the morning and the moon that took over the night sky. She loved Lori and me, but she had loved Dad more.

But Mom’s love wasn’t enough. My and my sister’s love was never enough. In the end, Dad still left us. All of us.

And, God help me, I was a lot like my father.

I looked like him, except I was more of an...average version. Same mouth. Same strong nose that was almost too big for my face. Same hazel-colored eyes, more brown than any other interesting shade. My hair matched his, a brown that sometimes turned auburn in the sunlight, and it was on the long side, falling past my breasts. My body was neither thin nor overweight. I was somewhere stuck in the middle. I wasn’t tall or short. I was just...

Average.

Not like my mom, though. She was stunning, all blond hair and flawless skin. Even though life had gotten way harder in the last five years, she persevered and that made her all the more beautiful. Mom was strong. She never gave up, no matter what, even if there were moments where she looked like she just might want to pack it all in.

For Mom, our love was enough to keep going.

Lori got the blessed side of our genetics, taking after Mom. Blonde bombshell to the max, with all the curves and pouty lips to back it up.

But the similarities ran deeper than the physical for me.

I was a runner, too, and not the healthy kind. When things got too rough, I checked out, just like Dad had. I made an art form of looking toward tomorrow instead of focusing on today.

But I was also like my mother. She was a chaser. Always running after someone who didn’t even realize you were there. Always waiting for someone who was never going to come back.

It was like I ended up with the worst qualities of my parents.

Heaviness settled in my chest as I went upstairs and got ready for bed. This November would be four years since Dad left. I couldn’t believe it had already been that long. Still felt like yesterday in a lot of ways.

Throwing back the covers on my bed, I started to climb in but stopped when my gaze fell on the doors leading out to the balcony. I should lock the doors. Sebastian probably wouldn’t stop by, and besides, even if he did, that...that wasn’t good.

Maybe that was why no one else interested me

Why Andre hadn’t kept my interest.

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I sighed. Maybe I was just being dumb. How I felt about Sebastian couldn’t change our relationship. It shouldn’t. Putting a little distance between us, setting up some boundaries, wouldn’t be a bad idea. It was probably the smartest and healthiest thing to do, because I didn’t want to be a runner or a chaser.

I was moving off the bed before I realized what I was doing.

I walked over to the doors and unlocked them with a soft click.

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#book excerpt #ya books #bookworm #ya reads #jennifer l. armentrout

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thekuroiookami · 8 years ago

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KnB (Akashi x Reader): The Queen’s Gambit - Part 5

A month and a half after the spectacular first date, the Rakuzan basketball team was still congratulating themselves on their matchmaking ability. Hayama liked to point out vocally and often that he was the one who’d initiated the whole thing, but Mibuchi insisted it was really his influence that sealed the deal. Nebuya didn’t care much either way, and was just glad the captain was no longer irritable.

It was quite the opposite, in fact. Akashi hadn’t really softened up since you started dating – the training regime was still unforgiving, the Interhigh was coming up – but he was less inclined to crack down on perceived errors and deficiencies. He would overlook it if someone collapsed and didn’t make it to the 100th push-up, or if someone wanted to leave a couple of minutes earlier on the last day of the week. Everyone was immensely glad for your presence, the rookies most of all. It didn’t hurt that you and your mother liked to bake every once in a while, and made enough to feed conquering armies. They had seen even the normally implacable Akashi flinch at the sound of Momoi’s culinary skills, so there was much to be thankful for.

Suffice it to say, the team was more invested in your relationship than both the people involved. So when you two eventually had a falling out, they scrambled to repair the rift, because they needed you more than Akashi did.

It all started when he asked you to the party. No, it was before that, when the truth came out.

It was one of those rare afternoons when both you and Akashi were simultaneously free to have lunch together. Your schedule was usually nowhere near as busy as his, but both the kendo and basketball tournaments were soon, so you often had to spend your free time on organization. Normally, if you didn’t have club practice, you’d wander over to watch Akashi and the team train, doing your homework on the bench and chatting cheerfully to whoever was taking a break (usually Hayama, until Akashi came over, eyes glinting), but recently you hadn’t even had time to do that.

That day, however, by some twist of fate, the both of you were leaning on a banister, out on the school roof, luxuriating in a moment of peace.

“It feels like it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, Seijuro.” You tipped your head back, soaking in the sunlight.

“We saw each other this morning, ____.” He sounded vaguely amused.

You gave him a sideways look. “You know what I mean. We haven’t spent even a full ten minutes in each other’s company since our last date two weeks ago.”

You’d been on two dates since the Very Interesting Sunday (as you liked to think of it), once on a relaxed outing where the both of you wandered around a museum and watched a movie afterwards, and another where you’d spent a few hours letting Akashi teach you the basics of basketball. While there was no way you actually had a hope of beating him in a game, you still managed to confuse him by being unpredictable. He had been especially intrigued to find that ankle-breaks didn’t work on you – a side effect of not having a brain wired to basketball and of kendo training, which was designed to keep you stable on uneven terrain. That had been memorable, but also ages ago.

“I apologize, I have been busy both here and at home. It’s an especially hectic time of year…”

“I don’t blame you, I know you have a lot on your plate. I should be a bit freer now though, so I could come over to yours if you’re working at home and keep you company.”

He frowned slightly. “That wouldn’t work, I have to be at the company and tutorials on weekends…Unless you wanted to spend the night?” This last suggestion was accompanied by a suggestive smirk.

You felt yourself flush a little, not out of embarrassment, but at how quickly your mind ran with the idea.

Seijuro in a towel, caging me in on a bed, looking at me with those eyes…Stop this train of thought before you maul him on the roof.

You straightened, not looking anywhere near him. He was probably enjoying himself plenty, since he had telepathy down to an art.

“I’d love to, but I wouldn’t risk it. Your fan club is hard enough on me already. If it got out that I had agreed to a sleep-over, they’d probably lock me up somewhere for three days to teach me propriety.”

Akashi wondered if he should have been worried. Maybe he needed to interfere. He was largely confident in your ability to handle most situations, but teenage girls could be a vicious species when they put their minds to it.

“Have they been…cruel to you?”

You waved a hand in dismissal. “No, nothing like that. At first, a couple of the sillier ones tried the whole tacks-in-my-shoes thing and cornered me after school, typically dramatic. It didn’t work both times. The first time because they were watching from around the corner of the lockers when I opened mine, to see my reaction I guess. When I saw what they’d done, I just walked over and emptied all the tacks onto their feet. The second time because I was on my way to club, so even if there were three of them, they weren’t brave enough to take me on with a shinai in my hand.”

He was impressed by your nonchalance and how uninspired the bullies were. “Pins in your shoes, really?”

“I know, it came straight out of a manga, I’m sure. After that, the slightly smarter ones tried to discredit me through gossip, but that didn’t go well either.”

This was more worrying. How determined were these girls? “The females of our school can be very…persistent, I see.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t just them. There are some senior boys who don’t like you, to put it mildly. A first-year that stayed student council president and basketball captain? There’s a lot of resentment from wounded egos.”

The situation had gone into downright alarming territory. He’d known about the seniors, of course, and suspected that the other members of the team tried to keep him insulated from the effects. It hadn’t mattered till then, because there was nothing they could do to damage him. But now…

He grabbed your wrist, eyes sparking. “What. Did. They. Do?”

You raised your free to his face, and gently brushed his jaw with your thumb.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I had a feeling you’d get worked up. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even known myself, if Reina hadn’t told me.”

His eyes only narrowed further, and his grip on your arm tightened. You sighed and continued reluctantly.

“They, and some girls, made some…interesting insinuations. About our relationship.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Something to do with my abilities in bed and how I seduced you. I’m not entirely sure.”

His face had gone completely expressionless, and his voice cold. You were a bit sorry for the gossipers, but you’d tried. It was bound to get out eventually.

“And you never heard this directly from them?”

You really didn’t want to tell him, but he’d know if you lied. “Just once, when I was leaving chemistry. Some third-year blocked the way and made a comment. That’s when I realized a smear campaign was going on. Reina and Takanashi-kun had been shielding me from the worst of it.”

His hand was going to leave bruises on your skin now. You tugged a little to see if you could get free, but to no avail.

“Seijuro, please, calm down. This starting to hurt a little.”

He let go of your wrist and chose to wall you in instead, trapping you against the balcony rail, forcing you to look at his face. It looked remarkably like the grim reaper before he delivered the news of impending doom. You bit your lip.

“____,” he said in a soft voice, “I know you won’t tell me his name, but that won’t stop me. If you want to leave anytime soon, you’re going to have to at least tell me what he said.”

You gazed at his icily calm face for a few more seconds, and gave in. He meant everything he said, and you had already come this far. You were never fond of lying anyway. You took a deep breath.

“I don’t know his name, truthfully. He…he said that I should go down on him the way I did for you, since I was obviously so good at it.”

When you finished, you couldn’t look at Akashi’s face any more, the aura was positively bone-chilling. How had you even ended up here? Trust your one moment of time together to go awry. You silently cursed whatever slip of tongue had landed you in this conversational mire.

For his part, Akashi hadn’t felt this kind of rage since his match at Teiko against Murasakibara. Several conflicting emotions had hit him hard. Guilt, at not paying enough attention to you. Fury, at having not known about the bullying. And most of all fear, that it would all take its toll on you, and you’d give up on him.

I cannot have her leave me. If she does, it will be like that time all over again, and that is unthinkable. No, what I need to do is make sure this scum cannot ever lift his head again. And anyone else that so much blinks at her the wrong way.

“No one is allowed to speak to you that way. This will end now.” This was said with an air of finality. A world of regret awaited some people.

“Sei,” you said, frustrated that you couldn’t get through to him, “it doesn’t matter what they say. You know that. I don’t put stock in the opinions of people with nothing better to do, and everyone that matters knows the truth. It’s not worthwhile.”

It was what you had thought that day as well. When you heard the sleazy senior speak, you had raised an eyebrow at his complete lack of self-preservation. You had commented on how an obviously untrue statement could only come from someone who self-esteem issues arising from his own size. The senior had gritted his teeth as you walked off to meet Reina. And you had wondered if telling Akashi about this would be worse than not telling him. You had your answer now.

“Besides,” you continued in attempt to distract him from what were obviously plans that involved decapitation, “the fan club has given up on the drama and decided to mould me into the ideal girlfriend instead.”

This got his attention. “How so?”

“They’ve been giving me lectures on how to treat Akashi-sama. What I should wear. How I should conduct myself. What food I should put into bentos I make for you and – I quote the president here – ‘never wakame, because everyone knows Akashi-sama dislikes it.’ It was very illuminating sometimes, but almost worse than the tacks in my shoes.”

Akashi found this slightly frightening. There was a president for his fan club? And why were they so well informed?

“I hope you told them that it was pointless. I like you as you are. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Your heart swelled at this matter-of-fact statement.

Please, make it harder to love you. My body can’t take so much.

You gave him a bright smile. “I know, and so does everyone with a brain. That’s why the rumors didn’t fly. Because the great Akashi Seijuro would never be seduced into dating anyone.”

That last sentence was a misstep, because his face darkened again. You mentally berated yourself, but he didn’t look as angry as before. His eyes shuttered for a moment, and then he looked up again. Maybe he had decided to leave it alone after all.

“Well,” he said, stepping away from you after brushing his lips over your forehead, “we should get going. You have classes to attend, and I…have plans to make.”

You glanced warily at his face as you walked down the stairs. It was serene and his pleasant demeanour was back.

Oh boy, he’s even angrier than before. Apparently I made it worse. Can’t say I didn’t try, senpais. Nothing for it then, but to wait out the storm.

For their sakes, you hoped the seniors braced themselves.

The next day, you were searching for your favourite pencil, rummaging around in your desk, when Naota slid the classroom door open.

“____-san,” he called out, “the kaichou is looking for you. He said he’d meet you down the hallway.”

The whole class hushed in anticipation. Everyone knew Rakuzan’s student president and you were a couple, but no one had actually seen it in action. You noticed this, and gave an internal sigh.

A public declaration? Oh, Sei, what now? Please don’t scare everyone into hiding…

“Thanks, Takanashi-kun, I’m going.”

You stepped out of the classroom and walked down to class 2-3 where Akashi was supposed to be, but he hadn’t arrived yet. A crowd was milling around, partly since it was the end of class time, and partly because of speculative whispers. Footsteps from around the corner had you turning to the sound, expecting Akashi. Instead, the greasy senior from the unpleasant incident before ambled forward, followed by two equally unsavoury sidekicks.

From somewhere came a hissed exclamation: “It’s Sawamura-senpai! What’s he doing here?”

Your eyes narrowed as you took in the scene.

This looks very, very convenient. I don’t think I want to know what he’s up to. And just where is the conductor of this orchestra anyway?

Meanwhile, Sawamura stopped in front of you with a leering grin. His pals looked pleased with themselves. Obviously they had no idea of the shark-infested waters they were in.

“Hora, look, it’s the oiran girl. You still acting high-and-mighty ‘cause that Akashi bastard likes the way you look? That must be some fine ass you have then.”

The crowd stilled in shocked silence. You pursed your lips, pained by the whole thing.

Oiran girl? OIRAN GIRL? That’s what he came up with? Just how stupid is this guy?

“What, that smart-ass mouth of yours got nothing to say? Or is it too busy with other things?”

The sleaze’s cronies snickered on cue. Some of your classmates took a step forward, enraged. You shook your head at them and looked back at Sawamura. You took a step back and smiled slowly.

“Just one thing, senpai. That Akashi bastard? He’s right behind you.”

Sawamura and co whirled around to find that a dragon had descended from on high. The dragon was not pleased.

“Sawamura, was it? What business do you have with _____?”

This question was obviously for show, because (a) Akashi knew very well why he was there, having manipulated him to this point, and (b) Sawamura was gaping like a fish, caught in the hypnotic terror of Emperor Eye.

“I-err- “

Akashi, dressed in his jersey and carrying a basketball, strode forward. Behind him, Mibuchi and Hayama were similarly dressed, expressions hard. The third-year, who had lost all his bluster now, scrambled back to escape, but was cut short by the wall of muscle called Nebuya. The cronies tried to slink back into the crowd and disappear, but were also stopped by Naota and Taiyou, who looked positively gleeful. You leaned back against the wall to watch the fireworks happen.

Seijuro was speaking again, dribbling the ball slowly. “Did I hear that right? Did you just have the temerity to insult my girlfriend?”

Sawamura babbled some incoherent noises. The thump of the ball against the floor grew louder, harder.

“Because if you did, that would simply be unforgivable.”

The idiot decided to seal his fate. “I-it’s not like I really want that bitch, dammit!”

There was a blur of movement as Akashi moved up against Sawamura, executing a perfect cross-over. The ash-haired boy stumbled and fell on to the floor in a painful thud. There was a crunch and a yelp of pain as Akashi stepped on Sawamura’s hand, exerting excruciating pressure. You waited, face impassive.

A red head bent down slightly to survey the whimpering third-year. Akashi’s voice was low and weighted with contempt.

“No one who opposes me is allowed to look down on her. Know your place, insect.”

Sawamura’s breath came out in gasps. “Who do you think you are, you little- Do you know who my father-“

That quietly chilling voice cut him off. “Your father is not my concern. Though I wonder what he’ll say when he finds out his only son was the reason the Akashi corporation withdrew a merger worth millions?”

The senior’s face had gone completely pale. You winced a little, because this was Akashi, and he wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

Your terrifying, glorious, singular boyfriend pushed his foot down harder. There was a crack, followed by a howl of pain. Everyone else flinched, though they secretly thought it was well-deserved.

“Never show your face in here again. This time, you get off lightly. Next time…well, I know where you live, Reiji.”

Sawamura, whose hand had finally been released, staggered upright in fear. Just as he was about to say something, face twisted in anger, a third crony ran up.

“OYE REI! Get out of here!”

Everyone turned to look at this interruption, except Akashi. You were watching his face instead of the proceedings, so you weren’t surprised at what happened next.

Sawamura stared wide-eyed at the other third-year, who was panting.

“You better get out of here quick, Reiji. The principal just found what was in your bag, and he’s threatening to call the police!”

“W-what? There’s nothing in my bag!”

“There is now! Are you telling me you didn’t know you had the papers for the exams next month?”

“I never-“

“My, my,” drawled Mibuchi. “That would explain the broken-in safe the teachers were talking about.”

You were shaking your head now.

This might be overkill, Sei. Couldn’t you have left cigarettes in his bag instead?

Akashi smoothly inserted his own opinion. “I would take your friend’s advice if I were you. Leave before I decide that the teachers need to investigate you some more.”

The grey-haired boy staggered back, shaking. He caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and pivoted toward you in rage.

“This is all your fault, you-“

Whatever he had been about to say got cut off as Akashi pulled him back with one fist, expression now one of unbridled fury. Unfortunately, this threw off the trajectory of Sawamura’s punch, which had been intended for you. You had already started moving to avoid it, but the sudden change in course caught you by surprise and so did Sawamura’s spiky ring, which cut sharply across your cheek.

“Oh dear.” You touched your stinging cheek and it came away stained red.

Akashi took one look at your surprised face and dropped Sawamura face down on to the ground. Before he hit the floor, Akashi’s kick caught him straight in the face with a resounding crack. The third-year yelled and reeled backwards, clutching his bloody nose. Once they got over their shock, Hayama and Nebuya restrained Akashi. Mibuchi looked disdainfully at the third minion, telling him to pick up Sawamura and disappear before the principal found them, which he promptly did. You decided enough was enough and moved in front of Akashi, blocking his view.

“Sei,” you said, touching his cheek, “look at me. It’s alright now. He’s gone.”

He said nothing, jaw clenched tightly and eyes glittering. At your signal, Hayama and Nebuya reluctantly moved away. Reo just watched with a slightly mournful expression. You slid your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. The petrified audience practically applauded when Akashi finally hugged you back, arms cinching around your waist. At that point, all of Year 2 would have hugged him if it meant the tension would go away.

“Come,” he said after a while, “we need to get you to the infirmary and treat that cut.”

You nodded in agreement and picked up your bag to follow. It would probably be best to agree with everything he said for a while. Hayama gave you a toothy yet reassuring smile when you murmured your thanks to the basketball team. Akashi locked your wrist in his hand and dragged you off at a punishing pace, not slowing down until you reached the nurse’s office.

Once in the room, he gave an imperious order to sit down on a bed and deftly started cleaning the cut. You bit down on your lip at the sudden sting of the antiseptic. His eyes met yours, and he rubbed a thumb over your skin in apology. You put your hand over his, stilling his movements.

“Seijuro, I’m fine. I really am. It’s just a small cut. So let’s just take a moment, okay?”

Perhaps it was the fact that his blood was still pounding from the rage he’d felt when Sawamura had stepped closer to you, much closer than necessary. Perhaps it was the way his heart had dropped when the blood welled over your skin, and he’d realized you were fragile. Breakable. You could easily be here one day and gone the next.

I need to keep her safe. I can’t lose her. She’s mine.

Either way, he wasn’t exactly calm, which was why he did something he wouldn’t normally do.

“___.”

“Yes?”

“I need to touch you. Everywhere. Now.”

You hardly had any time to process the declaration before you were pushed back onto the bed and your arms locked above your head. In a smooth movement, Akashi pulled off your tie with one hand and looped it around your wrists, trapping you there. You blushed and your eyes widened, startled.

“Sei, this is not- Mmph!”

Your words got cut off as he brought his mouth down in a bruising kiss. You could do nothing but feel as he trailed fingers everywhere: down your neck, up the curve of your knee, across your collarbone. It burned everywhere he touched and you felt breathless, dizzy. He tugged down the collar of your shirt to kiss your shoulder, then your neck. You tipped your head back, overwhelmed.

Then his fingers came up under your shirt, tracing your side, and you came back to reality.

“Akashi Seijuro, stop! We can’t do this here!”

He froze abruptly, surprised. He blinked twice, trying to remember what he was doing. Then he looked down at you, taking in the sight of your hair in disarray, shirt unbuttoned and skin flushed. It was unreasonably tempting, and he realized what he’d almost done.

“Ah…what did I…”

You pulled yourself up to a sitting position as he sat back. He was doing the Akashi equivalent of dazed, which meant he had an unreadable expression. You huffed in laughter.

“That was certainly unexpected. I’m flattered that you think of me that way, but maybe the infirmary isn’t the best place to do this?”

Your gentle teasing seemed to bring him back to his senses. He lowered his eyes, mouth a hard line.

“I apologize. You were hurt, and I made you uncomfortable. You did not deserve that kind of treatment from me.”

How was I any better than Sawamura just now? Caging her in like that…I’ll be lucky if she ever looks at me the same way again.

You cocked your head to the side, amused. “What exactly was ‘that kind of treatment’? The kind where you defended me from a horrible person who insulted me? The kind where you care for me and patch me up? Or the kind where you kiss me senseless and make me feel like the luckiest girl alive?”

He looked at you, surprised again. You sighed in exasperation at his denseness and continued.

“Besides, if I have any complaints, it’s that I couldn’t touch you in return. That was extremely frustrating. Some day you can tie me up again, but not now. So could you undo this knot, please?”

There was a rush of heat at your words. You held your hands out to him. He gave a reluctant smile at your general audacity and pulled the tie loose.

“You shouldn’t make statements like that, you know,” he murmured. “I might take it seriously.”

You turned slightly pink, but stayed firm. “I hope you do.”

He gave your hair warning tug as he re-braided it, but smiled nonetheless. You pulled your clothes back into place and quickly knotted the tie. Akashi pulled something out of his bag as you finished.

“I meant to give this to you earlier, but the commotion distracted me. Here.”

You took the wooden box from him, glancing at his face curiously. He merely gave an inscrutable smile. You clicked the latch open.

Your breath caught in your chest. “It’s beautiful.”

The hair ornament was intricate, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. The long silver pins were topped by a delicate dragonfly in flight, surrounded by lustrous enamelled flowers. It looked like something a princess would own.

You looked up in wonder. “Are you really giving this to me?”

“I had it made for you, so yes. It’s yours. It was high time I gave you a present, and I’m quite fond of your hair, so a kanzashi seemed appropriate.”

No one had ever given you something this beautiful, and definitely not especially made for you. Your chest tightened with emotion.

“Then thank you very much, Sei. I’ll cherish it. I feel bad though, I don’t have anything to give you. Not something this wonderful, anyway.”

When you looked genuinely distraught, Akashi had to stifle a laugh.

Silly girl. You’ve already given me the most important thing. And I’ll cherish it too.

“Well, there is one way you could repay me for it. You made a promise, remember?”

“Of course. If it’s within my ability, I’ll do it. What can I do?”

“The Akashi manor will be hosting its annual summer party in a week. It’s a large event, with dignitaries and business magnates attending. In summary, it’s a venue for people in similar circles to meet, negotiate and build lasting partnerships. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so busy recently.”

You were thoughtful. This seemed to be heading down a dangerous direction. “I see.”

“This time, some corporations have taken an interest in sponsoring high school basketball tournaments, given the popularity of the Winter Cup. Rakuzan’s basketball team has been invited. That being the case, I’d like you to attend as well.”

I knew it. He wants to me to attend a party with high-profile guests and meet his family. There is no way this would go down well.

“I’m honoured, but is this a good idea? I have no practice dealing with such important people, and I don’t want to risk making a mistake that makes you look bad. And most importantly, from what little I know of him, I don’t know if your father will be pleased with this idea. With me.”

That was the spanner in the works. Akashi Masaomi, from what you’d deduced using snippets of information, was a traditional, high-expectation patriarch who most likely wouldn’t take kindly to a random teenage girl fumbling her way through important business deals. You weren’t going to blame him if Seijuro never wanted you and his father to meet.

Akashi Junior seemed to have none of your doubts. “I doubt it, you conduct yourself well already. And we’d be more at risk of Hayama or Nebuya causing a feud than you. I won’t force you, but I’d much prefer having your company for the duration of the party.”

When he put it like that…”You know I could never refuse you, Seijuro. I’ll join you. Thank you for inviting me.”

You were rewarded with one those rare, genuinely happy smiles that reminded you of the sun coming out from behind clouds. “I shall look forward to it then.”

“Is there a dress code I should know about?”

“It is a formal black-tie event. The ladies can get quite creative with their dresses, but I’d like it if you didn’t wear anything too revealing. We wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas.”

You rolled your eyes. “In a room full of rich, beautiful, older women, I doubt there’s anything I could wear that would make anyone even care I existed.”

“You underestimate your own appeal. That’s probably for the best though. You should wear the kanzashi.”

“I will. Though the idea of figuring out what to wear is already giving me a headache. Shouldn’t you be getting to practice around now? I’ve held you up long enough.”

“The same goes for you. Be careful not to over-exert yourself. Wait for me after you’re done. I will walk you home.”

He’s in overprotective mode. I should probably resign myself to this for a while.

“I’ll see you later, Sei.”

One week later, at the much-dreaded party, you stepped into the foyer of the Akashi manor. A stern looking woman in her late forties glided forward, wearing a dark kimono.

“____-san. Greetings, and welcome to the Akashi family home. Let me take your umbrella and shawl.”

“Thank you, Mitsue-san. It’s nice to see you again. I apologise for getting water all over your clean floor.” You exchanged conspiratorial smiles with the housekeeper. Though she projected an aura of strictness to keep the staff in line, she had a soft spot for Akashi. The first time you’d met her, you’d liked her instantly. And she seemed to like you as well.

“It is no trouble at all. Though I must say, this downpour is a bit unsettling. If you’ll follow me, the young master is in the ballroom.”

You took a moment to steel your nerves and followed Junko-san to where the party was underway. A peek through door revealed a truly intimidating sight: a gathering of Kyoto’s socialites, sipping champagne and chatting. Jewels sparkled under the lamplight, and light glanced off expensive watches as conversation became animated. There was an air of camaraderie, but also the tension of friendly competition. You hesitated, not really wanting to enter this arena. Mitsue gave you a reassuring nod and left. With one last deep breath, you entered.

Meanwhile, Akashi was trying to handle the boisterous personalities that were Hayama and Nebuya. Mibuchi’s gleeful enjoyment of his predicament was not helping. It had been a long day, and he didn’t need the added stress of wondering what his team would do next.

“OOOH, AKASHI, THERE’S SO MUCH FOOD.” The Thunder Beast was hopping from foot to foot in excitement.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Kotarou.” His reply was dry.

“Say, Akashi, how long do we have to wait to meet these old guys? I’d rather be catching up on Slam Dunk right now.” Nebuya’s voice was a low rumble over the hum of conversation.

“Not much longer. My father is making the rounds and will be over with them shortly. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t call them old men, at least to their faces.”

Mibuchi took a moment to stop admiring his reflection in his phone and ask a question. “Sei-chan, did you say ____-chan was coming to the party? I admit, it would be a dull party with just these thick-headed fools. A young lady would add some much needed beauty to the atmosphere.”

Before Akashi could answer and Hayama could get offended, a happy shriek split the air. Some people almost dropped their glasses in surprise.

“AKASHICCHIIIIIIIII!” Kise bounced over, looking dapper in a black suit, hair half slicked back.

“Kise. I was wonder when I’d run into you.” Akashi’s greeting was fondly exasperated.

“Were we talking about Yuricchi? Is she here?” Kise was visibly excited at the prospect.

Hayama was confused. “Who’s Yuri? And why are you even here, Kaijo’s ace?”

Kise gave everyone a blinding grin. “It’s a long story, but Yuricchi is what everyone in Tokyo calls Akashicchi’s girlfriend! As for me- Oh, there she is! Yuricchi, over here!”

Everyone turned to look in the direction Kise was flapping his hand at. You stepped around a waiter and everyone except Kise sucked in a breath at the sight. Akashi stopped breathing entirely for a few seconds.

I should have been more specific when I said no revealing clothes. Trust ___ to follow the letter of the law rather than the spirit of it.

You were dressed in a red qipao, the silk a dark ruby that revealed subtle floral patterns under the light. The dress fell to your ankles, hugging your figure till your hips. From there, the skirt was straight with thigh-high splits, showing a flash of leg when you moved. Dangerously thin heels complemented the feminine allure of the outfit. Your hair was done half up half down in a complex interplay of waves, the pin from Akashi glinting against the dark hue. Finishing it all off was your make-up, which was very light except for the smoky cat’s eye effect around your eyes. Several people were blushing by the time you reached them.

You stopped just short of the group. “Seijuro, sorry I kept you waiting, the rain made it a little difficult to get here. Mibuchi-senpai, Hayama-senpai, Nebuya-senpai, it’s nice to see you again. Kise-san, what a wonderful surprise, I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you visiting Kyoto for a match?”

Hayama and Nebuya were staring at you wide-eyed. Mibuchi was smiling slyly, cheered by the aesthetic improvement. Kise just seemed as happy as ever. And Akashi, well, he was calculating the fastest way to get rid of this lot before things got out of hand.

Kise piped up again and made things worse. “I was just saying to Mibuchi-san that Akashicchi’s dad owns the company I sometimes model for. And those sponsor people wanted to meet me too, so here I am. But enough about me, you look so nice, Yuricchi! Do a twirl!”

“A twirl? Like this?” You hesitantly turned around, unsure of Kise’s intentions. When you did, Akashi’s face hardened and Hayama went completely red.

Forget letter of the law, she had no intention of listening to me at all. How difficult does she want to make this evening? Just look at that dress…

The dress was backless, cutting off near your shoulder blades and picking up again at the middle of your back. While nowhere near as daring as some other gowns on display, the contrast of blood-red silk and smooth skin was enough to wreak havoc. Akashi was almost of a mind to lock you in a room till the party ended, for public safety. He came back to the present just in time to hear you speaking to that infernal Kise again.

“Everyone looks really dashing in their suits. Hayama-senpai and Nebuya-senpai, those colours suit you well. And Mibuchi-senpai, stylish as always. I’m sure many girls at school would dearly love to see you dressed up.”

Mibuchi tossed his head proudly. “If it weren’t for me, these idiots would have turned up in their uniforms. Imagine, Eikichi didn’t even own a suit until I forced him to get one! The horror, I tell you.”

Kise had the face of a kicked puppy. “Yuricchi, how mean! I’m standing right here!”

“Ah, sorry Kise-san. Of course you look handsome. As expected from a popular model.”

Every word was sending Akashi further into a well of darkness. He hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Hmm, darling, aren’t you neglecting someone? Or have you forgotten who you’re dating?”

You surveyed Akashi through your lashes. In his three-piece suit, he looked every inch the corporate heir, radiating power and confidence. The cut did wonderful things for the breadth of his shoulders, and the grey waistcoat hugging his chest was begging for you to unbutton it. It was a crime against womankind, the way he looked.

You tilted your head to whisper in his ear. “Let’s just say if you wanted to use your tie for creative purposes, I wouldn’t object. At all.”

His eyes darkened and his grip on your waist tightened. You touched your head to his shoulder and smiled, much to the envy of spectators. Since it was a happy moment all around, it was inevitably ruined in spectacular fashion.

“Seijuro.” A coldly imperious voice came from behind you. “I assume this is the basketball team?”

You turned to find the imposing figure of Akashi Masaomi looming over you, flanked by several equally important looking men. Unlike his son, Akashi Senior had dark hair, and his face was etched with the lines of his years. When he stiffened ever so slightly, you slid Seijuro a sideways glance.

There is so much palpable tension in the air. I’d love to be like Kuroko-san and disappear right now, but Sei’s grip is too strong.

“Father,” he said in a formal, correct voice, “allow me to introduce you to my basketball team.”

You missed the warmth of his hand as he moved away, making introductions, but settled for waiting in dread for the inevitable moment. Finally, Akashi Senior turned the weight of his gaze on you.

“And who is this young lady?”

“This is ___-san, Father. She’s the kendo captain in Rakuzan. ____ and I are…together now.”

You bowed deeply, moving gracefully. “Thank you for having me here today, Akashi-san. It is an honour to meet you.”

Masaomi’s eyes were narrowed when he looked at you. The younger Akashi slid a comforting hand over your back and you shifted into his touch. Behind you, the other adults were interacting with the team, though Kise and Mibuchi were monitoring the interaction out of the corner of their eyes.

Masaomi spoke again. “You must be a very different kind of girl then. So far all the other daughters of clients he’s had marriage meetings with have failed to keep my son’s interest.”

Akashi went rigid by your side, but you just inclined your head.

“That is a high compliment indeed, Akashi-san,” you said demurely, “since all these people you mentioned must surely have been very fine and accomplished young women. I am overwhelmed by Seijuro-kun’s regard.”

From somewhere behind you came a choked laugh, but everyone studiously ignored it.

“Hmm. We shall see how you fare. Seijuro, remember that who you fraternize with reflects on us. It’s one thing to carry on with the basketball team, but another to have a girl of questionable background around you. Do not disappoint me again.”

Looking at this confrontation brewing, you decided to interrupt. “I am sure you can trust Seijuro-kun’s judgement, Akashi-san. He is your son and the Akashi heir after all. One would expect nothing less than complete decisiveness.”

“At least you are not completely without sense. Seijuro, I will see you later.” With one last warning look at you, the Akashi head strode away. You let out a sigh of relief and turned to the son.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I endeared myself to your father. I was less polite than I would have liked.”

Akashi gave a slight shake of his head and interlaced his fingers with yours. “You did remarkably well, given the circumstances. My father is not an easy man to please.”

“I can imagine. Are you sure it’s alright to be standing here like this? I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

When he replied, it sounded world weary. “I will have to shortly, but first there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Intrigued, you took his proffered arm and let him guide to a table. A striking older woman stood in front of it, laughing at something her companion said.

“Sayaka obaa-san, good evening. I hope you are well. Are you enjoying the party?”

This is Sei’s aunt? She looks nothing like his father though.

“Ah, it’s my favourite and only nephew! You should know better than to spout platitudes by now, as if I care for those stuffy rules.”

Oh wow, I think we’ve found the Akashi equivalent of a unicorn.

“And you should know old habits die hard, obaa-san. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

She turned fully, taking you in. Her eyes widened speculatively when she saw your hair-pin.

“Sayaka obaa-san, this ___-san, my girlfriend. ____, this is Akashi Sayaka-san, my father’s sister.”

“Pleased to meet you, Akashi-san.” You bowed again and smiled at her.

“Why, Sei-kun, you never told me you had such a cute girlfriend! Good for you, you finally loosened up. And dear, call me Sayaka, please.”

I definitely like her.

“Then please call me ____, Sayaka-san. Do you work in the Akashi corporation as well?”

“Good lord no, imagine sitting in those stuffy board meetings, listening to someone drone on for hours about numbers. Positively dreadful. No dear, I work with figures of a different kind – I’m a fashion designer. But tell me first, are you a cat or a dog person?”

Unable to keep up with the abrupt change in topic, you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“Both? I like most fluffy animals.”

“Splendid! Never choose one when you can have the best of both worlds. Sei, I like this one. You should keep her.”

“I intend to, if we don’t scare her off first,” he replied dryly. You blushed a little at this.

“Sadly, I concur. Masa-kun can be overbearing. He gets it from our father, I think. Speaking of which, you should at least pretend to talk to some of those people. I’ll keep your young lady company.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me. Give my regards to uncle.” With a last brush of his thumb over your cheek, he disappeared into the crowd. You watched him go, heart twisting a little.

When you turned back, his aunt was considering you thoughtfully. She smiled suddenly and spoke again.

“My dear, I’ve been dying to ask. Wherever did you get that dress? My professional curiosity is killing me.”

“Ah, one my juniors, Shinohara-san, has an older brother who’s a stylist. He fitted the dress for me.”

Like that, you chatted easily with the older woman until it was time for dinner. She had a long and colourful history which included an elopement and several other activities which were all designed to induce a cardiac arrest in the Akashi family. It was a fascinating, if surreal, experience. At dinner, you were seated between Kise and Hayama, who collectively had enough sunshine in them to power a city, so that went peacefully as well. It was after dinner that things went awry.

You were preparing to leave after dinner, secretly relieved at the thought of being free of your shoes. Your ankles were already protesting when you spotted a low sofa next to a door and sank down on to it gratefully. Just when you were thinking to yourself that you should find Akashi and bid him good night, you heard his voice carry through the door.

“Father, I am not going through this again. I won’t leave ___, no matter what you say. It shouldn’t matter to you so long as it doesn’t affect my performance in any way.”

“But it already has, Seijuro.” The anger in Masaomi’s words made you flinch. “I just heard about your little stunt at school with Sawamura’s son. If anyone had found out, you would have jeopardised a lifelong partnership, and for what? Some girl? This one is already skewing your judgment.”

“__ had nothing to do with it. If anything, she tried to stop me. You know as well as I do that the Sawamura shares have been declining steadily for the past few years. There’s nothing to be gained by letting him defy me. And if his character is anything to go by, the son will not improve the situation. Also, in my place, would you have stood for Mother being insulted in public?”

Seijuro’s tone was biting. Akashi Senior didn’t let up on his rage, however.

“Do not bring your mother into this. Don’t think I didn’t notice that kanzashi she was wearing. Dragonflies and peonies, the Akashi family’s crest. Similar to the one Shiori had. You were all but announcing your betrothal to that girl.”

Your hands flew up to your mouth in shock. What was all this?

“And what if I did? We would be lucky to have her marry into the family. None of the girls I met before had half as much sense.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this statement.

Oh, Seijuro. I never meant to come between you and your father.

“I didn’t bring you up for these past 16 years so that you could throw away the Akashi lineage when you felt like it. I’m issuing a final warning: stop your association with that girl or I cut off your club activities for good.”

Your heart plummeted.

No. NO. You can’t make him pick, that’s too cruel. Basketball is the only thing he wants for himself. The only link to his mother. Please. Don’t do this. Don’t make me pick.

From the other side of the door, silence reigned. “Now, Seijuro. I don’t have time.”

You didn’t stay to hear his reply. Either one would be unbearable. You fled out the front door, brushing past a concerned Kise and Reo, wanting to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

Hayama stretched his arms above his head, working out the stiffness in his neck. Beside him, Nebuya had pulled off his bow-tie and jacket, similarly rolling out a shoulder.

“Man, it feels so good to be out of there. I couldn’t breathe with these people asking questions. No offense to him, but I wouldn’t want to be Akashi.” The blond stifled a yawn.

Nebuya made an indiscernible noise in agreement. The party was slowly winding down, guests collecting their belongings to leave.

Mibuchi and Kise walked over, faces looking strained. “Have you seen Sei-chan anywhere?” asked Reo in a clipped tone.

“Haven’t seen him since dinner. Why?”

Kise sounded subdued when he spoke. “We just saw Yuricchi leave, looking really upset. She didn’t even notice us there. Maybe she and Akashicchi had a fight?”

Hayama and Nebuya looked alarmed. If this spiralled out of control, everyone would feel the ripple effects, especially them. One look at Mibuchi’s grim face confirmed he was thinking the same thing.

Nebuya’s deep voice broke into the oppressive atmosphere. “We should find the captain and tell him what happened. He might not know about it. Anyone at the party could have upset ___-san.”

“We were going to, but Sei-chan is nowhere to be seen. I’m a little worried because it’s still raining heavily and ___-chan might not be careful.”

Just then, the subject of conversation came into view, speaking to his aunt. His face was as composed as ever, but subtle strain showed in the set of his shoulders and jaw. The group drew a breath of relief.

“Akashi! Do you have a second? It’s important.” Hayama’s voice carried clearly across the hall.

He glanced their way, taking in their worried faces, and excused himself. Sayaka waved him away, looking amused. Akashi approached them, senses on alert.

“Is something wrong?”

Everyone glanced at each other. “It’s about Yuricchi.” Kise started hesitantly.

“Have you seen her around? I’ve been looking for her. There’s something I needed to say.”

“Well, whatever it is, you better say it quick. ___-chan just ran out the front door a few minutes ago, looking very upset.” Reo’s eyes were narrowed.

“Akashicchi, I think…she was in tears. She looked very sad. Did you guys fight?” Kise looked as upset as the person he was talking about.

“No…I didn’t…where did she go?” Akashi was starting to feel the dread build in his chest as he catalogued all the possibilities. What could have happened?

“Probably to the gardens? She didn’t seem to be paying attention to where she was.”

“Then we need to spread out and find ___ before something happens. Kise, Nebuya, search the east side. Reo and Kotarou can look for her in the opposite direction. I’ll take the back gardens. Mitsue-san, get everyone some umbrellas please.”

The housekeeper materialized as per Akashi’s orders and soon everyone was searching the grounds. In the end, it was Akashi himself who found you, barefoot with eyes gazing blankly into the distance. The rain, which was now torrential, had plastered your hair and dress to your skin. Your eyes flickered to him when he approached, but you didn’t move.

“Sei.”

His voice was gentle when he spoke. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, ___. Let’s get you out of the rain before you get sick.”

You offered no resistance as he wrapped his jacket around you and lifted you off the ground in his arms. That lifeless demeanour scared him more than anything.

Please, say something. Yell at me, curse me. Anything but this interminable silence. I won’t know what’s wrong until you tell me.

When he got back to the house, Kise and the rest were pacing anxiously in the living room.

“Yuricchi, are you alright? We were worried sick!”

Your eyes turned down in guilt. “I apologise, Kise-san. You went to so much trouble because of me.”

“As long as you’re fine, it’s alright.” Hayama smiled kindly.

Mitsue-san floated in with towels, her normally steely expression tinged with worry. Akashi took one and started drying your hair with careful strokes. The gentleness of the action finally broke your control and you curled up with a broken sob. Everyone in the room froze, unsure.

“Could we have a moment alone?” The boys were glad to obey the thinly-veiled order and leave Akashi to deal with the terror of a crying girl. They didn’t go too far, however, opting to huddle outside the door in case he messed things up.

Oblivious to their concerns, Akashi kneeled in front of you, pushing a lock of wet hair out of your face.

“What’s wrong, love? Tell me so I can fix it.”

Your heart twisted painfully at the endearment. Deciding that you’d have to face it sooner or later, you spoke tiredly.

“Sei, I don’t think I can do this. Loving you…loving you is too hard.”

Akashi lurched back like he’d been struck. Outside the door, Nebuya muffled Kise’s screech of horror and Mibuchi had to restrain Hayama from jumping into the room.

You continued, your heart breaking little by little. “I’ve never hated myself so much before. I thought if it was for you, I could do anything. But there are some things I can’t do, no matter how much I want to.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to give up so easily, ____. I’m disappointed.”

It’s happening, the inevitable. No one can bear the pressure of the Akashi family. I will be alone again. She will leave. Though I’ll put up a good fight before she does.

The secret audience nearly groaned at Akashi’s words. Kise and Reo facepalmed.

“Geez, Akashi, even I know better than to say that to a crying girl.” Hayama shook his head.

“Ssh.” Nebuya’s expression was grim.

You cast your eyes down, feeling hollow. “I know, you have every right. A better person than me would have tried harder. Perhaps…someone else may be more suited to you after all.”

“If you think you can escape me that easily, you are mistaken. I told you, didn’t I? That once you said yes, there was no going back.”

I don’t care what the cost is. You are not leaving me. There is no alternative to this. If I have to lock you up, I will.

You curled in on yourself a little further. “That’s just it. A less selfish person would have been able to let you go, but I can’t. Even when it means you have to choose between me and the thing you love most.”

“What…did you say?”

The eavesdroppers were as taken aback as Akashi was. They exchanged confused looks.

You sighed. “I overheard what your father said. About the problems the Sawamura incident created. And about him issuing the ultimatum. Me or basketball.”

Kise was scandalized. “That’s horrible, making Akashicchi choose. How could he?”

Mibuchi was more concerned with other things. “Sei-chan, hurry up and reassure her. An upset lady is simply not beautiful.”

Meanwhile, Akashi was processing this abrupt turn in the conversation. The painful constriction in his chest had eased at your words.

So it’s not what I feared, then. She doesn’t want to leave. And she still loves me.

You spoke again, unaware of his thoughts. “I can’t live with myself at thought of being the cause of a rift between you and your father. And it hurts even more when I think I could have walked in and said that I’d leave, so you could continue playing. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t.”

He tipped your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Answer one question. It’s not my family or the pressure that’s making you say this, is it?”

“What? No! Your father doesn’t like me, but that is only to be expected. I can handle that. As for everything else, if you’re with me, I can manage. But I never thought I’d get in the way of your passion. That’s…I don’t know what to do about that.”

Akashi’s eyes glinted. A victorious smile curled his lips. “Then I’ll tell you what I said to my father.”

Kise speculated on the answer. “Probably something like, ‘I show no mercy to those who oppose me, not even my own parents’.” Hayama snickered at the thought. Mibuchi hissed at them both and strained to hear the rest.

“…that I am an Akashi, and we achieve success in everything we do. That I have been working for this family’s assets longer than some adults, and I am almost an adult myself. That he need not be apprehensive, because by the Interhigh, I would make victory a reality.”

What he didn’t mention was that he had also pointed out that Shiori would not have wanted this, and Masaomi had drawn back, shocked.

Your eyes were wide and hopeful in your face. “So you can still play? Because I love watching you play.”

“Yes. And you’re not going anywhere soon. I hope you’re prepared.” With that he leaned in and kissed you, taking away your breath for the hundredth time that day.

When he drew back, you rubbed your face, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should have had more faith in you. I worried you for nothing.”

“You should have. I can’t complain though; I’ve never had anyone get so upset on my behalf. Kise and the rest, you can stop hovering behind the door now.”

The people in question waltzed in without a shred of remorse.

“Yuricchi, I’m so glad you’re smiling again. It’s great that you guys made up. I have good news for you!”

“What is it, Kise-san?” You wondered how there could be anything left to say at this time of day.

Nebuya decided to speak, for unknown reasons. “The rains haven’t stopped. At all. There’s a flood warning issued, so we’re all stuck here for tonight.”

Mitsue-san suddenly appeared. “Young master, I’m afraid Nebuya-san is right. The roads are impassable, and it seems like no one will be able to leave till morning.”

Akashi briefly shut his eyes in frustration. Then: “Everyone, you might want to call home and tell them about the situation. Have you prepared rooms for everyone, Mitsue-san?”

“Indeed, young master. If you would all follow me.”

The housekeeper led them all to the second floor, stopping in front of a row of lavishly appointed rooms. “Unfortunately the current number of guests is too much for the household to accommodate without some adjustments. So I will have to trouble you all to share rooms in pairs. My apologies for the inconvenience.”

“That’s alright, Mitsue-san,” said Reo cheerfully. “Kise-kun, you’re with me.”

Hayama had an expression of betrayed horror. “BUT WHY?”

“We all know Eikichi is like a bear in his sleep. Actually, he’s like a bear awake as well. Either way, he’s your problem. Come, Kise-kun.” The bear growled a little.

Kise looked vaguely uncomfortable with this, but said nothing. Hayama sighed.

Akashi gave them a marginally suspicious look and turned to the housekeeper. “And what about ___?”

“Ah. That. I’m afraid young master, that ___-san is going to have to share with you.”

One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. You looked down at your toes, wondering how you got yourself into these things.

Kise was biting his cheek hard to keep from laughing, and the others were slowly backing away.

Akashi finally spoke, the words heavy. “I see.”

“My apologies again. The alternative was to put ___-san in with“ -there was a meaningful glance here at the other boys – “someone else.”

He gave them all a suspicious look. “That certainly would not do. Hayama, was that disappointment on your face?”

“Only in the sense that I have to share with this guy and you get ___-san for a roommate.”

“Anyway, I need a shower after all that. My clothes are drenched. Yuricchi, Akashicchi, good night!”

As Kise turned to leave, you caught his sleeve, stopping him. He looked at you in question.

“Thank you,” you said softly,” for going through so much trouble for me. All of you.”

All the boys smiled, features softening. “You can pay us back with cookies, ___-san.” Hayama’s grin was infectious in its brightness.

“I will.”

They trooped off, bickering amongst themselves and leaving you alone with Akashi. He held his arm out, ever the gentleman.

“Shall we?”

As you walked away, smiling a little to yourself, someone approached the housekeeper.

“So,” said Sayaka-san, “I can think we can congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Did you make the preparations I requested?”

Mitsue-san bowed slightly. “It has been done as you asked, Sayaka-sama.”

“Then we can just kick back and watch the fireworks. Those boys did a good job of keeping their poker faces. Now the rest is up to Sei-kun.”

You looked around Akashi’s room in interest. It had the expensive décor you would associate with a mansion, but not many personal belongings. There were a couple of framed photos over the mantelpiece, and some books on the bedside table. One particular photo caught your eye.

“Is that everyone from the Teiko basketball club? It looks recent.”

Akashi walked over to inspect it. “Ah yes, we took that on Kuroko’s birthday in January. Momoi arranged a friendly game as a birthday gift.”

You smiled, tilting your head at the photo. “She looks happy. You all do.”

He smiled slightly as well. “You should take a bath first, you were in the rain for a while. The bath is through that way. You should find towels and something to wear on the dresser.”

“Thank you, I’ll try to be quick.” You shrugged off his jacket and returned it to him. “I’m sorry I got your clothes wet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now go, unless you want to watch me change? I wouldn’t mind.”

You had to hide a smile behind your hand. “Don’t tempt me, Seijuro. Here, would you keep this safe for me?” You pulled the kanzashi out of your hair and held it out to him.

Both of you stared at it for a moment, recalling the evening’s events. You looked back at Akashi, who had a closed expression, and sighed.

“I do wish you had told me about the significance of this, but I’m not dwelling on it. So neither should you.”

His voice was soft. “I did not wish to burden you with expectations. At the same time, I couldn’t let you go without it either, because it is a symbol of our protection.”

“I understand. This is the reason I wasn’t bothered today, wasn’t it? I’m not blaming you…it’s just that if I’d known your mother had one like it, I would have treasured it more.”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw and moved towards the bath. Then, abruptly, you returned. He raised an eyebrow at you. You turned your back to him.

“Could you unhook the neck of my dress for me? It’s difficult for me to do myself.”

His eyes turned predatory, but he did as you asked. Fingers deftly undid the clasp, sliding the dress partway down your shoulders. His touch moved lower down your back in a feather-light caress. You shivered at the sensation.

“Now, temptress,” he whispered in your ear, “hurry to your bath before you get more than you bargained for.”

Sensing the danger, you left as fast as you could. Akashi sighed and loosened his tie. Making his way to the wardrobe, he tried not to imagine peeling that dress off your body or joining you in the bath. This was going to be a long night.

Twenty minutes later, you were drying your hair in front of the mirror and trying not think about what would happen next. Like everything else in the bathroom, the mirror was huge, reflecting your towel clad body about halfway down. If it weren’t for the fact that Akashi was waiting, you could have soaked in the gigantic tub forever. You sighed.

This is not going to be awkward at all. Nope. Just sleeping really close to the guy I’m insanely attracted to. That will be completely fine.

It got worse when you shook out the clothes that had been set out for you. You eyed the fabric sceptically.

What on earth on was Mitsue-san thinking, giving me this to wear? If my other dress wasn’t soaked through, I’d have worn that instead. This seems like a prank someone would play…Ohhh.

There was no choice but to wear it. You poked your head around the bathroom door, reluctant to step out.

“Seijuro, I should…” You trailed off, stunned into silence.

Akashi’s shirtless back was turned to you, muscles flexing as he towelled his hair. His pine and citrus scent hit you and your mouth suddenly went dry.

Have I died and gone to heaven? That must be it. I probably caught pneumonia and I’m hallucinating now.

You were startled by his voice. “Is something wrong, ___?”

Dazed, you blinked at him. “Err, no? That is- you know what, this is too distracting. Just put a shirt on.”

“Pfft. Alright.” When you looked back again, he was in a t-shirt, smirking. “So why are you hiding behind the door?”

“Because – and I say this respectfully – I think Sayaka-san decided to make our lives more interesting by swapping out my clothes.”

“It can’t be that bad. There’s limits to what even obaa-san can do on short notice.”

“Suit yourself.” You stepped out from behind the door, sweeping your hair over one shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Akashi’s eyes widened. “How did she…”

“I don’t even want to know. I’m just glad Mitsue-san washed your jersey before she gave it to me.”

Without the breadth of his shoulders, Akashi’s jersey came to mid-thigh on you. He swallowed hard as one sleeve threatened to slip down your arm. He didn’t dare look down to see how your legs looked.

I swear there is some deity out to get me. My aunt is a danger to humanity. No wonder Father nearly disowned her. Now think of shogi openings. Violin scores. The Winter Cup. Anything but how that jersey will look on the floor.

He let out a long exhale. “Some people are determined to test the limits of my patience.”

“It’s a good thing you’re absolute, then. Should we hunt for something less…sportsy?”

Though if you were being honest, you liked the way he was looking at you. You almost wanted to thank Sayaka-san for her thoughtfulness.

“That’s probably for the best. There should be-“

“Akashicchi! Is this your room? Yuricchi, you- Whoa.” The explosion that was Kise stopped short, causing Mibuchi, Hayama and Nebuya to barrel into him. Your face heated up as they took in your appearance.

Akashi swiftly moved in front of you, blocking their view. “If you don’t want to be buried where you stand,” came the voice of hell, “you will shut that door behind you now.”

Kise emitted a squeak and slammed the door shut. You buried your face in Akashi’s shoulder, caught between laughter and tears.

“I am never going to live that down.”

“You won’t have to.” His words were a silken promise. “They’ll all join obaa-san in the afterlife shortly.”

“Shall I go get something else to wear while you ask them why they burst in? I can still hear them outside the door.”

“Check the third drawer from the top. And I’m only going to talk to them because there will be no peace otherwise.”

While you searched for something suitably loose and comfortable, Akashi subjected the others to his flat stare.

“Mind explaining your lack of manners, Kise?”

“It’s too early to go to bed, and we’re all here, so I thought we should spend some time together. Let’s play a board-game!”

Akashi glanced back as you returned, dressed less provocatively. You shrugged at the unsaid question. “I don’t really mind.”

And that’s how it turned into a strange slumber party, with Kise regretting his choice of board-game very shortly.

“How unfair! Is there a single game you haven’t won, Akashicchi?”

A slight smile was his only reponse. You on the other hand, were incredulous.

“It’s Monopoly, Kise-san. You can hardly expect to beat Sei at something he’s had lifelong experience in. I doubt there’s a single strategic game we could play and win. Unless we all ganged up on him or something.”

Everyone looked at Akashi, considering the idea. He narrowed his eyes back. Mibuchi shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be worth the consequences.”

There was a collective nod in agreement. Your eyes lit up with mischief.

“That said, I do have one idea…” You leaned over to whisper into Kise’s ear. He brightened and nodded in excitement. Akashi had to restrain himself from pulling you into his lap and throwing Kise across the room. His eyes narrowed some more when the whole group put on an expression of angelic innocence.

“Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work.”

“Who said we were planning anything?” No one was looking directly at Akashi any more.

Hayama cleared his throat. “So, does anyone know any spooky stories?”

Half an hour later, the boys had run the gamut from downright silly to nightmare inducing tales of horror. Nebuya in particular had a gift for turning mundane incidents into psychotic episodes. Akashi noticed you stifling a yawn and decided to put an end to the festivities. He was still suspicious of you and Kise, which is why he didn’t notice when Hayama and Mibuchi slid behind him.

Your sleepy expression was suddenly replaced by an intent look. “Now, senpai.”

Crimson eyes widened as Akashi’s arms were grabbed and pulled back, pinning him. Kise approached, golden eyes gleaming.

“Ne, Akashicchi, I bet you’ve never been tickled before, have you?”

“Ryouta, don’t you dare-“

“Too late.” You trailed your fingers up his sides, finding the spots that made him flinch. Kise was equally wicked, and possibly more brutal than you.

Akashi’s shoulders shook with the effort of restraint, but eventually he caved into helpless laughter. Hayama and Mibuchi sat back in amazement at the sound, and Kise had an expression of wonder. You just grinned.

“Sei-chan, you really should do that more often.” Mibuchi tutted.

“So he can have more fans than he already does? I don’t think so.” Kise pouted a little at the idea.

Akashi flushed a little and straightened. He turned to look at you. “You will regret your actions very soon.” The words were a vow.

“Hmm, I’d like to see you try. Besides, they were in on it as well.”

The others cringed as you threw them under the bus. Suddenly, there were comments on late it was, and the need to catch up on sleep, it had been a long day. The room was suddenly quiet as everyone left.

Akashi shut the door and turned around with a hunting aura. You backed up as he prowled forward, eerily reminded of a lion waiting to pounce.

“Now, Seijuro, it’s been a long day…”

“I did warn you, ___, that you would you repent shortly.”

You dodged left, Akashi saw it coming, tripped you up and caught you around the waist, all in one movement. Your breath left you in a huff as you dropped on the bed. You blinked as he caged you in with his hard frame.

“So precisely what part of this am I supposed to regret?”

“This.” He dipped his head towards yours slowly. Your eyes were half shut, warm in his embrace.

Then you choked as his fingers found the most sensitive spot near your ribcage. Somehow his tickling was the worst you’d experienced, as he had an uncanny knack for finding all your weak points. You struggled a bit, but there was no getting out of his hold.

“Stop, stop! I yield,” you gasped in between bouts of breathless giggles. “I’m sorry for everything! Now please let me go.”

Akashi was tempted to continue for a while, your laughter was intoxicating and it felt good to have someone he could be himself around. But he relented, moving away so you could sit up. You pushed your hair back out of your face and surveyed him.

“You’re evil. And somehow that makes me happier.”

His face, while composed, gave off an air of amusement. “I aim to please. Now, we really should attempt to catch up on some sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

You looked at him in dismay. “You mean you’re not going to let me take advantage of this golden opportunity to cuddle up to you?”

He let out a controlled breath. “That would not be wise. This is difficult enough already without you in such close proximity to me.”

You bit your lip. “Are you saying all that absoluteness and willpower was a lie?”

“Do you have any sense of self-preservation at all?” His exasperation was beginning to show.

“Not when you’re involved, no.” You were unrepentantly cheerful.

He closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them again, you were still gazing at him hopefully. He conceded defeat.

“Very well, remember that you asked for it.”

“One of us needs to not have a sense of propriety, and apparently that person is me. Just learn to enjoy it.”

“Oh, I certainly will.”

He slid under the covers, instantly making you warmer by just being there. Never one to waste time, you moved closer immediately, settling your head on his chest and entwining your legs. He hummed at the back of his throat, a contented sound.

The heat of his skin and the feeling of safety soon made you drowsy. The soothing movement of his hand over your back didn’t help.

“Sei,” you said, half asleep, “are you really sure it’s okay to say no to your father? I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“I’m sure. And if it’s not, I’ll find a way around it.”

“I hope so. I just want you to be happy.”

Soon your breathing evened out and you were fast asleep. Akashi looked down at you, chest warm with happiness.

“I know. I love you too.”

Author's rambling:

So that was cringe-inducingly cheesy. I swear, I just set out to write one party chapter and it turned into this monster. What is my life.

One picture that I used for inspiration is this one from the Last Game trailer, to give you an idea of how they were dressed. A qipao, also called a cheongsam, is a traditional Chinese dress - like this one. The boys are dense, so they didn't notice, but the dress was the color of Aka-chin's hair.

Also, before I forget, the scene where Akashi's father says all the other girls failed was inspired by the response to an ask on a scenario blog. In the original post, Akashi responds that the reader is the girl he chose and he likes her the way she is. Unfortunately I can't seem to find this post, but if I ever do, I'll link it.

Since this is a very long fic, there are lots of things I could talk about, but it would be easier if readers just commented on the things they want clarified. I will definitely answer :D

On the next episode: No angst, just fun as the entirety of the cast goes out to the beach. Possibly I will manage to keep it short and sweet. Possibly.

#akashi seijuro #akashi x reader #rakuzan #kise ryouta #kuroko no basket fanfic #cinderella moment #akashi masaomi #oc #sleepover #romance #fluff #slight angst #what is wrong with me #no control #slightly mature language #akashi in a suit

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passportrequired · 6 years ago

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A Valentine Cheer in Europe

I decided on a solo Europe trip because I wanted to do what I CAN’T call Eat Pray Love BECAUSE I still have yet to watch this movie. However, after the senseless murder of my niece on Valentine’s Day a couple years prior and my mom’s lost to a battle with cancer a year after, I figured V-Day needed some coloring.

I decided on a flight to Istanbul that would transfer to Milan and then EasyJet from Milan to Paris and then to Barcelona and back to Milan and jump back on Turkish airlines to Istanbul and finally home to Dulles.

When I told my family I was heading to Europe alone, they asked if I didn’t see the movie Taken. I told them no one is taking a big boned black girl. What I was really saying is no one will stop me from traveling solo in search of a valentine cheer.

My niece was stabbed over 20 times. The guy got 60 to life. But how do I look at Valentine’s Day the same? My mom cried. The next year she died. She chose not to do the 50 to 50 chance surgery. I wrestled with that. Why did she choose to die and not to fight? But I realized now she wanted to go on HER terms. Death is something that the living has to deal with. We are left to grieve and miss and yearn.

My trip was to live like they had not. Do things that they couldn’t…

I arrived in Istanbul on a six-hour layover. When I touched down on the tarmac, I remember thinking it looks just like the hallmark card my friend had given me for my birthday in January. I started my EAT’ing. Opened faced smoked salmon sandwich with eggs sunny side up. Delectable for airport food. I pictured my niece Tiana and my mom Valeria sitting across from me. Enjoying. Complaining about the runny eggs. Laughing and ready to explore our first leg of the trip.

The Coconut Curry Chicken (or Shrimp). INGREDIENTS: Organic Chicken from Whole Foods or bag of shrimp from Trader Joes. Trio pepper, red onions, scallion, thyme, habanero skin, garlic, turmeric, paprika, ground cayenne (optional, but good for spicing up your life), black pepper, sea salt (or salt), Basil (fresh or dry), one canned Trader Joe’s organic coconut milk, olive oil, one small sweet potato or Irish (russet) potato. Add olive oil to pan with fresh and dry seasonings. Stir on high heat and add canned coconut milk. Add peeled and cut (tiny pieces) of potato to pot. Let it boil on medium for 30-45 minutes until desired taste. If using shrimp, add shrimp at end and let cook for 15-30 mins until desired taste of shrimp and sauce. If using chicken, add chicken to beginning prior to adding coconut milk. Once cooked, enjoy over bed of Whole Foods basmati or Trader Joe’s jasmine rice OR with some fresh naan.

The Rice. INGREDIENTS: Basmati white or brown rice OR jasmine white or brown rice. Irish / Icelandic butter or olive oil. Sea Salt. Place rice in pot with one-inch water above rice level (use finger tips to judge), stir in salt and butter or olive oil. Cover rice and let come to a boil on high fire setting. As soon as it boils over, turn fire on lowest setting and let sit for 30 minutes then turn stove off.

My mom probably made curry differently. But I added my twist. Let the EAT’ing begin.

ENJOY.

I people watched in that Istanbul airport until I cracked myself up. A couple smooching, others rushing. I wonder where they are heading. Maybe they are off to someplace romantic. To celebrate. An engagement or an anniversary or maybe it’s new love or young love. Perhaps the Maldives or Fiji. I made up stories about strangers and laughed with my mom and Tiana until it was my turn to head someplace. Milan in particular.

Industrial and not what I expected. I used to read my sister’s romance magazines. Soap opera in a book. Lancio published them. Those cute Italian boys were in Milan. I figured I would find cheer there. But instead I found the Duomo. When I walked inside, a feeling came over me. Like God had reached out and grabbed my soul, telling me it’s okay. I know you lost your sister, Brenda years earlier to a routine knee surgery. I know Kenneth, Nicole and Dwight are gone too and I know you lost mama (grandma) and Lattie and more recently, your sister, Luna, niece Tiana and mommy, Valeria. But I’m here now. It was either that or a memory of a Catholic Church in Morant Bay, Jamaica. Either way, something inside the Duomo moved me. I felt it and I sat on the church bench, PRAYed and made the sign of the cross against my chest. A sign you couldn’t forget even if you left the church behind.

I could hear Ave Maria in my head. Maria Ferrante singing by Franz Shubert. I have it on my playlist. “Ave maria, äiti maan lapsien, taas meihin katsoo suojellen, kun poika syntymäpäivä on…” I sat in the church and quietly recited, “Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” I used to hear my dad praying this prayer often. How many Hail Marys do you need to cleanse your soul of its sins? I didn’t want to imagine the sins of my father.

I walked out of the Duomo and took a long trek back to my hotel room. Quietly. I felt my mom and Tiana on the walk back. It wasn’t creepy. It was all LOVE.

Prior to the Duomo I took some photos of the church from the Museo Del Novecento. Museums give me a sense of peace. Perhaps because it’s a quiet observance. No need to discuss in the moment. Just observe and soak it in.

I felt snow on me and knew something was brewing. Later, I was stuck at the airport. EasyJet put us up near the airport with food vouchers and free hotel. I almost got rerouted to Germany. I didn’t take it. I stayed in Milan. Stuck in the hotel room and eating breakfast, lunch and dinner with complete strangers. I had to walk a scary dark walk for dinner. I chatted with some of the strangers so I didn’t have to walk the dinner walk alone. No dinner was served in my hotel. When I couldn’t find a stranger, I said a few Hail Marys and walked the walk to have decent Italian food and frizzante. Every time I tried to have a croissant it was filled with something. I don’t like fillings, but Europeans do. I do; however, like cappuccinos and I had good coffee there. I decided to write and think while waiting for the snow to clear. Two days later I ended up at Charles de Gaulle and got to my hotel a few minutes before midnight. My flight for Barcelona was leaving the next morning.

I arrived at the Le Meridien bummed that I wouldn’t see Paris. But my friend, Jessica from Scotland had been there waiting for me. She had already gotten a chance to see it and decided to give me the midnight tour. I tucked mommy and Tiana away and me and Jessica walked the streets. On our walk I saw a prostitute on the side of the street down on her knees with a client. Paris is gangsta. I watched the Eiffel tower’s lights go dim and I took pictures at the Arc de Triomphe.

I wanted to be up close and personal but not on this trip. The chef opened the kitchen to serve me creme brûlée. I talked with Jess and ate the best creme brûlée I’d ever tasted. If only I had gotten to go out and about, I’m sure there’s better crème brûlée in a small Parisian bakery. We decided to forego sleep. I hadn’t seen Jessica in years. It was good to see her and touch her and talk with her. We had so much to talk about. We didn’t let the sleep in our eyes stop us. We talked and talked and talked and talked. I grabbed a quick breakfast and hugged Jess goodbye. I was going back to solo’ing in Barcelona.

No plane issues this time. I waited for my flight and met two Parisian girls who thought it was cool I was on a solo trip and from America. We chatted and laughed and swapped stories. I thought Parisians were snobby. Not these two. Friendly and sweet. We took pictures and said a proper goodbye.

I arrived in Barcelona and in LOVE. I couldn’t stop staring out the window of my transport on the way to the hotel. Another Le Meridien hotel. Thanks to my sister Colleen’s discounts. I was on a budget in a fantastic Starwood hotel. It was in the midst of La Rambla. I didn’t waste a minute in Barcelona. I took to the streets and spoke as much Spanish as I could remember. I ate a burger and fries and drank local beer in a small friendly bar. After beer two I packed up and went to an art museum where the guard asked for my hand in marriage. I laughed and continued my quiet observance of the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art.

That night I watched a Spanish jazz singer over dinner. I had a chance to meet and chat with her. She flirted and I blushed. I told her I’m straight and kissed her on the cheek. My valentine cheer was coming in little packages. I imagined Tiana in full Spanish mode. Her mom, Kathy is Puerto Rican. She was enjoying Barcelona. Swinging her hips and trying to teach me salsa and mommy laughing. When she was younger her favorite thing from grandma was Jamaican fried dumplings. My mom made it so good. I wasn’t yet there in America. But when I came, she was older. I met her and she still wanted fried dumplings from grandma. Had there been fried dumplings in Barcelona I would have had some just for her.

My best friend Misha loves this soup. She had been asking for the recipe for years. I told her I didn’t know how to write recipes. But this one, you can EAT with LOVE. Just don’t forget to PRAY before you eat. Wait don’t we drink soup. Yeah, but don’t mess with my EAT, PRAY, LOVE vibe. I think that was Tiana correcting me. I’m sure it was actually.

One canned coconut milk. More coconut milk. It reminds me of the million ways my mom used coconut. Curry Rundown: made from freshly grated and squeezed coconut juice (milk). Rendered down to base of almost oil with Saltfish inside (boiled and strained of all salt). Serve with fried or boiled dumplings. Coconut Cake: made from the coconut trash (grated) with sugar and fit for a dessert. OR coconut diced into tiny pieces, again with sugar. Another dessert, same name. Wait that’s not the soup.

Soup With No Name: INGREDIENTS: one canned Organic Trader Joe’s coconut milk. If you have time on your hands, go to the Asian market, buy a coconut, grate, squeeze and make fresh coconut milk. Sweet potatoes, bok Choy, spinach, white beans, Grace Cock Soup packet (best to put it in at the end, not sure why, this is just what Jamaicans do. Cho, stop yuh noise mek mi cook nuh). Trio pepper, red onions, scallion, thyme, habanero skin (the seeds are too hot), garlic, turmeric, paprika, cayenne (NOT optional, spice up your life), black pepper, sea salt (or salt), Basil (fresh or dry). Add water to a big pot and coconut milk and all dry seasonings. Go light on turmeric. It’s just cause I love the yellow color for this soup. Add scallion, garlic, onion and thyme along with trio pepper and habanero. Boil for 30-45 minutes. Add chopped bok choy, whole spinach (nuh chop it up mahn) and sweet potatoes (cut up in cubes). Add seafood mix and Grace Cock Soup. If using chicken add in the beginning with coconut milk. Taste. Add sea salt if additional is needed. Serve hot. PRAY.

ENJOY.

There was an ice cream truck outside the hotel. I had Nutella and vanilla swirl and chatted with the ice-cream guy. I can’t remember his name. He was sweet. Super nice and the ice-cream was great. Europe loves Nutella.

The next day I spotted a robbery as I was about to jump on the metro. I stood and watched. Three men with sheets over their shoulders running. Filled with clothes from a nearby department store. The cops showed up and jumped out the car and ran after them. Why oh why didn’t they drive after them? They didn’t catch them. Barcelona is also gangsta. My sister Michelle would worry if I told her about the gangsta shit. She was the one who asked me if I didn’t watch Taken. I bought little gifts from different places. I was on some street I can’t remember. I wondered if anyone noticed I was alone or could they see mommy and Tiana?

I arrived in Milan on my last leg. I had taken risks and seen things that made me realize solo travel is better. You get to notice every stranger. You meet people from all over and you really connect without distractions. I wrote, I thought, I laughed, I cried and I imagined I had my eat, pray, love moments. I still have to watch that movie.

On my way back to the airport I decided to ride the train from Milan. I lugged my heavy ass suitcase and got confused about which train to take and how to buy my ticket when a stranger rescued me. Though I didn’t need rescuing, this man was seeing me as a damsel in distress. His name eludes me, but he was from Georgia. No not Georgia USofA but the country. He showed me how to buy my ticket, lugged my suitcase on the train and sat next to me. Maybe for protection. He shared stories of his childhood in Georgia. And I equally of Jamaica. We laughed and talked and parted ways in Malpensa. I felt a little guilt that I forgot about mommy and Tiana.

I made my way to Istanbul and then touched down on the tarmac in Dulles. As I rode the transport back to Rockville, I couldn’t stop thinking about my trip. All the details, the quiet moments, the conversations. But mainly I felt I got just what I went looking for. I see now that today – on V-day, there’s more to remember. Not the tragedy of loss, but great memories and positive light. Not the blackness the man doing 60 years to life tried to give us. But the light that was left behind to shine.

“Alvin, I know today is a tough day but Tiana was very brave even though she knew she wouldn’t make it, she made sure the Devil got caught… so Live, Love and Laugh on her memories. Happy Tiana Notice Day.” – Colleen Burgher.

“To my family, each and every Valentine’s day my heart is torn apart. However, I have to come to the fact that life must go on and Tiana’s memories will forever live on. With that said, tonight at 9:42 pm please stop what you are doing and give a moment of silence to Tiana Angelique Notice. Tiana’s work will never be done, may her soul R.I.P.” – Alvin Notice (father of Tiana and my brother).

“A moment of silence for our dear Tiana. Love always. ♥” – Marceen A. Burgher

para mi madre y mi querida sobrina dulce – from Barcelona with love.

per mia madre e mia cara dolce nipote – from Milan with love.

pour ma mère et ma chère douce nièce – from Paris with love.

annem ve sevgili yeğenim için – from Istanbul with love.

…for my mother and my dear sweet niece – from Dulles with love.

– Marceen A. Burgher

A Valentine Cheer in Europe was originally published on Passport Required

#African American Travel. Black Travel #Barcelona #Black In Paris #Black Women Travel #Darnell Lamont #Istanbul #Milan #Travel Blog #Travel Bloggers #Tumblr Travel Photography #TumblrTravel

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storiedellarte · 6 years ago

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Everett at the Frick collection

EVERETT FAHY (1941–2018). What to say? He was a lot of fun. But his was a highly organized fun. I have perhaps known few people who had a life that was scheduled down to the last minute, but who also found time for everyone and everything. I don’t remember how I first met Everett. But it was in the late 1970s and in New York. I was a graduate student at Columbia; he was the director of Frick. New York was very fluid and surprisingly small then and it was very easy to meet people within the discrete art history community. Whatever, a first encounter was followed by one of Everett’s ‘classics’. That was luncheon at the upper inaccessible floor of the Frick. Just the two of us. The meal was served in the Old Rich American style. The food appeared but no servants and Everett plated, served, and tossed the salad. Paul Mellon served lunch that way at Upperville; it allowed for a certain seductive atmosphere. At the Frick, everything seemed seamless from being led up the stairs from the gallery, where the Vermeers were hung, to being escorted down. I can’t remember the details of the conversation, but I am embarrassed to say that it might have been Everett explaining to me the summer household cleaning policies at the Frick. He was extremely proud of the museum’s high state of maintenance (this is still a museum that doesn’t allow children in), and he was very literal about everything he explained whether it was an attribution or hoovering the Aubusson. I know as I later helped him take up the rugs for the seasonal summer rotation at his apartment overlooking the Museum of Natural History with its sweeping views of downtown Manhattan.

For the Frick, Everett went on to create the garden in the little lot on 70th Street next to the museum’s public entrance. It is hard to know when the gardening bug took him; his last years were spent creating a terraced garden at this parents’ place outside Richmond, Virginia. In the New York Times obituary, it is said that his parents, with whom he was close, had a great interest in plants and horticulture, and I believe that this is true. Everett was serious about gardens and once spent a month or more in Japan studying temple gardens. But in the 70s Everett was with Channing (Chan) Blake who had a place upstate. Channing was a scion of the Friendly fortune (a chain of restaurants founded during the Depression famous for its ice cream cones). He had written a Ph.D. at Columbia on Carrère and Hasting, the architectural firm that had designed the Frick mansion (then museum) on Fifth Avenue. Channing resided with his wife and son at 740 Park, but the arrival of Everett broke up the marriage and for a while Everett moved to their apartment after the family had decamped. Everett took it in stride simply stating that it was a fine place to live as he already knew people in the building and that Enid Haupt, publisher of Seventeen Magazine, horticulturalist and art collector, came to dinner one night. I guess that was an assurance that everything was okay.

By the time I got to know Everett, the relationship with Channing was pretty much over, but Everett continued to go upstate and garden on weekends. After Channing died in 1993 at 46, Everett helped get his Baroque paintings donated to museum in Springfield, the western Massachusetts town of which Channing was a native. The small but fine museum there was the first one that he had ever visited. He had collected the pictures on Everett’s advice and many of them came from Paul and Eula Ganz. Everett, the great lover of Ghirlandaio and the Florentine Quattrocento, actually helped bring Baroque art to the Metropolitan including things from the Ganz. In the meantime, Channing had had become the partner of the visionary nature architect Roger Ferri who died in 1991 (at 42); Channing courageously (then, yes, it was courageous) announced that his partner had died of AIDS in the New York Times. Channing succumbed of the same a couple of years later. Everett took a straightforward and scientific approach to the crisis that was devastating New York documenting all of his encounters and going to the Columbia Presbyterian Hospital for regular blood tests. It was rather like his approach to attributions: keep a record, file a photograph.

Everett wore his dinner jacket almost every night; he was the perpetual ‘extra man’ and he had enjoyed that role from his first step-out in New York from Harvard. At that early age, he got ribbed about this from his classmates; in the sixties any sign of mixing with the establishment or supposed social climbing, was to be shunned at all costs. I heard this from almost anyone who was at Harvard with him during those years, but also each one was just as in awe with his presentations in Sydney Freedberg’s seminars and later the one that Federico Zeri held on Freedberg’s invitation. His fellow students once gave him a test on northern European painting, which he obviously aced. Little had they known attributions in that field are much easier.

As the decades went on and AIDS with its deadly scythe was suddenly upon New York, there were a lot of grey areas in city’s social world. Everett was certainly never part of Act Up, but it is probably not fair to interpret everything in those years in starkly judgmental black and white terms. One would need a more acute social observer than I—a Marcel Proust, Alberto Arbasino, or Ned Rorem—to understand how people slipped in and out of different worlds. I can say though that Everett was always himself. Perhaps in his case, a New York version of the English diarist James Lees-Milne could have seen the sunshine and blue in those skies and not only the gathering clouds.

With Everett, one often met very famous people and high society figures, but he did not gossip. This was not because he was a prig. If you asked, he would tell you everything, but initially he imagined that you knew the person just as well as he and there was no need for filling-in information. Sometimes too his attributions were that way. He told you the attribution and gave you his list of an artist’s corpus as if that list was the guests at a dinner party for which he had created the placement. You then had the opportunity to start the conversation and learn what you could from your neighbors at table.

The flip side to the East Side dinner party or night as a member of the Metropolitan Opera Club (at which black tie was obligatory) was Everett on roller skates at the Roxy in Chelsea—a sort of athletic downtown version of Studio 54 that required skating skill and good balance to get on the dance floor. For a while the nighttime Gotha of New York gathered there—from Andy Warhol on down. Everett expended his astonishing energy and got his incredibly muscular legs on the rink under lights and beat of disco music. A crash, broken bones, and long convalescence put an end to all that. Everett had his mail brought over from across the park from the Metropolitan Museum, but perhaps holed up in his apartment he became more active than ever before as a scholar. If one looked over the dates of his letters in which he sent out revised lists, I would not be surprised if the great majority of them came from that time.

Andy Warhol at the Roxy (1980)

Roxy disco

Undoubtedly Everett’s most important friendship was with John Pope-Hennessy whom he met at the museum in Raleigh, North Carolina in 1962, while still an undergraduate at the University of Virginia, and later, by chance, in Milan that same year. John did not drive, Everett drove a car and I have a feeling that helped make them a perfect match. Everett’s affability certainly smoothed some of John’s more acrid side. John reminisced that in pre-Everett days he got to know Italy so well because it was necessary to spend the night in many small centers as he was taking a train or bus to move around, but with Everett they could just drive in and out. It was no longer necessary to pass the night in Ascoli Piceno before going onto Recanati. Perhaps their most famous drive was to Ronchi to visit Roberto Longhi at the end of the summer 1966. Everett had many young Italian friends and while he might be amused by their near veneration of Longhi, he certainly recognized the art historian’s greatness. John had wanted to discuss a Duccio attribution with Longhi. In 1969 John purchased at auction his own school of Duccio painting, a Saint Peter, usually attributed to the Master of Monteoliveto, which he bequeathed to Everett. It is now in the Alana collection.

John Pope-Hennessy

Circle of Duccio di Buoninsegna, Saint Peter. Tempera and gold on panel, a fragment, 6⅞ x 2⅜ in (17.6 x 6.1 cm). (See Christie’s)

John introduced Everett to that Anglo-Florentine world that still swirled around Harold Acton and Joan Haslip, as well as the boys in Lucca (Hugh Honour and John Fleming) but also Bibi Gondi and Uberto Strozzi Sacrati. He later got to know younger generations. More importantly, John was the conduit to Charles and Jayne Wrightsman for whom Everett wrote the catalogue of their paintings immersing himself in their eighteenth-century French world as much as he had before in that of the botteghe of late Quattrocento Florence.

Jayne Wrightsman in the living room of her NYC apartment with Vermeer

Everett never met his biggest hero, Bernard Berenson, even if in the English-speaking world Everett was often nicknamed ‘baby BB’. I once told him about the longtime curator of the Johnson Collection in Philadelphia, Miss Barbara Sweeny, refusing lunch at I Tatti (probably in the late 1940s) as Mr. Berenson had, according to her, already made his contribution to Mr. Johnson’s collection. Having written the Italian paintings catalogue in 1913, there was no need to go back to him for further opinions. Everett said, ‘how stupid of her’. That was about as critical as he ever got about someone. For updates on the Johnson pictures, Sweeny had been turning to Charles Sterling, Ellis Waterhouse, and sometimes Federico Zeri, but soon relied on Everett. Being himself a native Philadelphian, he had a deep knowledge of the collection in her charge. In the first sentence of the preface to Some Followers of Domenico Ghirlandaio he wrote of how he got to know Italian painting in the late 1940s in the Johnson Collection. Despite his astonishment about Miss Sweeny’s refusal of a summons from BB, he actually liked her and had a soft spot for similar women. Miss Sweeny was one of those types—then called spinsters whether or not they actually were old or single—that could be then found in most American museums and print rooms. They were impeccably educated (the American ones usually at one of the Seven Sisters, the female equivalent of the Ivy League) and undoubtedly spoke and wrote flawless French. Phoebe Peebles was Sweeny’s equivalent at Harvard and another good friend of Everett’s, Elizabeth Gardner, Edith Standen, Gisela Richter, Olga Raggio, and Yvonne Hackenbroch (the last four émigrés from Europe) at the Metropolitan, Felice Stampfle at the Morgan, Elisabeth Packard at the Walters, the Mongan sisters, the Frick Art Reference Library ladies, and so forth. I have probably unfairly grouped these very different talented women together, but they came from a now disappeared world of curatorship in much the same way that Everett did.

If we dig through the 1,300 or so files on paintings in Philadelphia, we might be able to find some of Everett’s earliest lists of attributions. They would be inevitably about Domenico Ghirlandaio and his followers, his favorite artists and subject of his 1968 dissertation at Harvard. Like Berenson, Longhi, and Zeri, Everett collected photographs. He knew the adage that the one with the most photographs wins. However, Everett’s meticulously annotated and filed photographs, the basis of his lists, were really just aide-memoires of what he had seen. He came to Europe several times a year. A trip would engender an update of the list and another letter sent to a museum curator like me with copies of the previous list included. Everett’s knowledge of Italy was immense and comprehensive of the sort that no one—Italian or foreigner—has anymore. This was also true of many other places that he got to know intimately. I am thinking in particular of the British Isles, which he traveled hill and vale to see pictures in country houses helped with introductions in part via Pope-Hennessy, David Carritt, Francis Russell, and Henry McIlhenny, a vivacious Philadelphia socialite and collector who summers entertained the belle monde at a castle in Donegal purchased from the heirs of Arthur Kingsley Porter, who one day in 1933 had disappeared without a trace.

At a gathering of friends, in Paris for Dominique Thiébaut’s Giotto exhibition at the Louvre, Everett was showing signs of his Parkinson’s but no decline in curiosity. I think that he was always thinking about ‘his’ painters. I wonder if that had been the cause of his accident many years before at the Roxy: a momentary return to the ‘Florentine Painters of the Renaissance’ midst the disco spin. Certainly Ghirlandaio and his followers, the childhood friends Granacci and Michelangelo, and many other beloved Florentines accompanied him to the end as did also his wide smile.

SalvaSalva

"Remembering Everett, a friend", by Carl Brandon Strehlke EVERETT FAHY (1941–2018). What to say? He was a lot of fun. But his was a highly organized fun.

#andy warhol #barbara sweeny #bernard berenson #federico zeri #firenze #Frick #ghirlandaio #harvard #john pope-hennessy #johnson collection #master of monteoliveto #metropolitan museum #new york #philadelphia #sydney freedberg

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reddirtramblings · 7 years ago

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A visit to the New York City and the High Line.

We just returned home from New York City. Visiting the Big Apple during the Christmas season was on our bucket list, and this year we made it happen. Bill and I went to Manhattan in February 2008 with Bill’s youngest sister, Maria, and her husband, Curt. I also went as a high schooler when I was seventeen.

Benches on rollers at the High Line. I believe these benches are made of FSC (Forest Stewardship Council) ipe. In Phase I of construction which opened in 2009, wooden elements were constructed of FSC ipe, which was criticized. Phase II used reclaimed teak. Both types of wood weather to a silvery gray.

Last week, we went back to New York with our traveling companions and what fun we had! Part of our visit had to be a trip to High Line Park, located thirty feet above the busy streets near Chelsea Market and the Meatpacking District. Although it was early winter, our visit was still extraordinary. Last summer, I did a lot of research on the High Line for a project, and it was magical to see the abandoned railway and gardens come alive beneath my feet.

Mutations by Dora Budor, an art installation for 2017 at the High Line. Artwork is featured throughout the park.

Visit High Line Park in any season.

Winter is a great time to visit because you can see the bones of the garden and its structure without flowers to entice you. I’ve read that winter is the garden’s designer, Piet Oudolf’s, favorite season to visit. I think it’s his favorite season in his gardens period.

Abandoned tracks flow into planting beds. This tension between the natural world and the industrial one is part of what this park celebrates–the urban hardscape melding with natural soft textures.

The next time I walk the High Line I’d like to return in September when the ornamental grasses and asters are at peak bloom. Oudolf found much of his inspiration from plants that self-seeded during the railway’s fallow years. Before construction of the park, the people who created the Friends of the High Line organization climbed up to the railway and were surprised by nature’s resiliency. Click on the photos in the galleries to make them larger.

Bare tree against the blue sky at the High Line.

Mexican feather grass and other plants, native and non-native make up a the palette used by Piet Oudolf.

Ilex verticillata, winterberry holly loaded with beautiful berries.

After much care from humans–isn’t that always the way–the garden grew and took on a wilder aspect very pleasing to the eye.

The garden contains over 500 species of plants. You can download a complete plant list from the Friends of the High Line. Here, also, is a bloom list from August 2016.

Taking photos of the flora and fauna with the sun at my back makes for interesting shadows at the High Line.

If you’d like to read more about the gardens of the High Line, there is a book for you! Gardens of the High Line: Elevating the Nature of Modern Landscapes, (Timber Press) written by Piet Oudolf and photographed by Rick Darke came out last summer. I haven’t read it yet, but perhaps I shall.

The Hudson River from the High Line’s railroad spur overlook.

Our visit.

We entered on the “slow stairs” next to the Whitney Museum of American Art and walked the entire 1.5 miles. We got there as the park opened at 7:00 a.m., so there was little foot traffic except for the occasional jogger. As we ended our stroll, the High Line was starting to fill up with pedestrians walking and running. City dwellers and tourists alike adore this park, so it is well-traveled. I noticed signs throughout alerting visitors not to step on plants. Originally, the planting areas weren’t fenced, but now workers must fence them because the walkways are so well used. The fences are actually small chains that don’t take away from the garden.

The 10th Avenue Viewing deck is the perfect place to watch the traffic below. It is especially effective at night.

Below is a Facebook Live video of our visit. I was in the prairie meadow section of the park.

Situated in the center of a busy commercial area, the High Line juxtaposes nature with concrete and steel. It’s known for its dynamic design features including peel-up benches, concrete risers that blend in with the railway lines and planks with open joints that melt into grasses and perennials. The High Line revitalized the surrounding neighborhood, and I noticed tall buildings being erected nearby. There are many new office buildings and hotels in an area that was once nearly desolate.

The railway that was built in 1934 because 10th Avenue was too dangerous and was once called “Death Avenue” is now essentially a green roof. Nature, industry, and nature again form and reform. For me, it’s symbolic of life, death, and rebirth.

The Standard Hotel sits like an open book atop the High Line. All of the rooms have floor-to-ceiling windows. There is also a bar on the top floor called Top of the Standard. It has a great view of the Hudson River.

Walking the pathway beneath the Standard Hotel.

The weather in NYC has been so mild that shrubs and trees still wore their fall foliage.

The High Line exists only because two citizens who lived on the west side were concerned about their neighborhood and the abandoned, elevated railway. Joshua David and Robert Hammond, separately attended a community board meeting to discuss the fate of the line. At the meeting, they became interested its preservation. Afterward, they talked and decided to do something. They helped create the Friends of the High Line, the group that guided the eventual park and gardens.

If you’d like to read an insider’s view of the High Line, check out Living the High Line blog, by Annik La Farge. It has great information.

The High Line was one of many highlights of our trip. Yeah, I know that’s a pun, but I had to go there. If you go to the New York City, you simply must visit. It’s a worthy stop whether you’re a garden traveler or not.

A trip to High Line Park A visit to the New York City and the High Line. We just returned home from New York City.

#Christmas travel #New York City #Piet Oudolf

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asexualcoded-blog · 7 years ago

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Early in January 1999 my husband learned he needed to have his right shoulder replaced. He was 45 years old, and arthritis meant he'd already undergone two hip replacements. The bad news was there was no surgeon in Zimbabwe qualified to tackle this procedure, so we had to travel outside the country for the operation. The good news was that one of the world's top shoulder specialists lived in Cape Town, a city we'd heard so much about from people who'd been there. At that time Zimbabwe was still six months away from it's descent into the tragedy it is today, so it was easy to make the appointment with the surgeon, arrange the expenses with our medical aid company, book the air tickets and contact a friend who'd been transferred there a few years earlier to request accommodation. It took six weeks to get everything arranged, and early in March we boarded the flight from Harare to Johannesburg, and then on to Cape Town.

Our friend Pete was waiting for us at the airport. After we'd collected our luggage we drove to his house. The drive along the highway from the Airport to Cape Town was our introduction to the city we'd be calling home for the next ten days. The highway was in excellent condition, and ran through areas of scrub that flowed away the verges of the road towards distant mountains. However ten minutes later we came across shanty towns that had been erected next to the highway.

They were a shabby reminder than ten years after gaining independence the contrast between the rich and poor has perhaps worsened. The shacks making up the shanty towns were made of every kind of material known to man - corrugated iron sheets and rusty metal sheets combined with wood, cardboard and wire to form an extremely uncomfortable shelter than a family called home. Even more appalling was the fact that many of the shanty houses had run wires to the overhead power lines. This dangerous link was apparently sanctioned by the electricity board - Pete told us that the municipality and the government were failing to keep pace with the demand for houses for the poorer members of society, and preferred to leave the shanty towns intact! A refuse collection service run by the local authority was operating to help keep the shanty towns habitable. We saw a number of shanty towns along the main highways during our stay in Cape Town.

Pete lives in a suburb called Somerset West, and his home was a practical and extremely modern cluster home in a compound of about 30 residences. This style of living is very popular in South Africa, because of security and reduced overheads. The complexes are very well maintained because each owner contributes towards the upkeep and maintenance of the complex. Some complexes offer communal playgrounds for all the resident children, tennis courts and swimming pools. Owners are usually able to keep pets too, because each house has its own private garden. It's also a perfect way to live in Africa if one needs to travel or go on holiday - neighbours will keep an eye on the house while you are away. My husband and I were so impressed with this way of living that the following year we bought into a cluster complex my then employers were marketing in Harare. When we sold our house in 2003 we reinvested the money in a second cluster home. If one wants to live in Africa security is very important, and a cluster home complex offers the best level of security for residences.

Pete's a bachelor, so that night he prepared a barbecue in his Weber braai unit. His girlfriend Pat came round to help with the cooking, and we had a wonderful evening. The view from Pete's house was superb. Somerset West is built on a hill overlooking the city, and the view from his verandah offered the classic Cape Town view - the sprawling city at the foot of majestic Table Mountain, the lighthouse and the Atlantic Ocean. His house had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large living room, state of the art kitchen and outside laundry/storeroom. He told us he spends most of his time on his verandah or in his garden.

The next morning we had our appointment with the surgeon, who was a Greek Zimbabwean - Basil Vrettos. After his examination and x-rays he booked us into a private clinic, scheduling the operation for 8.00 the following morning. When we asked husband should go to hospital that evening, Mr Vrettos told us to rather book in at 6.00 the following morning, urging us to spend the day relaxing and walking around Cape Town. He told the operation would take four hours, and that the hospital stay would be just three days! We were delighted. Pete had taken leave to be with us during our stay, so the three of us headed into the city.

Although Cape Town is a city, it's more organized and environmentally friendly than Johannesburg, and as a result doesn't sprawl in all directions. Driving into town Table Mountain was clearly visible, and to welcome us that morning it was wearing what locals call The Tablecloth. Although this is simply the white cloud blown over the mountain when a south easterly wind blows, it's very impressive, and there's a wonderful tale that has evolved around this phenomenon. A less famous mountain near Table Mountain is called Devil's Peak, and it's claimed that a pirate called Van Hunks was living out his days on the slopes of this mountain. One day he met a stranger, who challenged him to a smoking contest. Van Hunks, who was extremely partial to his pipe accepted the challenge, and the tow men spent several days puffing away on their pipes. As the smoke clouds gathered a wind blew them down over Cape Town. Van Hunks won the contest, and the defeated stranger revealed himself to be the Devil. This is how Devil's Peak got its name, and the cloud of smoke became known as the tablecloth.

Back to our itinerary. We drove to the Victoria and Albert Waterfront, one of Cape Town's most popular tourist attractions. We walked towards the restaurant area, and saw some cape fur seals frolicking around one of the piers. They were so interesting to watch, and seemed to have no fear of the boats and the noise in this very developed section of the harbour. We found a wonderful restaurant right next to the sea, and ate an excellent lunch of calamari, prawns and French friends all washed down with beer and wine. We then walked off our lunch, window shopping in some of the 400 stores that make up the waterfront. We also walked around the craft market and visited the museum before venturing into the Two Oceans Oceanarium, so named because two oceans meet at Cape Town - the icy cold Atlantic Ocean and the warm, tropical Indian Ocean. Later we drove along the coast and stopped at the point where the oceans meet. One would expect to see a distinct change or some indication that designates this meeting point, but there was nothing apart from a wonderful view across the blue ocean waves.

The oceanarium offers a unique display of all marine life. We stood in awe, watching the endangered African Penguins mingling with Rockhopper Penguins and Oystercatchers in a room designed to perfectly mimic their natural habitat - even their water is piped in directly from the sea. There's also a massive room where visitors look down upon a colony of seas. This room is actually part of the sea, and contains massive barnacle crusted rocks and sandy beaches complete with sea shells. The most exciting moment for me was walking through a clear Perspex tunnel, while sharks and other massive sea species glide silently and stealthily around you. You can watch the sharks being fed while standing in this tunnel, giving you the rather alarming impression that you're in the sea with them as they eat. We were also able to handle starfish and sea urchins - the oceanarium is renowned for educating children about their natural world, so they have a lot of conducted tours for school parties. I will never forget being told that an octopus is actually an incredibly intelligent creature, and many of the octopi in the oceanarium recognize staff members! Hasn't stopped me from eating them!

The following morning I dropped my husband off at the hospital, and spent the next couple of days driving between Somerset West and the hospital. The operation went very well, and the nursing care was excellent. My husband had his shoulder capped rather than replaced, because Mr Vrettos said the damage from the arthritis didn't warrant removal of the shoulder bone. Three days later he was discharged from hospital, the only evidence of his ordeal being the sling on his left arm. To celebrate we decided to visit Table Mountain.

Towering one kilometre above the city, Table Mountain is accessed via cable car, and the journey to the top is spectacular. The car rotates 360 degrees all the way up, affording occupants a unique view of Cape Town. More than 600,000 people travel to the top of Table Mountain every year. Several hikes are available for those fit and energetic enough to climb the mountain - but it takes at least six hours. The top of the mountain is three kilometres long with a lot of clearly signposted natural pathways for visitors to follow. The vegetation is incredible; there are more than 250 different kinds of daisies as well as several plant species that survive and thrive in the unique ecosystem of Table Mountain. There's a rare wild orchid and the silver tree, which produces the silver protea. The animal life on Table Mountain is varied, including baboons, porcupines and the Table Mountain Ghost Frog. We didn't see any of these animals, but I did loose my heart to a creature called a rock dassie. It looks like a rabbit-sized guinea pig, and amazingly its closest relative is the elephant. They're incredibly tame, and have no fear of people. I really wanted to take one home, but husband ignored my rather pathetic pleas! Table Mountain may be one of Africa's most popular tourist destinations, but it's still a relatively natural site. There one restaurant on the summit as well as a post office where mail is sent bearing the Table Mountain postmark. At the foot of the mountain is a souvenir shop, and I bought a little fridge magnet in the shape of a wine bottle filled with tiny stones from Table Mountain. Today that magnet sits on my fridge door here in Greece.

I should mention a couple of other mountains here. Signal Hill is a relatively flat topped hill with a complete view of the city and the ocean. There's a cannon on this hill that is a legacy of the British control over the Cape at the end of the 19th century. Originally the cannons were fired to announce the sighting of a ship. Ship sailing to India from Britain would stop over in Cape Town to restock their supplies before continuing their voyage. Today the cannons are fired at noon every day - except Sundays and public holidays. Another name for Signal Hill is the Lion's Rump. This is because it's actually a natural extension of a mountain called Leeukop, an Afrikaans name meaning Lion's Head. From a certain viewpoint this mountain does indeed resemble a lion's head.

We visited the largest bird sanctuary in Africa, the World of Birds. Home to more than 3000 species of birds visitors walk through the enormous aviaries and experience what it would be like to see these birds in the wild. I recall an enormous hornbill with an affinity for visitors - he would sit on his thick perch calling people to scratch his head. He was at least the height of my torso, and very brightly feathered with an alarmingly large curved beak. The birdlife included eagles, swans, herons, guinea fowl, flamingos and a variety of rare birds from all over the world. World of Birds cares for injured birds, and is a breeding centre for endangered species. The centre is also home to a number of different mammals, and we watched meerkats, squirrels, mongooses, foxes, genet cats and a huge tortoise relaxing in large, very comfortable enclosures. I cannot bear the sight of caged animals, so for me walking through the aviaries and animal enclosures was like being in the wild bush.

No trip to Cape Town is complete without a visit to one of the region's wineries. South African wine is world famous, and the Cape's vineyards are well wroth seeing. A number of wine routes are available, but we don't really being part of a crowd, and because we had an excellent guide in the shape of Pete we took our own route through the Paarl and Constantia districts. We stopped at two excellent wineries. The first one we sat on the verandah of a gracious, old Dutch Gable-style house complimenting glasses of wine with an assortment of delicious cheeses. The second vineyard was called Meerlust, and the reason I remember the name is because of the setting for our wine tasting. They seated us at a gnarled Rhodesian teak table in the wine cellar. Surrounded by hundred of massive kegs of wine we tasted some truly superb merlots, cabernet sauvignon, pinotage and chardonnay. There was also an excellent rose and some fine port. Pete, husband and I bought several bottles to take home with us. On our way back down the winding leafy roads we stopped at a restaurant that was originally a station master's office. The old building, complete with railway track, was a real piece of vintage memorabilia to the Cape's rich and varied history.

That evening we went to watch the first international cricket match at Paarl. Sri Lanka was beaten by South Africa in front of 9,000 spectators. A number of players in both teams are still active in today's cricketing world - Muralitharan, Kallis, Gibbs and Boje are names I remember. It was a day night game, meaning the second innings was played under floodlights and started at about 8.30 pm. There was a lunar eclipse that night - I'd never seen one before, and it was quite impressive, even when viewed without binoculars. Sitting on the grass, drinking wine and eating sausages and syrupy sweet koeksisters (a plaited pastry that is fried and then dipped in syrup) while watching an international cricket game under the stars... even if one isn't a cricket fan it's a special experience.

My one regret is that we didn't get a chance to visit Robben Island. Once used as a leper colony the island is 12 kilometres off the cost, and clearly visible from Table Mountain. During the 19th century Robben Island claimed many ships laden with treasures, and coins have been washed ashore from the shipwrecks. In the latter part of the 20th century Robben Island was notorious as a prison, and one of its most famous inmates was Nelson Mandela, who spent 27 years in a cell on the island.

We left Cape Town a couple of days later after husband had got the all clear from Dr Vrettos. Having been born and brought up in Zimbabwe I've visited several cities in South Africa. Cape Town is absolutely unique, and it's a city that I would dearly love to call home one day. The combination of the sea and the mountains with the wonderful history make Cape Town a varied and interesting place to visit. Cape Town is completely different to other South African cities like Durban, Johannesburg and Pretoria because it's a truly international city. People from all over the world have chosen to make their homes there. The original settlers of the Cape include the Dutch, the French and the British, all of whom have left their own mark on this wonderful city. We have friends who live in Johannesburg, and they tell us they're there for the money (Johannesburg is the financial hub of South Africa). Johannesburg residents complain that the people from Cape Town are very laid back because their lives are less stressful. I would agree with that supposition, and I'd go so far as to say I'd choose quality of life over quantity any day. Cape Town is a magnificent vibrant city. For all your window cleaning requirments in cape town visit window washing.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/172413

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