#i have realised his arm tattoo is so underwhelming

[kruinka]

when i defeat art block the first thing im gonna do is draw more naked kaiser bc i need to practice my muscles agn

[calumcest]

i know we’re gonna uncover what’s sleeping in our soul

[ao3]

so! my fic exchange fic for the absolutely lovely @lifewasradical​ who had the most brilliant reader profile i have to say you are truly so big brain in your preferences (perhaps because they overlap with mine no i am not biased). thank you so much to @allsassnoclass​ for hosting this you are wonderful and i adore you

thank you to bella and ainslee for listening to me chat shit about this fic and to my anonymous friend for also patiently listening and encouraging me and also telling me to stop fucking writing i need to hear that shit

-

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s. 

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate.

-

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s. 

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate. At least, in theory. In practice, it’s a little more complicated - most people’s soulmates aren’t exactly the same age as them, so some people have to wait a few years, and some people find out they haven’t got a soulmate, and a small handful of people find out their soulmate has already passed away. It’s a complicated process that’s built up over generations - when Luke’s grandparents were younger, it was still the norm for governments to inform people of the identity of their soulmate on their twenty-first birthday, but privacy and mental health concerns in recent years following a few nasty high-profile situations where people discovered their soulmates were serious criminals led to the passing of international legislation restricting access to the information. Now, the only way a person can find their soulmate is by writing to them, or the dreaded letter that arrives the day after their twenty-first birthday informing them that their soulmate has predeceased them. 

Luke’s sort of the baby in his circle, so he’s the last to find out. His brothers are both older and so by the time Luke really understood the system they’d already found their soulmates; Alex and Jack had already known they were soulmates when Luke had met them, also being a few years older; and when Calum had woken up on his twenty-first birthday to see it best be you, dickhead scrawled on his arm in Michael’s messy handwriting it had only really been a formality, confirming what everyone already knew. 

Luke, though, has no idea who his soulmate could be. There’s no one he’s ever felt that alleged special affinity with, no matter how hard he’s tried to force it. He’s never felt entirely safe with someone, the way that Ben describes it, never felt at home with someone, the way that Michael describes it, never felt at peace, like, deep in your soul, like the universe is balanced just right around you the way that Calum describes it. He has felt the desire to punch people in the throat before, as Alex and Jack both describe it, but he thinks that’s probably more of a them problem than it is a universal experience. 

And it’s not that Luke’s particularly unusual in that - the vast majority of people don’t know who their soulmate is before their birthdays. Ben and Jack both had to fly to different countries to meet theirs, and Alex and Jack had been on opposite sides of the USA, and the way Michael talks about it, Quakers Hill would seem to be on a different continent to Mount Druitt. It’s what Luke tells himself every time he looks in the mirror at four in the morning, alcohol and often something else swimming through his veins, and sees the fear of what if I’ll be one of the lonely ones? etched into the cloudy blue of his eyes. You’ll be fine. Almost no one knows their soulmate before their twenty-first birthday. Lots of people don’t even know them then. You’re not even twenty-one yet; just be patient. 

Except, now he is twenty-one. 

It’s two minutes past midnight, and Luke’s sat on his bed, already a little buzzed, Michael and Calum flanking him, pen poised over his inner forearm. This is how it works - as soon as the clock ticks over to midnight on a person’s twenty-first birthday, their soulmate (if they’re already over twenty-one) is accessible. And the way to communicate is by writing to them. Luke still isn’t quite sure how it works, because it just does, so he’s never questioned it, but what one soulmate writes on their skin appears on the other’s, like a temporary tattoo. It fades after a few hours, but it’s usually there long enough for the person to notice; after all, who wouldn’t spot a new hi, hello, or the odd grocery shopping list appearing on their hand or arm? 

“What do I say?” Luke says, a little nervously. 

“Just say hi,” Calum suggests, and Michael scoffs. “What?” Calum says, turning to Michael and raising an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?” 

“Well, it’s not very original, is it?” Michael says haughtily. 

“It doesn’t have to be original, Mike, it just has to work,” Calum says. 

“Okay, but what if it doesn’t work because it’s not original?” Michael says. Luke’s grip on the pen tightens. 

“Who’s going to reject their soulmate because they said ‘hi’?” Calum points out. Michael crosses his arms, and shrugs. 

“I would’ve,” he says. 

“Only because you knew it was me.” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“Guys,” Luke says, anxiety leaking into the edges of his tone, and the two of them start a little, like they’ve just remembered he’s there. 

“Just say hello,” Calum says. 

“Hello?” Michael echoes. “What is he, some eighteenth century English lord? Say ‘hi’, Luke, or ‘hey’.” 

“What, you can’t say ‘hello’ now?” Calum demands. “Anyway, it’s the principle, alright? Just greet them. It doesn’t have to be the best introduction in the world.” Yeah, Luke thinks. Yeah, that makes sense, right? It doesn’t have to be stellar; it’s just got to be something. So he nods, takes a deep breath, and lets the pen touch his skin.

Hi.  

The word sits on his skin like everything he’s ever written on it before, doesn’t sink in or dissolve or do a little jig. Luke hadn’t been expecting it to - after all, he’s seen enough soulmates write things to their partners - but it looks just like when he used to hastily jot down his homework for the day because he’d forgotten his planner again, and it’s oddly underwhelming. It doesn’t look - or feel - like something he’s been anticipating for years is happening, despite the butterflies in his stomach. It looks a little lonesome. 

“Well?” Michael asks impatiently. 

“It’s been thirty fucking seconds, Mike, Jesus Christ,” Calum says, swigging from his beer. 

“So?” Michael says, craning his neck to look at Luke’s arm. “Punctuality is an important quality in a partner, you know.” Calum scoffs incredulously, and Michael scowls. “Except if your partner is me. I have enough incredible traits to make up for it.” Calum just throws him a slightly-fond-but-mostly-exasperated look, and turns back to Luke, who’s still staring at his arm.

“Maybe they live in a different timezone,” Calum suggests. “Or maybe they’re younger than you.” 

“Maybe,” Luke allows, and puts his arm back down on his lap, but doesn’t stop staring at it. “Maybe they’re busy.” 

“Maybe,” Calum agrees. 

“Maybe we should finish these fucking beers,” Michael says pointedly, and Luke finally tears his gaze away from his arm and over to Michael, who’s gesturing at the crate they’d lugged upstairs (‘they’ being Calum and Michael, because Luke refuses to lift anything heavier than a book). He’s got a point - it’s Luke’s birthday, and there’s a slim chance of his soulmate replying immediately, so he might as well enjoy himself. 

“Alright,” Luke says, reaching for another bottle. “But don’t you fucking pussy out on me at two in the morning again.”

“What the fuck?” Michael demands indignantly, also reaching for a bottle. “When have we ever done that?”

 -------

 At two a.m., when Calum and Michael have stumbled blearily into bed together, Michael curling around Calum as they drifted off to sleep, Luke’s sat up in bed, staring at his arm. It still only says hi, and Luke’s trying to focus his alcohol-addled mind as much he can to will it to say more, to say hey, I’ve been waiting for you underneath Luke’s writing, but nothing changes. 

And logically, Luke knows there are countless explanations as to why he hasn’t heard anything from his soulmate yet, least of which is that it’s only been a couple of hours. There’s a high chance his soulmate is younger than him, or asleep, or just busy, and a slim chance that they could be- well. Luke doesn’t want to think about that. It’s just- Luke’s been wanting this for years, always daydreamed about his soulmate, about the colour of their eyes and the sound of their laugh and the warmth of their touch. He’s conjured fantasy after fantasy in his mind about how his twenty-first birthday would go, about how he’d meet his soulmate and immediately fall in love, about the comfort and safety and fulfilment he would feel. Because that’s the whole thing about soulmates; they’re made for you, made to fill in the gaps in your soul that you can’t even see, and as Luke blinks at the single word written on his arm, a word that feels like it needs completing somehow, he realises he might want that more than he’d realised. 

After a good ten minutes of staring and trying to engage any telepathy he may have, Luke decides that if his soulmate isn’t going to add anything, Luke’s going to have to do it himself. So he reaches for a pen, thinks for the briefest of seconds before a slightly-drunken thought tells him just introduce yourself, tell them about yourself, and he writes:

My name is Luke. It’s my twenty-first birthday today. I live in Sydney, Australia, and I have two brothers and a dog. What’s your name? 

It reads like one of his French oral exams at school that he barely passed, but Luke’s satisfied with it, capping the pen and setting it aside. It’s good to give a bit more information, right? Surely his soulmate will appreciate more than just a hi, will be more likely to reply if they know a little more about him. Plus, he’s asked a question, and it’s only polite to respond to a question, isn’t it? They’ll be trapped into responding by social etiquette, if they’re of age.

Yeah, he thinks, satisfied, as he rolls over on his side and lets his heavy eyes fall shut. If his soulmate is old enough, he’ll have heard back by the morning. 

 -------

 When Luke wakes up to the sun streaming through his window - fuck, they forgot to shut the curtains last night - he momentarily forgets what day it is, too focused on swearing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut, debating whether it’s worth getting up to shut the curtains or not. He decides it is, and heaves himself out of bed, and as he’s padding over to the curtains, arms already outstretched, he sees two lines of text on his arm. 

Luke had written more than two lines. He’d written a few, all bunched together in a long paragraph. And this handwriting is bigger than Luke’s, more confident, more assertive. 

It’s his soulmate. 

Luke stops dead, twisting his arm around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a Chinese burn, heart beating so fast that it’s all he can hear, and reads. 

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your soulmate. 

And then, like an afterthought added reluctantly in a smaller script underneath: Happy birthday.  

Luke stares at the words, reading them over and over, each hastily scribbled scratch of the pen like a tiny needle in his heart; not quite enough to tear it apart entirely, but enough to make it ache and leak. 

So he has a soulmate. A soulmate who doesn’t want him back.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks, a little disoriented, stumbling back towards his bed and reaching for the pen he’d left on his bedside table almost on autopilot. Luke’s soulmate doesn’t even know him. How can they not want to be his soulmate? What did he do wrong? How can he have ruined something that’s predestined, something that’s fated to happen? 

What? he writes back. The ink is harsh black on his pale skin, dug too deep into the flesh of his arm, sitting on top of his skin rather than underneath it like the words from his soulmate - some kind of sick symbolism, maybe, Luke thinks dazedly. An impenetrable layer between them, and it’s his own skin and bone. He’s heard of people not wanting their soulmates, but only after meeting them, or finding out that they’ve committed some horrible crime, or something of the sort. He doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t want their soulmate before meeting them. 

“Hey,” Calum says suddenly and sleepily, clearing his throat and making Michael groan, stirring in his arms. “Did they write back yet?” Luke blinks, swallowing around a dry mouth. 

He could lie. He could pull his sleeve down and say nah, not yet, and Calum would hum noncommittally and say sorry, mate, keep trying, I guess, and that would be it. He could keep it to himself, wouldn’t have to admit to those around him that somehow, he’s managed to turn his soulmate away from him before they even know him, that while they’re all in happy relationship with their soulmates, he’s managed to fuck his up before it began. 

But on the other hand, he doesn’t know how long he could keep up that lie, because people would keep asking from time to time, and keeping it to himself feels like it would slowly eat at him from the inside out, teeth digging into the fabric of his soul and tearing it into even smaller pieces, and so he swallows, and says: “Yeah.” His voice is thick and wobbly, and it makes Calum’s brow crease, makes him struggle to sit upright leaning on his elbows, ignoring Michael’s noises of protest. 

“What?” Calum asks, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” Luke wants to cry. 

“I-” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t think he can say the words aloud. Instead, he holds out his arm, sleeve still rolled up, and watches as Calum’s eyes flit over the words, then looks away quickly as he sees Calum’s expression shift from concern to pity. 

“Oh, Luke,” he says softly, and now Luke doesn’t want to cry but can’t stop it, can’t help the tears that are pricking at his eyes, forcing him to swipe at them hastily before they can fall. 

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, a little numbly. “I- how can they not- they don’t even know me.” 

“I know,” Calum says, shoving Michael off him and swinging his legs out of the bed they’re sharing. “Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry.” But Luke doesn’t want Calum to be sorry. He wants his soulmate to want him back. Was it the stilted introduction? Maybe Michael was right; maybe Luke should have thought of a more striking opener, should have mentioned some interesting facts about himself, come up with something flirtatious and witty and suave. Maybe his soulmate took one look at Luke’s nervous, awkward introduction and thought nah, fuck that, I’d rather be alone than have this guy as my soulmate. 

“I should’ve said something better,” Luke says quietly, letting himself be pulled into Calum as he sits down next to him and puts a warm, strong arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Michael was right.”

“Oh, fuck Michael,” Calum says, with feeling, and Michael opens one eye a crack.  

“Wha’ve I done?” Michael mumbles, and then, like he’s just remembered what day it is, he shoots bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and excited. “Oh, fuck, did they reply, Luke? Did they say something? What did they say, was it-”

“Mike,” Calum says warningly, and shoots Michael a look that Luke doesn’t need to be his soulmate to understand - shut the fuck up, Jesus, read the fucking room. Michael falters, and then frowns. 

“What happened?” he says, a little fiercely. “Are they a dickhead?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A proper cunt.” 

“Hey,” Luke protests weakly, and Calum’s arm around him tightens. 

“What did they say?” Michael asks. Luke hesitates, swallows, and then holds his arm out. 

“Hang on, I need my-” Michael says, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses, and then swears when he realises they’re covered in fingerprints, wiping them hastily on his t-shirt before shoving them on his nose and squinting at the writing on Luke’s arm. He reads the words at least three times, going from a frown to a clenched jaw, and then looks up at the two of them, green eyes ablaze behind his glasses. 

“What the fuck?” he demands, and whips his glasses off. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Calum agrees, stroking Luke’s bicep. “It’s fucked up.” 

“They don’t even know you. All you said was ‘hi’.” Luke bites his lip.

“I wrote a bit more,” he says. “After you went to bed. I just- just introduced myself. Said it was my birthday, I live in Sydney, have two brothers and a dog.” 

“Alright, so all you did was fucking introduce yourself,” Michael corrects, leaning into his anger. “What the fuck sort of reason could they have for saying that?” 

“Mike,” Calum says gently, and Michael’s gaze turns to him for a moment and then softens in understanding. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I just- fuck. I’m sorry, Luke.” He sets his glasses aside, gets up and sits on Luke’s other side, wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist, and that’s too much for Luke - he starts crying in earnest, big, ugly sobs that come from the frayed patches of his soul that feel like they’ll never be stitched together because the needle doesn’t want to play ball. Michael and Calum just cradle him through it, whispering soothing words, humming quietly, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and temples and forehead as they rub gentle circles on his skin. It’s enough to stave off some of the desperate longing leaking from the pinpricks in his heart, enough to give him a little splutter of a spark in his veins that reminds him hey, you still have people who love you. It’s not enough enough, and Luke vaguely thinks it never quite will be, but it’s enough to stem the flow of tears, to make him sniff and ask for a tissue through a thick throat, to make him clear his throat and try on a watery smile. 

“D’you want us to tell your parents?” Calum asks quietly, taking Luke’s snotty, tear-stained tissue from him and setting it on the bedside table. Fuck, Luke thinks, as a fresh wave of tears brim in his eyes. He’s got to tell everyone else, now, too. Over and over, telling person after person yeah, my soulmate doesn’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.  

“No,” Luke says, even though he does want Michael and Calum to tell his parents. “I- I should tell them.” 

“Okay,” Calum says gently. 

“Can you-” Luke cuts himself off, biting his lip. Michael and Calum just wait, though, so Luke bids the scraps of his dignity farewell, and mumbles: “Can you tell Alex and Jack, though?” He feels both Calum’s and Michael’s arms tighten around him, feels Michael pressing a kiss to Luke’s shoulder as Calum says yeah, mate, of course we can. Of course. 

(Happy birthday, the words underneath the line etched into Luke’s skin telling him I don’t want you say, now wet with the tears dripping from Luke’s cheeks onto his sleeves. Yeah, Luke thinks bitterly. Happy fucking birthday to him.) 

 ------- 

 Telling everybody is exactly as painful as Luke had anticipated. 

He manages to tell his family in one go, because they ask over his birthday dinner, and he almost manages not to cry into the stunned silence as he says it, only breaking when Ben sighs sadly and pulls Luke into his chest for a tight hug. Alex and Jack call around four to ask him whether he’s finally going to get laid (what, Lex, that’s literally how you wish someone a happy twenty-first birthday, what’s your fucking problem), and Luke makes big, wide eyes at Calum, who throws a quick glance at Michael, who snatches the phone out of Luke’s hands and hastily walks out of the room, whispering something fiercely with a knitted brow and his hand cupped over the receiver. When he comes back in and hands the phone back to Luke, Alex and Jack have switched tack completely, all attempts at normalcy and breeziness mitigated by the oddly gentle, hesitant tones to their voices. Luke hates it, hates the pity and the microscope he feels like he’s under, the fact that he’s done the whole thing wrong somehow before even starting it, so he mumbles his excuses and hangs up on them as soon as he can, lying back on the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

The first few weeks are almost equally bad - Luke just wants to forget about it all, pretend that everything is normal outside of his own head, make-believe that his world hasn’t had a harsh spotlight shone on it showing the cracks in the façade he’s been admiring as though it were worthy of the Louvre, but everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, whispering whenever he leaves a room and stopping abruptly as soon as he comes in, or throwing him concerned and pitying looks. He hates it, hates that his mum will come into his room every evening and ask him too-casually how his day’s been, hates that Calum and Alex will ask him how he’s doing and look too sad when he says he’s fine, hates that Jack and Michael will bluntly tell him fuck someone else, forget about them. He just wants things to be normal again, doesn’t want the constant reminder that even the person made for him doesn’t want him swelling up in his lungs and choking him day in, day out. 

He does a lot of research in those first few weeks. The majority of the results are about soulmate pairings where one person has moral qualms with the other, and a smaller group are about pairings where one partner only sees a platonic future where the other wants a romantic future - those are rare, though, as the system is designed to take these preferences into account - and it’s only on Luke’s second week of searching that he finds something, a tiny footnote at the bottom of an article about being soulmates with a serial killer. Choosing love, it says, and when Luke clicks on the link it opens up an ancient-looking website that says Choosing love: soulmates and the autonomous self. 

It’s not a long article, and it’s riddled with spelling mistakes, but the gist of it seems to be that the author thinks the soulmate system is fucked up in principle, not in practice - they readily acknowledge that their soulmate is perfect for them, but resent the idea of having love assigned to them. It brings in ideas of free will raised by such authors as- and then Luke stops understanding, eyes glazing over as he reads metaphysical libertarianism and fatalism and compatibilism. So maybe this is what Luke’s soulmate’s problem is, Luke thinks, rereading the first few paragraphs that he actually understood. But it doesn’t make any fucking sense - why would someone try and choose someone that might not be right for them, when the right person is at their fingertips? 

(He asks one night, after a few too many hours alone with his thoughts. Why don’t you want to be my soulmate? But it, like everything he’s written over the past month since his birthday, goes unanswered.)

Luke tries to reach out a few more times over the next few weeks, with varying degrees of success. His soulmate is completely unresponsive when Luke asks where they live, or how old they are, or what they do for a living, or what they look like. 

Can you at least tell me your name? he asks once. No response. 

Okay, what about your initials? he asks the next day. Again, no response. 

One initial? he tries, the day after that. Please. Just your first initial. Maybe it’s the ‘please’ that does it, or maybe Luke’s soulmate is just sick of being asked the same question three days in a row and doesn’t want to get half a letter? Write it in code? tomorrow, but when Luke wakes up the next morning there’s a tiny, slightly-smudged A written underneath where he’d asked for the initial. 

That’s the last Luke hears from his soulmate. 

For a while, he writes a few times a day, tries to say something witty or something clever or something interesting. He tells A about his job, tells them about how frustrating it is to have Jack as his co-worker and Alex as his boss (because seriously, Jack should be fired at least four times an hour, and he’s fairly sure your boss being your soulmate violates a fair few codes of conflict of interest), tells them about Michael and Calum and how he sort of wishes he’d gone to university like they did. A never responds, and so after a while Luke gets self-conscious and stops writing so often, just checks in once a day in the evening to give A a roundup of the previous twenty-four hours. Luke figures the person doesn’t care, probably won’t read it, but it’s like a more cathartic version of a diary, one that has the possibility of being read and talking back, however slim the probability may be. Every evening, just before he goes to bed, he rounds up his day, vents to A about Jack breaking a bass in the shop again, laments that he doesn’t get to see Michael and Calum as often as he’d like to, talks about the regulars who come in like clockwork for their guitar strings, muses about whether he should get up early and get a coffee on the way to work tomorrow or whether he should get as much precious sleep as he can. He fills his arm from left to right, twisting it all the way around until he has to hold the pen at such a strange angle that he can barely control it, getting out all his thoughts and grievances and little things he’s observed that day, and when he wakes up in the morning, his arm is completely empty again. A never writes back, never even indicates that they’ve seen or read Luke’s ramblings, but they never tell him to stop it, either. And while that probably doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t not mean anything, either, and that’s as good as Luke figures it’s going to get for him. Plus, it becomes so ingrained in Luke’s daily routine that he barely even notices he’s doing it, and he sort of thinks getting a response might throw him off a bit.

(One night, so drunk he can barely stand, Luke scrawls I wish you wanted me. I wish I didn’t have to be alone. It’s gone when he wakes up the next morning, but there’s a tiny pen marking underneath where it had been, like A had gone to write something and then thought better of it.) 

A week or so after that incident, Luke’s just taking out his earphones, still humming along to the song he’d been listening to as he shoulders the door to the shop open, when Jack appears right in front of his face, making him jump and drop his phone. 

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters, picking his phone up from the floor and inspecting it for damage he can sue Jack for. 

“Glad you noticed,” Jack says. “Come to the back room.” Luke stops, and narrows his eyes. 

“What for?” he says suspiciously. 

“What do you mean, what for?” Jack says, sounding a little affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, we need to fix that. We should do a team bonding day,” Jack says, just as Alex walks around the corner. “Hey, Lex, d’you think me and Luke can do a team bonding day?”

“A team bonding day?” Alex echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I thought torture was illegal in Australia.” 

“That’s true,” Jack agrees placidly. “I’m not sure I can spend a whole day with Luke.” Luke scowls, aiming a kick at Jack’s ankle, just as Alex passes by and says: “I was talking about you, idiot.” 

“I’m a fucking pleasure to spend time with,” Jack says, voice rising as Alex walks away. “You spend all your time with me.” 

“For legal purposes,” Alex calls over his shoulder. Jack frowns.

“Legal purposes?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Alex shouts. “The life insurance papers have to look convincing.” It’s Jack’s turn to scowl, yelling fuck you at Alex’s retreating figure and getting a you can’t afford my fees in return. 

“Not on the fucking salary you pay me,” Jack shouts, and then turns to Luke. “Come to the back room.” Luke eyes him warily. 

“No,” he says. Jack scowls again. 

“Aren’t I your manager?” he says. “Come to the back room.” 

“I think I’m your manager at the moment,” Luke says, because who’s manager is dependent on the whims of a certain Alex Gaskarth and Jack breaking another bass last week had outdone Luke accidentally selling an Epiphone for half its retail price. Jack, though, just waves a hand dismissively, then grabs Luke’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the back room. 

“Hey,” Luke protests, trying to plant his feet and failing miserably - Jesus, Jack’s stronger than he looks. “This is kidnapping.” 

“Kidnapping?” Jack says. “You know where you’re going.”

“But I don’t want to be,” Luke says, grabbing onto the desk as he’s pulled past and scrabbling to hold onto it. Jack just yanks harder, dislodging Luke’s grip, and forces him into the back room. 

“What?” Luke asks warily, when Jack finally lets go, glancing around at the cardboard boxes filling their shelving units up to the ceiling full of new bass and electric guitars that Luke was meant to unbox two days ago but didn’t. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Jack protests, and then kicks the door shut behind them and grins. “It’s what I’m going to do.” Luke groans, tipping his head back, and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Nope. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s something I don’t want to be involved in.”

“No you don’t,” Jack says. 

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because it’s something you’re planning.” Jack pouts. 

“Listen-” he starts, taking a step forward towards Luke, who instinctively takes another step back, and that’s all Luke hears because then his heel is hitting a cardboard box hard, forcing it back against the wall, and the box on top of that is wobbling and making the box on top of that one wobble even more, and Luke says shit and flings his arms out to steady himself, catching the metal of the shelving unit and pulling it towards him, making all of the heavy, heavy fucking guitars in it come crashing down on top of him. A few land next to him with ugly crunching sounds and accompanying twangs, and a few hit his legs and force him to the ground, and then a few are hitting his stomach and chest and crushing his organs, making him gasp for breath, and then a few are hitting his head, making him momentarily unable to see as his vision swims so much it almost disappears entirely, and then Luke must lose consciousness because the next thing he hears is a distant voice shouting, sounding incredibly worried.

“Luke?” they’re yelling. “Luke? Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Luke, Luke, are you okay? Are you- fuck, fuck, Lex, help me, help me move- no, not that, you fucking idiot, that’s going to-” and then Jack’s face comes into view, uncharacteristic concern etched on his features. 

“Huh,” Luke says weakly. “You look funny when you care about me.” And then he passes out again. 

 -------

 When Luke wakes up again, he’s in hospital. 

At first, it sends a jolt of fear running through him when he wakes up in an all-white, clinical-looking environment, but his brain supplies a helpful hey, remember when all those guitars fell on you? That was pretty wack, and then it sort of makes sense. 

“Oh, hey!” someone says, and Luke’s head snaps to the left to find the source of the voice. It’s a pretty - very fucking pretty, oh God - man, standing next to a bunch of machines, some of which are bleeping, some of which are blinking. “You’re up.”

“I’m up,” Luke says, and finds that his throat is dry and raspy. He coughs, and tries again. “Uh. Who are you?” 

“I’m Ashton,” the guy says. “I’m your nurse. Well, until my shift ends.” 

“Oh,” Luke says. “Hi. I’m Luke.” Ashton grins, hazel eyes lighting up in amusement, and steps back from the machines he’s been fiddling with. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “How are you feeling?” 

“Uh,” Luke says, and looks down at himself. His right arm is bound in a cast, and when he tries to wriggle his toes he finds his left foot in a cast too, and winces when he takes a deep breath. “My body hurts.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, and moves to the foot of Luke’s bed to pick up a tablet. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You had a bunch of guitars fall on you. You’re lucky you came out of it with just a few broken bones and a concussion.” 

“And probably a huge bill for damages, if my boss is anything to go by,” Luke adds, and Ashton looks up from the tablet with a small smile. 

“Nightmare boss?” he says, and then frowns. “Hang on, you’ve had a visitor claiming to be your boss. American guy?” 

“Not the one with skunk hair?” Luke asks in trepidation, because the last thing he wants to deal with is Jack Barakat in a hospital environment, and Ashton shakes his head. 

“No, but he was with him,” he says. “I think they’re both still here, actually. They were insistent that they wanted to be here when you woke up, but I can tell them to leave, if you’d like.” Luke hesitates. 

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “The boss thing was, uh. A joke. Well. Kind of. He is a shitty boss. But. Not like that.” He swallows. Fuck. He should not be allowed to interact with hot men, honestly. Maybe Ashton will just think these incredibly lacking social skills are a part of the concussion and not just Luke’s main failing as a person. 

“It’s still visiting hours, so if you want they can come in, but I’ll get the doctor to check you over first, since you’re awake now,” Ashton says, and Luke nods. Yeah. He should probably get checked over. Seems like the kind of thing you do in a hospital, right? 

“Sure,” he says, and Ashton throws him one final grin before heading out of the room. Luke exhales shakily, lying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. 

Fuck. He hopes he’s sick enough to stay in hospital forever, and that Ashton’s on shift tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that. However long it takes for Luke to become socially adept, really.

 -------

 The doctor tells him something about broken leg and fractured wrist and broken ribs and bruised internally, but all Luke hears is will take a few months to heal fully but no lasting damage, and we’re just going to keep you in for today and tomorrow and monitor your situation, since you had a fairly nasty concussion. Jack and Alex come bursting in as soon as the doctor gives Luke the all-clear for visitors, rushing to his side and telling him how fucking stupid he is, what the fuck, why would he grab onto the fucking shelving unit to steady himself, but their eyes are shining with worry and their faces are a little red and puffy, and it makes Luke’s heart lurch in his chest in an oddly pleasant way. Alex tells Luke he’ll give him a pay raise if he doesn’t sue for workplace injury, and Luke laughs and then immediately groans in pain and says don’t make me laugh, I’ve broken my ribs. 

(“Don’t worry,” Jack assures him, “Michael and Cal are coming in after us. You're safe on the laughing front.”) 

Michael and Calum do visit after Alex and Jack, but only get to stay for five minutes before Ashton’s sticking his head in the door and saying Luke, your parents are here, and they’re not happy that everyone’s seen you before they have. 

(“He’s your type, isn’t he?” Michael says loudly, before the door’s even closed behind Ashton, and Luke wants to die. He wonders whether he can force one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs, or something.) 

By the time his parents have finished fussing over him, his mum plumping up his pillows and his dad clapping a hand on his broken leg that makes Luke let out a choked scream of pain, Luke’s so exhausted that he just falls straight asleep, only waking up when he hears some shuffling around his bed. 

“Mm?” he mumbles, blinking blearily, and finds Ashton smiling apologetically at him. 

“Sorry,” he stage-whispers. “I’m not great at being quiet.” 

“No, no, ‘s all good,” Luke says, swallowing like it’s going to get the horrible taste out of his mouth. 

“How are you?” 

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Luke answers automatically, and then belatedly realises he’s lying in a hospital bed with an IV in and a few broken bones. “Uh. I mean-” he says hastily, but Ashton just laughs, gentle and amused. It sends a shiver down Luke’s spine, although that might just be whatever Ashton’s just pressed on the machine blinking next to Luke’s head. 

“Do you ever get a good answer to that?” Luke asks, turning his head to look at Ashton. 

“To what?”

“To asking people how they are in a hospital.” Ashton smiles down at the tube he’s fiddling with, and Luke tries not to think about the fact that the other end of the tube is inside him, tries not to let his stomach turn. It’s probably not very sexy to throw up in front of Hot Ashton. 

“Not really,” Ashton says. “But it’s free to care, right?” Oh, God. Hot Ashton is also Caring Ashton. Fuck. Luke is not in the right state of mind to deal with this. 

“I guess,” Luke says. 

“So, how are you?” Ashton asks, smile still playing at his lips. 

“Uh,” Luke says. “Tired. My body still hurts.” 

“You should rest,” Ashton advises him. “Pretty much the best thing you can do for your body right now.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then without thinking, adds: “I mean, I was resting, until…” he trails off, rational part of his brain kicking in and screaming what the fuck, Luke, that’s your fucking nurse, that’s so rude, that’s so unprofessional, you’re going to get kicked out of hospital and forced to try and heal your broken bones on your own (okay, maybe not so rational), but Ashton just laughs, bright and amused. 

“Point taken,” he says, but he’s still grinning, so Luke figures he’s safe. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll send my botox bill your way,” Luke says, and Ashton arches an eyebrow, stepping back from the machines at Luke’s side. 

“I’m not sure that’ll hold up in court,” he says. 

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” Luke says, eyes following Ashton as he crosses the room over to the door. Ashton huffs out a laugh, looking over at Luke as he pulls the door open and lets light spill from the bright hallway into the room, making him glow softly like some kind of weird, scrubs-clad angel. 

“Sleep well, Luke,” he says, and then the light is gone.

 -------

 Luke does sleep well. 

He sleeps for most of the next day, only waking up for a very groggy talk with a new doctor of which he takes absolutely nothing in, then for a very painful walk to the bathroom with a brisk nurse who tugs on his elbow too hard, and then when Alex, Jack, Michael and Calum all pile into his room as soon as visiting hours begin. He’s kind of glad they’re all there, because it means they can entertain each other rather than him having to partake in the conversation, so he can just lie back, exhausted, and watch them bicker over whether or not Luke would notice if they stole his hospital food. Wait, hang on-

“Hey,” Luke says, frowning. “No one’s stealing my hospital food. I need to heal.”  

“But it’s salmon tonight,” Michael protests. “You don’t even like salmon.” Luke pulls a face. He really doesn’t like salmon. 

“So, what, I should starve?” he says indignantly, even though he probably would rather starve than eat salmon. 

“We can sneak you food,” Jack says earnestly. “Mike and I were thinking-” 

“I told you, Jack,” Alex says exasperatedly. “Visiting hours are once a day. Luke needs to eat more than that.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael says. “Not if we bring him enough food.” 

“He can space it out,” Jack suggests. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Luke would fucking love to eat cold and soggy chicken nuggets,” Calum says sarcastically, and Alex nods and points at him, all thank God, finally someone speaking some sense.  

“They’re not going to get soggy,” Michael protests. 

“Yeah, do you know how many preservatives they put in those things?” Jack adds. 

“And you think that’s what Luke should be eating to mend his broken bones?” Alex asks dryly. 

“He’s fine,” Michael says breezily. “He’s twenty-one. His body’s been managing a poor diet so far.” Luke scowls.

“My diet’s fucking fine,” he says. “What’s wrong with my diet?” All four of them round on him in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Calum demands, at the same time that Michael says: “What isn’t wrong with your diet?” and Alex says: “When was the last time you even looked in the general direction of a vegetable?” and Jack says: “No, y’know, the man’s got a point. His diet could be worse.” 

“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it isn’t bad,” Calum points out. 

“Credit where credit is due,” Jack says solemnly, “he’s doing a better job than he could be.” 

“The only way Luke’s diet could be worse is if he went all Monsieur Mangetout,” Alex says, and the four of them blink at him. “What?” he says defensively. “C’mon, Monsieur Mangetout? You know Monsieur Mangetout.” 

“You wanna flex your French pronunciation skills one more time?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. “The floor is yours, mate.” Alex rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “My point is-” but they don’t get to find out what his point is, because then the door’s opening and Ashton’s sticking his head in. Luke wishes he’d been able to shower this morning - he’s sure his hair is sticking up all over the place, and that half the curls are flattened and frizzy, and he sort of wants to say sorry, Ashton, I swear I’m at least a little hotter than this most of the time.  

“Visiting hours are over, guys, I’m sorry,” Ashton says apologetically, and all four of Luke’s friends groan. “Sorry, sorry, I know,” Ashton says, and then throws Luke a smile before closing the door as they start gathering their things together, the sound of chairs scraping filling the room. 

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Jack says to Luke, nodding at the door Ashton’s just closed. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “He’s also my nurse, so. Very illegal.” Michael pulls a face. 

“Is it?” he asks. Calum and Alex both throw him hard looks. 

“Yes,” they chorus. 

“Fucking hell,” Jack grumbles, pulling his coat on. “Laws are really fucking boring.” In this case, Luke can’t help but heartily agree. 

“Well, hurry up with the healing, and then he won’t be your nurse anymore,” Michael suggests. 

“Pretty sure it’s still illegal,” Alex notes. 

“So?” 

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Alex mutters, and pushes him towards the door. “We’ll come back tomorrow if you’re still here, Luke.” 

“Us too,” Calum says, shepherding Michael in the direction of the door too. “Bye, Luke. Be safe.” 

“Be safe?” Luke echoes. “What sort of fucking danger am I in at a hospital?” 

“Falling in love, apparently,” Calum says, and then the door swings shut behind him. 

Well, Luke thinks. He’s not exactly wrong. 

 -------

 Ashton comes back at around seven p.m. with Luke’s dinner, although I don’t usually serve dinner, it’s not a nurse’s job, but Jenna’s just had to go home for a family emergency and I was the closest person at hand. It’s salmon, and Luke pulls a face when he sees it that makes Ashton laugh. 

“You don’t like salmon?” he says. “We have veggie options too, if you want that.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Luke says hastily, not wanting to come across like the fussy eater he is, for some reason. “Salmon’s good. I like salmon. It’s, uh, a good fish.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then snorts. 

“Sure,” he says, and sets the tray down on Luke’s lap carefully. “How are you doing?” 

“Fine,” Luke says, which isn’t really a lie this time. “Everything still hurts, but.” He shrugs. “It’s alright.” 

“You’re a trooper,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke nods solemnly, using his unbroken left hand to slot the knife into his right hand. 

“It’s the top level care I’m receiving,” he says, and Ashton laughs again. 

“Flattery will get you places,” he says, and Luke pauses, glancing over at Ashton. 

“What places?” he asks, and Ashton winks, and sets a slice of chocolate cake down on the tray balanced on Luke’s legs. Luke looks down at it, and then back up at Ashton. 

“That was on the menu,” he says. “You were going to give that to me anyway.” Ashton just grins, and heads back to the door. 

“I would’ve withheld it if you hadn’t complimented my exemplary nursing skills,” he says, as he pulls the door open. 

“I thought you said dinner service wasn’t part of the job description?” 

“I might fight for it to be now,” Ashton says, pulling the door open. “Everyone needs to play God from time to time.” Luke snorts. 

“That’s a completely non-alarming sentence to come out of your nurse’s mouth,” he says. “I think I’ll check my IV myself tonight.” Ashton’s lips hitch up in an amused smile. 

“Enjoy your dinner,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

 -------

 The next day, Luke is told that he can be discharged after a series of tests have been carried out, which are booked in for five p.m. - right in the middle of visiting hours, so he texts everybody not to come - and then get delayed until nine p.m. By ten, Luke’s still waiting for someone to come round as promised, and is getting incredibly restless, so turns to reach for his phone again - and stops dead. 

There’s writing on his arm. 

Writing that he, with his broken right hand, did not put there. 

He yanks his arm close to him, then turns to fumble with the light above his bed because he can’t fucking see, and squints at the writing. 

It’s just three words, small and scribbled like they had to be written fast or A would have lost the nerve to say them, but they make Luke’s heart thud against his ribcage like it’s trying to break a few more of his ribs.

Are you okay? 

What? 

Luke’s reaching for the pen in his drawer before he’s even thought about it, a million responses racing through his mind. What the fuck, being one, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate another, why are you talking to me now? What changed? in there somewhere too, but mostly: why?  

It’s a good thing it’s only why, too, because writing the letters takes a fucking age and when he’s done, it sort of looks like something he would have produced when he was four years old. The reply is instantaneous, though, and Luke can barely believe it, feels like he’s hallucinating the way the letters are appearing one by one on his arm. He’s too scared to blink, like it’ll break the spell somehow, like looking away will make A think well, he’s replied, that’s good enough, but another sentence appears, letter by letter.

You haven’t complained about Jack in a few days. 

So they have been reading Luke’s quasi-diary-entries. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

Shit. Luke has no idea what to say. Should he tell the truth? Should he try and take a mile from the inch A is giving him, ask what the fuck is going on, press the question of why A doesn’t want to be his soulmate? No, that’ll make them clam up again. Maybe he just shouldn’t reply at all. After all, it’s not like A’s ever given Luke anything when he’s been pouring his heart out in the early hours of the night, is it? Maybe Luke should give them a taste of their own medicine. 

He only considers that for a total of half a second before the pen is back on his skin, writing underneath A’s handwriting - God, it’s fucking surreal. 

I’m in hospital. Broke a bunch of bones. There’s a longer pause this time, and when a few minutes of Luke staring intently down at his arm have passed with no further reply and he’s thinking fuck, that’s it with a sinking heart, a few more words appear. 

I’m sorry to hear that. Get well soon. 

Luke’s just about to put the pen back down to his arm, to write a quick thanks, because it’s about all he can manage to write legibly with the weird way he has to hold his pen with the cast on, when more scribbles start appearing. 

How are you doing? Luke bites his lip. 

Fine, he says. You?

I’m not the one in hospital.  

True, Luke writes. My body aches. 

You should rest. Best thing you can do for your body. Luke huffs out a laugh. 

You sound like my nurse. 

Your nurse knows what they’re talking about. 

I’d be concerned if he didn’t. The reply takes a little longer to come this time, but after a few minutes more words are appearing. 

Touché. Luke’s just staring down at the word, racking his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going because fuck, fuck, he’s talking to his fucking soulmate, when a few more words appear. 

Goodnight, Luke. Get some rest. 

I’d like to, but I’m waiting for more tests, Luke writes. He waits, and he waits, but no response comes. 

Fuck, he thinks, rereading the entire conversation over and over, and over just for good measure. Fuck. He’s spoken to his soulmate. He’s spoken to A. He’s spoken to his fucking soulmate.  

He reaches over for his phone, turns his arm this way and that and takes a photo, and sends it to his group chat with Michael and Calum. He sees Michael’s typing bubble pop up before the second picture has even sent, but then the door is opening and Doctor Nichols is striding in, and Luke hastily puts his phone down and nods along to the list of tests she’s rattling off that need doing before he can be discharged, mind covered in an impervious sheen of soulmate soulmate soulmate that stops any of it going in. 

Fuck, Luke thinks, as he’s getting a bright light shone in his eyes and trying his hardest not to blink or look over at his phone, which is buzzing incessantly on his bedside table. Fuck.  

 -------

 Michael and Calum agree that this is a positive step. 

(Are you fucking kidding me? Calum says, when Luke voices hesitancy. They checked in on you. They fucking care. 

rt, Michael says.)

Luke’s not so certain, though. The thought of it is sending delicious sparks dancing from his heart to his fingertips and down to his abdomen (or maybe that’s the medication, he’s not entirely sure), but he doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, given A’s hard stance and silence for the past few months. But A would have received a letter if Luke had died, and the government are usually pretty quick to send those out, so maybe there is something to be said for the fact that they only waited three nights before asking after Luke. 

Luke’s body is too exhausted to let him stay up psyching himself out over it, though, forcing him into a deep sleep as soon as Doctor Nichols has told him he’s free to leave the next morning and left him be, and when he wakes up the next morning it’s to someone opening his curtains. 

“Hey,” they say, as Luke’s eyelids try to fight the fucking sun, and Luke shields his eyes with his hand to see Ashton silhouetted by the window. 

“Weren’t you on shift last night?” he asks, and Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Life of a nurse,” he says tiredly. “Sorry for the light, by the way. Figured it would be a nicer way to wake you up than ripping your IV out.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, squinting and scrunching his face up, and Ashton huffs out a small laugh as he makes his way over to Luke’s side. 

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns. 

“That’s a shame,” Luke says. “I always thought having needles ripped out of me would be an enjoyable experience.” Ashton smiles again, and there are a few crinkles around his eyes. God, he really is fucking pretty. 

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks. 

“I’m looking forward to not having to eat salmon anymore,” Luke says. 

“Hey, I offered you the veggie option,” Ashton says, and Luke winces as he feels the needle and whatever the fuck else being pulled out of his vein. 

“I didn’t want to be a nuisance,” Luke says. 

“Hold this,” Ashton instructs, and Luke reaches over to hold the gauze on his arm as Ashton reaches for a clear plaster. “You wouldn’t have been a nuisance. You’ve been an exemplary patient.” 

“Is that a compliment?” Luke says. “I’m good at lying around being useless?” Ashton grins. 

“You’re not useless,” he says. “Patients keep me in a job.” Luke grins back. 

“I’ll try my best to get seriously injured again, then,” he says, and as Ashton turns away to the trolley he’s put Luke’s cannula on he catches the tail end of a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Legally and professionally, I can’t encourage that,” he says, and Luke snorts. 

“But personally?” 

“No comment.” 

“So you want me to hurt myself?” 

“Is that what ‘no comment’ means these days?” Ashton says, throwing Luke a glance over his shoulder as he pushes his trolley over to the door, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Luke.”

“Wait,” Luke blurts, and Ashton stops. Luke blinks, like he's waiting for Ashton to say something, even though he's the one who'd asked him to stop, because shit, he hasn't thought this through. Something in his brain just said stop, ask him out, ask him out. And really, he thinks, why not, because if he embarrasses himself he'll never have to see Ashton again, and he's no longer Ashton's patient, so he takes a deep breath, says fuck it, and mumbles: “Uh. Look. Would you- would you want to go out? With me? Not- not now, obviously. Some other time. But- y’know. Would you?” Jesus Christ. Ashton hesitates for a moment, and then throws Luke a slightly sad, kind smile. 

“I’d love to, Luke,” he says, and Luke’s heart soars for a moment, flying higher than it’s ever gone before “but I can’t.” Fuck. Luke’s heart should have read Icarus. 

“Why not?” Luke says. “I’m not your patient anymore.” Ashton shakes his head. 

“Still not allowed,” he says. “Only exception is if you find out you’re soulmates.” Well, fuck. 

“Oh,” Luke says, and hopes the wobble in his voice isn’t as audible to Ashton as it is to him. “Okay.”

“I really- fuck. Sorry. I just- I’m sorry, Luke.” Ashton smiles at him again, barely more than a twitch of his lips, and then he’s gone. 

Luke leans back against his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding. 

Maybe he’s just not meant to be with people whose names start with the letter A.

 -------

 Luke sits around at home for a week before he decides he’s so bored and so sick of being fussed over by his parents that he insists on coming back to work. Alex, in turn, insists on picking him up and dropping him off every evening, like he’s doing a fucking school run, and Jack insists on Luke doing nothing besides working the till so he can sit down. It’s fucking boring, because all the fun parts of the job are helping little kids buy their first guitars or talking to seasoned professionals about the ins and outs of the instruments, not smiling politely and waiting while they swipe their cards. He has nothing to do between people paying, so he spends most of his time on his phone, swiping through his various social media apps and wishing his hand weren’t in a cast so he could at least play guitar. It’s not exactly the worst way to spend his time, though, especially now that he’s found that forum of people pretending to be middle-class Dads which is oddly relatable and funnier to him than it probably is to anyone else. He’s in the middle of scrolling through it in a particularly quiet lull on a Thursday afternoon, screenshotting the best ones to send to Ben and Jack, when the shadow of a person looms over him.

“Hey, I- oh,” they say, and Luke looks up from his phone hastily to find-

“Ashton?” he says, surprised. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. God, he looks good; he’s wearing a leather jacket over a faded grey Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair is falling into his eyes a little, and Luke sort of wants to kiss him and sort of wants to die. 

“Uh, hi,” Luke says. “Sorry. I just, um. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. How can I help you?” Ashton blinks at him, and then smiles. 

“I need some new strings for my Strat,” he says, and Luke nods. Of course Ashton plays guitar. Hopefully he doesn’t play, like, fucking drums, or something. That would probably be too much for Luke’s little heart to handle. 

“Sure,” he says, turning to the selection of strings behind him. “Ernie Ball Regular Slinky alright?” 

“Sounds good,” Ashton says, and Luke pulls a pack down and sets them on the desk in front of him, busying himself with adding up the cost like he doesn’t know it off by heart. 

“How are you doing?” Ashton asks as Luke furiously types in numbers to avoid looking at Ashton, making Luke pause and glance up at him. 

“You’re not on the job right now,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh, raking a hand through his curls. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t care,” he says. “So?”

“I’m alright,” Luke says. “Bored, mostly. Kind of shit not being able to use my hand.” Ashton makes a small noise of sympathy, and Luke dramatically presses a button on the till and announces: “That’s fourteen dollars, please.” 

“You won’t have to have the cast on for long,” Ashton says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. Luke tries not to watch the way the movement exposes a sliver of his stomach. Thank fuck the scrubs had made Ashton entirely shapeless, because Jesus Christ. 

“I feel like I’ll have to relearn how to use my hand normally when it comes off,” Luke admits, accepting the twenty Ashton hands him and fumbling with the till for a five and a one. 

“That’s pretty normal,” Ashton says, accepting the change. Luke’s fingers brush against Ashton’s palm, and he tries not to let them twitch at the contact. “You’ll be used to it after a day or two.” 

“Maybe I’ll grow attached to it, though,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. “I mean, everyone has to be nice to me now.” Ashton looks down at the cast, which has Luke sucks big dicks written on it in huge, black letters courtesy of Jack, and then back up at Luke pointedly, who sighs. “That’s just Jack,” he says, and right on cue, Jack pops his head out of the back room. 

“What’s me?” he says, and then brightens. “Hey, Nurse Irwin!” 

“Hi, Mr Barakat,” Ashton says. 

“Hey, idiot, Luke’s sexy nurse is here,” Jack shouts, and Alex’s head appears out of the office. 

“What?” he says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin.”

“Hi, Mr Gaskarth,” Ashton says politely. “How’re you?” 

“Great, thanks,” Alex says. “Better now that you’ve patched my best employee up.” 

“Hey,” Jack says, affronted. “Aren’t I your best employee?”

“Did Nurse Irwin patch you up?” 

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be my best employee after that, then.” 

“Good to know my nursing skills are what keep your business running,” Ashton puts in, and Alex grins. 

“Think it’s more than just your nursing skills,” he says cryptically, and then disappears back into his office. 

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Uh. I’m sorry. Here. Um. Have fun?” Ashton smiles, a little teasing, a little amused. 

“Will do,” he says. “Look after that arm for me.” Luke’s heart skips a beat. For me. 

“Well, I was planning on smashing it up a bit more, but now that you’ve said that…” he says, and Ashton laughs, eyes twinkling. 

“See you around, Luke,” he says, pocketing his strings and heading for the door. Luke watches him go, and then groans and puts his head in his hands. 

“What the fuck?” Jack says. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

“I did,” Luke mumbles into his palms. “The day I got discharged. He said no.” 

“What?” Alex pipes up, sticking his head out of his office again, because apparently he’s still listening too. “Why? Does he already have a soulmate?” Luke’s stomach flips. He’s been trying not to think about that possibility. But surely Ashton would have said that, right? It’s the kindest way to let someone down. And he had said he would have loved to, however much out of politeness that may have been. 

“Apparently it’s still not allowed, unless you’re soulmates.” 

“Well, you could be-” Jack starts, but immediately falls silent upon a stern look from Alex. “Fine. Well, since you’ve got nothing better to do in your spare time now, you can start by reorganising those CDs you fucked up the other day.” He nods at the cardboard box that’s been sitting behind Luke for a few days now, and Luke rolls his eyes, and bends down to pick it up with a dramatic sigh.

“Fuck you,” Luke says sullenly, and gets to work. 

 -------

 Nine days after Luke’s discharged from the hospital, another message appears on his arm. 

How are you doing? 

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and he reaches for a pen with fumbling fingers, slotting it into his hand as best as he can manage.

Better, Luke writes. I’m out of hospital.  

I’m glad to hear that. 

Why do you ask? Luke decides to chance it. Fuck it, he thinks. Why not? 

You still haven’t been writing. Luke swallows.

My writing hand is in a cast.  

Oh. Luke frowns.

Could you not tell from my handwriting?

Honestly? No. Luke scowls. 

My handwriting isn’t that bad.

Isn’t it? Luke’s scowl deepens. A is fucking rude. Before he can come up with a suitably haughty response, though, they’re writing something else. 

Can you just write me something in the evenings to let me know you’re okay? 

Luke stares at it for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat. He doesn’t owe A that. A’s done next to nothing but ignore him, and now they’re demanding something from him? 

You never let me know you’re okay, he writes back, a little petulantly. There’s a longer pause this time, like A’s really thinking about the answer, because when the words come they’re written like they’ve been rehearsed prior to pen touching skin.

Do you want me to?

Luke hesitates. Does he? Of course he does, it’s his fucking soulmate, but they don’t want him, and it might make him more attached to them and make it hurt more when they inevitably reject him again. 

(Oh, who is he fucking kidding.) 

Yes.

Okay. That’s it, they don’t say anything else, and Luke doesn’t want to chase them, so he puts the pen down and stares at the conversation. 

Okay. So they’re- so they’re sort of talking now. That’s something, right? Maybe they can at least be friends. 

(He pushes away the that’s going to hurt too much, Luke, that’s going to hurt far too fucking much that flashes like a neon warning sign in his head, rolls over and goes to sleep.) 

 -------

 After that, he falls into a sort of routine. 

He goes to work, plays on his phone, jumps whenever the door opens in case it’s Ashton, like his strings are going to break within a week or two, then goes home or goes to Michael and Calum’s to watch them play videogames (he’d discovered fairly early on Xbox controllers and casts don’t mix), then gets ready for bed and writes A a quick I’m okay message. Sometimes it’s just that, just I’m okay, and sometimes it’s I’m okay, had a good day at work, or I’m good, really tired, or I’m okay, Jack broke another bass guitar today, I don’t know what he has against those things. A always replies with Thanks, I’m okay, but it’s something. It’s almost enough, and Luke can make do with that. 

Six and a half weeks after getting out of the hospital, Luke gets his arm cast taken off. His leg still has a few weeks to go, and he’s told his ribs are healing nicely, congratulations on refraining from strenuous exercise (Luke almost laughs in the doctor’s face), but Luke’s not really thinking about that. Logically, he knows the chances are next to nothing, but he can’t help but look out for Ashton, just in case. He doesn’t see him, of course, but when he half-jokingly mentions it to Calum and Michael that night, Michael makes an offhand comment that sticks in Luke’s mind. 

“Looks like Ashton’s helping you get over A,” he says, eyes glazed over as he stares at the screen in front of them. 

“What do you mean?” Luke says. 

“He’s all you fucking think about despite only meeting him, like, four times,” Michael says, and then swears loudly as Calum shoots him. “You cunt.”

“Should’ve been paying attention,” Calum says, with a shrug. 

Luke’s thinking about that remark as he’s getting ready for bed that night, staring at himself in the mirror as his right hand tries to remember how to use a toothbrush. Maybe Michael’s right. Maybe Ashton is the antidote to A. Or, at the very least, he’s proof that Luke can like people that aren’t his soulmate. The thought makes him smile around his toothbrush, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Yeah, his soulmate might not want him, but maybe he’s not doomed to be alone, after all. 

He spits and rinses, and then wanders into his room, picking up his pen to write his daily I’m okay message to A. A millimetre before the pen touches his skin, though, he hesitates. He might as well ask the question he’s asked a hundred times before, now that A actually speaks to him, even if it’s only to say the same three words every night. The worst that can happen is he gets ignored again. 

I’m okay, he writes, and then, why don’t you want to be my soulmate? 

Thanks, I’m okay. The response comes immediately, like A’s been waiting for Luke to check in, but nothing else follows it. Luke watches his arm for a few moments, waiting for more to show up, and then sighs, turns his light off, rolls over and falls asleep. 

 -------

 When he wakes up the next morning, he hobbles into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and as he’s reaching for his toothbrush he happens to glance in the mirror - and stops dead. 

There’s something new on his arm. 

He looks down so fast he thinks he might have snapped his own neck, heart skipping a beat. 

I want to choose who I love.  

So it is that, Luke thinks, testing the weight of the words on his heart. They aren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be. In fact, he thinks, as an image of Ashton flashes through his head, he sort of respects it. A can have their chosen love. Luke can find someone else. 

(Another image of Ashton flashes through his head.) 

He hobbles back to his room and sits down on his bed, picking up the pen and thinking. Fair enough sounds a little passive aggressive, as does that’s fair, but Luke can’t think of anything else to say, so he settles for that’s fair and adds a little smiley to try and mitigate any potential hostility that might come across in the words. He blinks at the phrase for a moment, half-hoping for a response, but it’s eight in the morning and the words must have come at around four or five for them to still be there, so A’s probably asleep. So Luke shakes himself out of it, reaches for his toothbrush, and forgets about it. 

 -------

 A week after that, Ashton comes back into the shop. 

“Hi, Luke,” he says, waving and grinning as he closes the door behind him, because of course he’s a fucking gentleman who doesn’t let the door swing shut heavily like almost everyone else who comes in. “You sell drums, right?” Oh, Jesus. He’s not a drummer. He is not.  

“Uh,” Luke says intelligently, like there aren’t two drum kits set up opposite him. “Yes?” 

“Sweet,” Ashton says, ambling over with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing short sleeves today, because it’s November and the weather’s starting to really warm up, and Luke can’t help but thank whatever deity may exist that he lives in the southern hemisphere, because Jesus Christ, Ashton’s arms are a fucking sight to behold. “I need a new snare.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, tucking the pen he’s been holding behind his ear. “For- for you? Or- like, as a gift?” Ashton throws him an amused look. 

“Who gifts snare drums?” he asks, and Luke shrugs, trying not to think about Ashton drumming. Good fucking God.  

“People have gifted stranger things,” he says, and waves a hand at the drums opposite. 

“Oh, hey, you got your cast off!” Ashton says brightly. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Still feels a bit weak.” 

“I’m sure you know how to strengthen it,” Ashton says solemnly. Luke blinks at him. Is he- surely he’s not- is he- “Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cheeks a little pink, like he’s just realised what he’s said. “I meant- I meant that the doctor should have given you a few exercises. Fuck. I did not mean- I’m not- fuck.” Luke can’t help but burst out laughing, warmth curling in the pit of his stomach as Ashton throws him a sheepish smile. God, he’s fucking cute. Luke is far too far gone on this man. 

“Yeah, I forgot them,” he admits, because I didn’t take them in because I was too busy looking at every nurse that walked past in case they were you sounds insanely creepy. Ashton throws him a slightly exasperated look. 

“Luke,” he says admonishingly, and Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. 

“What was that you said about me being an exemplary patient?” he reminds Ashton, who shakes his head, grinning. 

“I should have reserved judgement,” he says, making his way over to the drum kits Luke had pointed out. “Hey, do you have any sticks for these?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Luke says, hobbling out from behind his desk to the basket that stores test sticks and then over to Ashton, ignoring his protests of you shouldn’t be putting weight on that foot, Luke, let me get them, tell me where they are. 

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “It’s getting taken off next week.” Ashton throws him a look. 

“Yeah, next week,” he says. “These things have specific healing times for a reason.” Luke just waves his hand dismissively. 

“I have another foot,” he says, and Ashton tuts, but a small smile is tugging at his lips. 

“Hey, Luke?” a voice shouts - Jack, whose head pops out of the back room. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you make a note that we need to order more of the Dunlop Hendrix Wahs, the SolidGoldFX NU-33s, the-” shit, Luke thinks, looking around him wildly; there’s no fucking paper, and Luke’s got a broken foot, so he can’t get back to the desk before Jack’s finished rattling this list off. As he’s spinning on the spot, the pen he’d tucked behind his ear dislodges itself and threatens to fly out, and he slaps a hand up to stop it before realising hey, pen, I have skin, I’ll just write it on my arm and write it on paper later. 

“The Hendrix Wahs, the NU-33s, and what?” he calls, scribbling on his arm. 

“The Hydra Stereo and Reverbs, and the Boss Pocket Processors.” Luke nods, frowning as he notes it all down, and then looks back up at Jack. 

“Got it,” he says, and Jack gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the back room. “Sorry-” he starts, turning back to Ashton, and then drinks in his ashen face, and frowns. “Are you okay?” Then he notices in the corner of his eye some writing on Ashton’s arm, and thinks huh, that’s weird, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there when he came in - in fact, I’m certain that wasn’t there when he came in, because I made a mental map of every inch of his body, and looks down, trying to surreptitiously read it. 

Hendrix Wahs, NU-33s, Hydra S&R, Bass Pocket Processors. 

Luke’s list. Luke’s list, in Luke’s handwriting, has just appeared on Ashton’s arm. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“Wait,” Luke says slowly, and looks back up at Ashton’s stricken face. “Wait. You- hang on. How did my list just appear on your arm?” 

“How do you think?” Ashton says quietly. Luke blinks. 

“I don’t know,” he says. Ashton stares at him. 

“I- what? What do you mean?” he says. Luke frowns. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says. “How did my list appear on your arm?” 

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Ashton whispers, and then grabs the pen out of Luke’s hand and scrawls hi on his own arm. It sits there next to Luke’s list, looking oddly harmonious for two things that are completely unrelated, and Luke stares at it for a moment before looking down at his own arm. 

There, right next to the messy scribble of his list, is one new word. 

Hi.  

Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuck,” Luke says faintly, and steadies himself against a nearby keyboard. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re A?”

“You’re Luke?” Ashton sounds just as faint as Luke. 

“I- yes? Fucking- how did you not- you met all of my friends? Michael, Calum, Jack, Alex? At the hospital?” 

“I only knew them by surname,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. You’re Luke.” 

“You’re A,” Luke says, and then a thought occurs to him and he swallows, and grits his teeth. “Fuck. You’re A.” The words come out harder this time, tinged with bitterness, and it makes Ashton’s eyes snap up to him, big and wide and so pretty it would take Luke’s breath away if he had any left to give. 

“What?” 

“You- you don’t want this.” Luke gestures a little feebly, not wanting to be too specific, but Ashton just looks at him like he doesn’t quite get it. “Y’know. This. Us.” He swallows. “Me.” Ashton’s gaze softens. 

“Oh, Luke,” he says. “I- fuck. I do. I want you. I just didn’t- I didn’t want Luke. But I want you.”

“But I am Luke.” 

“I didn’t know that, though,” Ashton says. “I- oh, fuck. You’re my soulmate.” The word sends a chill down Luke’s spine. Jesus. He’d sort of almost come to terms with the fact he’d never meet his soulmate, never have a soulmate, never hear those words out loud, and now here he is, standing with one foot in a cast at work, talking to the hot nurse he’s not been able to get off his mind for two months who just so happens to be his fucking soulmate who had semi-torn Luke’s heart out from its resting place on his birthday. 

And now, he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

“You didn’t want me,” he says, more than a little accusingly. “And now you do.” He doesn’t ask anything in particular, but Ashton seems to know what he’s pointing at anyway, because he bites his lip. 

“Look,” he says. “I- I just didn’t want to fall for someone because it was assigned to me, or whatever. I wanted it to be a choice, not something I was forced into. And then I did fall for you, without knowing you were my soulmate, but obviously I- I couldn’t, because you were a patient - or a former patient - so I just- I thought that was it, but. Fuck. I fell for you on my own, and it turns out you’re my fucking soulmate.” Luke swallows. When he puts it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Luke can kind of get that. And the fact that Ashton’s saying he fell for Luke but just couldn’t act on it is definitely helping matters - Luke’s easily buttered up by an ego stroke. 

“You broke my heart,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Ashton swallows. 

“I hoped I hadn’t,” he says, like that makes it any better. 

“You could’ve at least waited ‘til it wasn’t my birthday anymore,” Luke says. “Or explained yourself. I thought it was me.”

“You thought what was you?”

“I thought- I thought I’d put you off, somehow. That I was the problem.” Ashton’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. 

“God, no. Jesus. No, no. I just- I wanted to be clear, and I thought the less I engaged the better, y’know? Like, the less you’d have to latch onto, the easier you’d forget about me.” He hesitates. “I shouldn’t’ve done it on your birthday, though,” he says. “I’m sorry. And- I’m sorry for everything else, too. It was never you.” 

And, okay. Luke’s the type to hold grudges. He’s petty and he’s childish, and he doesn’t forget shit like this. But he’s also an adult and he’s (to some degree, at least) capable of rational thought, so he shoves away his first instinct that says spite him, go on, make him hurt like he hurt you and thinks about it. Yeah, Ashton fucked up. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t Luke’s birthday, and he should’ve explained himself, and he just should’ve been a lot more communicative from the beginning. But the past week or two, Luke’s actually been okay with the idea that A doesn’t want him, so he can’t really hold that against Ashton anymore, not when his heart has patched itself up the past five months and shrugs off the idea of not having his soulmate in the way he’d always wanted. And he does understand Ashton’s reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it, so he clears his throat, and, just to make sure, says:

“So- so you do want it now?” 

“Fuck, I- well, I want to see where it can go,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t want to make any promises. But I’d like to try.” Luke blinks at him. 

Ashton wants to try. Ashton, who is Luke’s fucking soulmate, wants to try the two of them on for size. 

“Okay,” Luke says. “Okay. Yeah. We can try.” 

“Yeah?” Ashton says, a little nervously. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I mean, I’ve been sort of infatuated with you from a distance since meeting you, anyway, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton grins and opens his mouth to say something, and then there’s a yell from behind them. 

“Hey, Luke,” Alex says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you call our accountant? I need the books going over by- uh. Why are you both smiling like you’ve committed a crime? You’ve not committed a crime on these premises, have you?” 

“What?” Luke says. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alex says suspiciously. Luke glances over at Ashton, who shrugs, tiny and imperceptible, like sure, go on. Fuck.

“Uh,” Luke says, and swallows. “Turns out Ashton is, um. Kind of my soulmate?” Alex blinks at him. 

“Who’s Ashton?” Luke blinks back, and then points at Ashton. “That’s- that’s your soulmate? Ashton’s the dickhead?” The back room door opens. 

“Who’s a dickhead?” Jack asks, intrigued. 

“Ashton,” Alex says. 

“Who’s Ashton?”

“Nurse Irwin.”

“Oh. Hey again, Nurse Irwin. Why are you a dickhead?”

“He’s Luke’s soulmate.” Jack looks at Alex, and then at Luke, and then back again. 

“No, he isn’t,” he says calmly. 

“He is,” Luke says. 

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, and then goes back into the back room and closes the door. 

“Hey,” Alex shouts, frowning. “Get back out here. Luke’s just found his fucking soulmate.”  

“I’m not dealing with this mess,” Jack yells back, muffled by the door. 

“What mess?” Ashton asks, bewildered. Alex whips around to stare at him. 

“The mess you made,” he says. “Y’know. When you broke little Luke’s heart on his twenty-first birthday.” Ashton has the good grace to look embarrassed, and even winces slightly. Good, Luke thinks, a little childishly. Public humiliation probably makes them even for Luke’s birthday being ruined, isn’t it? 

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says, sounding very much like a five-year-old.

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “You two sort shit out between yourselves.” Ashton blinks at him. 

“Right,” he says, and turns to Luke. “So. Uh. I feel like now is the time to ask you on a date.” 

“What, with my chaperone watching?” Luke says, throwing Alex a pointed glance, and Alex throws his hands up in exasperation and heads back into his office. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, with a small smile. “It’s sweet how protective they are of you.” Which, yeah, but like, fuck, because if Ashton thinks this is protective, he’s got another thing coming when he meets Michael and Calum. Luke bites his lip.

“Wait ‘til you meet Michael and Calum,” he says, a little warningly, a little gleefully. 

“So is that a yes?” 

“A yes to what?”

“Me asking you out.” Luke blinks.

“Ashton, I asked you out, like, two months ago,” he says. “And you’re my soulmate. Obviously it’s a yes.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Ashton says, a little defensively. “It’s good to check.”

“What, so now you’re the king of communicating?” Ashton throws him a slightly hard look, but it softens when he sees the smile on Luke’s lips. 

“I sort of deserve that,” he admits, and Luke grins. 

“Part and parcel of going on a date with me,” he says, and Ashton grins back.

“At least I to go on a date with you,” he says. “Softens the blow.”

Yeah. Luke could get used to the way his heart is trying to communicate with him through the medium of interpretive dance.

(It’s a good thing his soulmate’s a nurse.) 

 -------

  Hurry up, Luke scribbles on his arm as quickly as possible. I didn’t pay for parking. 

Jesus, Luke, comes back almost immediately. I’m on my way back. 

I can tell by your handwriting.

You’re one to talk. 

Fuck off.  

xxx

Luke puts the pen back in the glove compartment and taps his fingers on the gear stick, peering at the revolving doors to try and spot his boyfriend. It only takes about thirty more seconds before he sees him walking out, looking around for a moment until he sees Luke parked badly and illegally and jogs over, shaking his head fondly. 

“Idiot,” he says, when he gets in the car. “If we get a fine, you’re paying it.” 

“You’ll have to bargain with Alex to give me a raise, then,” Luke says, throwing the car into reverse without bothering to look over his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Luke, look where you’re fucking going,” Ashton says, even though there’s no one there. Luke shrugs, puts the car into first, and pulls out of the spot he’d been parked in. 

“What?” he says. “We’re right outside a hospital. It’s fine.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mutters, but when Luke glances over he’s smiling. 

“So?” Luke prompts. “What did they say?” 

“It was fine,” Ashton says. “There are procedures in place for this sort of thing, y’know. They had the government papers confirming you’re my soulmate, and the ethical review was fine, because you just broke a few bones so I barely looked after you.” Luke scoffs. 

“Just broke a few bones?” he echoes, a little indignantly. “I broke half my fucking body.”

“Well, you did toss about fifty guitars onto yourself,” Ashton says, fumbling in the glove compartment as Luke pulls out onto the main road. 

“That was to get out of whatever Jack was trying to force me to do,” Luke says. “And it worked.” 

“Was it really worth it?” Ashton says, pulling the pen out of the glove compartment and raising his eyebrows. 

“Of course it was,” Luke says immediately. “I didn’t have to do whatever dumb shit Jack had in mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes. 

“That was a perfect set-up to say of course, Ash, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” Ashton tells him, and Luke grins. 

“Would’ve said that if I meant it,” he says, and Ashton sighs, but he’s grinning. 

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, and Luke grins back. 

“Because I’m your soulmate,” he says. “And worse than that, you chose to be stuck with me. This is all your own fucking doing.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mumbles again, but he’s scribbling something on his arm, and when Luke glances down he sees a slightly shaky heart drawn right where his wrist meets the back of his hand, and smiles out at the road.

“Love you too.” 

[chierafied]

Chie! Could you possibly do a sequel to the yakuza one shot you wrote for SessKag? That would be super awesome if you could!

Thank you for the prompt sweet Anon! 💙

It’s very rare for me to feel like I could continue a one shot after I’ve finished it, but the Yakuza fic was one of those. Ofc I never got around to it before this prompt... And maybe that’s for the best?

When I started writing this continuation I realised some issues I had with this scenario that would have made expanding this into a longer (romantic) fic problematic…

Anyway, all rambling aside, for reasons this is a platonic SessKag fic. 

Underwhelmed (a sequel for Entangled)

Kagome had thought her life would change irrevocably.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, exactly – that she would suddenly be adopted by the criminal syndicate and become some kind of a yakuza princess, like the ones you saw in manga.

Or to have a group of big burly bodyguards following her around.

Or – because he’d told her “I will take care of you” and promised to be in touch – to have the scary but intriguing Sesshoumaru Taishou personally guaranteeing her safety…

But life was not a manga plotline.

The decision to accept the yakuza gang’s offer of protection – one which she had believed to be so monumental that she’d needed several days to think it over – changed very little in the end.

She still continued to attend school as normal. There were no thugs lying in wait to threaten her with violence. There was no influx of criminals in her life. There was no sign of Sesshoumaru Taishou, either.

Really, the only thing that was different now that she’d agreed to be protected by gangsters was Jaken.

Presumably, he’d been tasked with guarding her. He tended to appear wherever Kagome went and follow her at a discreet distance. And he had claimed to have been sent by Mr Taishou when he’d first – and very briefly – introduced himself.

Having Jaken around didn’t make Kagome feel particularly safe.

He was an old, bald man scarcely taller than Kagome was and a little overweight. He walked with a waddle and enjoyed grumbling under his breath.

Although there had no longer been any incidents with her father’s rivals, Kagome still worried. And Kagome might as well be followed by her grandfather than Jaken, for all the security he’d be able to provide.

She supposed she could have dug out the business card and contacted Mr Taishou, but she didn’t want to bother him. Surely Mr Taishou had his hands full with… whatever illegal dealings yakuza bosses usually had.

So Kagome turned instead to her friend Sango. 

Kagome arrived at Sango’s house and found Sango in the dojo that her family owned, wearing her white gi.

“Kagome!” Sango greeted her with a warm smile. “How are you?”

“I’d like to learn martial arts,” Kagome blurted.

Sango’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. If it’s not too much of a trouble, I mean,” Kagome amended.

Sango shook her head. “It’s no trouble at all! You’ve just never, well… Seemed interested in martial arts?”

Kagome blushed. Her little brother Souta had been taking karate lessons at Sango's family's dojo, but she'd never bothered, though Sango had offered to teach her in the past. 

“I wasn’t, before. It’s just now that…”

“Now that what?” Sango prompted.

Kagome bit her lip and stayed silent. She hadn’t told anyone – except her mother – about that confrontation with those violent thugs or about meeting Mr Taishou.

Sango crossed her arms. “Kagome? Is everything all right?”

What could she possibly say to that? Kagome offered a feeble shrug.

Sango scowled at her.

“Whatever it is, you need to tell me. Right now.”

Kagome’s anxious gaze skittered around the empty dojo. She pulled Sango with her into a corner, trying to find what privacy she could.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” Kagome told her in an urgent whisper.

Sango’s eyebrow rose. “Of course I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“Promise me, Sango.”

“I’m getting worried now,” Sango huffed. “Fine, I promise.”

Kagome’s breath left her in a relieved sigh. “Okay. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking home from school after supplementary maths…” Kagome grimaced. “And there was this group of guys near the shrine steps. Big and scary guys. Real ruffians. They asked if I was Higurashi and before I knew it they’d circled all around me. One of them grabbed my arm so hard it hurt so I couldn’t run away.”

Sango gaped at her, horror and outrage glinting in her eyes. “What the hell?”

“So this guy comes and barrels in,” Kagome continued, “hits the thug holding me hard enough so he loses his grip. I run and this guy’s now beating up the whole group. Then he comes and grabs my arm and pulls me away. He seems really scary from up close, like a proper criminal; tattoos on his face kinda criminal.”

Kagome paused.

Sango was struck speechless.

“So this guy, he tells me there is some kind of a feud going on with his gang and a rival yakuza gang because the rivals had just killed his boss. And that I was in the crossfire – and my family too – because his boss was my dad.”

Sango’s eyes bugged. “But that’s – No way! Your father died when you were a kid right?”

“That’s what my mom had always told me,” Kagome said, hugging herself. That particular wound still felt raw. “But apparently that was just so we wouldn’t have to have anything to do with the yakuza.”

Sango started to speak but stopped before a single fully formed word made it out of her mouth. She had to visibly collect herself.

“So… basically, your dad’s a yakuza boss and died recently and his rival gang wants to get to your family?” Sango summarised after a while.

“Yeah. And I asked protection from the guy who saved me so now this gangster from my father’s gang follows me around but he seems pretty useless and I don’t know when the bad guys will come back…” Kagome laughed a little. “Not that there are really any good guys here anyway.”

“You’re a good guy,” Sango told her and patted her shoulder. “Let’s go grab a spare gi from my room and get you changed. The sooner we start, the better.”

Warmth flooded Kagome’s chest. She felt lighter already after telling the whole crazy tale to someone. And the gratitude of how Sango had taken it all in a stride and immediately agreed to help made her heart soar.

 Mr Taishou did keep his promise and was eventually in touch.

It was on a Thursday evening and Kagome was already in bed, leafing through a textbook and hoping it would make her sufficiently sleepy so she could call it a night.

The ringing of her cell phone startled her so badly she actually jumped and dropped the textbook. Unease slithered in her belly – who could possibly be calling her so late and why?

But as soon as she picked up her phone and heard the greeting in that deep, easily recognisable voice, she calmed down.

“Hello, Miss Higurashi.”

“Hi, Mr Taishou.”

“I hope you have been well.”

“Yeah, I have. Thanks.”

Kagome was about to return the pleasantry and ask how Mr Taishou was doing, but then swallowed the words. Though a part of her was morbidly curious as to what exactly the life of a yakuza boss entailed, a bigger part really didn’t want to know.

“I have received regular reports from Jaken,” Mr Taishou continued. “He’s told me there have been no more altercations.”

“Mmh,” Kagome hummed in affirmation. “It’s been really quiet.”

“I’m glad. In this case, the more uneventful things are, the better.”

“That’s true, “ Kagome agreed.

“I still wanted to check on you, though. Hear how you’re doing.”

Kagome realised she was smiling.

It was odd, that this man who she barely knew and who by all accounts was a hardened criminal, could make her feel so safe.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. I mean, you must be busy and all,” she finished lamely.

“Even when busy, there are some things one needs to make the time for,” Mr Taishou said.

The implication that Kagome was someone to make the time for was incredibly flattering.

Yet, the wise words touched a chord in her, one attached to a sore spot in her heart.

Yearning flooded her without a warning, made tears prick in the corners of Kagome’s eyes. For a moment she teetered between fear and longing.

Then, she steeled herself and took the plunge.

“Mr Taishou, could you possibly make enough time at some point to meet up?”

A stretching silence met her tentative question.

Then, after a while, he reluctantly replied. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Miss Higurashi.”

Kagome tried to swallow past the lump lodged in her throat.

“Please. I would like to know more about my father.”

The silence again was long – but this time it also seemed a little gentler.

“Very well, if that’s what you wish.”

“Thank you, Mr Taishou,” Kagome said, her voice quivering with gratitude.

“It’s very late,” Mr Taishou replied tonelessly, as if he’d only know noticed the time. “You should go to sleep, Miss Higurashi.”

“I will. Thanks again!”

“Goodbye.”

The line went dead.

Kagome put her phone aside and snuggled under her blankets, but it took her a long time before she finally slipped softly and peacefully into sleep.

To be continued??

[amysgiantbees]

Avengers: Endgame Spoilers

Much like Avengers Infinity War, my feelings on this film can most succinctly be put that overall I found it average to infuriating but there were some truly wonderful parts in between that I’ll always enjoy. I’ll come to this later but here are some notes on my feelings on Avengers Endgame...

THE GOOD

Wanda and Captain Marvel (but I still needed more of them)

Wanda and Captain Marvel fighting Thanos

Steve wielding Mjölnir

Valkyrie on a pegasus

King Valkyrie

Carol’s haircut

Rhodney and Nebula bonding!

Nebula and Tony playing paper football!

Pepper fighting in an iron suit

Sam is Captain America! (He better be Cap in the films, not just this new show, I know the MCU has a history of keeping the TV shows and films separate but please not in this case!)

THE BAD

Bruce dabs. I just can’t.

Clint’s hair and tattoos

Thanos’ ecofascism being justified by the narrative in certain ways like with Cap’s look on the bright side about the environment line.

The time travel plotholes. I do not understand time travel at all in this, feel free to explain if you do. Also, Thanos not having knowledge of anyone due to time travel really took a lot of impact out of the climax for me. My biggest issue with the time travel logic in this though is how can Nebula kill her past self? 

The limited time given to emotional character arcs is a real issue for me. For a movie that goes on for so long, I felt like more attention would be given to this and less to action. Like having characters that had rivalries with members of Thano’s Children never confronting against them again.

Thor never mentions Loki. He never grieves him. He was meant to actually legitimately be dead in this one so it would have been nice if not only there was more emotion and time spent on the scene with his mother but if he said goodbye to Loki during it too. Or told Freya to check in on Loki for him, make sure to tell him he loves him form him. I know she is destined to die but if they’d come earlier in the day and let there be time to do all of this it would have been more emotionally satisfying I think at least.

I HATE fatsuits. The fat jokes and the jokes at the expense of Thor’s panic attacks and mental health are REVOLTING. It’s just sad and frustrating that they decided to throw out all of Thor’s character development from Ragnorok for a few cheap laughs. His fat suit doesn’t even look real. It doesn’t match his neck and face and he doesn’t move right. Shockingly enough you move easier when it’s your own skin. This article and the author sum up my thoughts on all of this really well: https://medium.com/@kivabay/the-centr-of-controversy-cba6f23c692e. Also, Bay has a really great quote unrelated to Thor but also sums up another issue I have with the film and I just want to highlight it here, “ I also couldn’t help but view the movie with the knowledge we pick up on the internet about who is leaving the MCU, making the character deaths feel melodramatically goofy and like executive-level calculations.“

Also, somewhat silly critique but doesn’t Thor need special Asgardian beer to get drunk not “mortal” beer in a can. Damn, Thor was just poorly thought through. And I could almost find him fighting against Thanos with zero weight loss aspiring if the whole idea of Chris Hemsworth portraying him and every other way he was handled wasn’t disgustingly terrible. Fat Thor as an idea is amazing. I’d love to see him portrayed as such in the comics as long as he’s treated with respect. 

They can’t just have the film be cathartically separate and contained they have to hint at more film’s with the “Where’s Gamora” mystery ready to go and Thor joining the Guardians. They have been advertising Homecoming for months and have the next few years of movies already planned, people aren’t under any illusions that there won’t be sequels. Just let it be self-contained. Especially since it’s already so long. 

Just personal taste thing here but the “Avengers Assemble” bit was too cheesy and the ruin of the Avengers mansion was a boring background for the battle.

Dr. Strange was wasted stopping that tsunami. Did they need that? It was such a boring use for him in the battle. This battle had so many heroes but it felt like it really used their powers significantly less creatively together than any other battle previously. 

Why weren't Fury, Carol and Maria all standing together at Tony’s funeral with their arms around each other like everyone else? It was really strange and took some of the emotion out of the scene, they’re close to each other. It could have been such a beautiful moment and tied the whole Captain Marvel “Where’s Fury?” scene together if they had them beside each other with her smiling sadly at him or leaning against him. They’re friends and it would be nice to see Fury further fleshed out and more three dimensional. 

I don’t mind that Loki is dead but it does make me retroactively annoyed that “You... will never be... a god” was seriously his last line. He had nothing nice to say to his brother before he dies? So he really did die trying to use a knife on someone who can take on the Hulk. I hope that at least in his show that’s coming soon he’s genderqueer and given the opportunity to properly show off his magic. I feel like his magic has never been displayed properly or used in particularly interesting ways so far.

I would have rewritten the scene where Banner and Rocket look for Thor. Banner, Thor and Valkyrie’s interactions are stale and strange. It would have been better (so as not to erase all of his character development) if he was still dealing with his PTSD or the loss of his people poorly but was at least trying to help the Asgardians. But then show Valkyrie having to help him and being the clearly stronger leader due to being able to deal with this grief better after having experience working through grief from losing her Valkyries. She could also be helping him with his alcoholism instead of judging him since she has been there! It would have shown her mentor abilities and kingly traits. You could still have him join the Guardians in the end but now he’s just less negligent. Then he isn’t passing a burden for convenience but because he recognizes Valkyrie was there for his people when he couldn’t be and is the better, more loved leader. Instead of what should be a great moment for Valkyrie that she’s shown as earnt and is deserving of it just seems like Thor was like “Well it turns out ruling was too hard for me I’m going to f*ck off to space now look after them for me.” Still, love that she gets to be king. 

Did I mishear her name or is Clint’s daughter not called Kate? Why aren’t we getting Kate Bishop? I know she isn’t Clint’s daughter in the comics but they’ve changed people’s backstories before and after seeing Clint training with a young girl in the trailer I was just really excited for her. I love her character in the comics, but maybe she has a name change here? 

Also, why does Clint go overseas to fight people? I’m sure there are more than enough bad people in America for him to fight for YEARS. There are Neo-Nazis for F*CKS SAKE. It just seems racist to imply he’d have to look in places predominantly occupied by POC to find bad people. Also, that Sword scene was strange. It felt really unnatural and fake like it belonged in a completely different movie. 

Also, little nitpick but I just found it to be a weird moment when that kid Ant-Man talks to didn’t say “What do you mean?” or “How do you not know?” I get not wanting to talk about the snap but how could he not be mildly curious or confused as to how someone seems to be ignorant to the biggest tragedy in world history.

Also, I really would have loved if the final battle had more consequences. More deaths and injuries. I think it would have been more realistic and added more to it. I especially really would have loved it if they had shown Clint getting injured in such a way that his hearing was permanently damaged. It would be nice to finally have him have that important comic book trait. 

Also, that scene where Joe Russo, a straight man, plays a gay man is bullshit. Let us have gay superheroes. That is such a pathetic attempt at representation. Make Loki Genderfluid, make Carol a wLw, Give Okoye and Valkyrie a girlfriend or acknowledge they’re wLw. 

Furthermore, I understand that the shot of all the women at the final battle was probably foreshadowing A-Team but I don’t think the creators realised that, One: it makes it look like they’re trying to hide that they killed the only original female member of the Avengers while giving all the men satisfying endings. Two: that there are A LOT fewer women than men but also that there’s enough of them that more of them really should have been featured before then and had more time spent on them. Just so many women yet so few films focussed on them. Furthermore, for those people who don’t know about A-Team it also just feels like a moment of pandering.  

Look, Black Widow has never been one of my favorite characters but she deserved better. As soon as she was proclaimed infertile in Age of Ultron it was a death sentence because what use is a woman who can’t reproduce. She didn’t even get a funeral. Clint should have died. The snap forced Natasha to fully commit to her found family and lead the Avengers for years. The snap sent Clint into a debatably racist murder rampage. Natasha did something good after the snap it gave her more purpose. Clint’s purpose was to bring his family back and he could still do that by sacrificing himself. It’s honestly far more satisfying to see Natasha get her happy ending than Clint because Clint’s ending is just far too similar to his story in Age of Ultron. It is just hilariously underwhelming when everyone else has an emotional ending just to have Clint’s be a regurgitated version of him retiring with his family in Ultron. Also, Natasha dying for guilt over some vague bad that’s she’s done in her past that we know nothing about is so unsatisfying. This video I feel also sums up a lot of my feelings on this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A81p1N2gnNY&t=649s. Also from a monetary standpoint, not that Disney needs more money, but there’s way more demand for Black Widow films than Hawkeye. Just why Hawkeye, no one gives a sh*t.

More so I’m not against Tony using the gauntlet but I think it got in the way of Nebula having a fully satisfying conclusion to her arc. At least one woman should have had a satisfying, fully realised arc. It would have been great if Nebula got to finally kill Thanos but honestly, I wouldn’t be as mad at it if she hadn’t got wrongfully blamed for doing it by Thanos or had her arc conclude in an otherwise satisfying way. She gets abused further by Thanos for something she never did and never gets an opportunity to even just face him and confront him about ANYTHING. 

Also, Vision is barely mentioned in the film. Which wouldn’t be so frustrating if he wasn’t the reason why an ENTIRE ARMY of predominantly black people was sacrificed in Infinity War. They had to save him because they all apparently cared so much about him but can’t remember to mention him more than once afterward. 

I really hate that they were so scared of spoilers that they didn’t let all of the actors read their scripts ahead of time and cut out massive chunks of their scripts and didn’t tell them who they were playing against. I would rather spoilers than poor acting that ruins the timelessness of a film. This is meant to be epic! 

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

20th November 2017

Our alarm was on for 0600. We had to get ready for our first day trip and we were being picked up at 0710. Well, 0715 but the lady on the phone said to be ready and outside for 0710. We got ready as quietly as we could, forgetting what it was like to be in a dorm room again. We love Mad Monkey hostels though – the wifi is incredible and the vibe is generally awesome.

We couldn't feast into the free breakfast because it starts at 0800 which was a shame. We didn't have any food with us so it was an empty stomach, for now. The trip offers free lunch which is hopefully nice. My Dad and I are quite fussy (me, most) so I end up having the most awful lunches on trips out – my own fault, of course.

We were outside by 0700. Call us keen beans if you like. There were quite a few other people outside waiting for their transfers for all sorts of trips too. It was 0715 and we still hadn't been picked up. I got excited every time a tour bus arrived but it was never for us... By 0720, I started to get nervous. Had we been scammed for over $600? I always assume the worst, some may say I'm pessimistic and I would say I am too, sort of. Realistic, I like to call it.

By 0730, Steve was on the phone. Unfortunately, there was no communication – just hold music. My heart was in my stomach. By 0740, a bus pulled up. He waved at us to get on, he didn't even get out. He had our names and I felt a rush of relief. We hadn't been scammed. That would've been a good start to the trip.

We got onto the bus and there was one more pick up before we got dropped at the reef terminal. We had to queue up at our tour desk 'Dive Evolution'. There were loads there, all doing the same thing, same reef spots and whatever else. We checked in and the guy asked us what our package was. We said Scuba, Snorkel, Helicopter and Semisub. I was so excited. He gave us wristbands for the helicopter ride and a ticket to get on board. Our boat was parked in bay 5 and off we went.

Our boat was the biggest of them all, which only meant more people. The skipper checked us in onto the boat and we were directed to the top level where we had paperwork to fill in. We sat with two German girls who thought we were German. They quickly realised when we starred at them after they spoke to us... The majority of backpackers are German. I am actually surprised if there's anyone between the ages of 18-30 left in Germany...

We filled in our paperwork. Health and safety stuff about the dive etc. 

A lady called Shakira started speaking. She was a young Australian – staff member. Bright white teeth and the curliest hair. She was lovely and made everyone feel at ease. The boat didn't seem to be all that packed, I guess it was because of the size of the boat. I will say that 90% were Chinese and every speech had to have a Chinese translation.

We were able to go downstairs and grab a coffee and a biscuit before the speeches started which was good. Shakira mentioned that the water will be rough and travel sickness tablets were for sale and advised to those that suffer. I already had mine as I bought them with me. I've never had seasickness before – I'm usually quite good with boats so it was a precaution.

We had to have a separate speech for those doing the introductory dive. Steve and I sat there and listened to the rules and what tests we had to do. The risks of diving and whatever else. There was a massive build up for it and afterwards, we were both nervous wrecks.

The water was rough and I felt sick. That would be what I call typical. Not only was I feeling seasick, but I was nervous too. Steve and I started biting at each other which normally happens when we're both scared. We were told our dive times as we had to go in groups of four... “Charlie and Steve – group one!”. Oh God. The boat stopped and half of me wanted to be sick from nervous and the other half from the sea. We went downstairs and got our wet suits on. They were special stinger suits as marine stingers are out between November – May. We had to pay for our suits which annoyed me. Surely that should be included with the dive... Any who, we suited and booted up. We sat down and our tanks were put on our backs. We had to put our flippers on as we sat on the edge of the boat. We had to be helped down the steps as the tanks were so heavy. We both sat next to each other with our legs in the water and we were told to drop into the water one at a time. I went first and flopped in. I had a button to make my suit fill up with air so that I wouldn't sink. Helpful tools and all that!

Steve was in the water with me and we had to hold onto a ladder that went underneath. We had to perform our two tests that enabled us to swim. If we couldn't do them, we couldn't dive. 

First one was to get water out of our goggles under water by blowing out our nose. Both completed. Next was to take our oxygen out of our mouth and put it back in, then blow the water out the pipe. Both completed! Wahoo – off we went!

We deflated our packs and we went under. There was an English lad who couldn't do it as he panicked about breathing under water. I spoke to him before about being nervous, he said he was too. He was given another chance to go later on, I hope he did do it.

We went down as a group of 3 and 1 instructor called Shannon (I didn't really like her). We had to stay linked arms as we swam as we were only doing an introductory dive which was annoying but better than nothing. We went down 10 metres. Steve and I kept floating up which was irritating, I think we both needed more weights. You have to wear a weight belt to keep you down.

After a while, we got the hang of it. According to Shannon, I was swimming with bent knees which made it worse and Steve was swimming upwards that kept taking us up. We were in the water for a good 20 minutes which was tiring but amazing! We didn't see anything out of the ordinary but we were concentrating so much on Shannon and signals etc. We did see a kitchen knife though, it was very, very shiny.

The photographer swam towards us and took our photo which was great. We were given a sign to hold too. We continued with our swim and we eventually went up. Steve struggled to equalise his ears so they were hurting him as we were under. He thought they were going to burst.

We come up and got out of the boat. What an unreal experience! We wanted to pay for a second intro dive but that was another $45 each. We would've been able to do it not linking arms which would've made it so much easier and better I'm sure. We didn't have the time because we had so much more to do.

We jumped out the water (not literally, with the tanks and all that). We got undressed and got our snorkel stuff on. We were back in the water within moments. Snorkelling around was amazing. There were so many colourful fish and we saw two massive Wrasse which were very ugly but you should never judge a book by it's cover. I bet they have lovely personalities.

I started to feel sick as the waves were huge. We got out and went inside for a coffee but lunch had already been served. The boat was worse sitting still and I thought it'd be better than moving. Lunch was prawns, fish and steak... I knew I should've gone for the vegetarian option. I had the couscous salad and pasta but picked out the olives. I got two slices of bread and butter to fill the gap instead. Steve tried the prawns but didn't really know how to go about it. He's never had the head and tail on before so by the time he  finished picking and poking, he didn't want to eat it. He thoroughly enjoyed the fish, he had two pieces. Steak was like rubber, apparently.

I started eating but I felt so seasick that I couldn't even manage the bread. I was so hungry but there was no point in eating if it was just going to come up. I had another tablet and watched everyone eat. Silly idea, not that I could help it, but everyone around me was eating their food like it was about to pack its bags and jump back in the water!

We had to go back upstairs at midday for a helicopter briefing. An American lady on her own sat next to us. She could see by the way I was sitting that I was feeling very ill. She asked us if it was okay if she sat with us, so she could eat her lunch and listen to the briefing. I couldn't say no, but the way she was eating made me grab a paper bag at the ready.

We were put into groups. There wasn't really much to listen to mind you, just health and safety bits and bobs. We had to watch a video, you know, just in case. 

“Charlie and Steve, group one”. I was so pleased we were first, that meant we had time to snorkel in the second reef spot and go on our semisub. The second reef looked much better than the last. This one is called North Hastings. The first one was called Saxton. I was a little (a lot) underwhelmed by the reef if I'm honest. I expected bright, beautiful colours. Coral upon coral. It was so dead, so uncoloured. It was just, beige. I suspect that it once was absolutely beautiful, it still is, but it's dying. There was no wow factor to it whatsoever. It just looked like any old reef. It's the Barrier Reef. Which, is quite sad really.

We waited at the side of the boat as told. The helicopter was running late so I was getting more and more excited and impatient. Steve and I have never been in a helicopter before. I was hoping that I didn't get travel sick. It's only a 10-15 minute ride so that's perfect to find out whether you like helicopters or not.

We saw the bright red chopper in the distance. We started going down and getting onto a little boat to take us over to the helipad. We were with an English guy (the other from our scuba group) and an Indian couple. I presume they're on honeymoon. She had the most wonderful henna tattoos all over her and beautiful bracelets going up her arms.

We got onto the helipad and waited behind a yellow line. We were given life jackets and told to get in one by one, after our photos had been taken. I was so excited. Steve let me have the window seat even though he hasn't stopped mentioning it (we're a week on now). We put our headphones on to cancel out the noise and so that everyone in the chopper could talk into the microphones. We would be able to hear one another.

After 5 minutes, the pilot finished fiddling about and we were up, up and away! It was amazing! We loved it from the moment we took off. The views of the reef were just something else. Bright blue ocean on the outside, bright green islands of coral and turquoise sea surrounding. The pilot said to keep an eye out for turtles and sharks. The moment he said that, I saw a shark! It had a long body and a face going the opposite way. I told Steve after and he said it was a Hammerhead shark. It could've been a fish but we were 1000ft in the air and I don't think I would've seen a fish from that height. How scary to think we're snorkelling with things like that swimming with us...

The English guy saw a turtle but we didn't so that's a shame.

The helicopter ride was over before we knew it which was a shame. I told Steve, the next time we'll go in a helicopter, will be over the Grand Canyon (or so I hope). We were back on the ground and we had loved every single minute of it. We were taken back to our boat where we were told the semisub was leaving.

I asked a member of staff how long we had left on the second reef and they said '20 minutes'. We didn't have time to snorkel the second reef if we go on the semisub. I said that it wasn't fair considering the helicopter was late enabling us to snorkel and we had prepaid for the semisub. They shouldn't advertise all activities if you can't fit them all in. Steve said he wanted to snorkel more than go in the semi sub so we didn't go. We jumped in the water and swam around for 20 minutes. This reef definitely was much better so I'm glad we did snorkel. Steve saw loads of jellyfish and started to panic. We didn't put our stinger suit on this time as we didn't have loads of time. He jumped out the water and a guy asked us 'What's wrong?'. I explained that there were hundreds of jellyfish but he just grabbed one out of the water. It sat in his hands, literally like a spoonful of jelly. He said that they were harmless. We jumped back in the water for 10 more minutes. I wanted to find out about a refund but the staff were useless and said I had to ring up.

We all got back on the boat for the journey home. The water was much smoother on the second reef so I didn't feel so bad. I was able to put my spare sick bag away. I went and laid on the front of the boat in the sun. Steve said he couldn't lay in the sun so he went off for a walk. The American lady asked if she could lay with me so I said of course!

We chatted for a while. She's from Arizona, Phoenix. On holiday, alone, meeting up with friends over all their birthday's in November. She'd been promising to get over for about 10 years but finally saved up to come to Aus. She'd done all the good bits – Great Ocean Road, Alice Springs etc.

A member of staff said to everyone to go over to the left side. She had some fish she was going to throw in. I walked over and stood there waiting. My feet were burning so whatever it was she was showing us, better be worth it!

A load of fish came up and ate away... She said 'Wait for it...' A massive Barracuda came out and ate all the fish being chucked in. It was massive. It almost looked like a baby dolphin/shark. The staff had named him Barry. He lives underneath the helipad and comes out everyday for the fish. She said the little fish around him are shark bait. He will pretend to be friends with them for ages and then decide to eat them out of the blue. How clever is that?

I sat back down and I saw everyone with wine. I knew our package came with wine and cheese so I went downstairs. I saw Steve climbing the stairs with two glasses of wine so we went and sat where our bags were. What a good (fermented) egg. He also told me that he purchased our photos from the photographer. He knew that if I found out the price, I wouldn't have bought any even though I'd want them. He's a nightmare but I am pleased. They came out great. $95 worth of great memories to look back on.

We pulled up back at Cairns and I had never been so pleased to see concrete. GROUND. FLOOR. I was so happy to not feel sick any more. We were given a certificate from our scuba as we left and we walked back to where the coach dropped us. We wanted to ask at the desk about a refund but they're only there an hour in the morning. We had to ring up. How annoying.

We went outside to find out coach but it wasn't there. We were walking up and down, up and down to the point Steve decided to ring. They said he would be there soon. It would help if they had a labelled van like the rest of the tours but never mind. The American lady found us walking up and down so she walked with us. We saw the Indian couple looking about too so we told them he was on his way, in a van called 'International Coaches'.

He pulled up, we all jumped in. We were dropped off second and we said goodbye to our American friend. We got into the hostel and shoved our bags in the room. We were hungry so we went downstairs to eat. We had $5 meal vouchers so we got a pizza and nachos. Healthy diet and all that... By the time dinner came up, I wasn't hungry. Steve done a great job in eating the majority. I was falling asleep at the table. I was actually completely knackered. I had to force myself to go to the chemist round the corner before going to bed. I needed to grab a few things. I was tempted to go in the morning but I knew we had to get up to pick our camper up. There was no way I'd do it in the morning.

We went to the chemist and walked back. It was 1830 and I told Steve I needed to go to bed. I got into our room and into bed straight away. I was out like a light. At 2030, a new room-mate appeared who turned the light on. It woke me up and it took him 5 minutes to realise I was trying to sleep. 

He turned it off and left the room. I went back to sleep.

Our roomie returned around 2330. He had the brightest lamp on. I had slept a fair amount already so I started waking up thinking it was morning already. I looked at my phone and it definitely wasn't morning. I did however, want to punch the kid in the face for waking me up again.

[andinewton]

Second Chances - Avengers Redemption Series - Part One - Chapter 52

Characters:  Loki, Maia Tomson (OFC), Sigyn, pretty much everyone from the MCU appears at some point, including some special appearances by members of the X-Men!

Pairings: Loki x Maia Tomson, Loki x Sigyn,

Warnings:  Smut, so much smut, violence, swearing; listen, it’s NSFW and 18+, just bear that in mind!

Word Count: 179105

Summary: Loki has been handed over to The Avengers to pay penance for his past crimes, underpowered and underwhelmed by his post he is assigned a new ‘guide to Midgard’ by his superiors and is more than a little surprised when a petite freckled, redhead is waiting in the conference room, not at all like the previous handlers he has been assigned, who quit after a very short time with the snarky god. Maia Tomson is a trained literature teacher and counsellor, maybe not someone you would have picked out to be a guide to the God of Mischief but her mentor, Charles Xavier, knows she likes a challenge, and when The Avengers ask him to recommend someone she is top of his list. Surprised by the assignment, Maia takes it on, promising to do her best, but was not counting on a mutual attraction with her charge.

Join Loki on a journey to discover that his heart is not as frozen as he believes it to be, an adventure spanning almost a millennia of love gained and lost and rediscovered in the most unlikely of places…

A/N:  I just spent a great day face painting and glitter tattooing at my littlest girl’s school summer fair!  Am knackered, broken, but happy to have helped out!  And to share the love, here’s another chapter!  And I didn’t want to leave you hanging after the ball went so wrong!!

Master List

Chapter 52

Summary:  Loki tracks Sigyn down.

Loki had been confused when he looked for Sigyn after dancing with his mother. Thor seemed to be missing too and he went to their friends, frowning his confusion. ‘Have you seen Sig?’ He asked immediately. Sif and Fandral shared a look. ‘She made an excuse of being tired and left. Thor went after her. She would not say what but something had upset her.’ Sif explained. Loki’s confusion only grew from that point as he set off after his brother and Sigyn, his mind racing with what could have changed in so short a time. He saw Thor, alone, coming back towards him with a grim look on his face. ‘What happened?’ Loki asked.

‘Father.’ Thor replied. ‘Sigyn is quite distressed and I am unsure it is wise for you to see her so.’ He frowned. ‘What did Father do to upset her?’ Thor sighed. He did not want to be the bearer of this news but it may be easier than Sigyn trying to explain. ‘He told her as a prince you and she are incompatible in status, and will never be anything more than friends.’ Loki’s face slid first to confused then sad realisation, his breathing picking up as he glanced at the ground. ‘Father said that? To Sigyn?’ ‘She is hurting, brother. Perhaps you both need a little time…’ ‘I don’t need time.’ He snapped, looking up at his brother angrily. ‘I need Sigyn. Father cannot just…’ ‘He can, and he has.’ Thor rested his hand on his brother’s cheek, willing him to listen. ‘Leave it for this night, brother, allow Sigyn to calm down and then speak with Mother. She loves Sig as one of her own and would see you both happy.’ ‘I have to see her.’ He broke away from Thor’s touch. ‘He cannot stop us being together.’ He started down the corridor and turned to see Thor smile at him. ‘Fight for her, brother, you know I am on your side, but do it properly, not out of foolhardy spontaneous instinct. Think it through.’ ‘I will marry her, Thor, one day, and nothing in the nine realms will stop me.’ He called back. Sigyn’s lady in waiting would not allow him entry, not matter how much he begged. Lady Sigyn was not to be disturbed. Eventually he turned away, but did not give up. He went straight to the nearest staircase and out to the gardens, walking to beneath Sigyn’s window. He could see a light burned inside and he didn’t want her to go through this alone. Many of the rooms above the gardens held climbing plants, ancient and established they were easy to scale, despite the snow, and he started up the wall easily. Four floors up and he leant to the side, looking in the window and thanking his luck that the drapes were not drawn. Sigyn was wearing a long white night dress, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly at the opposite wall. The door to the room was closed so he knocked on the glass. Sigyn thought she had heard tapping, but really paid it no mind. It could have been the fire crackling, but when it came again, harder this time, her head shot around to see Loki at the window. Her eyes went wide and she quickly got off the bed and threw the window open, admitting both the young prince and a chill breeze. ‘What are you doing?’ She whispered harshly as he climbed effortlessly through the frame and closed the window behind him. ‘I am making sure you know I do not share whatever ridiculous sentiment my father fed you.’ ‘Loki, he was very clear. I am of the wrong status for a prince of Asgard. Had I remained a lady, and not pursued the fight, perhaps I may have been, but you have a duty…’ ‘Damn duty!’ He said loudly and she shushed him. If he was caught in her bedchamber there would be hell to pay. ‘No, I shall not shush. I care not for duty, I just want you, Sig.’ She sighed, her shoulders slumping and he realised how drained she looked, so little like the girl who had all but glowed in his arms just half an hour ago. ‘I want you too, Loki, but…’ ‘No buts.’ He interrupted, cupping her cheeks in his hands. ‘We belong together, you and I. I have never believed in anything as much as I believe in us.’ She shook her head, closing her eyes but he didn’t stop. ‘Be with me, Sig, even if we have to hide what we are to one another until I can convince Father otherwise, and I will.’ She opened her eyes again and looked up at him, his face so full of hope and determination. She so wanted she and Loki to be together, could see them happy, but to hide what they had? It would be hard, especially as they had the same close circle of friends. ‘Can we? Will we be able to hide?’ ‘If it is the only way we can be together, yes. It matters not what anyone else thinks, as long as there is you and I.’ ‘You and I?’ She repeated and he nodded. ‘Alright.’ He kissed her then, so relieved she had agreed. They would be together and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them, not even The Allfather.

Chapter 53