#i literally got to his part THIS MORNING. hopefully ill get my senses back soon. lest i make a bardgirl oc..... hm...... music seems to be a

[un-local]

WHO IS IT IS IT HALSIN

NO ITS WORSE

THE FUNNIEST PART IS THAT IM AFRAID OF SPIDERS

Now of course, he opens his mouth and he's like. So far gone. Which is a shame :( i wish you could help him clear his head a little :((((( Ugh, anyway

Also: This is especially hilarious considering my post from the other day when i was reblogging various bg3 arts:

....images taken days before disaster lkasdjflkajsdfasjkdfhlkajf

image sources: [1] [2] [3]

[chemicalpink]

512 ♡ Jung Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, kinda neighbours to lovers

Warnings: none

Summary: There's just something so captivating about the man living inside the apartment at the end of the hall, so what if there's a whole zoo inside your belly whenever you see him, at least there might be a chance to get with him, right?

A/N: Inspired by Selena Quintanilla's song el chico del apartamento 512, part of BCC Summer Games.

You feel exhaustion taking over as you were making your way to your apartment building after being dropped off by a taxi, the way you always did, mind already deciding which movie to pick as you eat dinner, half a mind to really drag yourself all the way to the elevator, the modern, yet somehow overcrowded living complex giving you a sense of comfort and dread at the same time as you hear someone calling out your name.

“Y/N!” you turn your head towards the man, a cute guy by the name of Jungkook of whom you only knew two things for sure, one, he had the most obvious, yet somehow endearing, crush on you, making it a habit of waiting for you outside his own apartment just to greet you as soon as you got home, and two, that even though he was very cute, he was also considerably younger than you. You sighed to yourself, the same way it was customary for you now, turning towards him and smiling just a little bit, although to some it might have been a bit infuriating to go through such a routine on a daily basis, you just couldn’t seem to help to be friendly with the guy, knowing he’s never ill-meaning on his actions. As soon as you acknowledge his existence, you could clearly see him blush and immediately rush inside his home, having you giggle to yourself at his actions

Just a few more steps. A few more steps until you could comfortably be enveloped in a familiar warmth, munching off of whatever leftovers were on the fridge. Just a few more steps until “Y/N! How nice to see you around here!”

“Seokjin, we’ve been over this, I live here, you see me literally every day” you go for the arm had wrapped around your shoulders in the overly flirty way that he always seemed to greet you with whenever you two crossed paths, placing it back down on his side as he laughs your reaction off. The man had always been everything but subtle about his flirty ways, not that you were complaining really. Kim Seokjin was one hell of a man, not just visually, although you were soon to find out that his seemingly romantic advances were merely part of his own charming personality, Kim Seokjin, was as beautiful as he was afraid of commitment, so really you had just stuck by as friendly neighbours that would sometimes turn into drinking buddies.

“Yah, I just wanted to invite you over for dinner, I made kimchi fried rice and it’s so good” and really, it did sound nice, perfect even, Seokjin was one hell of a cook that almost never shared his delicacies and the man knew very well how to play his cards with you. As if the evening couldn’t get more eventful than that, the elevator doors ding open, a man walking out rearranging his black blazer as the world seemed to slow down, the light hitting the right places on his face to make him look even more handsome, hair pushed back, brilliant smile thrown your way as Seokjin acknowledges him “Hoseokie, going somewhere?”

“Oh yeah I’ve got this thing from work” Jung Hoseok, not that you were a stalker, since the two of you weren’t exactly formally introduced, but he lived on your same floor, a few doors down on apartment 512, your schedules didn’t quite overlap so it was a rare occurrence for you to run into him, although you very much treasured every small glimpse you could get of the man, really, it should be a crime not to see that much beauty on a daily basis. Your heart seems to stop beating for two seconds too long when he poses his eyes on you “Hi”

Your ears are ringing and you robotically say a polite goodbye to the man when he takes off, if years of friendship with Seokjin were anything to go by, you should really just skip the dinner invitation in favour of not being questioned any further about what had just happened. “So… someone’s got a massive crush”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you start your original path towards the elevator, forget homemade kimchi fried rice, it was definitely not worth the teasing that Kim Seokjin was capable of, although you might have underestimated his love for meddling with your life as he stops you right before you enter the lift, dragging you unceremoniously towards his apartment like a mother handling her petulant child. It really wasn’t worth the fight.

“I’ll even throw in a homemade bingsu if you spill all the tea” And you were a goner.

Apparently, Seokjin, that little social butterfly, has pretty much become Hoseok’s closest hyung ever since the man arrived at the building, and as soon as he heard your lovesick stories over him, and buckled down in laughter with tears coming out of his eyes, he dramatically pursed his lips saying something along the lines of having the right to remain silent. At least the free dinner was nice.

Surprisingly enough, your crush on Hoseok was a topic that wasn’t really talked about any further, most probably due to the fact that said man was nowhere to be seen, even if the holidays had so much as come around during summer, leaving you that much time to lounge around your apartment, deal with a one-sided lover boy and leech of off Seokin’s cooking skills.

“I’m just saying Y/N” your friend turns to look your way “don’t question me any further, but if you were to ask Hobi out, I’m sure he would say yes”

You groan for the umpteenth time, making a big fuss out of something that you had long deemed like something that was meant to just stay inside your head, so close to making you feel like you could reach it, yet so far away. “You don’t know that”

“I really don’t” Seokjin cough uncomfortably, straightening up on his seat the way he always did when something made him uncomfortable, the way he religiously seemed to be doing whenever you two talked about Hoseok, making you wonder just how much effort he was putting in not spilling his guts on whatever it was that he definitely knew but was adamant on telling you.

So perhaps Seokjin had hyped you up a little bit too much, whatever stratospheric ego he had, he had rubbed off on you, which was probably the reason as to why you were currently hyping yourself up in front of a mirror “Come on Y/N, you’ve got this” you whisper to yourself as you make sure your look is put together but not overly done either. After months of pinning over Hoseok, you were finally just going to go for it, what’s the worst that could happen? Probably a lot of things, you two lived on the same floor after all, so hopefully if he rejected you, it wouldn’t be too awkward when running into each other. Or when you got to use the elevator at once. He might even go ahead and try to evade you like the plague. But none of these thoughts were useful on the bright Sunday morning you woke up determined to make the day to finally ask him out.

You walked down the hall, all too aware of the fact that this was indeed happening. Your heart seemed to pick up its pace as soon as your eyes locked on the small golden number ‘512’ for a few seconds as you fixed your hair and just went for it. Your fist connected with the wood, knocking three times in a row, not too loud but loud enough for anyone inside to hear you clearly calling at the door. Your stomach seemed to get all warm and fuzzy as you heard the lock turn, only for that lovely feeling to turn into a need to contain your stomach contents and your heart seemed to break when an unfamiliar, and very much female face, answered the door. Of course, Hoseok had a girlfriend. What type of man that even remotely looked like he did would have done it single? Screw Seokjin and his stupid way of working your courage and hopes up to do this. He was most definitely going to pay for it. You took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm yourself down when the girl spoke up “Oh..you must be looking for my brother”

[whumpmatsus]

closer. [ Nenchuumatsu ]

In which Ichimatsu realizes that he enjoys being taken care of more than he wants to admit. Of course, the fact that he practically begs Choromatsu to stay while he feels bad is almost an admission.

The house is so cold tonight.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, it’s only Ichimatsu who’s cold. Because as far as he can tell, the temperature doesn’t seem to be bothering a single one of his brothers.

Meanwhile, he can’t seem to get warm no matter how hard he tries. He’s spent most of the day withdrawn from the rest of the family except for (or maybe including?) when he attempted to nap under the kotatsu. Choromatsu had to drag him out, insisting that one couldn’t sleep so close to an electric heat source, that Ichimatsu was going to end up burned if he did that, and chiding as usual, “What is wrong with you, Ichimatsu??”

Honestly, fuck if he knows what’s wrong. Apparently something given how he appears to be the only one freezing his ass off.

That’s the only odd thing he’s noticed so far today, other than being abnormally tired. But that part he chalks up to his selfish eldest brother stumbling in blind drunk last night and waking them all up, so it’s not too surprising. Most of the others end up sleeping on and off through the day, as well.

It’s just… unbearable. It’s like the cold has seeped into his bones, making his whole body stiff, and making him even grumpier than usual. The others markedly avoid him, seeing how irritated he is, probably too afraid of his wrath to ask if anything is going on.

He hates that more than anything. Although he likes time to himself and being left alone for the most part, he wishes someone would just ask. Then he could admit that, yeah, he’s not feeling so great. (If it’s anyone besides Karamatsu.) He might get a little fussing, some hands run through his hair or a hot cup of tea brought to him or a sympathetic, “Aww, poor Ichimatsu.”

That’s pathetic, isn’t it? He’s a grown man silently wishing for his dumb brothers to treat him like a little kid. If he really wanted it, surely he would just open his mouth and say so.

He… definitely can’t do that. Not without prompting. Not without being asked. That’s too Goddamn embarrassing.

That might be why, when he wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to stop shivering and feeling like his whole face is on fire, he doesn’t wake up any of his brothers.

Instead, he sneaks out of the futon like a teenager coming home after curfew, he goes into the other room, and he curls up on the couch.

Maybe one of the others will come looking for him. Maybe not. Maybe he could sleep all night here and not have to be near them. If he’s come down with something, it’s probably better that he tries to avoid them anyway, right? The six of them can bounce one stupid cold back and forth for weeks. They all just got over one. If he can keep from infecting any of them again, hopefully the house won’t be a fucking petri dish for the entire winter like it typically is.

He’s not sure how long he’s attempted to rest here when he feels someone’s hand, gentle and cautious, shaking his shoulder. “Ichimatsu? Ichimatsu, hey… how come you’re in here?”

Ah. It’s Choromatsu. The simple act of lifting his head causes Ichimatsu’s body to protest. There’s a horrible, squeezing pain clamped down on his teeth, and just breathing is painful; every inhale of air stings. He closes his eyes immediately, a clear grimace of pain etched onto his features.

Everything has gotten worse from when he initially woke up. His face is burning from the inside, and he’s got the worst headache of his life. It bears down like a vise around his head, stabbing from every angle. “Fuck…”

He doesn’t even think he has the energy to pretend he doesn’t want someone else here. His head is turned down against the cushions and an incredibly embarrassing whine forces its way out of him. “Don’t feel good.”

“O-oh… oh, gosh, that’s not good.” Obviously. But Choromatsu is trying, so any biting comments Ichimatsu might think up are kept to himself. “What doesn’t feel good? Is it your head?”

A nod is what he gets first, then Ichimatsu amends it by making a wide, circling gesture in front of his face. “All of it… I’m all stuffy… hurts to breathe through my nose… pain in my teeth…”

The cool hand of his older brother sets carefully against Ichimatsu’s forehead. It’s a welcome relief, though it doesn’t last too long. “Whoa, o-okay, you’re… you’re running a fever for sure. It sounds… like you have a sinus infection. Probably from that cold we all had last week.”

He can hear the frown in Choromatsu’s voice. “Is… that why you’ve been even more antisocial than usual? You’ve been feeling sick all day and didn’t tell us?”

“It wasn’t th-this bad before,” he says, defensively, as if none of them have ever used that excuse to chase off any of the others worrying. “I was just s… so cold… then I woke up and…” He huffs, trying to curl himself up tighter. “W-what are you even… doing up…?”

“Oh, Totty had to pee, and when we got up, we noticed you were missing. So I told him to go back to bed while I went to find you.” He runs a hand through his little brother’s hair. “Found you, hah.”

“… Yeah. You did.” God, when was the last time he was so tired? He wants to fall back asleep, but he just feels so shitty, he doesn’t think he can. A violent shudder runs through him, and as soon as he feels Choromatsu sitting beside him, he presses himself into his older brother’s side. “A-ah, I’m… I’m gonna freeze.”

Choromatsu chuckles softly. “Hmm, Ichi-sicle? Echh. You’ve got a fever, so it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to pile on the blankets…”

The younger of the two gives an absolutely miserably pleading look up. “J… just one…?”

“― Uh!” Choromatsu’s face reads as stunned, likely because none of them are used to Ichimatsu begging for anything. Especially for something as silly as a blanket. He reaches down to pat Ichimatsu’s shoulder in what he seems to hope is a reassuring gesture. “Well… I-I guess… a thin one would be alright. There’s probably one in the closet here…”

Within a moment, Ichimatsu is wrapped up, not too snugly… enough to take the edge off, though. He’s still shivering. His head still hurts. His teeth still hurt. Having something to tug around himself makes him feel a little better, so he’s relieved Choromatsu didn’t completely deny the request.

“There, how’s that?” he asks as he does a final adjustment to the blanket.

“I… it’s okay.” Ichimatsu wiggles himself closer to Choromatsu, because the other man feels a lot warmer than Ichimatsu is right now. “I still f-feel shitty. Like my head’s gonna explode.”

Choromatsu clicks his tongue. “Ah, yeah…” He tenderly strokes down Ichimatsu’s hair, eliciting quiet sighs from the ill sextuplet. Despite the fact that he thought any contact with his head would feel like hell right now, it… actually feels nice. Choromatsu’s touch is delicate, knowing how poorly his little brother feels right now. “I’ll see if I can get you to the doctor in the morning, okay? If it’s a sinus infection, it won’t get better on its own and you’ll need medicine.”

Ichimatsu nods, but his head just feels full and he winces from that little movement. As much as he hates going to the doctor, he hates being sick even more, so it’s a necessary evil.

It still feels like there’s no heat in the house. If none of the others feel it, however, it must just be his fever. How deceptive is that? A rise in body temperature is making him feel like he’s freezing to death? God has a sense of irony.

“Well,” Choromatsu sighs, pulling away, “if you really want to sleep in here, if it’s more comfortable for you… I guess I should leave you alone and ― o-oh!”

He’s interrupted by Ichimatsu pressing his head into his older brother’s side. He knows it’s not going to help, and yet, he certainly doesn’t want Choromatsu going anywhere. The other man is warm… plus… well… being by himself when he feels so miserable isn’t an appealing prospect.

“Oh… ah… Ichimatsu?” Things are silent for a moment, then he slips a hesitant arm around his younger brother. “Do you, um… want me to… stay for a little bit?”

There passes a moment where there’s nothing but the sound of Ichimatsu’s congested breathing. At last, he grips the leg of his big brother’s pajama pant and offers a small, self-conscious, “Y… yeah.”

The response clearly surprises Choromatsu, who gathers Ichimatsu against him like he’s some precious thing. “A-ah… gosh… of course I’ll stay with you.” He can’t remember the last time Ichimatsu spent any length of time huddled with anyone, except maybe Jyushimatsu. Even that’s a big maybe.

“Mmm.” Ichimatsu lets his eyes fall closed. When was the last time he just let one of his brothers care for him like this? Why doesn’t he let them do it more often? At the very least, Choromatsu is apparently willing to do so. “Choromatsu-nii-san… I’m still cold.”

“Oh, y-yeah, well… I don’t think another blanket would be a good idea. I… I don’t wanna make your fever worse.” His hand continues to caress his brother’s hair, making slow passes through the locks. Ichimatsu is sure he feels bad about saying no, particularly when some warmth is literally all Ichimatsu is asking for right now.

Ichimatsu hums in discontent. All he can imagine is some blissful heaven where he’s allowed to be wrapped up in something cozy. Where he’s allowed to sleep under the fucking kotatsu with no problems and no big brothers trying to stop him! “Can I have some tea?”

“Oh… oh, yeah, sure! Sure, I can make you some tea.” Choromatsu leans down to very, very tentatively brush a kiss over Ichimatsu’s forehead. The last time anyone did that kind of thing to Ichimatsu is so far in the past, neither of them can pull up an immediate memory. “Um, but… in order for me to do that… I have to get up.”

The very idea is a threat to the position they’ve just taken, so much so that Ichimatsu nudges his head harder against Choromatsu’s side. “No…”

“Shhh, shh, hey, it’s… it’s okay, Ichimacchan. It’s okay.” The understanding reassurances are coupled with another few swipes down his hair. Something about the way Choromatsu says it makes the growing panic in Ichimatsu’s chest calm down to barely nothing. “There, it’s alright. If you don’t want me to leave right now, then you’ll just have to wait a bit for your tea, that’s all. Does that sound alright? Try to get some sleep now, and then I’ll make you tea a little later?”

Ichimatsu nods groggily. He feels exhausted and ice-cold still and he just wants his big brother. Tea would be nice, but not if Choromatsu has to leave right now to make it for him. He’d rather have his brother than a cup of tea.

He eases readily into the almost-hug Choromatsu pulls him into. It’s been so long since he curled up with one of his older brothers, feeling small and fragile and safe. He forgot how nice it is to be taken care of.

“Ahaha… poor Ichimatsu.” Choromatsu rubs gingerly at Ichimatsu’s back, letting Ichimatsu muffle coughs against him. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of you. Try to get some rest, okay?”

“Mhm…” As Ichimatsu starts to drift off, he pulls his blanket a bit tighter. “Tea later, though… right?”

Choromatsu laughs and ruffles his little brother’s hair. “Yeah. Tea later. I promise.”

[bsbloglife]

September 23, 2021…tomorrow I leave my family for 3 weeks, to care for my parents back home. I’m nervous, scared, excited, sad, relieved, and so many other emotions that I cannot begin to name off because my mind is a jumbled mess. I’m looking forward to finally seeing my parents after a little over two years, but so heartbroken to leave my children and husband behind. I do have a sense of relief that now I’ll finally be able to take care of the issues regarding my parents’ needs.

I take off from Orlando in the early afternoon, to arrive in Toronto a few hours later, only to wait for 3+ hrs before my flight to Montreal. My sister-in-law will be coming to the airport to pick me up, then we’ll be heading over to the hotel where my parents have been holed up for over 4 and a half months. My parents don’t know I’ll be arriving tomorrow, but the caregiver is aware. She’ll be waiting for my call to say that I’ve arrived and that I’m on the way. In fact, I’ll be the one caring for my parents the first weekend that I arrive. My father is the one who needs the most help, hopefully he’ll be ok with me cleaning him up when he needs it. This will be interesting! Maybe he won’t recognize me and think that I’m another caregiver. I’m laughing at the thought, but it’s painful to think he won’t remember me. We’ll soon find out. Tomorrow this time I’ll be at the hotel with my parents.

In fact, tomorrow almost didn’t happen. I received a call today from my son’s middle school and as soon as I saw that name pop up on my phone at 1:15pm, I knew it wasn’t going to be a good call. When I answered the phone I waited a few seconds, hoping that maybe it was one of those automated calls from the principal. After a few seconds when I didn’t hear that automated voice come on, I knew something was wrong, so I said “hello?”, to which the school nurse proceeded to tell me her name and that she was calling about my son. I’m sure my response, “oh no, this is not good”, confused her a little bit, which I sensed from her hesitation to continue on. I said that for a few reasons; 1 - she’d only be calling me if something bad happened, 2 - I was leaving for Canada the next day, this seriously cannot be happening, and 3 - what if he has Covid?? I would have to reschedule my trip. I think other things popped in my mind, but right now I can’t remember what they were. She then said he was not feeling well; sore throat, chills, headache, but no fever. I told her I’d be there within 10 minutes. When I got to the school he looked ill, with those glassy eyes and sad face, trying to pull his arms into his shirt because he was getting chilly. I carried his bag and we headed to the car. He told me that he was sorry to put pressure on me because he knew that I had to leave tomorrow. I told him that I believed everything happened for a reason and maybe it wasn’t meant for me to go. My first thought was having to reschedule my trip, because if he had Covid I didn’t want to bring it home to my parents. Then I thought that I would need to get him tested, just to be sure. If he was positive, then I would reschedule the trip. If he was negative, then I would continue as planned. Stupid me, I thought that picking up a Covid Home testing kit would be easy. Just go to the closest pharmacy. Little did I know that these testing kits were like hot cakes and everybody wanted them! There were no Covid testing kits to be found…anywhere!!! My very good friend Bri helped me find one of the last remaining kits in town, after she searched and searched and searched, even going to the closest Walmart by her place to pick up a kit which was supposedly in stock. Only to find out that she missed the last kit by a few minutes! She drove with me to the only pharmacy in town with a kit. You know, that’s a real friend. You find out who your real friends are when they inconvenience themselves to help you, but they truly don’t think they are going out of their way. They are helping you because they genuinely care, when anyone else would be telling you, “good luck finding a kit”, instead she said, “let me get dressed and go to my Walmart that says they have them in stock. I’ll pick it up for you then meet you.” I mean, seriously?!?! Then she drove across town with me to get that last remaining kit, which she found after calling several pharmacies in town, and then begging them to hold it for her. I’ll never forget her kindness. I’m sure she had other things to do than to spend hours searching for a rapid Covid testing kit for my son. What was really beautiful, was that she never made it seem like a hassle. She made it seem that she actually enjoyed helping me. I cherish this girl! (Btw, my son was negative, thankfully!!)

Speaking of kindness, when I texted my cousins back home to tell them that I was coming, they offered me their homes to stay in, they offered me cars to drive, they offered me support in any way that I needed it. My one cousin offered me his daughter’s car, only with her permission of course. I told him that I didn’t mind driving his Maserati, just in case she didn’t want me to drive her Mini Cooper. I still haven’t heard back from him regarding this…. Walter? Hello?? My cousin Nadia was there for me that weekend when I decided to resign, because I needed to talk to someone about my decision to leave my career to care for my parents. She understood my pain. She too worked very hard for her career. She listened, offered her advice and helped me decide that the right thing to do would be to follow my heart. My heart wanted to be there for my parents. If I didn’t follow my heart, my conscience would never be clear and I would be useless to my family. I’ll never forget my cousin Alain and how he took care of my parents needs the day after the fire. He went to the house and dealt with the insurance people and helped my parents navigate the first few days of this terrible event. He was my savior, and theirs too. These kindnesses will never be forgotten.

My best friends back home Tina and Karen, offering me clothing, food, a place to stay. Even offering me their time when painting, decluttering and whatever else I’ll need to get done at the house. I cannot do anything without their support…without all of my friends and families support. My sister-in-law Anna will be there for me when I first arrive and each and every day that I am there. She lives just down the street from my parents place and has often been the one that my mom has called when they needed help. I cannot repay any of these people for their goodness, kindness, love and support. I can only hope that someday I am able to provide them with the same.

Here at home, one of my best friend’s has changed her whole schedule at work to accommodate taking care of my son every morning while I’m away. She rearranged her life for mine. She has literally become the family that I don’t have that lives just down the street. You know what I mean, that family member that lives close by that cares for your kids because you don’t have anyone else?? She literally rearranged her entire life to help me. I cannot thank Lisa and her son CJ enough for caring for my son like he is their family. She spoils him like she does her own sons. I told her to back off a little, because I didn’t want my son to like her more than her likes me. She laughed and said that wasn’t possible, because all my son did was talk about me. He better, good boy!

Speaking of family, tomorrow morning our friends, who we call family and in fact made them godparents to our son, will be driving me to the airport. I feel bad for Pat and Kelly, because they’ll be hearing me cry as we drive away after I say goodbye to my husband and children. I know those painful cries won’t be easy to handle. They’ll be seeing me off at the airport, which I know won’t be easy, because this will mean that I’m really leaving.

Honestly though, I really couldn’t do any of this without my family’s support, especially my husband. If he didn’t have my back, supporting my decision, and taking on most of the responsibilities with me gone for three weeks, then none of this would be possible. He has supported me financially, emotionally and spiritually. Without him I couldn’t do this. Without my children helping me by not begging me to stay, I am able to go. They have cried, they have told me they didn’t want me to go, but they haven’t forced me in a corner where the guilt of their pain would make me stay. I couldn’t do it without their support. My daughter stepping up to the plate by being me for the next three weeks, picking up my son from school, making sure he gets fed and taken to his activities.

Part of me thinks that I’m being such a big baby about this. I should just shut my mouth, stop the crying and just face this head on without fear. I want to, I really do. I feel ashamed that I can’t handle this with the grace and dignity that I know most people in my position would have. I try to have the courage and strength that I need to go forward, but the fear of the unknown has me scared. I’m afraid of leaving my family, what if something happens. It won’t be easy for me to come back home. I have to get a flight. I have to get Covid tested, which takes a day or two. I can’t just jump on a plane and come back. I’m scared I won’t be here if I’m needed. I try to get those things out of my head. I try to have relief knowing that I cannot control things out of my control, I have to let whatever may be just be. Then go from there. I know that this needs to be done and now I’ll finally be doing what I set out to do when I resigned from my career. This is the decision I made, now I will continue on with this journey.

Onward and upward!

[haikyuu-sickies]

— BOKUROO ; you’re mine, so let me be yours.

ship : none.

genre : fluff.

warning : none.

— See, Kuroo didn't get sick easily. However, when he got caught in a storm after going home from practice late - he awoke to the worst feeling he had felt in a long time. His nose was stuffed, his breathing was rigid, he felt so hot, yet felt chills throughout his entire body. He groaned - which, in turn, forced him into a coughing fit. His body shook with the impact, he was wheezing -- struggling to breathe. In addition, his head was pounding so hard that he could cry. Once the coughing had stopped, he let out a wavering exhale.

He didn't even know what time it was, but it didn't look to be early in the morning. Why hadn't his mother woken him up? He used all of his strength to get up, push himself out of bed, and on his feet. He shivered, a whine escaping his lips at the cold floor beneath his feet. He began to walk into the living room, legs barely holding his weight. Once he'd entered the living room, he saw his mother - who was now staring at him.

"Tetsu, dear, why are you out of bed? You're very ill."

"What?"

"Didn't you read the note I left on your bedside table?"

"What note?"

"Oh, honey... You came home sick last night, you were delirious. I decided to let you stay home today."

"I did?"

"I figured you wouldn't remember. Before you go back to bed, do you want anything? Food? Water?"

"No, thanks, mom..."

His voice was quite hoarse, raspy - but he remembered seeing some water on his bedside table. As for the food, he really didn't feel like eating right now. Not with the way his throat felt. Though, he was thankful to have such an understanding mother. He turned around and shakily walked back towards his room, laying down on his bed, and falling asleep as soon as his body was engulfed by his warm, soft bedsheets.

KENMA'S POINT OF VIEW.

Kenma was a loner, that was obvious. Without Kuroo hanging around him, he would be alone. So when Kuroo hadn't shown up to their usual meeting spot, he was getting a little worried. Kuroo was never late, never. He was usually the one waiting for him, instead of the other way around. He tried calling, no response. He tried texting, delivered. He was worried, but his mom would kill him if he didn't go to school. He sighed and went on ahead - hoping that he was just running late.

He was wrong. Hell, he hadn't even shown up to morning practice. The whole team was worried sick. Not even the coach knew what happened, other than the fact that Kuroo had taken the keys with his permission, and practiced late last night. He knew that, but Kuroo would never oversleep to this degree. He never overslept. Yaku was furious [ probably worried on the inside ], Lev was going to cry [ also panicking ], Yamamoto was threatening to kill whoever kidnapped him [ ? ], Kai was trying to calm everyone down, the others were just staring, and he was - in the corner, trying to make sense of the entire situation.

He didn't realize that school would be a literal nightmare without Kuroo. Then one thought came to mind, maybe Bokuto knew? He was Kuroo's boyfriend, after all. He grabbed his phone, swiped to Bokuto's contact - which he had just in case of emergencies with Kuroo, like this one. He clicked on the message button and sent him a text.

-

'Bokuto, do you know where Kuroo is? He isn't at morning practice, and he won't reply to my texts or calls.'

'WHATTT? IS HE MISSING? IS MY BABY MISSING? OMGOMGOGMGDUFHS WE HAVE TO CALL 911'

'no'

'wDYM NO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS MISSING'

'just try calling him'

'b-but, you said he didn't pick up :(('

'did you just stutter through text'

'anyways- just call him, you're his boyfriend, he'll pick up'

'YES, I DID YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Also okie :D'

-

And then Kenma left him on seen. Man, that dude was weird - Kuroo had a weird taste in men, that much was obvious. He sighed, turning on some game since it was obvious that practice wasn't going to go smoothly without Kuroo around.

KUROO'S POINT OF VIEW.

Kuroo was peacefully sleeping, when suddenly; he jolted awake. Groaning, he tossed and turned for what felt like hours, but he couldn't go back to sleep. Until suddenly - he heard his phone ring. He couldn't get to it in time, so the ringing stopped. But when he checked his phone, he had over 16 missed calls from Kenma, 124 messages from the Nekoma group chat, 131 from the volleyball group chat, and 31 and ongoing from his boyfriend. Wait - his boyfriend? How did he find out? He decided to respond to him first. 

-

'BABY, BABY- KENMA TOLD ME YOU WEREN'T AT SCHOOL, ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU NEED TO CANCEL OUR DATE?'

-

Oh fuck. How could he forget? He and Bokuto had a date planned today - how was he supposed to go like this? He couldn't cancel just because he was being irresponsible and caught a bad cold. But - what was he supposed to say? He supposed he'd have to downplay the entire situation. Hopefully - hopefully, it would work.

-

'No, Bo, it's okay! I just had a small fever last night so my mom let me sleep it off. I don't have a fever anymore, I'll be okay in time for our date <3'

'Why didn't you answer Kenma? :(('

'I was asleep! No sad faces now, I'll be there, okay?'

'Okay :) - oH OH OH OH WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?'

'We aren't going to some fancy restaurant, Bo - something casual should do the trick'

'Hoodie and pajama pants?'

'Okay- not that casual-- a hoodie, and jeans'

'FinE'

'Pfff- don't tell me you wanted to wear pajama pants on our date'

'NO, I DIDN'T WDYM SHUT'

'Alright, alright. I'll see you there Bo'

'Yes :)'

-

Kuroo let out a raspy chuckle at the comments Bokuto had made. Man, he had to figure out how to fix that throat of his. It was, most likely - his biggest giveaway. Especially after saying he didn't have a fever anymore. When in fact, he did. A pretty high one at that. He hadn't even taken any medicine, and how the hell was he going to convince his mother to go outside in this state?

This was going to be harder than Kuroo had expected... Part 2 coming soon.

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror P.5

masterlist (<- to read parts 1-4) request guidelines want to be tagged? 

pairing: draco x ravenclaw!reader

request: nope!

summary: y/n has admired draco from afar for a hot minute. what will happen when they’re finally paired up to do rounds together and run into the mirror of erised?

warnings: language, mentions of being very very ill, my terrible editing skills, way too much dialogue

a/n: here it is :) it’s been a bit. the finale will hopefully be posted this tues! i hope all of you guys have been continuing to social distance and i hope everyone reading this is healthy! also, important update: the first part of just a call away has been postponed until this monday (i originally expected it to be posted tomorrow but i’ve hardly been able to work on it at all). enjoy!

word count: 2.3k ;)

music recs:

permanent tags:  @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn

tags for mirror, mirror:  @theres-a-dog-outside-omg​ @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @sugarbby99

“Rena, I am going to kill you!” 

Y/N’s roommate looked up, the fear of Merlin struck into her eyes. The Transfiguration study guide in front of her lay entirely forgotten as she watched her friend slam the door and flop on the bed. “Oh?”

Y/N flung off her robe and tossed it on the floor. “When were you gonna tell me that you talked to Malfoy about me?” 

Her roommate narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair and propping her chin up on her hand. “What are you talking about? He approached me and asked if you knew what the mirror was. I said you did. That was it.”

The venom seeped out of Y/N’s expression as the realization crept in.

“Oh. Oh, Rena, I’m sorry. I had no idea. He told me that you told him ‘everything’.”

“And you took a Slytherin’s word? Malfoy’s word? Honestly, Y/N, you give me a headache.” Rena sent a gentle smile her way. “What happened? Did you tell him?”

A sour feeling crept into Y/N’s chest as the memory she had suppressed on the walk to her dorm surfaced like bile in her throat. The rest of their shift was tense at best and downright agonizing at worst. Malfoy was uncharacteristically quiet, wringing his hands over and over again and scratching the back of his neck when he exhausted his wrists. Y/N knew that she was bright red by the time that they said their goodbyes--which really wasn’t much of a goodbye, just an uncomfortable nod before they parted ways to their respective dormitories--and cursed the fact that their ending spot was right under a torch. 

She would much rather prefer him to just straight up tell her he wasn’t into her; however, she supposed he technically did, that week or so ago in the Great Hall when he had told her he wasn’t into Ravenclaws.

Maybe I’m the one that needs to pull back. Maybe I’m actually the git in this situation and I’m making Malfoy feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

“That’s it. He doesn’t feel the same way.” The words left her mouth feeling like heavy lead, weighing her breath down.

Rena stood up from her chair, her face softening. “He said that?”

“He didn’t say anything, really.”

“Well that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way,” said her roommate. Her voice was painfully cheerful for Y/N. “Maybe he’s just nervous.”

Y/N offered a weak smile as she pulled her hair out of her ponytail and got up to rifle through her drawers to find something to sleep in. “It’s over, Rena. I don’t know why I’ve entertained this for so long. It wasn’t even a thing to begin with. I just want to go to bed.”

“All I’m saying is that he’s Malfoy, Y/N. I’ve literally never seen him flirt before in his life. I don’t think he knows how. Maybe he’s just being mean because he doesn’t know any other way?”

“I think I just want to stop thinking about it.” Y/N began changing into her nightclothes quickly with her back to Rena. “I want to go to bed and forgot about it and get my O on the Transfiguration exam tomorrow and just never think about rich daddy’s boys again. No matter how cute they look!”

Y/N tossed her old robes in her hamper, turning to Rena one more time with a blazing expression on her face that said I dare you to disagree.

“All I’m saying,” Rena said slowly, “Is that Malfoy didn’t seem like a total rat when he came up and asked me about you. It just seems strange that he would do that if he had no interest in you.”

“The only interest he has is in antagonizing me,” Y/N snapped. “He’s a class A git and I hate him.”

Rena raised an eyebrow, her expression slightly amused. “Whatever you say, Y/N. We can talk tomorrow morning. I think you need some sleep.”

oOo

Y/N’s dreams were torturous--just a loop, replaying over and over again, of her interactions with a certain Slytherin. She was dragged through her memories against her will, feeling the initial admiration of seeing him read in the courtyard for the first time, crumbling under the anxiety of their shift assignments, suffocating through the tension of their final meeting, reeling at the way his hair looked under the torch lights…

It was too much. She awoke with a pounding headache and a throat so sore that she may as well have swallowed a healthy spoonful of fire over the night. Her eyes hurt to open, like the edges of her eyelids had been lined with Dittany. 

“Merlin, Y/N, you look like shit.” A voice that sounded suspiciously like her roommate wafted from her right side, but she couldn’t be sure. “I’ve gotta get you to Madame Pomfrey.”

“Rena?” 

“Y/N?” 

If she hadn’t felt like she was toeing the line between the dead and the living she would’ve been sure that the tone in her roommate’s voice was tinged with amusement. She tried to croak something more out.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Rena cut in before she could try any harder. “I’ll be back in just a minute. Don’t try and get up, alright? You need your strength.”

Y/N nodded--or at least, she tried--and turned back into her pillow to sleep. A part of her mind registered that she had a Transfiguration exam today and then rounds that night with Malfoy, but as a cold bead of sweat ran down her spine, the thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind. He could wait. He’d already taken up her entire night by filling her dreams and she was not eager to see him again any time soon.

“Y/N?” The door creaked open and her roommate’s voice dragged her back to lucidity. “Hi girly. Can you walk?”

Y/N forced her eyes open and winced at the light filtering through the curtains. It was hardly light out, but the weak morning light sent pangs through her head. The heavy quilt that she had been burrowed under was lifted up off of her...and the shivers started.

Her entire body began shaking, her teeth clattering together so hard that she was afraid she would break them. She wondered if anyone had ever chipped their teeth from fever chills.

“Just swing your legs around the edge...yes, just like that…”

Rena’s hands held her shoulders with a firm grip as she shakily made her way to her feet, swaying slightly. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re absolutely shaking…”

“Mmmhmmm” was all Y/N had the sense to use as a reply.

“All you need to do is make it down the stairs. I can put you in a wheelchair and push you the rest of the way.”

“Love you,” Y/N mumbled as her friend guided her down the stairs. Even though she’d been walking up the stairs to her dorm for years, everything felt oddly foreign to her through her feverish haze.

“Love you t--whoa! Easy.” Rena caught Y/N from near demise as she almost missed a stair. “You’re almost there, doll. Just hold on a bit more.”

“I need you to....” find someone to cover my rounds tonight she tried to say, but the words caught on what felt like daggers in her throat as she felt the wall. 

“Focus on getting down the stairs,” Rena interrupted. “You can tell me once we’re on the way to Pomfrey’s.”

Finally, she made it down onto the last step and allowed herself to be guided into a seat. Exhausted from her trip, she slumped back in the chair and forgot about her request as she drifted back off into her feverish dreams.

This time, they were different. Instead of interactions that had actually happened, her brain took her through a different whirlwind of events. A flurry of sensations met her--a thumb dragging across her slightly parted lips, a chaste kiss placed on her neck, a hand softly squeezing hers, a warm breath fanning across her cheek, a pair of just barely blue eyes staring down at her with so much affection that her heart skipped, a rough hand shaking her shoulder, the sting of something pressing into her wrist (a wand, she thought absently), voices around her calling her name…

Her eyes shot open as she recoiled from a burst of unbearable cold across her chest. The ceiling of the infirmary wing greeted her. Her torso was wet, and once she cast her eyes down to the end of her bed, she could see why.

Madame Pomfrey stood next to Professor Trelawny and Headmaster Dumbledore, brandishing an empty bucket in her hand. 

“Thank goodness! She’s awake!”

Pomfrey sent Trelawny an irritated look as she rushed forth, muttering incantations and running diagnostic tests on Y/N’s body. 

“What...what happened?” she managed, trying to sit up.

“Stay down,” Pomfry commanded, turning to her nightstand to mix a concoction of various potion ingredients. 

“I just had the flu.”

Trelawny moved to the side of the bed to clasp her hand firmly in hers, a kind look in her loony eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid that wasn’t the case. You had an acute case of Dream Sickness. We’re lucky that you were able to wake up when you did. You’re even luckier that your roommate noticed and brought you down here.”

Y/N knitted her eyebrows together. “I’m sorry. Dream...what?”

“Dream Sickness,” the headmaster finished. “A very rare affliction that primarily affects the overthinkers in the wizarding community. Naturally, you Ravenclaws are at a higher risk than other students.”

“So who gave it to me?”

“No, dear,” said Trelawny. “It’s not contagious. It can happen to anyone, but it’s more common if you spent time around powerful magical artifacts. Have you?”

Y/N cringed at the thought. 

“Er...yes, I guess I have. I ran into the Mirror of Erised on one of my prefect rounds. I never lingered, though.”

“That would do it,” Dumbledore mused. “The mirror has a tendency of...inflaming emotions. I ought to locate it and put it in a safer place.”

“So I’m okay? I can go back to classes? I have a Transfiguration exam today, and I’d really like it if I could make it.”

“McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam, I presume?” he asked. 

“Yes. It’s later in the afternoon. I promise I’ll be careful!”

The adults beside her shared uncomfortable glances.

“Dear,” Trelawny began, “You’ve been here for two days.” 

The air was sucked out of her lungs as the realization kicked in. “But that’s impossible! I was only sleeping for a little bit. And I had rounds! How did I miss my rounds?”

Pomfrey seemed mildly sympathetic as she emptied the mixture she had been stirring into a crystal goblet and offered it to her. “It’s normal to be disoriented after a bout of Dream Sickness. Professor Flitwick is sure to understand the situation, and if he does not, I am willing to vouch for you. Now drink. You have some recovering to do.”

oOo

Rena Severjyn was always the confrontational type. It had been a shock to her as well as her family when she’d been sorted into Ravenclaw (with all the bookworms and the teachers’ pets, as her older brothers said to her) instead of Gryffindor, but she’d grown to love her house. Studying came more naturally than cliff-jumping, or whatever it was that Gryffindors did, but when it came down to it, she had no problem with telling someone off.

So when she ran across a deliciously alone Draco Malfoy reading in the courtyard, she had no trouble walking right up to him.

“Hey, arsehat.” She plopped down next to him as he started, nearly dropping the book on the gravel walkway. “We need to talk.”

“Severjyn,” he greeted, his tone even but his eyes flickering nervously. “Do you know where your roommate is? I had to do my rounds alone last night.”

“She’s in the hospital wing. But no matter. I want to know why you’re being such an intolerable prat to her.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, clearly trying to cope with the fact that he was at a loss for words.

“Spit it out, Malfoy. I don’t have all day.”

“Is she okay? Did something happen to her?”

Rena rolled her eyes. “No, she just decided to spend more of her time around Pomfrey. Yes, something happened to her. She’ll be fine. You’re not answering my question.”

“I don’t understand.” The crease between his brow deepened with worry.

“She said she told you how she felt and you didn’t say anything about it!”

“I’m sorry. I just got nervous.”

“Are you dense?” Rena’s voice became shriller. “You told me yourself you fancied her, and you can’t even manage a measly ‘me too’? Even though you had the whole of fucking two hours to do it?”

A blush spread across his fair cheeks as he slammed his book closed and stood up. “It’s not that easy. You know it isn’t.”

“It’s never that easy. But she was able to do it, and you even told her that you weren’t into her! Honestly, I cannot believe you.”

“Please just…” Draco evaded eye contact, dropping his eyes to the floor and grinding his toes into the gravel. “Just leave me be. I promise I’ll talk to her once she’s better. Just don’t tell her, okay? I want to do this myself.”

Rena rolled her eyes. “You better.”

final a/n: finale is coming out soon! let me know what you thought :)

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

SPOILERS FOR KAZETSUYO EPISODE 20 FROM THIS POINT FORWARD. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

I'm not strong. I just do what needs to be done, no matter what.

I thought I was “teehee clever” when choosing to write about a canon example of Working Through the Cold (aka one of my favorite tropes ever), but all I remembered is how powerful and painful (in the best way) the 20th episode of KazeTsuyo was. Holy shit. I hesitated for a long time writing about KazeTsuyo, actually. This show, to me, as such excellent writing I could never match up against it. In the end, the plot bunny wouldn't leave after I went through The Episode:tm: for the 2nd time on my 2021 rewatch of the series, to the point I wrote this before finishing said rewatch (still have Day 2 of Hakone to rewatch - I need to get to it); so I decided "fuck it, I'm writing it", and there were are. I think I at least didn't butcher the series. It may be, huh... wack because I've been on a 2nd person POV with weird dialogue format knack lately, but I hope fellow KazeTsuyo fans who're in search/need for more content are gonna be happy with me barging into this fandom like a torpedo.

Also, man do I love Shindo (please excuse me spelling it that way: if I spell it "Shindou" like the canonical tag does, I'll be mistaken with another character, I'm dumb like that). Imean, I knew the moment I first saw him he'd at least be my favorite design, but then he just hit all my fav character soft spots: hardworking, selfless to a fault, kind, internally struggling... and I guess, yeah, episode 20 was a thing and I'm a freak. I originally planned on writing this to be a softer fic, like y'know, just writing a casual Aotake day with the prompt in mind; but I just had to be a terrible person instead. Sorry Shindo, I swear I love you.

(also, does anyone have a kazetsuyo discord server i could join because i need to scream about this show)

-------

They’re Waiting

Summary: No matter what happens, you will fulfill the promises you've made; even if you break in the process.

Fandom: Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru/Run With the Wind

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

---------

The moment you woke up this morning, on the very second a hacking coughing fit erupted from your throat, you knew how difficult today was going to be – but it didn’t make waver in your resolve. If anything, it made you conscious of how far you’d be willing to go despite things getting in your way, as long as you felt a sense of duty towards them.

 No matter what.

 Yuki tries to convince you not to do that. He may have escorted you out of your room when he realized you wouldn’t be walking straight for a little while and brought you to the train station, he’s still scowling at you like you’re a child doing something he shouldn’t (which, truth be told, you are doing right now: usually, you’d be wise enough to know attempting what you’re about to head into would be a terrible idea for a multitude of factors); but you’re firm in your decision and accept a bottle of juice as you end a call with Musa.

 No matter what, you’ll do it.

 Despite how much he doesn’t want you to run, Yuki accompanies you to the Odohara Relay Station. You don’t speak a single word to each other on the ride there, with him crossing his arms and you reading your sister’s excited messages about this year’s family reunion. It’s rare so many people can gather, so they’ve clearly made an effort for you. To watch you run.

Once you’re there, you vaguely hear people around you, hear Yuki argue on the phone about something – you think you can catch it being about Jota and Joji, something about being agitated, something about Hanako – but you’re too tired to catch it. It’ll be a struggle to do this race, so if you can spare yourself the expense of energy you’d need… then you’ve got to, as sad as that is. They’re all counting on you, after all.

 No matter what, you can’t let anyone down now that the big day is here.

 Haiji calls Yuki’s phone, which he then hands down to you. Your conversation is short – he notices how noisy the relay station is (you know people are walking around, discussing what’s, tells you his concern, reminds you that you can drop out if you feel too weak to participate, and lastly, urges you to hydrate well.

When Yuki asks you what he says, you skip over most of it, merely repeating the last part as he looks at you, features twisted in worry, and the feeling in your chest keeps deepening despite it having to compete with whatever you woke up with (a cold, you’d assume, hopefully wishing it’s nothing threatening).

 You can’t find something to reply to your sister telling you to get first place on Section Five.

 You know your turn is coming, so you rise to your feet, to take off the coat on your shoulders and the scarf tied around your neck, handing them off to Yuki. The last thing you take off is your mask, before you’re assaulted with a wave of dizziness and almost collapse back to the ground. Luckily, Yuki is here to catch you back before that can happen, a grunt escaping his lips as he grabs you by the arm; all that, once again, happens in a tense silence.

Saikyo, Tokyo Sport – they’re starting to call people whose ranks are around Joji’s. You’re up soon.

 “I’d better go,” you struggle to tell him as calls are made around the both of you.

“But it’s Section 5,” Yuki tries to argue. “Actually, no matter what section—”

Kansei, Kikui! Get ready! They’re coming at the same time!

“It’s okay,” you reply back, putting on your best smile. “I’ll promise I’ll make it there.”

 Yuki doesn’t walk to the line with you, staying behind after giving up on keeping you out of the run. He himself knows you can’t drop out now – if you do, you’re forcing the entire team to forfeit. You’d be making everyone’s efforts to get to this point null, including your own, and that’s something you can’t let happen.

Even if you can barely keep your balance and inhaling the cold, dry air of early January is making your airways burn, you’re going to run Section Five and keep your promise to Yuki, to your family, to everyone around you.

 No matter what.

 -------------------

 You got the sash from a very shocked-looking Joji, but ignored much of what you thought about it so you could put it on and go on with your section. The cold winds have the benefit of being soothing against your fevered skin, bringing a welcome sense of relief, as little as it is compared to everything else you’re already fighting against.

The dizziness messing with your balance, the coughing fits seizing your chest and throat, the lethargy in your limbs, the haze in your vision – they’re not leaving anytime soon. You need all of these to run properly, but none of them will cooperate, so you’ll need to force them to. It’s tiring, it’s painful, but it’s what needs to be done.

 You watch everyone around you run past you, effortlessly dodging if they were behind you, as people cheer on and people in cars say things over the speakers attached to them. You can barely make sense of the cacophony rattling through your aching head, of everyone around, and it’s putting one more weight on your shoulders: you don’t even get to profit from the landscapes or people’s encouragements, stuck in a bubble which muffles every sound as if you were drowning.

In a sense, you have such a difficult time breathing in and out that you may as well be underwater. That’d explain the struggle of your limbs against an air resistance that just doesn’t exist.

 Before you is an insurmountable mountain that keeps getting higher and higher – Hakone’s mountains are the steepest in the world suddenly takes on a different meaning – and you wish once more you weren’t plagued by sickness. You’d have a lot of fun running up it, showing everyone back home how living in the valley made you fit for the legendary Section Five; but instead, you’re struggling to even alternate between left foot and right foot, as if walking had become a chore.

Oh, that’s right, no matter how isolating or soundproof the bubble is, everyone’s watching you, be it from the sides of the Hakone Ekiden or from back home – don’t forget about them. They’re all counting on you. No matter what, you can’t let them down, can’t let them see the team fail to see the sun rise again on their journey.

 Someone’s close enough for you to understand what they’re saying without having to focus on it – they’re giving you a drink. Haiji told you to hydrate, especially since there’s a powerful fever sticking to your skin and poisoning your nerves, so you accept it in an attempt to quench the undefeatable thirst of illness.

You burst the bubble for a minute to get that bottle of water and take a couple precious sips – a drop of relief in your sea of anguish.

 Breathing in and out requires more and more effort with each passing step, but the strength of your promise is what keeps you going. The mere idea of obligating everyone out of the run they’ve all worked so much for – not to mention Haiji, who literally made himself sick over it and painstakingly collected dorm members for four years just for this very moment – disgusts you to the point it pushes your legs forward despite the pain and the cough you have to repress more and more, with less and less effectiveness every time you do.

And that’s when the coach starts speaking to you from the car that’s been tailing you for a while (at least, that’s what you assume; truth be told, all you’re going off of is the constant sound of a motor and wheels).

 Shindo, go is a challenging game. The stronger you are, the more you value the way you lose. How you recognize your loss and resign is key. No one blames the challenger for resigning or mocks him for running away. If anything, they praise him for securing an escape route. It’s because everyone knows that man was fighting to win until the very end.  

You know why he’s saying that. He wants to soften the blow of what it’d mean if you gave up here and there, throwing the race away to preserve yourself from getting worse and worse by the minute, by reminding you not being there running against yourself would be the wisest option. Of course, you’re aware of how reckless you’re acting, but you’re putting your team’s honour and reason to be here before your wellbeing – you know that. You’re assuming that choice.

 Shindo, raise your hand if you can’t keep going. I’ll stop you immediately.

You continue running.

 The coach eventually leaves the car and starts running beside you, which makes you almost realize how slow you are if he can keep up with you with seemingly no difficulty. It’s a little hard to say considering you can barely hear anything and you’re too focused on not collapsing to actually pay attention to anything that isn’t the road in front of you, as blurry as it tends to get.

A coughing fit you’ve been keeping in for what feels like hours prevents you from breathing in, forcing you to stop and cough it all out until you’ve caught your breath. Your legs are trembling and you’re folded in half, sweat falling to the ground.

 “That’s enough,” Coach Tazaki tells you in a paternal tone you’ve never heard him speak in before. “You did well.”

In the corner of your eyes, you can see his hand get closer and closer to your back, fingers ready to tear away your number sign – but you find the strength to get back up, shaky breathing in tow, before he can do so, clutching Kansei’s sash with hands like claws.

Waiting… They’re all waiting for me…

 And, on that, you resume running, resume fighting against yourself by taking the hard way out.

 It’s painful, even more so than earlier, and everything that was sore is now almost unbearably so – yet you keep marching on, keep struggling against illness and heights alike, consciousness slowly starting to fade out. You’re running as if you were in a dream, almost, the landscape around you turning into white, unable to keep a straight line as you almost forget why you were here to begin with, why you’ve been pushing against the world for who knows how long.

It’s the end, you feel it, since the bubble doesn’t prevent you from fully hearing cheers getting louder and louder, so you continue pushing no matter how terrible you’re feeling, no matter how little you can feel aside from your body’s screams for you to stop what you’re doing and putting it through so much misery.

 They’re waiting. They’re waiting for you.

 You see the finish line from far away, but never up close.

 --------------

 When you wake up, all of your teammates present in the room (Haiji, Kakeru, Joji, Yuki – the coach is here too) try to jump to your side, before the coach orders them to leave you some breathing space. One of your first reflexes is to try and grab a mask, which someone gives you (looking up a little, you realize it’s Yuki). They all look relieved, yet a little antsy, and you’re not sure of what to tell them after sleeping for what must have been hours, considering the lights are on – as far as you remember, it was broad daylight when you went to sleep.

Still, seeing them around you reminds you how why you went to such great lengths despite everything – they’re thankful, yet worried, but most of all, you’re all still running.

[ohmeohmayohmy]

With the Slightest Smile, Chapter 11

Taglist: @reedusteinrambles @juxt4p0siti0n @kurtnehhhh @chlobo6 @reavenedges-lies @livcaper @singularpurplepansy @geek-and-proud

Notes: Alright folks, here she is in all her glory. I had to take so much out, it was originally like 17k or something ridiculous, but she’s still pretty lengthy. I hope it was worth the wait. I’m sorry for my impromptu hiatus, hopefully something like that doesn’t happen again. I am very grateful for the patience and kindness you have shown me in the last few weeks.  The vibe of the chapter is very different to me, for some reason. So I hope you enjoy it, even if it’s not what you expected. But maybe that’s part of storytelling anyway. 🤔

Warnings: Language, illness.

Words: 14.1k+

___________________________________

February 23, 1974

It was a bleak day, greyness settling into the room.

A hazy beam of light shot through a slit in the curtains. You groggily moved your head so you were able to face away from the brightness, trying your best to ignore the morning. 

It took the first few moments of your waking to remember that you were not sleeping in your own room. The walls were stark white, the bedspread was a dark striped quilt, and there was nowhere near the same amount of clutter strewn about the floor. You felt a vague warmth from the spot next to you, with only an indentation in the sheets. It was enough to rouse you to sit up, jolting you from the daze that had befallen you mere moments before.

Streaking sunshine striped across your face more freely in your upright position. It filled your eyes, making any sense of sight difficult. The glass from the single framed picture on the wall reflected the luminosity. The dull tones in the room gave you an eerie feeling, uneased by the lack of colorfulness. 

Even the photograph in the frame was in black and white, depicting a lovely forest without its liveliness.

You shivered, pulled the covers up to your bare chest, and settled into the foreign blankets. Is it always going to be this strange?

Behind the door, you could hear water running, assuming it was coming from the kitchen. With a mumble, you slipped out from the sheets and onto the floor, searching for anything resembling clothes. Eventually you recognized that your dress from the night before was crumpled at the foot of the bed. You tiptoed over to it and slipped the loose garment over your head, looping your arms through the sleeves. The frock was wrinkled, but you decided to ignore the fact.

You walked across the carpeted floor, suddenly thankful that they weren’t cold and wooden. The door was left slightly ajar, so you gave it a gentle push and entered into the space beyond it.

It led directly out into the living room, which was just as starkly white as the bedroom. The sofa was a light grey, thin linen curtains covered the wall which had small windows. You ran your fingers along the large white bookshelf lining the wall nearest you. 

You found it odd that it only housed books. No knickknacks. No decorations of any kind. And absolutely no music albums.

Then it hit you, there was no music playing. Which was a strange occurrence in your home. Brian would always play a record while doing anything, especially washing dishes.

You removed your hand from the bookshelf immediately, once Brian sprang to mind. He had tried to apologize for not calling on Valentine’s Day, saying that he had every intention to tell you he wouldn’t be coming home.

But he never tried to apologize for not showing up.

And that hurt a hell of a lot more.

You inched your way to the kitchen, almost dreading the sight that you knew you would be met with. Not because of who it was, but who it wasn’t.

The steam from the hot water sizzled on the freshly cleaned pot, which you guessed had been the vessel for cooking food. The faint smell of oatmeal wafted through the air. To your left, you could see the pristine white bowl that held two servings’ worth sitting on the counter, placed neatly next to a small container of brown sugar and a strainer of recently washed fruit.

The sticky sound of bare feet on the tile came up from behind you, and a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your waist. You could feel a warm breath through your hair, and leaned back into the embrace. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were at home. With your best friend.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

Sweetie.

And just like that, your daydream was shattered.

“Good morning, Paul.” You forced cheer into your voice, and twisted around to press your face into his chest. “How long have you been up?” You knew it hadn’t been a considerable amount of time, but the question was more of a pleasantry than anything.

Paul hummed into your forehead before planting a soft kiss. “Not too long.”

You groaned, muffled by his shirt. “Well, I’ve been up much too long already.”

He scoffed at your comment and pulled away from you enough to meet your eyes, beaming down at the frizzy hair that haloed your face.

“Something on your mind, sweetie?”

That word again. It bothered you. 

It bothered you a lot.

“Not at all.” You shook your head, honeying your tone. He grinned before releasing you.

“I made breakfast.”

“I can see that,” you motioned to the counter where the food was lined up perfectly. “But it doesn’t look like you made anything for yourself.” He scoffed again, amused by your dry comment.

“If you’re that hungry,” Paul responded, “I suppose I could get something else.” He paused. “Is your cake from the restaurant still in the refrigerator?”

You scowled. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late. I’m already thinking about it.” He placed his arms around you again, this time bringing your head closer to him rather than your waist. Even his scent, which you should’ve been accustomed to by now, was unfamiliar. Or, at least, it wasn’t what you had come to expect.

“Can I eat now?”

Paul laughed down at you. “As you wish.”

You playfully pushed him off of you so you could turn around and grab some of the food. He grabbed the largest of the three dishes, which held the oatmeal, so you grabbed the sugar and fruit.

“Should I grab some spoons and—”

“Oh, I already set the table.”

Of course he did.

“Oh, nice,” you smiled.

You put the things you were carrying down next to the big bowl and moved to sit in your recently designated seat. 

“When do you have to go to work?”

“‘Ve got the whole weekend off.” You leaned back in your chair with a boastful manner.

“Lucky girl,” Paul grinned. He rose up halfway out of his seat to place a peck on your cheek. You scrunched up your face at the affectionate contact, feeling a slight blush forming on your skin. He pulled away to return to sitting, and scooped a sizable portion out from the large bowl to relocate into his own. You took the ladle from him and helped yourself to the warm oatmeal.

“What about you?”

“You know I have to go later.”

You groaned. “Do you though?”

Paul squinted, teasing and taunting. “It’s not like I save lives or anything.”

“That’s for sure,” you giggled, taking a blueberry into your mouth. “We can’t all be heroes.”

“No. Just you.” 

He gazed at you with an adoration that you were certain you had seen before. But the face looked off. The hair was wrong, the features warped. You couldn’t shake the sense of untrueness that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

The discomfort must have broken across your face, because the jolly gleam that radiated from his face faded away. “Something wrong?”

Yes.

“No.” You rubbed your thumb across his hand.

“If you say so.”

“Thank you for breakfast, by the way.” You changed the topic quickly, motioning to the table.

Paul nodded and shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

“I’m sure you could do less,” you quipped. “In fact, I’ve seen it.”

He pouted. “You come into my home—”

“Is there a problem with that?”

Paul snorted, the wrinkles around his smiling eyes deepening. “Not at all.”

“Good.” You gave him a side eyed glance, acting suspicious.

“Though,” he continued, “if you’d have me, I would really like to spend more time at your flat—”

“Oh.”

“And meet your friends?”

“You’ve already met most of my friends.” You tried to play off your discomfort as confusion.

“But just as some bloke, Y/N, not as your boyfriend.” You visibly shuddered at the mention of that word. He contorted his face, stretching it into an expression of befuddlement. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Paul.”

“You look troubled.”

You lowered your head, sheepish. “I just…I didn’t realize that’s where we were.”

“What do you mean?”

For an intellectual he’s incredibly thick.

“Boyfriend…girlfriend…”

“Oh.”

Neither of you said anything for what seemed hours. At most, it was really only three minutes. 

Paul cleared his throat, signaling that he was prepared to speak. “I only figured, y’know, since you’ve been staying over so often.”

It was true. You had only spent a couple of nights at your own home since Valentine’s Day, which was more than a week ago, and that was only when you could be certain that Brian wouldn’t be there. Let alone his new lady love.

“No, I understand why it feels that way,” you nodded slowly. “We just never had the talk.” Pause. “That’s all.” Your mind was frozen from the sheer awkwardness of the situation. You wanted to be in control of where this thing with Paul was headed, but he caught you blindsided. He knew you didn’t want to get too serious with anyone, which he attributed to your getting over someone else. You made it clear that wasn’t the case, many times. But neither of you fully believed it.

“That’s all?”

No.

“Yes.”

Paul inhaled deeply, suddenly very invested in his silverware. “It’s not too much too soon, right?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, given our timeline, it’s not going too fast for you, is it?”

“Paul, I’m not as fragile as you might think,” you tried to tease, but it might have come out more indignant than playful. “I took you home literally the day we met.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Technically, the day after…”

You rolled your eyes. “New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, what’s the difference?” He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “It was a rhetorical question.” You narrowed your eyes, recognizing the perfect snarky comment you had set up for him. “That was nearly two months ago. I think our timeline is a little unconventional, anyway.”

“I suppose.”

“And we’ve only been seeing each other regularly for about…”

“Nine days?”

Someone’s precise.

You nodded in confirmation. “So, there really hasn’t been a time to have the conversation.”

Paul glanced down at his wristwatch. “I’ve got some time now.” You gave him a withering look. He noticed, almost startled. “Or not. Some other time.”

“You know it’s nothing wrong with you, right?” Your voice became softer, gentler, tapping a hand on his chin.

“I think you’d have said something if it was,” he smiled, before kissing your hand. You scoffed and didn’t attempt to argue. He brought out the opinionated side of you.

But you also didn’t want to say what was “wrong” with him, because it fundamentally wasn’t wrong at all. It would be unfair to say that.

He just wasn’t Brian.

But you couldn’t admit that. Not to anyone. Not even yourself.

In a desperate attempt to move your mind away from anything that might make you say something you regret, you blurted, “You’re welcome to come to dinner tonight.” But your tongue instantly burned with regret anyway.

Paul hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Stella insisted that I ask.”

He grinned. “The infamous Stella?”

“The very same.”

“It’s an honor.”

You laughed, genuinely. “I’d say so.”

“Just the three of us? That’s a lot of pressure.”

You laughed again, but in a more reassuring manner. “Odette will probably join us, and that would soften the blow. And I think John and Veronica will be there, if she can get him out of bed.” You felt cheeky making your remark, but it seemed to go over Paul’s head.

“Oh good, I’ll know someone, then.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Will the rest of the band come too?”

“In that case, it depends if Fred can get Roger out of bed.” You didn’t want to make the same insinuation, so your intonation changed, and this time it landed.

“For dinner?”

“You’d be surprised.” Your comment made Paul chortle.

You carefully avoided saying anything about Brian. You just hoped he wouldn’t be there. 

The emotional distance that had befallen your relationship in the last few months was killing you, but a public dinner starring your new beau didn’t seem the best place to air out anything between you and Brian. 

And something about bringing Paul made you feel preemptively ashamed.

“Is it somewhere nice? Or should I wear something more casual than my work attire?”

“If Freddie’s got any say in the matter, it’ll be somewhere a little too posh for the mood.”

“So, a suit should suffice?”

“That would be your safest bet, I’m sure,” you answered sweetly. It was like you were trying to cover up the guilt from the thoughts that were invading your mind. 

Once the two of you were finished with your breakfast, Paul stood up and grabbed the dirty dishes, taking them into his large arms. You picked up the utensils and the cloth napkins that weren’t even soiled.

“Should I pick you up from your flat, then?” He asked while wiping down the bowls. 

The simple act of him doing the cleaning of the dishes threw you off, as it would usually be you while someone else was drying them. “Huh? Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”

“What time?”

You looked up from your fixation on Paul’s soapy hands. “The others agreed to meet around seven-seven thirty this evening. If that works for you?”

“Lucky for me, I get off at six.”

“Perfect. Stella and Odette will probably be there when you drop by.” You took a rag to dry the bowls, but he put up a hand to stop you, gingerly taking the fabric from your grasp. “I can help, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but is it wrong for me to want to let my girl relax?”

Paul’s response made your heart swell.

“Guess not,” you simpered, standing on your toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“So,” he reverted the conversation back to its former subject, “will Stella and Odette need a ride too?”

You took a half-step back. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Paul’s voice emitted kindness. You felt a sense of giddiness rolling in. It was unexpected.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.”

But the words stung as you said them to the wrong man.

* * *

“Are you comin’ to dinner tonight?”

Brian flicked his eyes up to look at Roger, without moving the rest of his face. “Wasn’t aware of it.”

Roger furrowed his brow. “Y/N didn’t ask you to come?”

Brian’s expression softened. “No.”

“She’s bringing Paul, Stella wanted to meet him.”

“So everyone else has to go?”

“Guess so,” Roger shrugged. “At least Deaky does. He and Paul are mates, or something. Y/N thought it would be best, so it didn’t seem like everyone was against ’im.” He grinned. “Fred and I are just going to see Stella in action.”

“I’m sure it will be nice for you to be on the same side for once.”

“We used to get along! And ’ve been quite civil.”

“You’re not the one who has anything to be discivil about.”

“Eh,” Roger swatted a hand at his companion.

“Haven’t you met Paul already, anyway? At some concert or party?”

“Yeah, but that was just as Deaky’s friend. Besides, ��m more interested in what Y/N sees in him, aren’t you? I mean, if I were in love with someone, I’d want to know what they like. Wouldn’t you?”

Brian hadn’t thought of it like that.

“I’m not in love with Y/N,” Brian grumbled. 

Roger’s mouth dropped in objection. “You’re gonna let this little fling with Almost Perfect erase the last twelve fucking years of your emotional development?”

“Her name is May.” Brian glared. “And since when do you care about my emotional development?”

Roger ignored the question, finding the opportunity to aggravate Brian too tempting. “Why’d you call her Almost Perfect, again? Because she wasn’t quite what you wanted? Who you wanted?” His eyes grew devilish. “What makes you think it’s gonna be different this time?”

“Because it has to be,” Brian answered with a barely perceptible whisper. 

Roger swallowed a thick breath, studying Brian’s angular face. He looked completely disheartened. And the enormous dark circles under his eyes did not help.

“I can’t keep holding out for something intangible.”

“How do you know it’s not worth it? If she means the world to you, then you should give it to her.”

“She doesn’t want me, Roger. Never has.”

“Don’t pretend that she spurned you, Brian. You never said a bloody thing. Could’ve been you shagging her on New Year’s, but it wasn’t, because it was too overwhelming for you. You just had to step outside for some fresh air, leaving Y/N alone.”

“It’s the same every year. And the one time I decide to not wait around to watch her snog some random person she just met, she comes looking for me.”

Roger was losing his patience. “Get over it, man. It was two bloody months ago!” He sighed. “Just be with May, enjoy her while she sticks around. Not every woman is gonna sit by and watch you fall in love with your best friend.”

Brian sunk his head into his hands. “Oh god.”

“What?”

“May. I feel awful.”

“Well, yeah, some part of her must know, right?”

Brian disregarded the question, not wanting to answer. “She’s great, doesn’t deserve me treating her this way.”

“You mean completely ignoring her?”

Brian nodded timidly. “I should do something. Something big.”

Roger phased out of his therapist role, and took on a much more devious one. “For starters, you could bring her to dinner tonight.”

* * *

“What time did he say he’d come to pick us up?”

“Sometime after six, he gets off then.”

“Good, maybe then you’ll not be throwing clothes on at the last minute, like every other time, ever.”

You snickered at the overly-Americanized drawl.

Stella hadn’t looked up from her magazine in at least half an hour. She flipped through with high enthusiasm, scouring for ridiculous trends to gawk at. Odette had fallen ill at the last moment, plagued by migraine. When Stella suggested to stay with her, she only dismissed it by saying “You have to give this Paul guy twice the interrogation,” or so Stella claimed. You sincerely doubted that Odette would ever say that, but you secretly loved when Stella got protective. You just felt bad for the unsuspecting victim of her intensity.

“I always manage to look presentable, don’t I?”

“Always is a strong word, honey.”

You sighed and joined her on the sofa. It caught her attention.

“You know I just mean it in fun, Y/N. No need to get huffy.”

You snapped your head to look at her, confused by her conclusion. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t even listening, Elle.”

Stella put her magazine down on the coffee table. “Are you nervous about dinner or something? It’s not like you’re introducing him to your parents.”

“No, it’s much worse.” You winked at her. “You are much worse.”

She mocked flattery. “Oh, stop it, you.” You gave her a toothy grin before letting your face droop into its previous state. Stella watched you fade away. “Seriously, babe, what’s wrong?” Looking off into the distance, you ran your tongue along the top row of teeth, zoning out. “I didn’t put down my entertainment just for you to ignore me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Stella affectionately placed one of her large, warm hands on your shoulder, stroking you with her thumb subtly. “Is it work?” You shook your head. “Paul?” You shook your head again. “Is it Brian?” You hesitated before repeating the motion. The brief pause gave Stella all the information she needed. “Did he hang up on you again?” Her words were teasing, but she didn’t let a wisecracking inflection slip.

“No.”

“Did you get in another fight? Seems to be happenin’ quite often.”

“Not really.”

“Not really a fight, or not really often?”

You just nodded.

“Y/N, can you please be direct with me? I’m asking so I can help you.”

“It’s not your job to fix everything, Elle,” you met her dark eyes, smiling at her intentions. “Sometimes Brian’s a stupid little idiot, sometimes I’m a little bit of an idiot, too. I think we’re the ones who ought to do the fixing, yeah?” She didn’t say anything, which you found strange. “No offense,” you quickly added.

Stella looked amused.

“I appreciate that you find me so intimidating that you’re scared your own self deprecation personally offended me, but I promise you, I am okay.” Her face grew sterner. “Although, I don’t condone you calling yourself an idiot.” You smiled meekly. “I was just thinking about how easy it would be to snap his little twiggy body.”

“Stella, please leave Brian alone. I’m sure he has a good explanation for what happened.”

“If you’re so sure, then why haven’t you asked him?”

You knew she had a good point. And you knew the answer to her question: Because I’m afraid to know.

“Haven’t had the chance to talk,” you mumbled begrudgingly.

“Maybe tonight you could pull him aside or—”

“Brian’s not coming,” you spoke more aggressively. It caught her off guard. 

“He wants nothing to do with Paul, eh?” She tried to fight back a grin, but it wasn’t working. You just weren’t paying attention.

“No. I didn’t tell him about dinner.”

“Really?”

You lowered your eyes. “Like I said, we haven’t had the chance to talk.”

Stella was no longer amused. “So what? Are the two of you just finding replacements for the other or something?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Really, Y/N? You’re not just using Paul as a distraction?”

“I’m not using Pa—”

“Can’t handle the fact that there’s something wedging itself between you and Brian that you had to go out and find someone else to give you attention?”

“Stella, you know that’s not it.”

“You sure? Because I’ve seen how the two of you dance around each other, for years. I thought it was worse when you were in Finland, but I was wrong.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes swimming. You didn’t know how to retaliate, or even how to respond.

“Almost Perfect has been in the picture before, but even when you were out of the country you made it all work.”

“He’s made it very clear he needs space,” you managed to spit out.

Stella frowned. “He said that?” Her tone was hushed, like she was suddenly expecting Brian to burst in from the kitchen.

“He didn’t need to.” The thought of it brought small tears to your eyes, but you fought against them, leaving you only a little glassy eyed. 

This was not the conversation you wanted to be having.

Stella could tell.

“So, what time are we getting picked up, again?”

You broke, allowing a tiny smile to form on your otherwise sullen face. “Shut up,” you croaked. It made Stella give a hearty laugh, roping you into the humor as well.

The room felt airier, as if whatever was looming overhead had dispersed into the atmosphere. Stella’s good for that. Chiming sounds of giggling echoed through the flat, filling it up with happiness that hadn’t seemed to be there in a while. The music that had been softly playing was a welcome addition to the symphony. You were glad to be somewhere full of life, of pleasant sounds. You were glad to be home, even if it was just for a little while.

* * *

The restaurant was nicer than you were expecting, and you felt a little underdressed in your blue frock. As you came in through the entrance, you were greeted by the sight of Freddie, John, Veronica, Mary, and Roger, who were all standing around waiting to be seated. You twiddled with the fabric of your dress, standing still for a moment. Veronica was the first to see the three of you by the door and smiled. The others quickly turned their heads to see you, beckoning for you to join the group. Stella led you and Paul to the others.

“You look stunning, dear,” Freddie cooed as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. 

“You always say that,” you whispered playfully. He laughed. You stayed in his arms for a moment, finding his touch comforting. 

“It’s always true.”

After the release, Mary smiled politely from behind his shoulder. You shot her a larger grin, but it was mostly for your own benefit. 

“How was the drive over?”

“Paul’s still in one piece, so I’d say pretty successful,” Roger sneered. Stella rolled her eyes and glared at the slightly shorter man.

Paul timidly cleared his throat. “It was nice.”

“If you say so.” Roger sounded unconvinced, but the twinkle in his eyes made it clear that he was just poking fun.

“How long is the wait?” Stella asked.

“I thought we had a reservation.”

“We’re a bigger party than expected, they estimated about twenty minutes,” John answered. He looked almost apologetic.

You smiled at Deaky, confused by his demeanor. “Good thing we’re in no rush.”

The sound of the door opening came from behind you, but you didn’t think enough of it to turn around. Footsteps echoed through the foyer.

“Room for two more?” A soft, warm voice lilted. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the sweet sound.

Brian appeared next to you, wearing a dark blue blazer and layered silver necklaces. His arm was wrapped around May’s waist, who stood on the other side of him. Neither of you looked at each other.

You swallowed and moved closer to Paul, inching away from the pair.

“Glad you could join us,” Freddie’s tone dripping with sarcasm.

Brian smiled uncomfortably. He scanned the faces around him, eyes landing on Paul before he had the chance to look at you. “Paul, is it?”

Paul’s response was much more genuine. “Yes! Nice to see you again, Brian.” He stuck out a hand to shake, which Brian proceeded to take reluctantly. Everyone could feel the tension, even if they didn’t know why it was there.

“You too.”

“Crazy that Y/N’s your roommate, yeah?” Paul laughed to himself. “Small world.”

Brian looked at you for the first time since he came in. Your eyes met for a split second before you broke away. His gaze lingered. 

Roommates.

The time spent waiting did not last much longer, they called your party over to a more private part of the restaurant. You were sat at a long rectangular table. Stella took one end and Roger sat at the other, with the couples filling in at the spots along the sides. Paul sat at Stella’s end, with you on his left. Veronica and Deaky were next to you. Freddie took the end near Roger, with Mary beside him. That left Brian sitting directly across from you. 

The worst place imaginable, you complained internally. But you were going to be the bigger man, so to speak, and not give him a dramatic confrontation.

Brian’s eyes were glued to the cloth napkin placed neatly in his lap. He could hear May speaking to him at a low volume, and nodded occasionally to simulate interest in what she was saying. She sounded flustered, nervous, even though she had already been around his friends plenty of times before. Brian already regretted the evening.

Across the table, he could see Paul leaning in to whisper something in your ear. Your eyes would widen, or you would giggle at whatever was said. Enchanted—charmed—by this man who was, quite literally, taking his place.

It killed Brian to be sitting on the other side of the table.

But from where you sat, all you could see was some beautiful girl’s hand placed gently on Brian’s arm, speaking in hushed tones as she stroked calmly.

It angered you.

It angered you that he chose her over you, on the night that was always just about the two of you. It angered you that he came without invitation, and brought her along. But mostly, it angered you that he could sit there and act like none of it happened.

Brian was supposed to be your best friend, but lately, he wasn’t much of a friend at all. Too distant, physically. Emotionally.

You were startled by the server asking for your drink order. “Water, please.” The waiter nodded cordially before asking John for his, and so on. You decided to stop obsessing and redirect your focus on your date, who appeared to be getting along with Stella quite well. You rubbed Paul’s shoulder that was closest to you and let a smile cover your face.

“What do you think you’ll order?” Stella asked.

You realized you had forgotten to look at the menu.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you grazed your eyes over the open menu in front of you. “Not in the mood for salad.” You leaned in closer to Paul. “I always have to get a salad.”

“Occupational hazard,” he joked.

“It comes with the vegetarian title.”

May’s ears perked at your comment. “Are you vegetarian, too?”

“Mmhmm, I’m an even better one than Brian,” you snarked. She laughed, maybe a little too hard, but you didn’t say anything.

“It’s true, I confess,” Brian responded. “I do enjoy prawns from time to time.”

“A prawn-etarian, perhaps?” May attempted to riff off the pair of you.

Brian gave a courtesy scoff. “Perhaps.” 

You just smiled.

“So, Paul, how did you meet Y/N?” May turned to look at your companion, who was gazing at you intently.

“Oh,” he breathed as he spoke. “I was visiting my little sister at the hospital, and who should work there but this one.” Paul wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead. “And then later that evening, we happened to be at the same New Year’s party, because it turned out her friend John was also my friend John.”

“Small world,” you added in a short manner, reiterating his words from earlier.

“Sparks flew, and I just knew something was going to happen. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking,” Paul paused. Both he and May laughed. “What do you think, sweetie?” 

You tried to shake off the impending grimace. 

“I’d say it was almost mutual.”

The coy comment earned a burst of laughter from several people around the table as the waiter came back with your drinks. You smiled and mouthed “Thank you” as he handed you a glass of water.

“Nothing stronger, Y/N?” Freddie called from the other end of the table. He sounded personally offended. You gave him an unamused glare, followed by you sticking your tongue out at him. He returned the favor. So far, Freddie has been the only one to make you genuinely smile.

May offered Brian a taste of her wine, which he accepted. He had also ordered water, planning on driving home himself, but he figured one sip wouldn’t hurt.

You turned to look at John and Veronica, who were conversing quietly. You could feel a sweet energy bouncing between them, so enamored. It made you sad that you didn’t have the same experience.

At that moment, Paul’s hand rubbed your back as he struck up a conversation with Stella and May. You appreciated the gesture, small and intimate. It made up for the momentary blues. I have someone.

But you didn’t know if he had you.

* * *

The food was delicious. You ended up getting some kind of fancy flatbread, and were looking forward to dessert, eyeing the red velvet cake on the menu. Brian gave you a meaningful look, almost as if to say, “I know what you’re getting.” It was the second time someone had made you genuinely smile all evening.

Paul leaned into you, asking, “Would you like to split the chocolate torte?”

“I kind of have to get the red velvet.” You emphasized it in a way that made it sound like you were being forced against your will. Brian snickered inaudibly. You didn’t detect it.

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Sorry,” you teased, “I don’t make the rules.” You held up your hands in defeat. Paul smirked, and shook his head.

“What a terrible fate.”

Finally, you thought. He’s being sarcastic. Since you’d started seeing each other, you noticed that Paul was acting more docile, more nurturing. You wanted the humor, the sharp comments. It’s only the honeymoon phase. That’s one of the reasons why you hated beginning new relationships. 

They never feel real.

“Red velvet is the way to her heart,” Stella joked, flashing a wink at Paul.

Brian scoffed to himself, but this time you could hear it. You looked at him, but when you did, he was just enjoying his food. With an arm around May.

“Got something to say?” You asked him, pretending to be jocose, but you meant to be interrogatory.

Brian looked up at you, giving doe eyes. “Hmm? No.” He touched his throat. “Just a little cough.”

You didn’t buy it, but decided to ignore it anyway.

“I guess I’ll know better than to ask about chocolate tortes next time.”

You looked at Paul, who was already watching you. You planted a kiss on his cheek, smearing a thin layer of lipstick on his face. He was pleasantly surprised.

“I appreciate the offer though,” you tapped your hand against his chest lightly.

The gesture made Brian tense up.

“Well, I appreciate your appreciation,” Paul replied in a cheeky manner, wiggling his eyebrows. It made you laugh.

Roger saw the interactions from a farther distance. He saw the way Brian’s head drooped when you tapped Paul’s chest, the way your jaw tightened when you saw Brian’s arm around May. In the process of it all happening, he was uncharacteristically quiet. 

Freddie noticed Roger’s silence and followed his line of sight, then nodded in understanding, picking up on the tension. Paul and May were blissfully unaware, too wrapped up in their partners to see the little things.

And you and Brian were too wrapped up in your fixations to really pay attention to each other.

Feeling the need to do something, Freddie began to tap his glass and stood up. Everyone’s gaze fell on him. His eyes glittered beautifully.

“I would like to say that it’s wonderful to see a group of such darling people come together.” He beamed at the faces of his friends surrounding him. “The amount of affection in this room is astounding, and I adore every single one of you. For being open and emotional and kind.” His smile broadened. “As well as for a number of other reasons. So, thank you all for being here to share it with the rest of us.” 

Freddie looked down and rubbed his nose, like he was trying to think of what to say next. 

“To relationships,” he raised his glass a little higher. “Both old,” he gestured to Mary, “and new,” he scanned the cheerful faces of the other couples in acknowledgement. 

“To finding the love of your life,” Freddie winked at Veronica and John, who were tangled up in each other.

He moved his attention to the other end of the table, where you were seated. Brian’s eyes glazed over as he realized where this was heading, and heard the last words depart from Freddie’s mouth: “To falling in love with your best friend.”

Brian’s cheeks grew rosy, his mouth dry.

He hoped it would go over your head. And it did, but for a different reason.

Because it never occurred to you that, in all the years since you left for Finland, you could still love Brian May. You had missed the moment, it was the end of the story. 

You couldn’t even think about it. Still too sore a subject.

Especially since Almost Perfect was sitting across from you with her hand holding his.

“Cheers, dears,” Freddie held out his glass. The rest of you did the same, followed by an echoing chorus of “Cheers”.

Paul tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes and leaned into his warmth.

“I think I want to be your girlfriend,” you mused aloud. While it was said at a low volume, Brian heard every word.

And with every word, his heart broke a little more.

“If you’ll have me,” you added, opening your eyes.

Paul hummed into your hair as he placed his lips at the top of your head. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

With a short pause, you came to a decision.

“I don’t need to think about it anymore.”

You sat up and stroked his face.

“I just need you.”

Brian was slain.

_______________

March 8

You groaned at the sound of your alarm.

4 a.m.

Too fucking early.

The coziness of your own bed was too enticing.

It had been one of the rare nights where you slept alone, in your flat. Paul had been spending time with his family out of town, which you happily embraced on his last night away.

Not that you didn’t want to spend time with him.

But he couldn’t compare to home.

You wrestled with the blankets for half a second, before finding yourself falling out of bed. It wasn’t a long drop, but it did make a loud sound. Thank god I’m alone.

However, Brian was awoken by your tumble. He jolted up and shuffled down the hallway to locate the source of the sound, but was certain it came from your room.

Silently praying you weren’t with Paul, he swung open the door, and saw you laughing to yourself as you were pulling your body up, with the bed as your support.

You looked up at him. His eyes sparkled in the darkness.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Brian’s voice was scratchy from lack of use, but it still maintained its softness.

“I’m okay. Just fell out of bed.” You hoisted yourself into a standing position. “Sorry to wake you. Didn’t know you were here.”

He took a step closer to you. “You make it sound like you fell on purpose.”

You smirked at him. He smells nice.

“What?” He asked, almost defensively.

“Nothing,” you answered, feeling a wave of breathlessness. Tearing your eyes away from Brian’s face, you pretended as though you’d just thought of the question, “No May?”

Brian didn’t respond verbally, but rather with a quick shake of the head.

The air fell dead for a few moments. It wasn’t awkward, which gave you a small amount of joy. Things felt normal between you two.

Brian cleared his throat. “Are you coming tonight?” He asked weakly, referring to the first concert promoting their second album.

“I want to.”

He smiled in a way that made your heart ache.

“But I don’t know if I can.”

“Work?” He tried to cover up the hurt.

You nodded “I have to be up early again tomorrow. And the show’s out of town…”

“Right.”

You took a step closer to Brian. “You know I want to be there for all the big moments. And the little ones.” You could feel yourself tearing up, but you didn’t know why. “But I can’t always be. I’d love nothing more.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “I just can’t.”

Suddenly it felt like you weren’t talking about the concert anymore.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to wipe away the droplet. “Don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” you choked. Brian pulled you to him, keeping you close. Safe in his arms. 

The smell of sage filled your senses. The smell of home.

--January 11, 1964--

“It’s cold.”

“Gee, really?”

You scowled at Brian, who was laying in the grass below you as you were standing and shivering. “You’re the one who suggested I get out of bed at eleven o’clock at night. In bloody January.”

“But it’s a beautiful night.” He extended his arm up to the sky.

The cold light of the constellations twinkled down upon you, millions of them shining from so far away. You had to admit, it was all so breathtaking.

“I’ll give you my jumper,” Brian spoke softly. You peered down at him. He was blinking slowly as he studied your face in the starlight. Hopeful.

“You don’t have to do that, Bri.” You hugged your arms tighter around your body. “Then you’ll be cold.”

He batted a hand in your direction. “I’ve got layers.” You couldn’t contain the snort that escaped into the air. It only seemed to encourage him. “And if you sit next to me, I’ll be fine.”

You squinted at him, not sure about his solution.

“I promise,” Brian insisted. “Body heat is a great way to warm up.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” You cocked your head, implying that you thought otherwise. “Oh, c’mon! ’M not that mean.”

The look on Brian’s face was the greatest factor in convincing you, it was an expression of plea. You nodded in cession and moved to sit on the ground beside your friend. He scooted over slightly so he could pull off the brown jumper without elbowing you somehow. In doing so, the grabby material of the jumper pulled up the hem of the shirt he wore underneath, exposing some of his midriff to the chilly winter air. But he paid it no mind, and handed you the large garment. You slipped it on over your head, and nestled into the warmth left over from Brian.

He patted the small patch of grass next to him, suggesting that you join him. You obliged, and leaned up against him.

“It is beautiful,” you affirmed aloud. Brian smiled down at you, but your eyes were now transfixed on the skies above.

“Told you so.”

You adjusted so you could look at him face to face. He stifled the whine that rose in his throat as your body moved away from his, already missing your touch.

“How often do you come out here?”

Brian exhaled, causing the air to fog up around his face. “Just when I need reminding of how beautiful life can be.”

You smiled at his comment. “You’re odd.”

“And it’s one of your favorite things about me,” he puffed out his chest.

“Are you implying that I like more than one thing about you?”

He mimicked insult. “How dare you. ’Ve got many good qualities.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. “Like what?”

“You like my cooking.”

“Like is a strong word.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Alright. What about my charm?”

You bobbed your head. “That’s one.” He could feel himself begin to blush, and thanked the frosty weather for making his face red anyway.

“Humor?”

“That’s two.”

“See? I’ve got many good qualities that you appreciate.”

“No,” you argued. “You only named three. Three is not many.”

He frowned. “Then how many do you want?”

You considered it for a moment. “Six? Maybe seven?”

“Really? There are seven whole things you like about me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I didn’t even know I had seven qualities.”

You playfully flapped your hand against his chest, trying to get him to continue. It made you happy when Brian said nice things about himself, but it so seldom happens organically that you had to push to get it out of him.

“Four more, Mister May.” You held up four fingers and wiggled them tauntingly.

He groaned. “Alright, give me a second.” He dropped his head back, thinking. Humming.

You held up a hand to hide your giddy grin, playing it off as you just holding the wool to your face to warm up.

Brian held up four fingers. “Music taste?” 

You nodded, not really thinking of it as a personal quality, but decided music was such an important part of him that it would be wrong to say no. 

“Love of animals?” 

You held up five fingers, wiggling them in anticipation. 

“Hmm,” he stopped to think again. “Passion?”

“Fine, I’ll allow it.”

He pursed his lips. “You have a problem with my passion?”

“No,” you squeezed his hand. “I admire it.”

“Then what’s with the ‘fine’?”

“It’s just so blanket.”

“Excuse me?” He tilted his head, confused.

“Like a blanket term. Everyone has passion, I’m looking for things more unique to you.”

“So ‘charm’ wasn’t a blanket term?”

You couldn’t hide your grin anymore. “You want me to subtract one?”

Brian sighed. “No.”

“Give me two more. Good ones.”

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered.

“That’s why you love me,” you beamed. 

Brian froze, unsure of how to respond, but you didn’t see his panic stricken face. When he realized this, he relaxed a bit.

“Okay. Um, I built a guitar with my dad. That’s pretty unique.”

“I’d say that’s the definition of unique.”

“Really? I hadn’t the faintest idea that unique meant that.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed his chest lightly. “You stupid genius.”

“That’s seven! I’m a genius!”

“Don’t cheat, I said it.”

“So there are more than seven things you like about me?”

“Oh god!” You shoved your head into your hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.”

Brian’s heart fluttered in his chest. With a shaky voice, he joked, “So, you did have an ulterior motive,” but it cut out about halfway through his sentence. It didn’t matter, you knew him well enough to know what he said.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

You returned to your position leaning up against his torso, closed your eyes, and tilted your head back into the crook between his shoulder and neck.

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Brian turned his sights to the stars, taking them in. “I’ve always been quite partial to Dorado.”

You opened one eye. “Which one is that?”

He pointed it out to you. “The dolphinfish.”

“Beautiful.” You closed your eyes again, simply enjoying the peaceful moment. Just you, Brian, and the stars.

“What about you?”

“My favorite constellation?”

“Mmhmm.”

You opened your eyes fully. “I don’t know which ones are out this time of year.”

Brian shrugged. “Wasn’t my question.”

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. “I like Canis Major.”

He nodded. “You’ve always loved dogs.”

“That’s why we’re going to have a herd of them in our house.”

“The more the better.”

“Exactly. You get me.” You sank further into your relaxation, curling up your legs near the rest of your body, and placed a hand on Brian’s chest.

Though he knew it wasn’t the intent behind your words, it sounded like you were saying that one day he would finally get to love you like he always wanted. That maybe the outcome of everything would be you and him.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You lazily laced your fingers around Brian’s, marveling at the delicateness of his hands, admiring them. So slender and dexterous. The tips of his fingers were rough with guitar calluses, but everywhere else they were smooth to the touch.

His breath hitched in his throat. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Bit off topic there, isn’t it, mate?

“I don’t know,” you said simply. “I’d only do it for love.”

Brian chuckled. “Isn’t that why most people do it?”

You shrugged, not moving your focus from his hand. “I mean, I’d want to know that whoever he was loved me endlessly, and that I love him back endlessly. Yeah?”

“Makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I’m very sensical.”

“You mean ‘sensible’?”

“No. I mean sensical.” You dropped his hand gently. “Why’d you ask?”

“Just making sure you knew what you said.”

You shifted in your spot. “Not that.”

“Oh, the marriage thing?” You nodded slowly. “Just came to mind, y’know? Talking about our house.”

“I would never live with another man in our house, Bri.”

“You’d leave your husband for me?” He perked up. “The one you’d love endlessly?”

“Of course, easily.” 

“Why?” His heart was beating fast, and he hoped you couldn’t feel it.

“No matter how much I love him, I’ll always love you a little more.”

Abruptly, you sat up in realization.

“I’m not cold anymore, would you like your jumper back? You must be freezing.”

He looked at you, moony eyed. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

“Seriously?”

Brian cleared his throat.

“You can keep it. It’s yours, love.”

You smiled secretly, taking in the gentle scent of sage.

--1974--

“I have to get to work, Bri. ’M sorry.”

Brian relinquished his hold on you. “I could drive you.”

“No, thank you.” You held a hand to his chest. “You need to rest.”

“One less hour of sleep won’t kill me. Don’t sleep much anyway.”

You observed the dark circles under his eyes. “I really think you should go back to sleep, or at least try to.”

“But—”

“No. I am happy with taking the train.”

His arms fell limp at his sides, defeated. “I’ll barely get to see you as the tour picks up.”

You sighed. “I’ll do everything I can to come tonight, alright?” Brian nodded half-heartedly. “Sunderland?”

“Yes. Seven thirty.”

“Okay,” you started to move him back through the bedroom door so you could change into your uniform. “I hope to see you then.” You shut it with a smile.

* * *

Setting up for the gig didn’t take very long, Brian’s equipment took less time than he anticipated, so all he had to do was sit and wait. He bounced his legs anxiously, wanting time to pass more quickly. The others moved around busily as he remained still, watching the seconds tick away on the clock facing him.

After watching for a few minutes, Deaky made his way to where Brian was frozen.

“Something on your mind?”

Brian looked at the brunet standing before him, peeling his eyes from the clock. “No.”

Deaky pursed his lips. “You’re not good at hiding things, d’you know that?”

“I’ve nothing to hide.”

John sat on the chair beside Brian. “So, you’re a nervous wreck over nothing?” Brian didn’t answer, and stared at his hands instead. Deaky have a small smile. “She’ll come.”

“May’s not seeing a show until next week.”

“You know that’s not who I’m talking about.”

Brian fiddled his fingers with a newfound concentration, trying to avoid the subject. 

He had told Deaky everything after Deaky explained what happened between you and him. How New Year’s came to be. Brian needed to know you didn’t sleep with John, and when satisfied with the answer, he spilled the beans.

Everything.

Maybe even more than Roger knew.

“She’s got work,” Brian mumbled.

John tutted. “You really don’t know Y/N at all, do you?” Brian finally brought his eyes up to meet Deaky’s, befuddled. “She’ll get here, or die trying.”

“It’s a lot to ask. She’s always doing incredible things, working with children, curing their ailments. And all I can think about is if she’ll catch my gig.” Brian scoffed at his own audacity. “What am I doing?”

“You’ve found yourself caught between Perfect and Almost.” John teased affectionately. “What is there to do?”

Brian grinned out of amusement.

It felt wrong to compare you and May. But he knew it was true for him.

“Loving your best friend is hard,” he whispered, scared any of the passers by might hear.

Deaky became lost in his own thoughts, envisioning Veronica. “I’d say it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Brian smiled for his friend. “Already?”

“Yes.”

“I’m happy for you, Deaks.” He patted John’s shoulder.

Deaky returned the favor. “And I, you.”

“Why? Because I always find ways to make everything increasingly difficult for myself?”

“You’re a persistent bastard, Brian,” John retorted.

“You’re happy because of that? You hate it when—”

“It’ll happen. You’ll make it happen, somehow.”

Brian slumped his shoulders. “Nothing can happen. She’s got Paul, I’m with May. And she doesn’t feel that way.”

“This thing with Paul is just a drop in the bucket. I doubt anything will come of it.”

“That doesn’t change anything for me, John.”

Deaky got up from his seat, laughing to himself. “Y/N loves you infinitely, and it shows. You just have to look in the right places.” Then he strolled away. But Brian wasn't paying enough attention to watch him leave, because he was hung up on the words Deaky had spoken. 

Infinitely. 

Endlessly.

Time finally seemed to move faster for him. Before he knew it, it was time to congregate backstage to prepare for the performance.

“Ready to kick this thing off?” Freddie stood proud, hands on his hips, in the middle of the dressing room. 

Roger nodded enthusiastically while the poor hairstylist was trying to fix his hair. 

John wasn’t listening, but bobbed his head anyway. 

Brian started playing with his curls, nervous. He was jittery, feeling energy bouncing through his extremities. Then a bolt of pain expanded in his abdomen.

“Ah fuck,” he whispered as he clutched the area troubling him.

Freddie saw it happen, and marched over quickly. “Are you alright, Brian?”

Brian gave a short nod, lips clenched tightly. “Yes.”

“You don’t look it, dear.” Freddie put the back of his hand up to Brian’s forehead. “Feel a little warm.”

Brian swatted at him to move. “I’m fine, Fred.”

Roger got up to see what was happening, and upon seeing the concern on Freddie’s face, asked, “Nauseated?”

“No,” Brian groaned. “Just nervous, perhaps?”

“Doubt it, mate. You don’t get stage fright.”

“And it doesn’t normally result in a fever,” Freddie added.

“I said I’m fine.”

Freddie and Roger exchanged glances.

“I promise.”

Roger was the first to cave. “If you say so…”

“But if you start to feel worse,” Freddie began to instruct, “you need to let someone know.” Brian nodded subtly in agreement, swallowing shallowly.

“Don’t say anything to Y/N when she gets here, though.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t we?”

“She’ll get worried over nothing.”

“She’s a medical professional. If she’s worried about something, it probably means there’s something wrong with you.”

Brian shifted his weight, unsure of how to rebut. He came up with nothing, so he just gave a pleading look. “Please don’t.”

Freddie curled his lip. “Fine.”

“If he dies, it’s on you,” Roger whispered.

The door to the dressing room swung open. Everyone looked up expectantly, thinking it might be you (or any of their significant others), but it was just one of the stage crew members. “You’re on in ten.” He slammed the door behind him. The noise echoed throughout the otherwise quiet room.

“Drink some water,” Roger snipped at Brian. “Maybe take an aspirin.” 

Brian complied.

A soft knock followed shortly after, but nobody moved to get it. With a sigh, Deaky got up from his seat to answer. He smiled at the sight of Veronica. She pulled him out into the hallway with her to converse privately.

After a few quiet minutes a loud call was made, telling John, and effectively the others, the band had to move side stage. Brian rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the dull ache behind them. 

Roger clapped a hand to his bandmate’s shoulder, cheering him on. “Let’s do this.”

Brian pried open his eyes and carefully moved to the doorway, following Freddie and Roger’s bouncing gaits in a slower fashion.

Exiting the room, the three of them saw Deaky kissing Veronica sweetly, arms entangled. Freddie coughed. They turned to look at him. He grinned, pleased with himself. “Duty calls, John.”

As a group, the five of them navigated the corridors of the venue. Veronica noticed Brian moving like death, and whispered something into Deaky’s ear. He nodded in confirmation. Veronica then smiled tenderly and turned to Brian. “She’ll be here.” Brian could only muster a small grin, but the words meant more to him than he expressed.

But the time until it started was running out, and you were still nowhere to be seen.

“And now, we here at the Locarno are proud to present…”

The announcement was being made. You were out of time.

“Queen!”

Applause erupted through the venue, screams filling to the rafters. 

Freddie led the group onstage, strutting about in his outlandish attire. 

John went second, keeping his bass close to his body, a grand smile stretching across his face.

Roger waved, showing off his physique, making some girls in the front chant his name. He gave a wink and twirled the drumstick in his left hand.

Brian entered last, holding a firm grip on the neck of his Old Lady. He flashed a grin to the audience, giving a small thumbs up. The problems from real life had to melt away, so he pushed your absence and the bout of physical anguish as far from his thoughts as possible.

Once they hit their positions, they started playing the opening to “Keep Yourself Alive” as a unit.

Brian eased into the performance more as it progressed, gracefully transitioning from one song to another. He felt a desire to push harder, relieve the underlying tension somehow. When “Liar” began, it gave him the perfect opportunity. He struck a firm stance, gearing up to play as strongly as he could. 

The only thing that ruined his focus was a beam of light coming from backstage. Brian quickly turned to look at the source, and found you opening the door to get into the wing. You came. He couldn’t let his playing falter, but just knowing you were there gave him the boost he needed to kick off the song in the right way. He ripped his eyes away from the sight of you, a newfound glint in his eyes.

What Brian didn’t see was Paul trailing behind you. Not until “Liar” came to an end, after its epic 10 minute rendition, when he dared to give you a smile. Your face was lit up, infatuated by the dazzling performance. But at that moment, all he could see was the man whose arms were wrapped tight around your waist.

The color drained from him face.

And Brian wished he hadn’t begged you to come.

_______________

April 13

“Excited?”

Deaky looked up from his lunch. “For what?”

You and Veronica shared a glance and laughed. “America, John,” she cooed, a sunny expression dancing across her face.

“I s’pose I should be. We do leave tomorrow.”

Paul straightened up in his seat next to you, in the booth. Once you two had started dating officially, he started to accompany you to your regular lunches with John and Veronica. “What’s the first stop?”

“Denver,” Deaky replied, voice squeaking slightly. “Don’t really know how they’ll react over there.”

You stole one of your boyfriend’s chips and chewed the tip off, then pointed it at John. “They’ll love you, John. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Deaky raised his eyebrows, “just thinking out loud.”

Veronica tore her eyes away from him to face you, as she sat directly across the table. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and you could tell a question was forming in her mind. “So, how’s Brian feeling about it?”

You finished the singular chip and grabbed another from Paul’s plate without looking. “I think he’s ecstatic.”

“You don’t sound so sure.” Veronica tilted her head innocuously. 

You didn’t know how to respond. “We haven’t really talked about it much.”

“That’s unusual.”

John motioned for Veronica to stop whatever she was doing, but she ignored him.

“Not particularly. We’re busy people, you know. It happens.” You took a sip from your water glass. “Though, it’ll be strange to not have anyone to come home to for a while.” Paul rubbed your back, reminding you that he was there. “At least, not who I’ve grown accustomed to,” you added shortly thereafter.

“Haven’t grown accustomed to me yet?” He teased, continuing his smooth strokes on your spine.

You looked up at his goofy face, and gave an awkward chuckle. “No offense, dear, but I’d say seeing someone for four months is not quite equivalent to twenty years of friendship.”

Paul took a beat, biting his bottom lip in thought. “You’ve known Brian for twenty years?”

“Eh. It’s been more like…” You had to do the math in your head. “...Twenty five? Somewhere around there.”

He whistled, impressed. “I had no clue.”

You simpered. “It’s a lot to compete with.”

Deaky leaned forward, muttering, “Believe me, I know.” Veronica scoffed at the quiet comment, but you just rolled your eyes. Paul was confused by the implications, and you all could tell. John blew out, then elaborated. “I had a little thing for Y/N before I met Veronica.”

She scoffed again. “I’d say it was more than a little thing. Went on for years.”

You propped your head up on the palm of your hand, intrigued. “Really, now. Years?”

Deaky blushed. “I liked you when I met you.”

“And you’re not jealous?” Paul asked Veronica, astounded. She just giggled and shrugged. 

John gazed at her with overwhelming affection, taking in her beautiful features. “Well, I loved you when I met you,” he said at a low volume. She kissed his cheek gingerly, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes.

You sighed, adoring your friends. Observing the gentle glow that emanated from them when they were together. Admiring the little touches of their pinkies when their hands were side by side.

Paul glanced at you, hoping you would say something. Maybe that you loved him. Maybe that Brian was nothing to be jealous of. But you didn’t notice his stare, and you didn’t say anything.

_______________

April 14

“It’s strange to have you drive me to the airport,” Brian said. “I always had to drop you off after you came to visit.”

You laughed. “My, the tables have turned.” 

He didn’t look away from you the entire drive. He couldn’t. Wanted to have a clear image of your face, just for good measure. Wanted to memorize you.

“What’s weird to me,” you continued, “is that you’re not leaving at the wee small hours of the morning.”

“It helps that the flight to Denver is much shorter than the one to Melbourne.”

“I’m sure it does,” you beamed. 

It occurred to you that Brian was leaving the country. For weeks. Something about it made you feel hollow. Even though things had been rough lately, at the end of the day, he was still your best friend. Your favorite person to talk to.

You held out a hand by your leg, hoping Brian would catch your meaning. He did, and held your smaller hand in his. You traced your pinky around the silver ring you had gotten him for Christmas. The thought of him keeping that reminder of you with him everywhere brought you great comfort. He’s not going to forget me. He’s not going to forget me. He’s not…

“May didn’t want to come?”

Brian seemed caught off guard by your question. “What?”

You pulled your hand away from his. “She didn’t want to come to the airport to see you off?”

“Oh.” That’s not what he thought you meant. “She hates airports. Can’t stand ’em.”

“Said goodbye yesterday, then?”

“Didn’t see her yesterday.”

“Not even before we watched The Sky at Night?”

“No.”

The fact that you were the one to accompany Brian made you feel giddy. Well, maybe not giddy. But you felt a bubble of pride welling up in your chest. Excitement. Satisfaction.

“How’s she getting along with the others?”

Brian bit his lower lip. “They like her.”

“I can understand why,” you responded without a hint of sarcasm. “She’s beautiful and charming.”

“I suppose she is.”

You looked away from the road to give him a glare. “What do you mean, you ‘suppose’? She’s your bloody girlfriend.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Just agreeing.”

“Are you planning on breaking up with her?” You didn’t mean to sound so interrogative, but something about the way he spoke about her threw you off.

“What?” Brian’s face was red, flustered by the sudden escalation in conversation. “No!”

Oh.

A pit formed in your stomach. 

“Alright. No need to get twitchy.”

“I’m not being twitchy.”

“Sorry I brought her up.” You didn’t take your eyes off the road again.

Brian noticed the subtle shift in your disposition. You sounded almost hurt, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He couldn’t bring himself to consider the possibility of jealousy, even though it was all he hoped for. Maybe you were just offended by his nonchalance about May. 

Your hardened face staring at the road made Brian feel guilty despite not knowing what he did. He missed you, and not just now, but always. Every minute he’s gone from you, not laughing with you.

Every minute with May was only a distraction for him.

Meanwhile, you were trying to convince yourself Paul was more than that.

* * *

The airport was busier than you would have liked. If it hadn’t been for Brian’s looming stature, you were certain that you would have been jostled around by the rushing hordes. He escorted you through the flood of people, keeping his arm firm on the small of your back. Like always. You smiled. Maybe some things never change.

You approached the gate, and saw that Brian’s group had already formed. Everyone except for Freddie was standing in a circle, talking among themselves. 

Veronica had her head resting on Deaky’s shoulder, with his arm holding her waist. Roger stood talking to a pair of roadies, laughing loudly.

Brian coughed, informing everyone that you had arrived. They opened up the circle enough for you two to squeeze in, Brian next to Roger, and you next to Veronica. She smiled warmly at you, moving from her position draped on John to see you better.

“No May, Brian?” She asked. 

Brian shook his head. “No, it’s only me and my two Old Ladies.” He lifted his guitar case and tilted his head at you.

“I resent the implication,” you huffed, but the comment actually gave you a happy feeling inside.

“Guess that makes Brian your old man, eh, Y/N?” Roger chimed in.

You rolled your eyes. How original. We’re like an old married couple. 

“When’s the flight, exactly?”

“Another half hour or so,” John answered, looking at his wristwatch.

Brian itched his nose. “Fred better hurry up and get here, then.”

“He always does,” a voice said from behind you. Freddie grinned as he wormed his way between you and Brian, wrapping an arm around each of your shoulders. “Good thing, too, or else you would all be lost without me.”

“It’s true.” You agreed, then kissed Freddie on the cheek.

He looked up at Brian, smirking. “I still like this one,” Freddie said in reference to you.

Brian glared at him, before saying, “I do too.” Freddie looked pleased that he could tease Brian so well, while remaining undetected. You were none the wiser.

“I think we’ve all grown quite partial,” Roger contributed, picking up on Freddie’s scheme. 

John and Veronica simply stifled their laughter, not wanting to make the situation worse for Brian.

It all went over your head.

You looked to Veronica, intending to change the subject. “Are you going with them?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But maybe later in the tour. Are you?”

“Didn’t want to leave work for so long, so I told Brian I’d only go to America if they’re headlining. He wasn’t so pleased, but I think he’ll be fine without me.”

“Maybe next time,” she smiled.

“Maybe.”

_______________

April 20

You rattled the keys as you came up to the apartment, exhaustion nearly taking over your senses. Work had seemed to last longer than usual. 

Your old pal Arthur was overwhelming, asking questions about your new boyfriend, whom you refused to introduce to any coworkers. Doctor Tead made the same casually sexist comments you’d come to expect. And now, you just wanted to sit at home alone. Company from any other person in the world sounded daunting.

Well, all but one. But he wasn’t even in the country.

You put on the kettle to boil some tea water. You were in the mood for some Earl Grey. Brian had replenished the supply before he left, and until now, it never crossed your mind.

The honey was put on the highest shelf in the cupboard, much to your chagrin. You groaned to yourself as you ineptly pulled your body up onto the counter, kicking and wiggling until you were stable on the surface. It winded you much more than you’d care to admit, so you took a moment to breathe and sit there.

With a second wind, you shifted onto your knees and reached up to grab the small jar of honey. Brian restocked that, too.

Getting down was much easier. You bounced off from the counter just as the kettle began to whistle. In pouring the boiling hot water with both hands, you accidentally pressed a finger to the metal. You removed the affected hand to suck on the finger that had been burned. It wasn’t painful enough to do anything more for it. With a spoon, you scooped some of the honey from its container and mixed it into the hot water.

As you spun around to get the milk, you heard the phone ringing. It’s almost midnight, you whined to yourself, and walked into the living room to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

The annoyance dissolved. “Brian?”

“I’m sorry, love, did I wake you?”

The sound of his voice alone made the exhaustion from your day disappear. Warm. Gentle. Kind. You always thought a person’s voice could tell you something about them, and Brian always supported that theory.

“I actually just got home from work.”

“You sound exhausted.” He sounded concerned. You pictured him with a furrowed brow and his mouth in a slight frown.

“Eh, ’ve been worse.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “And I’m better now that I’m talking to you.”

Brian’s tone perked up instantly. “Miss me already?”

I haven’t stopped missing you in months. “I’d have to say I do.”

“I appreciate the honesty.” You could hear the grin in his timbre.

“Where are you tonight?”

“Memphis, then on to New Orleans tomorrow.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there...” You trailed off wistfully.

“Next time, remember? 

“Only if—”

“We’ll be headliners, said so yourself.”

“I did say that. And what’s more, I believe it.”

“You always did.” Brian’s voice sounded melancholic. Something wasn’t being said, but you both could feel it.

“What time is it there?” You had dipped into a whisper unconsciously, matching the mood.

“A little before six.”

“In the morning?!”

A gentle tut came from the other end. “No, silly.” You blushed at the playful remark. A short pause befell the line, but Brian shortly came in again before you could say anything. “Is Paul there with you?”

You hugged your legs against your body. “I’m going solo tonight.”

“Sounds nice.”

You took a deep breath. “I really do miss you, Bri.” It hurt, how much you meant it.

“Do you have to go?” His inflection gave away his disappointment.

“Oh, no,” you responded, feeling bad for giving the wrong impression. “There's no place I’d rather be.”

You ended up talking to Brian until he had to go, not even thinking about the international call rates. It was all worth it. When he hung up, you felt a buzzing surge in your body. Every hardship from the past week had slipped far away from your mind. And in your tranquil state, you made your way to bed, tea long forgotten.

_______________

April 21

The show had gone magnificently. Freddie and Roger were practically bouncing with every movement they made. Even Deaky was thrilled. And when one of the roadies suggested they go out for a drink, they all agreed enthusiastically. Only Brian was reluctant.

He made a quick call to May earlier on in the evening, apologizing for not talking in a few days. Of course, she was understanding. She was always understanding. And that made him feel worse. About the phone calls, yes, but mostly about you. He had no problem finding the time to speak to you.

He had no problem loving you.

However, the others convinced Brian that a night out was what he needed, despite his argument, “Every night on the tour is a night out.” They pulled him from the hotel, and got in the limo.

“Forget about May, May,” Roger pushed. “You don’t have to feel guilty about who you talk to.”

“I should at least try to have my girlfriend be one of them.”

“Why? You’ve already got your future wife on the list.”

“Rog, shut up about Y/N.”

“I will when you do.”

Freddie snorted at the pair of them going at it. “Children, calm down.” It deescalated the situation. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves, get lost in the night, alright?” They nodded begrudgingly. “The problems of real life exist out here, but when we go in, let them go.” The driver pulled up to a dark, gritty bar with a line that wrapped around the block. Roger and John groaned at the sight of the people, but Freddie, ever the optimist, smiled at the crowd. “Must be the right place.”

They somehow managed to forgo the queue and skip to the front, getting in as VIPs. 

Roger insisted it was his good looks. Deaky suggested it was the wad of cash Freddie handed the bouncer. 

They agreed to disagree.

Upon getting into the bar, Brian made a beeline to the empty corner. His head was hurting, and he didn’t want to say anything to the others. Lucky for him, there was an open loveseat away from the action.

A scantily clad waitress, with a genuine smile on her face, came by to ask what he wanted to drink.

“Water, for the headache,” Brian said over the loud music.

“Anything else?”

He thought about it for a second. “And something for the heartache.” The waitress’s smile faltered into one of pity, and hurried off to get his order. Brian leaned back into the chair, rubbing his temples rhythmically, wincing every so often.

An electrifying woman noticed the beautiful man with a pained expression. She had overheard what he said to the waitress, and with each moment, grew more intrigued. She watched the waitress scurry back with a tray carrying two drinks, and Brian accepting them. 

The sadness behind his hazel eyes melted her heart.

When the waitress was gone, the woman moved from her seat and took careful steps towards the loveseat, not wanting to disturb the stranger.

Brian looked up as he heard footsteps coming in his direction. 

His new companion smiled down at him, tenderly. “Are you okay?”

Brian swallowed heavily, struck by her beauty. “I’ve been better.”

“Haven’t we all, hon.” It wasn’t a question, but a matter of fact. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed a night out.”

She hummed, unsure. “Did you want a night out?” Brian shook his head vigorously. She laughed, which made him ease up a little bit more. “What’s your name, honey?”

“I’m Brian.”

She stuck her hand out, batting her eyelashes without being too forward.

“Peaches.”

_______________

May 11

The train ride from work felt shorter than usual. Maybe it was because you didn’t feel as worn out as you typically were. Whatever the reason, you didn’t mind. It was just before sunset, and the sky looked more exquisite than it had in weeks. You took in the sweet springtime air as you stepped out of the train car, dazzled by the fresh scent of flora surrounding you. It was a day more beautiful than most.

You meandered down the street where you lived, admiring the plant life on the way. Everywhere you looked, it was green and lush.

Nothing would be able to swipe the smile from your face on this day.

* * *

Brian held his head in his hands, the nausea had crept up on him out of nowhere. He had taken a long nap in his hotel room, but couldn’t shake the feeling no matter what he did. Even the aspirin stopped working. He sloughed the covers off and rolled out of bed, walking on aching, spindly legs to the bathroom. The stream of cold water felt refreshing on his hands, and even more so on his burning face.

A booming knock came at the main door of the suite.

Brian wiped his face dry with a clean hand towel and left to answer it.

“Hello, darling.” Freddie was a welcome sight. He always radiated comfort and cheer. Brian extended his arm, welcoming Freddie into his space, but Freddie shook his head. “I’ve just come to see if you were still alive.”

“Barely,” Brian joked in a weak voice, rubbing his sore arm unconsciously.

“Better than not at all!” Freddie gave a smile, but it was out of concern rather than joy. “Can I do anything for you? Make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Fred.”

Freddie was dismayed. “Can anyone do anything for you?”

Brian shook his head slowly. “Peace and quiet would be nice. I think I should be fine if I’m just left alone until the show.”

“Oh, so you weren’t really inviting me in?” Freddie teased. Brian’s face broke into a small, lethargic grin.

“I would, if you were going to act like a normal person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve all been treating me like some fragile thing. I’m alright, really.”

“You don’t look the part, dear.”

Brian bit his lip and frowned, thinking. 

You didn’t know there was something going on. Your voice would light up every time he called, thrilled to speak with him. No matter the time difference, you were happy just to hear him talk. It gave Brian a warm feeling knowing that after all these years, you were still so excited by him. So kind to him.

So loving.

He smiled to himself, thinking about what Deaky had said a month prior. That you loved him. Infinitely.

Freddie saw the change, the way Brian’s pain seemed to go away and was replaced by something far more pleasant. He watched Brian go somewhere far away inside his mind. And he knew you were the only thing that could possibly make Brian glow the way he was.

“Talk to her, Brian.”

Brian fell out of his dreamy state. “What?”

“She seems to make you feel better just thinking about her.”

Brian blushed. “She does,” he whispered, excited like a child.

Freddie laughed, glad to see his friend so chipper. “One of these days, you should tell her that, Brian. I’m sure she’d love to know.”

Brian nodded at Freddie’s words, how much sense they made. It gave him a surge of energy. You gave him a surge of energy.

* * *

You began tidying up the flat, throwing out scraps of paper you had found lying about. But only after reading them, of course. Some were nonsense, ripped out from the middle of a word or phrase. Others were blank. Nothing very exciting.

The phone rang as you threw out the ball of paper you had accumulated. It surprised you, as you weren’t expecting anyone to call. You walked into the living room and grabbed the telephone from its hook.

“Hello?”

Brian swooned at the sound of your voice. “Hello, love.”

“Brian!” You were even more surprised. “I thought you’d be busy today, before the show.”

“No, I actually just woke up.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Had nothing better to do.”

“Why’d you call, Bri? Shouldn’t you be rehearsing or something?” You paused for a second. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I was thinking about you.”

“Why?”

“You’re nice to think about.” You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, caught off guard. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, nervous. Something you rarely were when it came to Brian.

“Listen, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something—”

Someone came knocking at your door. You weren’t really listening to what Brian was saying, distracted by the sound, remembering you were having company over.

“Bri? I have to go,” you said, apologetic. “Paul’s here.”

And just like that, you’d delivered a punch to his gut.

“Oh.”

You were disheartened by the hurt in Brian’s tone. “Can we talk about it after the show tonight?” The knock came again, a little louder than before. You felt torn.

He sighed, knowing fully well that you weren’t going to be able to talk after the show. And he couldn’t say what he wanted to while Paul was there with you.

“Of course, love.” He felt teary-eyed. “Talk to you later.”

“I miss you, Brian,” you managed to say before Brian hung up his phone. More than you know.

“I miss you too, Y/N.”

“Have a great show. I’m sorry I’m missing another one.” You wanted to prolong the conversation as much as you could, but you couldn’t anymore. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I love you most.”

* * *

The boys stood in the wings as they waited for Mott the Hoople to wrap up their set, before the encore of “All the Young Dudes”. Their own performance had gone swimmingly, the New York crowd accepted them with great enthusiasm.

Brian watched the stage lights change sporadically, but he felt his head spinning to fast to pay close attention. He had to keep telling himself “One more song, one more song,” but he couldn’t find it in himself to rouse excitement or even tolerance at the idea of performing again. He had given Queen’s set everything he could. Probably even more than he should. Brian reached up to stroke his arm gently, wincing as he neared the aching spot.

Roger leaned over, staring up at his precariously swaying mate. “You alright, Brian?”

“I’m fine.” Brian had difficulty saying it, his mouth had gone completely dry.

“You know you don’t have to—”

“It’s one more song, Rog.”

“Exactly, you really don’t—”

“I’m fine,” Brian repeated, irritated.

Roger gave up and backed away, but kept an eye on Brian anyway; the way he was tottering made Roger nervous. It didn’t last long, Queen was called on stage shortly thereafter.

* * *

Paul had fallen asleep a couple hours ago, but you sat up, waiting to talk to Brian after his show, like you said you would. It sounded urgent when he brought up whatever he wanted to talk about.

It was late, or rather, early, but you didn’t mind. It was worth it. Brian was worth it.

You put the Queen II record on at a quiet volume, letting the distinct sound of the Red Special fill your ears. You often did that whenever you missed Brian, especially the song he wrote for you. Sometimes, it was all you could bear to listen to.

It always made you smile wistfully, even if you didn’t notice. The effect it had on your subconscious was extraordinary, sometimes working itself into your dreams at night. Mostly in the form of Brian. He would serenade you gently, or take you into his arms and dance into oblivion.

But presently, you were listening to the intro of “Father to Son”. The build up from the beginning of the album was wonderful, hearing the songs transition into one another seamlessly, beautifully. It made you yearn for something, but you could never figure out what.

You tapped your fingers to the beat as you held your eyes closed, envisioning the notes soaring through the room. You hummed along with Freddie’s gorgeous vocals and realized that the lyrics were so uniquely Brian, it almost made it feel like he was there with you.

The phone rang, interrupting your little daydream. The smile on your face widened with anticipation, ready to talk to your best friend.

“Hello?” You kept your voice down so you wouldn’t wake Paul in the other room.

“Y/N?”

The voice was wrong.

And it was worried.

“John? Why are you calling? Do you need—”

A sob came from the other end. You weren’t sure who made the noise, if it was Deaky or not.

Your body froze completely.

“Brian…” John trailed off, his voice shaking. “Y/N, something happened to Brian.”

As he told you about Brian’s collapse after the show, the jaundice, everything, you felt your lungs give out.

Shock left the line dead. You couldn’t form words. Your heart was broken knowing that Brian was alone when he needed you.

The world became less beautiful.

[comicsnas]

showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I’m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.

[standfortheangels]

What song makes you feel better?what’s your favorite candle scent?what flower would you like to be given?say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).what calms you down?what’s your ideal date?how are you?what’s your comfort food?do you still love stuffed animals?what’s something you do to de-stress?hugs or hand-holding?morning, afternoon or night?what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)? [for mun

What song makes you feel better?

Ooo, this really depends on a lot of stuff. But weirdly, one song I go to a lot is Tubthumping by Chumbawumba. The names really tell you the vibe of the song >w>' it's silly- too silly to really take much seriously when you're listening to it, so it gradually cheers me up that way. But it's mostly the chorus bit that does it.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again! You are never gonna keep me down!"

Repeated over and over again with pride and happiness like a football chant.

It's the kind of mood that's just infectious, it's a crowd celebrating something, enjoying where and who they are. Pair that with the message in those lines, and, I dunno. It just really helps me~

_

what’s your favorite candle scent?

Oh this one is tough. My sense of smell isn't that great, usually I can smell a candle if I pick it up and sniff it, but when it's lit I don't tend to smell anything. There are very few candles I can light and smell in the room. So I tend to just pick candles based on colour tbh x'D

One thing I do love though is oil diffusers. A few drops of violet essential oil in the water, it comes out as steam, makes the place smell really nice.

_

What flower would you like to be given?

Aww, that's a cute one~ I'd love to be given any flower really, but if I have to pick... I'd say a sunflower. I think it'd be really funny to have someone pull this giant flower from behind their back and hand it over. X')

_

Say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

That's six! You can't fool me there >w> buuuuut fine.

Physical: I like my eye colour, I've got a general hourglass shape that I like, and I'm told I have very comfortable shoulders to lean on? Haha

Non-physical: I'm fairly intelligent, have a lot of patience when I need it, and I'm pretty weird, which is often funny for other people x')

_

What calms you down?

If I'm anxious, I have a few apps on my phone I can use that usually help. 'What's Up' is a great one, it has different tools you can use like grounding exercises and retargeting your thoughts and stuff. I also have games on there like Zen Koi and Alto's Odyssey, which I find relaxing. They're not too complicated to manage but they do grab my attention and have chill music on them.

If I'm calming down from being angry.... Dogs. I find if a dog comes up to me for a hug or something, I have to relax my muscles more, I have to be gentle with them and reassure them that it's all okay, it's like a conscious effort I make for their sake. So it puts a stop to my stressing out long enough for me to just start enjoying the fact that I have a dog. ^^

_

What’s your ideal date?

Ooo good question...

At the minute I can't really date at all with my health being this bad, so I'd probably go for a casual date where we play a low-pressure game together at home. I'm talking battleship, tetris, any Super Mario game that has a multiplayer feature, Snipperclips, Jenga, Wii tennis, anything. Just us chilling, having a little bit of playful rivalry maybe, a few healthy snacks~ that would be awesome. Some of these games we could even play from two separate places with a video call going, which would mean I wouldn't have to push myself to host or leave the house or even force myself to shower in advance; I could even stay in bed and just prop myself up with some pillows if I really needed to, take a laptop and we could go play something online maybe.

In the future though (because I really hope I'll improve eventually and get some of my life back) I'd still love the more casual fun dates, but not stuck inside. I'd love to go minigolfing and be terrible at it so we can both laugh at my awful shots, and I'll do some hopeless ironic trash talk and then lose by a mile~

I'd like to have a dog we can walk together. We could go to a quiet beach, which will probably be cold and muddy because it's England but we'll let the dog loose and smile at how much fun they're having, maybe play fetch or something, and then at the end be so so grateful that we thought to put old towels over the back seats of the car for our very very happy, very very very wet dog~

It'd be fun to go to a theme park together, or walk around a garden centre and plan out a garden we'll probably never get around to. Or a zoo! That'd be a great date place, a zoo, or SeaWorld, both are good.

I'd like to go for ice cream and sit on some random grassy bank to eat it together. To go to an art gallery with a camera and most of my photos would just be of my date seeing something she likes~ maybe I could even take a sketchbook too, and I could draw her in the styles and/or poses of whichever pieces she wants me to, while she poses in ridiculous funny ways and makes me laugh so much that I have to stop and then we move to the next room.

I've been too ill for too long and had so much emotional crap in my life, I wouldn't choose the rigid restaurant dates with all the same rules and the pressure, or strive to try and be the most romantic couple or whatever else.

For me, what I'd value most is being able to get out of the house and enjoy the world, and having a date with a light-hearted atmosphere.

_

How are you?

Tired as always! X') but for real, today has actually been okay. The last few days have been really rough pain-wise, but it hasn't been quite as bad today, so hopefully it'll ease off back to normal from here~ I've also been pretty productive in the last two days so I'm very happy with myself rn ^^

_

What’s your comfort food?

I have a couple! Chocolate, of course, is a classic one (chocolate peanuts in particular are something I reach for for comfort). And also, a hot pasta-based meal like lasagna or, heck just pasta in a nice sauce will do. Those meals are more like the comfort of being warm and homely, the kind of thing I might love if I were really tired and feeling sorry for myself, while chocolate peanuts are the "I'm upset so I'm eating my feelings" food. X')

_

Do you still love stuffed animals?

Of course! I don't have tons all over my bed purely because it's inconvenient, but I do keep two huge ones- a dog and a shark- on top of my wardrobe, and my littlest childhood friend is always in my room somewhere~

His name is Scruffy, and right now he's sleeping in my crystal box (open) on top of all the empty velvet bags. ^^ I used to take him everywhere, cuddle him every night as a slept.. he usually smelled pretty gross because I never wanted to give him up to be washed, haha X) thankfully he doesn't have that problem now~

_

What’s something you do to de-stress?

This might sound lame but, jigsaw puzzles. It has to be real ones, at the table with some music in my headphones. If I can't do that for whatever reason, I go to the bathroom and run cold water over my wrists for a minute or two, over the veiny side. It's kind of a mini cleansing ritual. I sometimes combine that with some deep breaths and imagine the water is literally washing the stress out of me, and it really does help. It's something I can do quickly and easily, I can just do it while or after washing my hands or something and that's that~

_

Hugs or hand-holding?

Hmm... prolonged, I'm not a huge fan of either? Eventually if you're holding hands it's like, when do you let go? What if your hand gets warm and clammy, or sweaty? Same with like a cuddle. Once you're in it, how do you say "hey I'm kind of uncomfortable now, this physical contact has gone on too long"? You don't want to be rude, and it might be hard to explain, so you've probably got to blame on being too warm even if you're not, and then that's a lie, and.. it's just awkward.

A regular hug though, that's okay. It can last longer than usual and still not be a problem, because at least, you know, you won't be hugging for half an hour, at some point soon you'll let go. And it feels nice, you know? From someone I care about and trust anyway~ it's like a physical way of saying "I love you" and it's nice to have someone's arms holding you, to wrap yours around them and just hold them tight.. you both feel warm inside and secure and wanted. I wouldn't be keen on a hug from a stranger or an acquaintance, even a new-ish friend. But someone who's close to me? All the hugs. Give me the hugs, let me hug you back, many many hugs. X)

_

Morning, afternoon or night?

Night! Actually I love those really early mornings, you know when the air still has that kind of... Crispness to it. That is amazing. But I'm never awake for that anymore.

(^▽ ^;)ゞ

_

What reminds you of home?

Thunderstorms, loud planes overhead, chinook noises, soft hugs when I'm upset, mum's cooking, pictures of our old dog Harvey, little fluffy dogs running about.

Most of this is easy to figure out I'm sure, but I do want to talk about the first couple.

Until the age of 11 my family lived on a military air base, so there were always big planes taking off and landing, and I really do mean always. We learned the difference between some of them by sound. I could be sat at home and we'd hear one and know, that had to be a Herc landing (landing always sounded different to taking off), or a teacher would have to stop talking at school to let one go by, and everyone knew that one was a VC10. (VC10s are the LOUDEST thing I have ever heard to this day. I'd probably still recognise one now~)

We also saw and heard Chinooks a lot. Now for anyone who doesn't know, those are the weird helicopters that have two... Fan parts? I don't actually know what they're called. X') (I looked it up, they're called rotors!) They kinda look like the bit of a retro telephone that you'd pick up and hold to your face.

Now having two rotors means that they can carry a Lot of weight, but it also means they don't sound like normal helicopters do. The two rotors are timed out so that the blades from each side can go through the same middle space without hitting each other, Left blade then right blade then left then right then left, and you can kind of hear it happening. Instead of the kind of 'Wubbubbubbubbubbub' of normal helicopters, a chinook sounds more like 'Wokka wokka wokka wokka'.

Where I am now, we only hear some small jets once a week at most when they take practice flights, and sometimes a normal police or ambulance helicopter. It took me a long time to get used to the quiet of most places, and sometimes I miss all the overhead noise we had back then.

And we got so many thunderstorms! Every single summer, usually at night. Now that I think about it the pollution from all the aircraft might have been involved in this too. >w>" But I loved it. We'd all gather in mum's room and open the curtains wide to watch. My little sister was scared of thunder back then so it was better for her to have people around and to make it fun. I was always just excited! And I still get that way if I hear thunder now~

[rogsclogs]

Some Day One Day (Brian May x Reader); part 12

I’m sorry this took a while to post, I was unhappy with how it originally turned out and had to rewrite it a couple of times. Hope you enjoy it, next part will be up very soon, hopefully by tomorrow. The series is almost over :,)

tag list: @brighter-thanthe-sky @im-a-sheerheartattack @fruityfreddie @discodeakygotmorerhythm @killer-queen-xo @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @alfinaldelarcoiriss @warren-lauren @kazzish @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @avengerraven1023 @imgonnabeyourslave

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They lived happily ever after since then.

At least, that's what I’d like to tell you, but we both know that’s not how it’s going to go, don't we?

However, things did go perfectly right for quite some time and everything in Brian and Y/N’s lives was amazing, especially their relationship. As soon as Y/N started her master course she got right into it, arriving at every lecture on time and with all her work done and ready to hand in, much to Brian’s happiness. All he wanted was to see her succeed, after all. At first he had offered to help her do her school work, but she obviously refused to let him do so, her pride taking over her rational side which told her that getting help wouldn't be such a big deal after all. Even when she did have classes with him she always rejected any help Brian offered, which kind of frustrated him, but he was even more proud of her when she got things right knowing she did everything by herself.

Then, right after school, he would drive her back to their apartment and they would spend the afternoon together, sometimes baking cookies for Emily and sometimes having sex for hours on end, depending on their mood. 

Mostly the ladder, though.

Y/N was in the second trimester of her course when something started feeling off.

She started waking up feeling something within her bugging her and she went to sleep feeling the same way.

She had been vocal about it with Brian, but even though he was keen on having a doctor visit her, she kept pushing her visit back, not wanting to cause any trouble to anyone and figuring whatever it was that made her sick would soon disappear.

knowing how easily she was affected by stress, she also figured that that could be the reason behind her sickness, after all she was still going through a hard time with her family and such, none of her relatives were particularly happy to find she was living with a man who was twice her age and had a daughter with another woman, but she couldn't be bothered to hide it either although she’d never told anyone that he was in fact her university professor, that was way too risky for anyone to be aware of. Still, most of her family were totally against it and a huge part of them had stopped talking to Y/N altogether, not that she was too sad about the loss, it was mostly just disappointment making her upset.

It could be the stress of knowing everything in your life is going great, cause that is in itself a reason to be stressed out, especially when you're used to dealing with constant chaos and people trying to mess you up.

It could be the immense love she felt for Brian moving around in her body everyday, which she often though would make her sick because she truly loved that man more than anything and anyone else.

It could be some of the things that little Emily offered her to eat when she played cook, they could absolutely be toxic for all she knew (she immediately felt silly for thinking something like that, knowing damn well how obsessed Brian was with double checking anything that came close to his daughter’s mouth to make sure it was safe).

It could be anything in the world and it was probably temporary anyway, so why would she worry the people around her? There was no need for it.

And maybe Y/N could have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for her body giving up on her, quite literally.

It all started on a foggy winter morning, Y/N woke up feeling rather ill and couldn't bring herself to have anything for breakfast. Brian had tried to convince her over and over again, but there was no point in forcing her to get food in her system if she felt like she couldn't keep it down anyway.

She felt extremely nauseous and lightheaded, and Brian was worried knowing she was most likely not telling him just how sick she was really feeling, so he tried to convince her to stay home from school, even promising to collect all the worksheets she would need to catch up on her homework, but to no avail. Y/N was very stubborn and sometimes Brian wished she could just give into his requests when they came from a place of worry and care, but he knew it would be pointless to argue so he just forced her to take whatever medicine he had at home and got in the car with her and Emily.

The whole ride he kept an eye on the two girls in the backseat (Emily didn't like sitting by herself back there, so whenever Y/N was around she would always offer to keep her company) and soon realized Y/N seemed to be moving in slow motion, like she was too tired to react to what Em was talking to her about. Not that the little girl would notice anyway, she was rambling about something that had happened at daycare the day before and she had her usual bright smile taking over the features of her face. She was way too young to realize how pale Y/N looked and how distracted she was, especially because she tried her best to keep up with the conversation, mostly so she wouldn't worry Brian.

She even offered to walk Emily into the building where her daycare was, which Brian begged her not to do as a lot of people there knew who Emily’s mom was and he knew they wouldn't keep their stupid mouths shut.

He tried once more to convince his girl to get back home right before they got into the school parking lot.

“I can tell you're not feeling great, why do you do this to yourself? Just take a goddamn day off Y/N, you're not gonna miss that much anyway”

“Brian, you know how I feel about days off when they're not necessary”

“But right now it IS necessary! It’s basically written all over your face that you're sick, I've never seen you look this pale before and you haven't even had anything for breakfast, which is not only unhealthy but very unlike you. Please, I am begging you, just let me drive you back home, I don't care if I'm ten minutes late to my lecture, I'm sure everyone will understand”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Bri. I’m fine. I’ll see you in third period” was all she said before angrily stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind her, leaving Brian in his car to curse himself for pushing her too far. He should have just listened to her, if she needed something she would tell him without being forced to.

He pushed himself to get out of his vehicle and to stop thinking about Y/N, he had more important things to focus on: papers to grade, lessons to go over and his students’ questions to answer. He couldn't afford to let her distract him, no matter how much he cared for her wellbeing, after all she was a responsible adult.

They both went on with their day as normal, even though Y/N kept feeling worse by the minute. All the people who had seen her that morning could sense that something was going on, but only a few of them pointed it out to her, not wanting to seem rude. She had sighed deeply and ignored everyone’s questions, wondering if she really looked so bad that everyone in school seemed to be so interested in knowing how she was doing. 

She almost got into an argument with Joe because he too tried to convince her to go back home. After their ‘date’ at the cinema, Y/N had tried her best to distance herself from him, not only because she knew Brian didn't love the idea of them hanging out, but also because she was almost positive Joe was crushing hard on her, and she didn't want to lead him on or have to deal with any jealousy issues. Still, he tried to talk to her almost on a daily basis and didn’t seem to get the memo that she just wasn't interested, so Y/N dealt with it and stopped complaining, knowing there was not much he could do once school was over. On that day, however, he had gotten so much on her nerves that she couldn't help but slightly lash out at him, it was none of his business how she was feeling and she didn't want to admit how seriously worried she was starting to become for her own health.

So, she just isolated herself until third period eventually came, and she made a mental note to herself to apply some makeup before entering the lecture hall so that maybe Brian wouldn't be too worried about her if she didn't look sick.

However, she never actually made it to the bathroom as she felt herself slowly slip out of consciousness right as she was getting there and her body fell limp on the hard floor. 

[lunarimagines]

WOULDN’T HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY

(the gif is mine which I made in 5 minutes so it’s bad please forgive me. I don’t steal gifs)

Summary: You are struggling to pay your way through college. Upon confiding in your roommate you are introduced to the world of sugar daddies where you meet the perfect one for you. It’s strictly business... at least it is in the beginning. All you know for sure is that you aren’t supposed to fall in love with your sugar daddy.

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex, strong language 

A/N: I know that this includes unprotected sex but I really want to take this time to say: please use condoms during sex. The pill doesn’t protect against STDs. 

Word Count: 13k+ holy shit

God you’d known college was going to be expensive. When even the application fee was $65 you knew that the tuition would be insanely expensive as well. But you hadn’t minded at the time. Since you were a freshman in high school you’d known that you wanted to go to this exact university no matter what. After applying you had waited anxiously, unable to eat as the date the acceptance letters would arrive drew ever closer. When you’d torn open the envelope you hadn’t been able to even look at it. You’d gotten in though.

“Of course you did!” said your mother and your best friend. You still couldn’t believe it. Yet you’d done it and not even the price of tuition was going to hold you back from going to said university.

You weren’t necessarily regretting your choice to go to the university, but you were cursing yourself for loading up on extra classes. Your books for second semester were more expensive this semester than they were the first, you were sure of it. Since you were also taking extra classes the price was even further jacked up. Your stomach was twisting into knots. You had no desire to ever apply for a student loan, not after hearing the horror stories of people who spent upwards of $50,000 taking out student loans. Would you ever be able to pay that debt off? You sure as hell didn’t want to live with debt for the rest of your youthful years. No, you refused to live in student debt.

Near tears, you pushed your laptop off of your lap and fell backwards into your pillow with a groan. You were only a sophomore in college! You hadn’t acquired any debt and didn’t want to start now, not when you were over halfway through getting your bachelor’s degree. You placed your arm over your eyes, willing the tears that were threatening to spill back into your eyes somehow. You were just so frustrated.

“You okay Y/N?” your roommate asked you quietly, coming over to sit on the edge of your bed. She placed a soft hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently. Even just touching your shoulder she could tell you were tense, all of your muscles contracting due to stress.

“Yeah,” you mumbled from underneath your arm. You weren’t really though. You felt dejected and slightly ill. The longer you laid on your bed the more regrets filtered into your mind. Should you have really gone to such a prestigious school?

“Hey, just sit up and tell me what’s going on okay? If it’s your grades just go talk to your professor. They’ll be happy to-”

“It’s the money!” you wailed suddenly, startling even yourself.

Your roommate stayed silent as she listened to you rant.

“I don’t know where my budgeting when wrong. I can’t have debt though! I refuse. Maybe… maybe I can, I don’t know, maybe I can get another job….”

You and your roommate both knew that it was absurd for you to think about getting another job. You were already working two: one that paid well and one that you actually enjoyed. If you got another job you could possibly drop dead from exhaustion.

“Hey, calm down Y/N. You’ll be alright,” your roommate replied softly, squeezing your shoulder gently again.

You finally uncovered your eyes to look at your roommate. She was thinking, you could tell. Her eyes were slightly unfocused and her brow was creased. She has ceased rubbing your shoulder. You sat up as you continued to watch her think and wondered what plan she could possibly be concocting.

“I have… an idea. I don’t know if you’ll like it. If you don’t we can totally find another way. But I’m not going to let you work a third job.”

You nodded expectantly. Your roommate was finally looking at you, her eyes holding concern but also… excitement? Whatever she had thought of clearly had sparked something within her and you were dying to know what it was. She rarely ever looked this mischievous.  

“Okay, well… my freshman year I was beginning to panic just like you were because I was starting to accrue a lot of debt… like a fuck ton. So, I joined this site where you - ya know - find sugar daddies… They weren’t even that old either,” she said to you quietly, almost as if she was sharing a treasured secret with you.

You raised your eyebrows at her confession, absolutely shocked. Even though you’d been living with her for nearly two years now she was still able to surprise you. It made sense though… You remembered she’d had a breakdown freshman year and had taken a break, but when she came back there had been something different about her. That was it. It was having somebody to care for her financially and you knew she enjoyed sex, she talked about it often enough. The idea was intriguing to you to say the least. You needed the money and if the guy was hot enough you were positive you wouldn’t mind the sex. Still, a rational part of your brain was wary.

“I don’t know… what if he’s a creep? What if I decide to go out with him and it’s a catfish? What if he, like, kidnaps me during the first date?” you asked, suddenly very unsure about finding a sugar daddy.

Your roommate looked at you with a mix of sympathy and amusement. “Y/N, calm down. I’ll walk you there and stay in the area in case you need me. My friend who suggested this to me my freshman year did the same thing. You need to worry less… and you totally will once you get a sugar daddy,” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You shoved her playfully and giggled as well. Suddenly you felt giddy, overwhelmed with the thought of actually getting a sugar daddy. You! A sugar baby! The thought was less than absurd to you the more you mulled it over. If you wouldn’t have debt, it was well worth it.

“Show me the sight?” you asked shyly.

She nodded and pulled your laptop towards her, typing something into the search bar. Switching the laptop around so that the screen faced you, you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight on it. It was like a mix between a porn sight and an advertisement for rich men. It felt exhilarating yet shocking. You’d never really seen something so brazen.

“Let’s set up your account!” your roommate exclaimed excitedly and clapped her hands together.

Your hands were hesitant to touch your keyboard, but once they did they couldn’t stop typing. In less than 30 minutes your account had been set up with the help of your seasoned roommate and you were scrolling through your potential matches with her. You’d had to pay a small fee to join the site but it was worth it; literally any of the men that you’d matched with could pay it with their pocket change. They were all handsome in their own ways and a common theme was strong cheekbones and mischievous smiles on their faces in their profile photos.

Yet no man was particularly grabbing and holding your attention. In fact, all of their faces began to blur together and look, well, the same. You tried not to become dejected but it was considerably difficult. You had yet to swipe right on one man…

“Hey, don’t give up yet,” your roommate consoled and you nodded. “It took me a solid week to find a man that I was interested in. But it totally paid off. Seriously, you’ll find someone.”

She gave your shoulder a final squeeze before she left your room and went down the small hallway to her room in your shared apartment. You sighed deeply and continued scrolling through the photos of the men bragging about their talents in bed and their bundles of money. Finally, you gave up for the night. Hopefully a fresh start in the morning would yield some results.

As you were closing your laptop, a message popped up on the screen. Intrigued, you clicked on it. You were fully expecting it to be a welcome message from the sight. You were pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t. You were also surprised - though perhaps not pleasantly - that it appeared any person could message you.

joon94: hello Y/N. we matched and you swiped right. if you are truly interested I would love to get to know you more.

Your heart stopped for a second. You’d swiped right? On whose profile? Scrambling you went to your profile to see that you had swiped right on somebody, and you remembered him vividly. However, you’d lost his face soon after in the hordes of other faces. It was shocking to you how many rich men there were and even more shocking how many looked alike. Maybe there really were good genetics associated with being rich, though you were pretty sure that wasn’t how science worked.

you: hello namjoon! I am very much interested. what would you like to know?

You’d put everything important you could think of in your bio and you’d even had enough room to throw in a coy one-liner. What could Namjoon possibly want to know about you?

Your laptop pinged softly again, indicating that you’d received another message from Namjoon. Your heart raced as you clicked on the envelope icon.

joon94: you’re a student right? what’s your major?

You weren’t expecting that question in the slightest. Why would he even care? Didn’t he just want you to look pretty on his arm, have sex with him, and give you money in return? Namjoon was surprising you left and right and you were intrigued by him. He seemed mature, though not necessarily in age. He was mature in the sense that he held a lot of wisdom and perhaps even a lot of kindness. Quickly, you typed back your response, feeling slightly self conscious for some reason.

you: i’m an environmental major

You hadn’t been interested in a business major but you didn’t want an art major. So, you figured that you’d found something somewhere in between the two when you’d decided to go into environmental studies. You wouldn’t call yourself a hippie by any means, but you did care about the environment. However, saying it out loud to a rich man seemed odd to you. Honestly it was just because he was rich. You felt as if you should have majored in business.

Another message appeared on your screen and you felt yourself smiling as you read the response.

joon94: that’s awesome! very unique and it sounds difficult… i can’t even begin to imagine what it entails

Your smile didn’t leave your face as you typed back your response to him.

you: it’s… different that’s for sure. the department is surprisingly big though!

It felt as if you’d been talking with Namjoon your entire life. You felt comfortable sharing things with him already. He wasn’t pushy and he seemed genuinely interested in what you were doing and what you had to say. You could have kept talking to him all night but it was beginning to get late and he sent you one final message before logging off, his icon going dark. It felt as though he’d taken a little piece of him with you. You wanted more of this man.

Trying not to squeal you ran to your roommates room and entered, falling into her desk chair dramatically.

“I’ve found the one. I’m going to ask if we can meet tomorrow,” you gasped, spinning around.

Your roommate chuckled softly at your excitement and shook her head, going back to typing up a report on her laptop.

“I knew you would,” she snorted.

You couldn’t help but get up and throw your arms around her in happiness. You were saved! Now all you had to do was agree to get him to meet you. The naive part of you had no worries that he would agree, but the rational part of you wondered if he wouldn’t agree after having spoken to you only once. Were you getting into things too quickly? Your mood fell as you began to think more about it. Your roommate seemed to sense this.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? Don’t overthink it. Fate works in mysterious ways.”

Your smirked at her before going back into your bedroom and climbing into bed, glad that you only had two afternoon classes the next day. You fell into a deep sleep, the excitement from the day having worn you out. You didn’t dream of anything, though you wished that you’d dream of Namjoon.

The next night at exactly 9:30 pm Namjoon logged on. The entire day you’d been gathering up the courage to ask to meet him, but now that his icon was glowing you weren’t so sure you’d be able to follow through with your plan. Opening up the message app you were surprised to see the bubble to indicate that he was typing.

joon94: how was your day?

You smiled at yourself. You didn’t know what it was about this man but you liked him a lot. Like, a hell of a lot. It was really a gut feeling you had that made you trust him.

you: good~ how was your day joon?

You cringed a little, wondering if he would enjoy the nickname that you’d spontaneously given him. The bubbles popped up again to indicate that he was replying and you held your breath, mentally hitting yourself for possibly stepping out of line.

joon94: joon? I like it.

You let out the breath you were holding in, your smile returning to your face as you noticed that he was typing again. Joon… it had a good ring to it.

joon94: i’m glad you had a good day. my day was good… stressful.

joon94: can i be frank with you?

Your breath caught again at his sudden question and you tried to keep your hands steady as you typed back a reply. Your mind was racing a mile a minute as you tried to work out what he could possibly want to say to you. Was he going to ask you for nudes so soon? He did say that he’d had a rough day...

you: of course joon

You didn’t think you could breathe in the time in took him to reply.

joon94: i was hoping i would get to talk to you again today. i’m hoping this isn’t out of line but.. i’ve thought about you all day. would you be comfortable meeting up with me?

You let a deep sigh. You were in disbelief. All of the worrying you had done as you’d tried to figure out the best way to ask Namjoon to meet you and he’d slipped it into the conversation so easily. Maybe this was a sign that he really was the sugar daddy for you.

you: i would love to meet you!

The bubbles popped up again as he typed his response. Your heart pounded as you thought about all of the places he could take you.

joon94: there’s a café just a mile from my place if you want to meet there. i’ll send directions and you can let me know^^

You grinned at his cute emoticon. A few seconds later the directions popped up and you were happy to see that you were only half a mile away from the café. It looked fancy… upon looking at the prices you realized that it was truly fancy. $20 for an espresso??? Who had that kind of money to throw around? Namjoon, you realized. You again felt giddy at the idea of being treated so nicely. But… what would you give in return? Pushing the intrusive thought aside you replied to Namjoon.

you: it’s not too far from me either! i would be happy to meet you there :)

You waited patiently as he typed his response.

joon94: sounds great! see you there at 6pm? does that work?

You assured him that it did and after saying your goodbyes you signed off. Jumping off of your bed, you bolted into the kitchen where your roommate was was making her lunch for the next day. She didn’t even turn around as you slammed into the small kitchen island and yelped in surprise before slamming into the counter beside her.

“I guess it worked out then?” she joked, nudging you with her arm playfully.

You nodded enthusiastically, aware that you probably looked like a fool. You were simply much too happy to care though. It was all so much easier than you had thought that it would be and you had to celebrate. It was a joyous occasion after all… wasn’t it?

“I knew it would,” she scoffed, “you just worry way too much.”

You rolled your eyes but you knew that she was right.

“Can you still walk with me and hang around please?” you pleaded, suddenly not ready to venture out into the world of sugar daddies and sugar babies alone.

She nodded as she continued to make her lunch.

“Of course silly! Don’t ask me any more dumb questions,” she joked, pushing you away from her. “And stop breathing on my sandwich.”

You let out a big breath just to annoy her and she shoved you away with a disgusted look on her face. Wiggling your eyebrows at her, you backed away to shower and finish getting ready for bed. Happiness coursed through your veins and you felt slightly drunk because of it. You still couldn’t fathom how everything had fit so nicely together. You were very possibly going to become a sugar baby! Your debt problems would be solved!

Closing the bathroom door and locking it behind you, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You squashed your insecurities and gave yourself a pep talk. If Namjoon didn’t think that this would work out he wouldn’t have suggested meeting. No, this was going to work out.

Late that night as you laid in bed you began to think about keeping such a secret. You knew the stigma associated with having a sugar daddy. It really shouldn’t bother you though, you told yourself. Older kids would kill to not have debt after college and really, you were a legal adult - 20 years old in fact - so you were doing nothing wrong.

Snuggling down into your bed you smiled to yourself. Life was looking good to you and you were finally excited to be in college again.

“If you change your shirt one more time I might actually lose my marbles,” your roommate huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. She knew you were nervous but after thirty minutes of you changing your outfit she had had ENOUGH. She had even told you that you looked good in every outfit you had put on, even suggesting accessories that would go with it. Yet you’d rejected every single one.

“I know, but this has to be perfect,” you whined, stomping your feet slightly in frustration. “Maybe I should go with the first dress that I put on.”

You could feel your roommate’s glare on the back of your neck and you shrunk a little, feeling apologetic. You’d made her sit with you and help you choose an outfit only to choose literally the second outfit that you’d tried on. Slipping out of your current outfit you began rummaging through the gargantuan pile on the floor to find the above-knee flared out dress. You finally found it after a solid minute of searching and slipped it on, sliding your feet into comfortable tennis shoes. They weren’t necessarily tennis shoes, they were much fancier, but you wouldn’t call them dress shoes either.

Your roommate stood behind you to button the miniscule button on the neck of your dress as you fixed your hair. Nodding to yourself and meeting your roommates eyes in your vanity mirror you smiled, content with how you looked. Finally…

“Bag?” she asked you and you nodded. You wondered how it would look if you showed up with no bag, no wallet, and even no phone… and besides, managing a bag wasn’t terribly uncomfortable.

“Let’s go,” you sighed, looking at yourself once more before leaving your bedroom and then your apartment.

“What’s he like?” your roommate asked you curiously as she locked the door to your shared apartment.

You chuckled as you realized that you’d never actually told her anything about Namjoon. What could you say? You’d never met the guy but he seemed sweet and caring and kindhearted and smart. Could you even say that you trusted him?

“Well, I mean… He’s handsome for sure but he also seems like more than that. He asked me how my day was and seemed interested in what I had to say and he even asked me about my major! I just… I really like talking to him and meeting him just seemed right, you know?” you replied as the two of you caught the bus to go the café.

“You know you really shouldn’t like… fall in love with these men Y/N,” your roommate cautioned.

You scoffed as you looked at her, disbelief written all over your face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not even sure he’s my type,” you laughed, turning to look out of the window.

Your roommate nodded and prompted you to continue. You just shrugged though, unsure of what else you could say about him. He was… unique and you were simply extremely intrigued by him.

At the stop near the café both you and your roommate parted ways, smiling nervously at each other. You were a nervous wreck, your palms becoming clammy, your heart racing. Doubts clouded your thoughts but another feeling was more prominent. Excitement. You were excited to meet the mysterious Namjoon.

Pulling out your phone as you arrived at the café you realized that you were exactly on time. Scanning the area in front of the café your breath hitched as you spotted him.

He was standing casually near the door, a dark blue suit fitted perfectly to him and you could tell by the way it clung to him that he was built well. His hair was styled perfectly, brushed off of his forehead to expose it. His eyes… they were gorgeous. They sparkled slightly in the lighting and you felt as if you couldn’t look away. He had an air of confidence about it but it wasn’t anywhere near cockiness. He was simply very sure of himself. Girls kept glancing at him as they passed by, giggling to one another. Swallowing hard, you walked to meet him.

“Hey, Namjoon?” you asked as you approached him. His eyes looked up to meet yours and a warm smile graced his lips. Even though he towered above you, you didn’t feel intimidated by him at all. Maybe it was is warm presence and the way he smiled at you.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m glad you could make it. Let’s go in?” he asked, skipping the formality of shaking your hand to simply place his hand a little above the small of your back. The gesture made your heart skip a beat but in a good way. You weren’t nervous or uncomfortable by it at all.

The two of you walked into the cafe. Your breath caught at the sight of it. The entire place was warmly lit, fairy lights around every window and vibrant green plants spilling over the window sills. The tables were wood and felt smooth to the touch. Namjoon had you sit in a plush armchair as he took your order and walked to the counter. You simply looked around you at the other occupants in the café. They were dressed casually just as you were, but their casual clothes looked much more expensive than yours did. However, Namjoon was by far the best dressed person in the entire café.

“One macchiato,” Namjoon said quietly as he placed the warm drink in front of you. You smiled down at the little cream heart in it and looked up as Namjoon sat down.

He motioned for you to drink and you did, closing your eyes softly as the coffee warmed your mouth and your throat. It was so smooth that it felt like drinking a cloud, only warm. It was quite literally the best coffee you’d ever had in your entire life.

Namjoon smiled at you from across the table as he sipped his own coffee slowly. He seemed to savor the taste as much of you, sighing and setting his cup down to lean back. He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he rested against the back of the plush armchair directly across from you.

“How was your day?” he asked softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Honestly I was looking forward to meeting you all day,” you confessed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at how intently he was looking at you. Normally you would have basked in the stare of an attractive man but Namjoon made you feel shy.

“Me too,” he chuckled, his voice deep and melodic. You would have swayed if you were standing.

The two of you stayed silent as you continued enjoying your coffee. You kept catching Namjoon’s eye and smiling at him from behind your coffee cup and he simply chuckled each time. It felt like a game, perhaps even a warm up game. Both of you knew why the two of you were seated at that table but it seemed that neither of you wanted to voice why. You hoped Namjoon would take the lead like he’d done when the two of you were messaging.

He did.

“I think I should just say it… I know why we’re here. I’m interested in this becoming something, even if is only strictly business for me and monetary for you. I don’t mind. I think that I’ll enjoy your company,” he said slowly, his voice even deeper. He eyes held amusement and mischief. You could have stared into them all day.

“Yeah…” you drew out, unsure of what to say. He’d summed it up perfectly. “Can we… can we start slow though?”

You had blurted the last part out, catching even yourself off-guard. But Namjoon didn’t even have to mull it over before he was nodding. The two of you both seemed to understand that taking it slow would mean less money for you initially but you didn’t mind. You were beginning to feel like a charity case; any amount would help.

“I have a way we can start slowly. There’s a charity party at the company this weekend and I would like you to be my plus one. If it makes you feel better, think of it as a test run. If this doesn’t work for you, I won’t be mad if you decide to leave. Also, if this works out…” he trailed off, looking down and then back up at you through his eyelashes. “You are free to leave at any time. Okay?”

“You can leave at any time, too,” you replied.

Namjoon smiled at you softly as he took another sip of his coffee. Setting it down he dug his phone out of a pocket on the inside of his suit pocket. Unlocking it and clicking a few buttons he turned it around to hand it to you. You took it gingerly and saw that he wanted you to put your number in it. Your contact name was empty too. You had free reign. Typing in a name and your number, you saved the contact and handed the phone back to its owner. He looked down at the name and smiled.

“I like it,” he murmured, sending you a quick message so that you had his number and then slipping the phone back into its pocket.

The two of you finished your coffees and talked about your day. You specifically strayed from the topic of the party that was only two days away. As you were heading out of the café and about to part ways, you thought you were clear from talking about the party that was already plaguing your mind. But you weren’t.

“If you could send me your measurements I’ll make certain you’re equipped for the party. Send me your address and I’ll make sure you arrive on time,” Namjoon stated matter-of-factly as he turned to look at you.

You felt the tension leave your shoulders. Both of your problems had just been solved by this man. Maybe he could really solve all of your problems.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hugging him lightly to say goodbye before parting ways with him. You didn’t even have to look back to see that Namjoon was smiling at you, feeling warm from your sudden show of friendly affection. It had surprised you when you’d done it, but you didn’t regret doing it. It had felt right.

“How was it?” your friend asked as she met up with you at the bus stop in time to catch the last bus.

But before you could even answer she was bombarding you with questions, practically interrogating you. You could only answer her questions with a few words, but she seemed satisfied by them. She could tell you’d enjoyed yourself by the way you were glowing and by the way you held yourself up straighter than usual. Your lips seemed to be permanently curved into a soft smile as you thought about Namjoon… and how he could help you. You weren’t falling for him. It was strictly business.

“That is fucking gorgeous. You are fucking gorgeous,” your roommate breathed as she admired the dress you had on.

Not ten minutes ago a delivery boy had knocked on your door and you’d found yourself receiving a dress from, and you quote, “Mr. Kim.” You couldn’t believe he’d been able to have it made just a day after you’d given him your measurements.

You had tried it on nearly the second after you’d closed the door. It had fit perfectly; all of your curves were hugged, but not too tightly, and the color was the perfect shade for your skintone. He really was more than just a pretty face. “That’s really what you’re wearing tonight,” your roommate questioned, envy in her voice.

You nodded. You’d already done your hair and makeup as you’d waited for the dress to arrive. Having the entire outfit completed you really did feel like royalty. You couldn’t stop staring at yourself in the mirror and neither could your roommate, her mouth open in shock.

The doorbell ringing made both of you jump your of your skin. You looked at your roommate, suddenly incredibly nervous.

Go! she mouthed to you, pushing you out of your bedroom. You walked slowly to the door, your feet already beginning to hurt in your heels. Still, you were able to find some confidence in them.

Swinging open the door, you were met by Namjoon in a tailored black suit that fit him even better than his blue one had. You weren’t entirely sure how that was possible.

“Wow,” he breathed out, looking you up and down and reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “You look… wow. Really good Y/N.”

You laughed.

“You’re really complimenting yourself Joon,” you joked. “You picked it out for me.”

Namjoon shook his head as he held out his arm to lead to you his car.

“And I knew it would look good, but damn.”

You bit back a smirk as he led you to where his car was parked. Opening the door for you he waited patiently as you clambered inside of it before he closed it softly. You watched him walk around to the driver’s side and get in. The sound of the car roaring to life gave you shivers. You were suddenly incredibly excited. Your excitement didn’t lessen as Namjoon drove the two of you to the party, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye every second he could. He kept clearing his throat and swallowing. You felt proud of yourself for having such an effect on him.

You excitement lessened as you arrived at the party, Namjoon’s arm around your waist, to see the other beautiful girls and guys there. But Namjoon was quick to assure you that you were the prettiest one in the room.

“Hello sir,” a man even younger than Namjoon said, reaching his hand out to shake Namjoon’s.

Namjoon shook his hand politely and then introduced you. You smiled at the boy, noticing how a blush rose on his neck and cheeks.

You made an entire circle with Namjoon as he introduced you. You gathered that not only was he a rich CEO, but he was also incredibly kind to his employees. They all smiled happily as they greeted him and even smiled when he turned his back on them. And he was your sugar daddy.

You ended up getting stuck with the other dates men had brought as Namjoon had to make speech after speech and congratulate person after person. Listening to them talk about Namjoon, how good he looked in his suit, how jealous they were of you for getting him all to yourself, even asking you if you were willing to share, was beginning to get you all riled up. You tried to ignore their comments. You smiled politely at them and joked back. But a part of you knew that they weren’t really joking just as a part of them knew that you weren’t really joking in your replies.

You were beginning to realize that Namjoon could have any one of these girls. They were more experienced than you were with this- this sugar daddy business. It made something inside of you snap. You really had no fucking clue what you were doing but you were going to make Namjoon’s time with you worthwhile. Besides, could you really get a boyfriend when you had a sugar daddy? You didn’t think so. So, you may as well jump right in with Namjoon.

It really wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to. The way his suit was hugging him… it made your mouth water quite frankly. And his demeanor. You didn’t believe he would keep up the nice guy act in bed and you wanted to experience what he could do to you. You’d never had an incredibly dominant partner which made Namjoon even more enticing. No, you didn’t want to wait any longer, it had just taken the other girls around you eyeing Namjoon like a four course meal that had made you realize it. You stared at him intently as you reached this decision. Your eyes burned a hole in the side of his head and he was practically forced to look over in your direction as he was in the middle of giving his speech. You watched as his eyes darkened and his grip on the award tightened slightly. He knew.

You shifted in your seat as you began to feel the familiar sensation in your core. You were slightly embarrassed to admit that you were already wet for Namjoon and all he’d done was look at you. Hell, before he’d even looked your way with so much lust in his eyes you’d begun to get wet. Just thinking about the man had made you riled up.

Your eyes roamed the room casually for an out to the party that would seem innocuous. You were so intent on finding a quiet place that you hadn’t even realized that Namjoon had finished speaking and had given the recipient his award. The polite clapping from all around you finally shook you out of your daze and you made eye contact with Namjoon again. He motioned his head towards a set of wooden doors and mouthed that he’d meet you in there. Rising to join in on the applause, you slowly slipped away from your table and slinked towards the wooden doors, not breaking eye contact with Namjoon the entire time. Pulling a door open slowly and just enough so that you could barely fit through, you slipped inside and closed it behind you softly so that it wouldn’t draw attention. Letting out a breath, you stepped back to admire the space you were in.

It became clear to you very quickly that it was Namjoon’s office. There were small couches and chairs surrounding a small, round table in the center of the room. At the back was a stately wooden desk and leather chair. It looked so official that you felt as though you didn’t want to touch it. However, you walked towards the desk. It was so pristine and neatly organized. Your hand wavered above its polished surface before coming down suddenly in surprise. The office door had opened.

Whipping your head around, you were met with Namjoon, sliding inside the room just as you’d done. Slowly he locked the door, the soft “click” the only sound in the room. Your breathing was staggered as you watched him. God, you wanted him. He seemed to sense this as his movements became less drawn out. He swiftly walked around the chairs to his desk. He pinned you against it, his hands planted on the desk on either side of you. His face was so close, so goddamn close, that you could lean forward a centimeter and brush lips with him. You were going slightly cross eyed as you looked at him, but he was looking down.

“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned softly.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, leaning forward to place your lips harshly against his.

He didn’t hesitate to begin moving his lips against yours frantically as well. He pressed more into you and you could tell that he was semi-hard already and it made you feel better about having nearly soaked your panties. His hips began grinding against yours slowly as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands coming up to grip the back of your neck and the other coming up to hold the small of your back. Your hands came up to tangle in his hair. Letting out a moan at the sensation of him flush against you, you felt his hips stutter slightly before grinding into you even more harshly.

“Shit,” you groaned out as scooted onto the desk. Namjoon moved to position himself between your thighs, his lips moving down to lightly mark your neck. The feeling of his teeth nipping slightly at the soft skin on your neck gave you goosebumps. His hand left the small of your back to travel down to the inside of your thigh. He pushed your legs open more but did no more. He seemed to be waiting for something.

You pulled out of the kiss to look at him. You were already breathing hard and your heart was racing with excitement.

“I need you to tell me what to do baby,” Namjoon whispered. His eyes, darkened with lust, searched your eyes hungrily.

“I want you to fuck me, right here on this desk,” you whispered back, leaning forward to make a light hickey on his neck in return. He shivered as your teeth sunk into the skin lightly and your tongue smoothed the area over. “Please sir.”

Namjoon seemed to snap at being called ‘sir’. Both of his hands were suddenly on your thighs and he was pulling you off of the desk towards him. You let out a small yelp as your dress slid up in the process, showcasing your lacy panties. Namjoon didn’t even take time to admire them before he was slipping them down your legs, his fingers running down your thighs with them. He let them fall around your ankles and you quickly kicked them off.

Namjoon turned your hips and you followed his lead, turning your back to him and placing your elbows on the desk to show off your ass. You heard Namjoon groan, one of his hands coming up to knead your ass lightly. The other hand ran across your clit and your folds. Gently, he pushed two fingers inside of you. Instinctively, you pushed back to gain more friction. Your hips rocked gently and you mumbled that you wanted Namjoon to start moving his fingers. Namjoon leaned over you so that he once again flush against you.

“What was that baby?” he purred.

“Please, sir, please move your fingers,” you whined.

Namjoon seemed satisfied with your plea as he began scissoring his fingers inside of you before pumping them in and out of you quickly. You moaned at the sensation of his digits inside of you and you clenched your walls around him to gain more friction. Your hips were rolling against him and encouraging him to add another digit. He complied and the sudden stretch felt incredible. After not having sex in so long the stretch was perfect. His fingers and his fast pace had profanities and his name rolling off of your tongue in waves.

“Shit Y/N,” he whispered from time to time as he picked up his pace. He loved the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers and wanted to feel them clench around his length in the same way. Wanting to pleasure you further he brought his other hand down to rub your clit quickly.

The volume of your moans increased and you heard Namjoon chuckle.

“Keep it down baby. We don’t want the entire office to hear you.”

You tried to reply but you knew that if you did it would just be another moan. How on earth could his fingers feel so good? Your walls were clenching around his digits more frequently now and you could feel the warm feeling beginning to pool in your stomach. You were so close and already your mind was in a state of bliss. Your juices were running down your legs and coating Namjoon’s fingers. You couldn’t begin to imagine what a wreck you would be when your orgasm actually washed over you.

“I’m s- so close,” you moaned, pushing back against Namjoon.

“Is that so? You’re being so loud I never would have guessed… Maybe here isn’t the best place for this,” he replied, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

Suddenly, his fingers pulled out of you and his body left yours. The sudden loss of contact made you turn around suddenly to glare at Namjoon who was smiling wickedly at you. You didn’t know what game he was playing with you, but you weren’t going to have any of it. You moved towards him and gained some satisfaction at the fact that his eyes widened at your sudden dominance. You were encouraged. Your hand moved to cup his bulge and you could tell he was fully hard.

“I’m sorry I was noisy sir, but I needed you,” you pouted.

Namjoon’s eyes widened more at your statement but he remained cool, leaning forward to graze his lips against your ear.

“You have to be quiet then when I fuck you, okay?”

You shivered, the warm feeling in your stomach returning and you leaned into him even more so that you were fully pressed against him. You began grinding against his hard on and he groaned in response, his hands coming up to grip your hips. He turned you around roughly again and you found yourself with your torso lying nearly flat against the oak desk. The room was silent except for your ragged breaths and the swish of Namjoon’s pants and underwear as he slid them down his legs. You spread your legs wider and waited patiently.

His hand grasped the side of your hip as he used the other to guide the tip of his length barely an inch into you. You sucked in a breath at the feeling and tried to push back against him to take in more of him. His hands held you still though as he slowly entered you. He felt so good inside of you, his length warm and hard. You wiggled against him as you got used to his size.

“Tell me when baby,” he groaned, his other hand finally coming up to grab your hips.

“Please sir, fuck me.”

It was all Namjoon needed to suddenly pull back and then slam into you from behind. Your back arched at the feeling and your walls clenched around him. He let out a drawn out groan at the sensation and slammed into you even harder. His pace was quick yet his thrusts were well controlled. His fingers were digging into your hips slightly but not enough to bruise. He seemed to know exactly how to handle you.

He hit your g-spot with his next thrust and you let out a loud whine of his name. He simply thrusted harder into you, his breaths coming out more like pants than anything. Profanities would leave his mouth from time to time, but his favorite thing to utter seemed to be the question: “How does it feel?”

“Tell me how it feels baby, you’ve gotta let me know.”

“So good sir. Please, do-don’t stop,” you whined, your forehead resting against the desk in pleasure. Your legs were shaking and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

Namjoon seemed to sense this too as his thrusts became quicker. You truly didn’t last much longer and within a couple of minutes your orgasm washed over you. Your back arched and you fell backwards against Namjoon. He took that as an opportunity to move one of his hands down to rub your clit and draw out your orgasm. You were nearly crying from pleasure as you fell forwards against the desk. Namjoon keep thrusting into you, but his thrusts were sloppier and his pace was much slower. Seconds later he was pulling out, strings of sticky cum landing on your ass. You didn’t mind. You were much too fucked out to even really register. With a final groan he let go of your hips and stepped back to admire his work. He seemed pleased.

Letting you settle down from your high he grabbed a tissue off of his desk and began to clean the both of you off.

“Really? You have tissues on your desk?” you joked as you turned around and tugged your dress down. Your eyes searched for you panties which you found halfway underneath his desk.

Namjoon seemed to blush at you comment, though he was quick to reply.

“I’ll have you know that it is cold and flu season,” he defended, gathering up his clothing as well.

You snickered as the two of you dressed in mostly silence. You could barely hear any of the party behind the thick wooden doors of his office. You wondered if anybody could have really heard the two you behind them.

After dressing the two of you simply stood inside of his office. You didn’t want to rejoin the party and it seemed that Namjoon felt the same way. As if to stall, he took his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to you.

“Put in your paypal,” he commanded softly. You complied, silently typing in your paypal name into his messages to you and sending it. He seemed to notice that you didn’t have your phone on you. You didn’t have any extra baggage at all really.

You handed his phone back to him afterwards and he smiled as he slipped it back into his pocket. He fixed his hair and then leaned over to fix yours. He finally seemed content to rejoin the party. Offering his arm to you, he unlocked the door and pulled it open enough to allow the two of you slip through it. Nobody even glanced your way as you slipped out and immediately Namjoon began mingling with people at the party again. Namjoon winked at you and you completely relaxed against him. You joked with his coworkers and it really seemed as if you’d never left the party. Of course, the soreness in your core and legs was begging to differ.

“I have to wrap the party up. Stay here?” Namjoon said, looking at you with a soft smile on his face.

You nodded and released his arm from your grasp. You continued to admire how elegant Namjoon was as he strode up to the podium and gave a closing speech. His employees clapped and cheered which made him smile proudly. You couldn’t help but feel proud of him for being so liked and well received. You also felt proud of yourself for landing a sugar daddy as wholesome as Namjoon. You really were lucky.

The drive back home to your apartment was mostly silent. You were exhausted and beginning to become increasingly sore. You looked out the window and sighed at the feeling of Namjoon’s hand rubbing circles on your inner thigh to get rid of some of the soreness. After parking in the apartment’s built-in parking garage he walked you back to your number. He was really holding you up. The combination of mind blowing sex and your high heels was making it difficult for you to walk on your own.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I hope that, um, that we can do this again,” Namjoon said as he stopped in front of your apartment number.

You nodded and leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek.

“We will. I really enjoyed tonight as well,” you mumbled against his cheek.

Pulling away, you opened your apartment door and went inside. Closing it behind you, you slumped against it in exhaustion. Your roommate rushed over to you excitedly, peered out the peephole to make sure Namjoon had left, and then squealed with giddy.

“I take it that all went well!”

You nodded as you made your way to the bathroom to take a hot and relaxing bath. You were too tired to even reply. Your roommate just laughed at how wiped you were as she told you she would make tea for after your bath. Again, you simply nodded as you closed the bathroom door behind you and turned on the water. Stripping out of the dress and hanging it up neatly on the towel rack, you stripped the rest of your garments off and checked the water. It felt so hot, volcanic even, but it was just what you needed. Plugging the tub, you gingerly stepped in and sat down. The feeling of the warm water as it began to pool around you felt heavenly and you sighed as you enjoyed it. The events in Namjoon’s office were running through your mind. You’d never felt so satisfied by any man.

A sudden ping from your phone startled you. You dried off your hands before you reached for it on the floor beside you. Hanging over the side of the bathtub to avoid the risk of dropping your phone in the water, you saw that the notification was from paypal, alerting you of a payment from somebody. You clicked on it and a choked gasp left your mouth.

From Kim Namjoon: $250

Kim Namjoon said: I hope this pays for at least one of your course books. Thanks again for a wonderful night.

You accepted the payment without hesitation and set your phone back down. Sinking further into the warm water you felt a smile creep over your face. Your life was starting to feel as though it were back on track. You made a mental note to thank your roommate later. For now, you were going to enjoy the warm bath and the satisfaction that you could afford one of your course books.

For the next three months you sent Namjoon photos when he asked you to send them and in return you received money to pay for books and classes. Most of the photos were simple selfies. A few were nudes, but the majority of them were just of your face. Every so often Namjoon would take you on a date at a restaurant or party just to show you off. The food the two of you ate was always disgustingly expensive and you would never be able to afford it on your own. Once you’d insisted on trying to help Namjoon pay for dinner but he’d refused.

“You’re my date tonight baby. I’m paying for you” was all that he’d said as he whipped out his golden card - golden both figuratively and metaphorically - to pay for the dinner. After the date you’d received extra money as Namjoon’s way of proving to you that he could take care of you.

However, the two of you hadn’t had any more sex. It was beginning to make you worried. What if he didn’t want to be with you anymore? What if he’d found somebody else? Needless to say, irrational doubts were running through your mind. You’d consulted your roommate about it and she’d said that there were always lulls in the relationship and that since you were still getting money she didn’t even consider it a lull. Still…

You’d been writing a lab report for biology on your bed when your phone had buzzed. You figured it was a message from your lab partner asking you about your interpretations of the data. What you certainly didn’t expect was a suggestive message from Namjoon at eleven at night. Abandoning your essay by closing your laptop, you grabbed your phone and laid back on your bed to open the message, just to make sure it said what you thought it said. It did.

joonie: baby i need you… i need you so badly

you: what do you need sir?

You waited for him to reply, your heart racing and heat already rushing down to your core. You wished he didn’t have such an immediate effect on you. It made you feel pathetic.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from your thoughts

joonie: i have to work late and… do you still have that dress from the party? will you put that on for me?

You bit your lip as you read his request. Of course you still had the gorgeous dress and you already had an idea of what Namjoon wanted. You quickly replied to him, asking him to wait a minute while you found it.

You hopped off of your bed and quickly walked to your closet to find the dress. It was at the very front, on display as if it were at a museum. You shimmied out of your pajama shorts and shirt and pulled the dress on quickly. As an afterthought you shimmied out of your underwear as well. It was grandma-ish and had a few holes at the waistband. Definitely not sexy. Settling back on your bed, you pulled the dress up slightly and tilted your head back. Your fingers played with your clit. You were already slightly wet from just thinking about Namjoon jacking off to you in the dress. Positioning your phone you snapped a quick picture. It came out well in your opinion and you quickly sent it to Namjoon. Laying back, you waited for his reply, your fingers slowly circling your clit. You tried to bite back moans. Your roommate was in the room beside you after all.

Suddenly your phone began to buzz. It continued buzzing and you knew it wasn’t a text message. Namjoon was calling you. You picked up quickly, putting your phone on speaker, turning down the volume, and placing it on the pillow next to your head.

“Shit baby, I wasn’t expecting that,” Namjoon groaned huskily. You could hear the low sound of skin slapping skin and you knew he was jerking off the the photo of you. The thought made you moan.

You allowed two fingers to enter you just as Namjoon had done a week ago. You tried to imagine that they were his but it just didn’t feel right. You let a frustrated sigh.

“What is it baby? Are you touching yourself for me? Are you thinking of me,” Namjoon whispered lowly, his voice shaking.

“Ye- yes sir. But it doesn’t feel as good as when you touched me,” you whined, inserting another finger to try and emulate the feeling of Namjoon’s fingers inside of you. It still didn’t work and you were left largely unsatisfied.

You heard Namjoon chuckle on the other end of the phone. You imagined him leaning back in his leather office chair behind his oak desk pumping his length slowly, the image of you in your dress fresh in his mind. You imagined his phone unlocked, face up on his desk, and the picture you’d sent him showing clearly on the screen. These images helped you and you began moving your fingers in and out of yourself at a quicker pace. You moaned Namjoon’s named, earning a growl in return.

“Does it feel good baby? I’m glad you know that only I can make you feel so good. How good do I make you feel baby? Hmm?” Namjoon urged. You imagined his head thrown back against his chair, his hips rising up slightly to try and gain more friction. You gasped.

“I’m so wet sir. Just the thought of you makes me wet,” you purred, your other hand coming down to rub your clit harshly. The feeling of your fingers inside of you was starting to feel amazing when coupled with Namjoon’s dirty talk.

“Shit baby, I wish I was there to touch you. I would fuck you so much harder than last time. You wouldn't be able to walk properly the next day. God, just imagining your fucked out form is so good. Do you know how good you look after I’ve fucked you?” he teased.

You arched your back off of the bed at his words, a groan being ripped from your throat. You wished so badly that he was there with you, in the room with you, being the one touching you. You tried to imagine that he was. With his breathy moans coming through the phone so clearly it was easy to do so. It wasn’t the same, but it did feel familiar.

“You sound amazing baby,” Namjoon gasped.

At his encouragement your fingers pumped faster and even deeper. You hit your g-spot and let out a moan that sounded like honey to Namjoon. He grunted on the other end of the line.

“Come on baby, cum for me,” he cooed.

You could feel the warmth beginning to pool in your stomach and your legs began to shake with pleasure. Your breathing was becoming less steady and there was even sweat dripping down your forehead. You were so hot and you wanted to reach your orgasm so badly. With Namjoon’s urging words you continued to pump your fingers in and out.

“I’m - shit,” Namjoon moaned and you could tell he had reached his limit. You imagined him cumming to the photo of you again. Your walls clenched around your fingers as he continued to speak through his orgasm. “How - fuck - how can you make me feel so good even when you’re not here Y/N?”

Your hips began to rock into your fingers as you chased your orgasm. You knew it would be intense when it washed over you. And it was. You were seeing stars as you came, your juices dripping down your fingers and your legs, warm and wet. You were gasping at the sensations.

“Fuck” was all you heard from the other end of the line as you came. You tried to keep your mouth shut but you couldn’t and words began spilling out. You wished you could blame your orgasm entirely for them.

“Fuck Namjoon I- shit- I love you,” you whined as you came. Suddenly, it was silent on the other end of the line. You were confused until reality began to sink in. You’d just told Namjoon, your sugar daddy, that you loved him. The relationship was supposed to be strictly business and you thought it had been. Did you really love him?

Quickly you worked to correct yourself. Still gasping, you managed to rectify the situation.

“- your way of talking to me. It makes me feel so good sir. I love how you can make me feel even when you’re not here,” you continued.

You held your breath as you waited for Namjoon to reply. He let out a sigh on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t one of exasperation. It was a sigh of relief.

“I know baby,” he mumbled, “I feel the same.”

You let out your breath as you continued to come down from your high. You felt sticky and weak but so fucking good physically.

“Thank you sir,” you mewled. “Dream of me after you finish your work.”

You heard Namjoon scoff before the phone clicked, signaling the end of the conversation. You relaxed back on your bed and waited. Not even ten minutes later paypal notified you that you’d received another payment. It was worth $500. You nearly choked on spit when you saw the amount. What had compelled Namjoon to pay you so much? Surely that wasn’t the best orgasm of his life.

However, you didn’t dwell on the payment too much - in fact you didn’t dwell on it at all. You began to think about how you’d nearly told Namjoon that you loved him. The more you thought about it the more sense it made. You did love him, and not in a business sense. Somewhere along the way you’d caught feelings for the man. It really wasn’t difficult to see how it had happened; he was so sweet and caring and compassionate. He was a great lover and had made you feel like no other partner never had. Of course you’d fallen in love with him.

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t love Namjoon. Why did you have to love him?

Standing up and taking off the dress, you hung it up carefully in your closet. You pulled on the clothes you had been wearing previously. Tears were still threatening to spill out of your eyes as you walked out of your room and down to the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. Your nose was beginning to become red and your eyes were bloodshot. You looked as dejected as you felt. You continued to stare at yourself in the mirror for so long that you didn’t realize your roommate had come to check why the sink water was still running.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” she asked, concern discernible in her voice.

You couldn’t even nod. Instead, you let out a choked sob and fell into your roommates arms. She reached around you to turn the tap off before sinking down to the floor with you.

“Hey, shhh. It’s okay bub. Did something happen between you and you know… him?”

You nodded and took a deep breath. It wracked your body and you nearly choked on spit. You hated how emotional you were being but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from sobbing.

“I almost accidentally told him that- that I love him. I love him oh my, God,” you sobbed, leaning your head against your roommates’ shoulder. You let the tears flow freely. You even let the snot flow freely, though she didn’t seem to mind. She simply held you closer to her.

“What are you going to do?” she questioned quietly. She knew that you shouldn’t have developed feelings for Namjoon just as well as you did.

“I- I don’t know.”

The two of you sat on the floor as you sobbed. You felt a sense of self loathing come over you, but you didn’t know what to do to make it stop. You didn’t want to stop seeing Namjoon. You didn’t want to break off the relationship. You just… didn’t. You knew it would be best for you but you didn’t think you could do that.

“Think it over, okay?” she said once you’d calmed down.

You nodded and allowed her to help you up and even tuck you into bed. You felt childish and stupid. She smiled sadly at you as she turned off your bedroom light. You mumbled a weak goodnight as she closed the door softly behind her.

Before you went to sleep that night you sent one message to Namjoon and then turned on Do Not Disturb for his contact.

you: meet me at the café we first met at tomorrow at nine pm. it’s important.

You fidgeted nervously as you waited for Namjoon to arrive. You were in the same chair you had sat in the first time. The café felt hot… too hot. You were already feeling sick and you hadn’t even said a word of the speech you’d prepared.

You hadn’t spoken to Namjoon at all since that night. Granted, it had been less than a day… but it had felt like years. You weren’t excited to talk to him, but you knew it needed to be done.

At exactly 9:00 pm Namjoon walked through the doors. He spotted you immediately, as if he had been drawn to your presence. He b-lined towards you, his eyebrows laced with concern. He seemed unsure of himself for once. As he sat down he seemed tense. He sat up straight; his posture was impeccable.

“What’s wrong Y/N? Do you need more money? Do you-”

You cut him off by holding your hand up. It would have amused you that he stopped at the gesture, but you were much too worried to even consider anything other than what you were about to say.

“I have something to say, so just listen to me before… before you leave okay?

I really enjoy what we have. It’s helped me a lot both financially and emotionally. I really- I really want to keep what we have, God I want to keep everything we have right now. But I can’t. We can’t. It’s not fair to you and, quite frankly, it’s not fair to me. I know it’s my fault and I don’t want you to pity me. Actually the last thing I want you to do is pity me. My point is… what I said last night whe- when I said that I loved you… I meant that Namjoon. One hundred percent. I don’t know when it happened or why I let it happen, but it happened. And I can’t think of any other way to stop feeling this than to end what we have.”

You took a deep breath and finally looked up from the table. Namjoon had gone pale and you didn’t blame him. You were unloading a lot onto him. He stayed silent though, expectant.

“I just wanted to tell you this in person. I’m sorry. I- I want to end this,” you finished lamely, feeling choked up. You’d planned to say more but you couldn’t get anymore words out. Your throat was on fire and it felt so tight, tighter than the leggings you were wearing.

You stood up suddenly, desperately needing to get out of the café and away from Namjoon. You stared straight ahead as you walked out of the café so that you didn’t make a scene. You could feel Namjoon’s eyes on you as he softly called your name. He didn’t want to bring attention to you either.

The small bell on the door rang as you excited and you began walking towards the bus stop without even looking back. Your heart was pounding and your eyes stung. You were solely focused on getting as far away from Namjoon as possible.

“Y/N!” a voice called from behind you. You knew it was Namjoon, but you kept walking. You heard apologies from behind you before a hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you back.

Namjoon pulled you into him, your back against his chest. His head was resting on the top of yours. He was panting hard. Even though he had never hugged you before his hug was warm and genuine and familiar.

“When you said ‘I love you’ on the phone last night, I really hoped you were serious. I- God Y/N- I love you too. I know I shouldn’t but I do as well. This is so inappropriate and I know- no, I don’t know. I think about you constantly and I find myself bragging about you even though we aren’t dating.”

You didn’t say a word. You simply turned around and leaned up to press your lips against Namjoon’s. It was a silent plea as well as a silent confession. You wanted him to make the two of you official. You wanted him to stay with you for a long time. Namjoon, ever on the same page, kissed you back with the same amount of passion. His hand came up to cup your check and his thumb rubbed against the soft skin. You gripped the back of his suit jacket to pull him impossibly closer. When Namjoon pulled away you were out of breath, gasping.

“I want to take you to my place. I want to make this official. Is that okay?” Namjoon whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You nodded and allowed him to pull you to his car. He didn’t even open the door for you. He didn’t have a chance. You were already pulling it open and shooing him towards the driver’s door. He complied and got into his car, peeling out so quickly you grabbed the handle above the door for support. He pushed the speed as he drove to his apartment. His hand gripped your thigh tightly.

You weren’t surprised when he pulled up at one of the most expensive apartment complexes in the city. It rose so high that you had to crane your neck to look at it. It was gorgeous.

Namjoon pulled you into the building, saying a quick ‘hello’ to the doorman who simply nodded at him, a surprised look on his face. Apparently Namjoon didn’t bring a lot of women home… The thought made you feel warm inside as you were pushed into the elevator. Namjoon pressed a button and pulled a key out of his pocket to allow him to go to the top floor- to the penthouse. Seconds afterwards you were pushed against the wall of the elevator, Namjoon’s lips attacking your neck harshly. You moaned and gripped his hair tightly. He smirked against your neck. You could feel his hard-on and you would be lying if you said you weren’t incredibly turned on as well.

At the sound of the doors opening you were turned around and backed into his apartment. Namjoon’s lips were still marking up your neck and you knew it would be impossible to cover the marks in the morning. Namjoon didn’t seem to mind at all though. Your back hit a door with a soft thud and he reached around you and fumbled to open up the door which led to his bedroom. When he finally got it opened he detached his lips from your neck and picked you up bridal style. You giggled as he threw you onto his duvet.

His bed wasn’t what you’d expected it to be. It wasn’t silk but rather a very soft cotton all around. In fact, it seemed humble, just like him. It was simple, not even involving a canopy. It was neat though, with his two pillows fluffed to perfection and his sheets pulled taught.

He climbed on top of you and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to hold your hip lightly. His fingers rubbed the exposed skin from where your top had come up. It tickled but it also felt intimate and you smiled into the kiss before whining when Namjoon pulled away.

“Shh, I’ve gotta take my shirt off,” he joked, placing a quick peck on your lips before sitting back and unbutton his suit jacket.

He shrugged it off and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was going much too slow for both of your likings though and finally he simply tore it off, buttons bouncing across the bed and onto his wooden floor. You helped him push it off and then leaned back to allow him to take your shirt off. His hands slid up your sides slowly as he did so and he never broke eye contact with you. You blushed under his intense stare. He smiled as he slipped your shirt over your head. He unclasped your bra and slipped it down your arms and you shook it off, throwing it onto the floor where it was out of the way.

Namjoon kissed down your chest. When he reached your breasts he kissed the sides of them and marked a few hickies on them. You arched your back, your hands tangling through his hair. He smiled as he continued to place wet kisses down your stomach. Reaching the top of your leggings he looked up at you, waiting for your response. You nodded at him and he pulled them and your panties down in one swift motion. He pulled them off of you entirely and threw them on the floor. He moved back up, planting kisses onto your thighs and he suddenly bit down softly and you yelped in surprise. He soothed the spot over with his tongue before marking another spot. Slowly, he made his way up and finally his mouth kissed your clit. He sucked harshly and your back arched again, your legs tightening around his head. He smirked against your clit before sucking harshly again.

He inserted two fingers into you and scissored them, making your hips buck against his face in response. Encouraged, he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, his mouth still attached to your clit. You’d never felt this kind of pleasure before and you let out a whine.

“God you taste so good baby,” Namjoon said he he looked up to catch his breath. His chin was wet with your juices and you couldn’t help but flush. He looked so hot between your legs.

His fingers kept pumping into you as he placed kisses on your stomach and made his way back up to your lips where you leaned up to meet him in a kiss. You could taste yourself on him but you didn’t think about it. Namjoon’s lips were so perfectly plump and soft and you couldn’t help but pull him down even more, unable to get enough of him. He was breathing as heavily as you were. You moved one of your hands from his hair and ran your hands down his chest to play with the button on his suit pants. He smiled into the kiss but he didn’t stop the movements of his fingers to unbutton his pants. You moaned into the kiss and your walls clenched around his fingers. Your legs clenched together as well.

“Hold on baby, you can’t cum yet,” Namjoon mumbled against your mouth.

You whined. You were so close and you didn’t know how much longer you could wait. You were shaking as you tried to hold back. Namjoon could sense your desperation and his fingers moved faster, curling up to hit your sweet spot. You were writhing in pleasure underneath him.

“Please sir,” you gasped, feeling Namjoon’s thumb graze your sensitive clit.

He smiled down at you and nodded finally.

“Go ahead baby.”

You gasped as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your eyes closed in pleasure as Namjoon’s name fell from your lips. Your hands came down to cling to his sheets, your fingers gathering them into your fists. Your hips rocked against Namjoon’s fingers. He kissed your forehead as you came down from your high.

“Are you up for more baby?” he asked softly, running a hand through your hair.

You nodded, your lips pressing a soft kiss against Namjoon’s.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded and sat back to unbutton his suit pants. Eventually he stood up to slide them and his underwear down. His length came free and you were able to see it clearly for the first time. It was red at the tip and as large as you’d imagined it to be. You could tell Namjoon was uncomfortable because he was so hard.

He climbed back onto the bed and hovered over you, positioning his tip at your entrance. You grabbed his chin and forced him to look you in the eyes as he pushed in slowly. He stayed still, letting you get adjusted to his size. You groaned as he seemed much bigger than you remembered. Still, he didn’t even need lube to slide in; you were soaking wet.

“Please, move. Do something,” you begged.

Namjoon smiled and began pumping in and out of you at a slow pace. You whined, pushing your hips against him to urge him to go faster. He didn’t though. His pace stayed excruciatingly slow.

“I love you Y/N. I just want you to know that,” he whispered as he buried his head into your neck. One of his hands grabbed yours and he intertwined your fingers with his as he continued to thrust into you.

“I love you too Namjoon,” you gasped.

At your words, Namjoon picked up his pace, a grunt falling from his lips. You arched your back to be flush against him and rocked your hips back to meet him halfway. He felt so good inside of you, his length sliding in and out of you easily. The smell of sex filled the room along with low grunts and profanities from Namjoon and your heavy breathing. You could feel the sweat on Namjoon’s body and you knew you were flushed. Since you were so sensitive from your previous orgasm the sensation of Namjoon inside of you made the warmth pool into your stomach quickly. Your legs were wrapped around his hips and you squeezed them together to get even more pleasure from Namjoon. He repeatedly hit your sweet spot and you screamed out his name. You were entirely glad that he had the penthouse so that none of his neighbors could hear you yelling his name or hear the pounding of the headboard against the wall.

“I’m so close baby,” Namjoon gasped, his thrusts becoming slopier each time.

“Me- me too,” you mewled as you buried your head into Namjoon’s neck.

Your legs were shaking as you released with no warning. Namjoon moaned as your walls convulsed around him. Your juices dripped down his length and onto his sheets. Namjoon kept thrusting into you to draw out your high. You were shaking when Namjoon finally pulled out of you and painted your stomach with his cum. The two of you were breathing heavily as Namjoon collapsed beside you. He kissed your forehead softly before sitting up.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I need to wash my sheets.”

You nodded and tried to sit up. You were so tired that you could barely do so. Namjoon noticed and picked you up princess style again and carried you to his in bed bathroom. He set you on the side of the bathtub as he started the water, checking the temperature to make sure it wasn’t too warm. You blushed, suddenly aware at how the two of you were completely naked and how every moment seemed so much more intimate because of it.

When Namjoon was satisfied with the temperature, he plugged the bathtub and helped you slide into the water. You sighed at the feeling.

“I’ll be right back,” Namjoon mumbled, kissing the top of your head.

You figured he was going to strip his bed to wash the sheets. You two hadn’t exactly been the cleanest… You giggled at the thought. Twenty minutes later Namjoon returned. He had put the old sheets into the washing machine and had put new sheets on the bed. He was also carrying two clean pairs of shorts and two t-shirts along with your underwear which he set on a stand near the bathtub. You sat forward to let Namjoon slide into the bathtub behind you. You leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around your waist. His fingers drew patterns on your skin. The bathroom was mostly silent. You’d turned the water off so the only sound was the sploosh of the water as the two of you got comfortable and the occasional drip of the facet.

“I don’t regret meeting you,” he whispered into the silence. “I am actually incredibly glad that I met you. I just wonder what this makes us now.”

You stayed silent, contemplating your response. What did it make you? Did it really make you a couple? Although Namjoon wasn’t that much older than you he probably would have been considered a cradle robber. With you at 20 and him at 31… it was pushing the limit. Your parents wouldn’t be happy.

But he treated you so well. He genuinely cared about you and he was very conscious of your mood and your feelings. You didn’t want to lose him. Ever.

“I want… I want this to be serious. I don’t want what we had before. I want us to be, like, a real couple,” you replied slowly.

Namjoon nodded and placed a kiss onto the side of your neck. He too wished to be a real couple. He would still support you, but it wouldn’t be in return for sex or dates or photos. It would be in return for loving you unconditionally. He didn’t want the title of sugar daddy anymore… the title didn’t really apply to him anyways. He just wanted to be Namjoon, Y/N’s boyfriend. And you wanted that too.

“I’ll take you out on a real date, one that doesn’t involve economic gain. Does that sound okay?” Namjoon asked softly. You could tell he was holding his breath without knowing it as he waited for your reply.

“I would love that because I love you,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“I love you too,” Namjoon whispered, pulling you closer to him.

You’d gone to the site to look for somebody who would support you financially. You weren’t expecting to find the love of your life. But now that you’d found him, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[boshawsharky]

Made It This Far

This fic contains references to self-harm, mental illness, delusions, and torture. It details a night of Pratt’s life after the end of the game. What happens in this fic is a work of my imagination and by continuing to read, you are consenting to read what could be potentially triggering.

Staci Pratt, T/W, 1,964 words.

This is my first Far Cry fanfic, so if it is inaccurate I apologise.

It’s official: Staci Pratt is an alcoholic.

Growing up with an alcoholic father, he swore he would never be in this position. He remembers his dad yelling at him for waking him up, or his mum trying to push him out of the house to protect them both. He remembers shamefully going to school and seeing his dad passed out on a park bench.

He swore this would never happen. He swore he would never turn out like his dad, yet here he is. Covered in beer cans and bottles, protecting him as if they were blankets. Almost as comforting, too.

His hand reaches to the nearest can and he lifts it to his lips, tilting his head back and keeping his mouth open to collect the few droplets that pour from inside, even if he can barely taste them. Anything helps, especially if it helps him forget Jacob, even if just for a few hours.

He always comes back in the morning, though. He always sits there at the end of his bed, or by the door, or by the sink- wherever it was that he passed out- smirking, looking down his nose, chuckling at him. Sometimes he is so close, Pratt can smell the coffee on his breath.

Fuck, the man is dead. You are going crazy.

He doesn’t understand how all this happened, he could have never expected to be this way. Then again, it was only two days before he was broken that he was joking about taking fuckin’ Nancy instead of Rookie. He didn’t see that happening, or Rookie saving his ass from Jacob.

Loud music pumps from down the road in Fall’s End, presumably from the bar that he sometimes meets Hudson in. They’re celebrating the New Year- that’s coming in a few minutes. Sharky Boshaw had invited everybody to a party in his trailer park- literally everybody, Rookie, Whitehorse, Hudson, everybody. Even Pratt. But Pratt couldn’t bear to go and see their sympathetic faces and the way they inched around him as if he was a bomb waiting to explode.

Well, frankly, he could. It can only take one little thing to trigger him, sometimes even the sight of his own face can do it. The scar across his nose, or if he has a nosebleed it feels like the world is ending.

The man moves and knocks all the cans off of himself, brushing them from his legs with a great clatter. The glass bottles smash on the floor, but the cans just bounce and roll. He pulls himself up and collapses on the sofa, tears threatening his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He thought he was getting better. He thought he wasn’t as weak any more.

You’ll always be weak, Peaches. Always.

He really thought the alcohol would take Jacob away from him. He thought it would help him, make him at least the slightest bit better. Why is it not helping this time?

He can see him stood in the doorway to the living room, judging eyes watching his every move, and that same bloody smirk on his features. Staci catches his eye, and immediately feels all the anger, all the upset, everything he has ever felt, fill him again.

The last full can on the side becomes his tool as he grabs it from its place on the table, throwing it out of the open window with a mighty roar and listening to it explode outside, covering the porch with beer. He feels like a prisoner in his own mind, and he wants out.

He continues to scream as he paces around the room, grabbing at his hair and pulling it before eyeing the phone sitting on the unit by the wall. He stumbles over to it, feeling like a dummy numb with emotions. He feels empty, he feels lost, he feels like he isn’t human.

The crowd down the street erupt into cheers and celebration, which tells him it is now midnight, it is now 2019. He has the phone in hand, but he stares at it. Who is going to answer him now? Fuck, who is he going to ring?

He slams it down with force, letting out another scream. He’s twenty-six, and he can’t even take care of himself. He can’t find the key to free himself from his own mind.

When he was seventeen, he was trying to impress his friends at a skate park. Something went wrong, he snapped his board, it flew up and hit him in the forehead, creating a gash. There was so much blood and he passed out. He thought when he came to two minutes later, he thought that was the worst feeling.

It was stupid, really. Just nine years later, he would be being tortured, he would be ruined, he would be broken.

At least he had his friends there, then. And a family to go home to- well, his mum. When Jacob had him strapped down to that chair, he was alone. He had never felt so isolated yet so exposed in his life.

He thought he would die there. He thought that his corpse would rot there until he was nothing.

That, that was the worst feeling.

And you’ve still not escaped.

He can feel Jacob’s rough hands grabbing one of his wrists, and he pulls it away from him.

“D-don’t touch me… You’re, you’re not real,” Staci whispers, closing his eyes and rubbing his wrist. He can’t calm his racing heart or his choking breaths. He can’t even stop the tears from flowing any more. “You- you can’t con, control me like this...”

But you’re wrong.

“Ple-please,”

Tears are streaming down his face and he uses his hand to numbly wipe them away. He’s choking on his own breathing and everything feels too much, too overwhelming.

Peaches, you’re-

“Shut up!” Pratt roars, picking up the phone from the receiver and dialling Sharky’s number- everyone is at Sharky’s place. Hopefully, someone can help.

“Happy new year!”

It’s Nick Rye’s voice that comes through the phone, drunk and happy.

Happy.

When was the last time Staci was happy?

Don’t do it, Peaches. You think you’re strong, handle this on your own. You can do that, can’t you?

“N-Nick,” Pratt whispers down the phone, praying Nick will hear him.

“Hello?” Nick says, and Pratt can imagine him looking at the phone with confusion on his face. Staci repeats himself. “Staci! How are you?”

“I, I need Ro-Rook,” he can barely make sense of his words as they come out of his mouth, nevermind nick trying to listen over the phone. “Please, Nick,”

“Sure, bud.” Nick’s tone goes soft, the same way that he hates people doing, “ROOKIE!”

Their voice is soft and comforting, like a soft, bright hand reaching through the darkness.

“Staci!” They are cheerful, happy, tipsy. Honestly, Staci would have loved to be there, but he would’ve had a panic attack, or he would have got slaughtered and passed out somewhere he cannot get home from. “Happy new year, dude! You okay?”

“I-I-I need you,” Staci puts his head in his hands as he sinks to the floor, somewhat restricted by the cord. It’s just turned 2019- why do people still insist on corded phones? “I need you, Dep. He’s back...”

“Jacob?” They ask carefully, listening to Pratt’s cry and taking it as an answer. “Fuck- I’ll be there soon. I need to find a designated driver, though- give me twenty minutes and I’m with you,”

You’re weak, Pratt. You’re nothing. When the collapse comes, what then? Who are you fighting for? What is the point in your existence if you can’t protect and serve? I mean- that is your job.

It’s been five minutes since the phone call and Staci is sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom, holding a smashed bottle in hand. He’s not coping well with this. He’s not coping at all.

“S-stop. I know you’re not real,” he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol in his system or the trauma that is making him speak funny, but he hates it. It makes him look even stupider than he feels. “I know you’re made up by m’ mind...”

But you hated me, Peaches. Why would your mind think of me if you hate me?

“Ruined my life...”

Your life is pointless anyway.

Pratt takes a deep breath and pulls his legs to his chest, putting his head back and bringing the sharp glass to his wrists.

The Deputy pulls up outside Pratt’s house, asking Kim Rye- the designated driver- to wait there for them, then makes their way inside.

There is an exploded can outside, and all the porch is wet from what they presume to be beer.

“Staci?” They call when they get inside the house, looking around. The empty living room is covered in beer bottles and cans, and the very phone that Pratt had used to call Deputy is hanging by its cord. They furrow their brows in confusion and head up the stairs, to the muffled sobbing. “Staci-”

“I fucked up, Rook,” he says, washing his arm under the tap of the sink, pinkish water running down the drain.”I-I couldn’t help it, ‘n Jacob was tellin’ me I’m worthless, ‘n-”

Rookie takes Pratt’s arm from under the water and presses a towel to it- for the most part, it has stopped bleeding, but they look sore. “We can fix this,” they say quietly, kneeling down in front of him and looking him in the eyes.

They reach for a med kid under the sink and use the bandages to wrap around his forearm, covering the mess he made.

After a short period of silence, Pratt looks to Dep. “How was Sharky’s party?” He asks, trying to fill the stuffy silence.

Deputy laughs, raising their eyebrows. “It was… Er… Explosive...” He says, shaking his head. “I mean, fun, but… A lot of fire. Lotta fireworks.”

Staci smiles, though it is lacking all emotion.

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called you. I should man up and deal with it- I’m weak and-”

“Shh. I don’t mind.” Dep says, shaking his head. “Honestly. You call me whatever time you need,”

“I’m a fuck up.”

“We’re all fucked up, Pratt. That’s what they do, they play mind games with you.”

Pratt feels all the alcohol from earlier in his stomach, and suddenly, he is throwing up into the sink. When Rook first rescued him, they got back to the Wolf’s Den and ate some actual food. This caused him to be sick because when he was with Jacob, his diet was purely raw meat and rainwater. The good food made him sicker than a dog.

“I owe you my life,” Pratt then says, as Rookie helps him stand and guides him into the bedroom. “You don’t even understand, Dep. We would be nothing without you, and I’m so stupid because you helped me survive literal Hell, and now I’m out of there and I can’t even think right-”

“You need to sleep,” they say, not undressing him but helping him into the bed. “Come on, you’ve had a rough night. You don’t know what you’re saying,”

Staci closes his eyes, feeling worn, feeling defeated, feeling nothing but everything.

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” They say, holding his hand for a minute. “Rest. Call me when you wake up.”

“Is he okay?” Kim asks when the Rookie gets back into the car, putting on their seatbelt. Quietly, they nod. “Good. Wanna go back to the party or home?”

“Home, I guess.” They answer quietly.

“You know, you really have saved everyone’s ass. We would be nowhere without you. Pratt, Hudson, Whitehorse- everyone. We all owe you everything and we could never pay you back.”

[novantinuum]

the time we lost, the time we mended (Chapter 4)

AO3

Rating: T

Words: ~ 3600 

Story Summary: Before the summer of 2012, Ford and Fiddleford never thought they’d get the opportunity to see each other again. Now… they have a second chance. A chance to rekindle the love they once shared, reconnect a family once lost, and to mend old wounds. But as they’ll quickly discover, fixing the mistakes of the past doesn’t always come easy. Nor is it always possible. RP to fic.

A Fiddauthor reunion story written by @the-ill-doctor​ and I! This chapter features Stan and Fidds bonding over cooking, the ol’ McGucket family gravy recipe, and scrapbook-ortunities. Also, Ford can’t deny it any longer- he definitely still has a crush...

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Fiddleford crept across the hardwood floor at a sloth’s tempo, gently testing the corners of each board for extreme creaks and whines before pressing his full weight upon them. The little alarm clock resting on the dresser in the parlor Stanford let him sleep in read eight o’ four when he left. Since he didn’t know how late or early anyone in this here Shack slept in normally, he figured he should stay as quiet as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was give any of the fellas living here an unexpected spook.

He yawned deeply, quickly slamming his hands over his mouth when he realized how unintentionally loud he was being. Dagnabbit, he wanted his surprise breakfast to be a surprise to the family, not announced to the whole world before he could cook it! Muttering to himself, he hurried his pace, luckily managing to avoid the brunt of the squeaky boards as he entered the kitchen. He then set about rummaging through the shelves and drawers to see if they had all the right ingredients for omelets, or maybe biscuits and gravy. Definitely biscuits and gravy, he decided, since Stan didn’t seem to have any veggies he could toss in an omelet.

Hopefully he could remember his ma’s recipe in full this time...

Fidds heard heavy footsteps approaching, and a brash yawn. He turned and froze like a spooked deer intercepted by headlights on the backroads, standing on a chair in mid-reach for a baking sheet on the top of the shelf. Stanley stood in the doorway of the kitchen in his underwear and a tank top.

“Oh,” he said flatly, drinking in the scene before him. “Good mornin’, possum breath. Need help cooking anything?”

“M-mornin’, Stanley,” he said, and nervously tugged at his beard. He climbed down from the counter. Honestly, he still wasn’t sure how to act around Ford’s brother, considering how stand-offish he’d acted towards him in the past. “I- I’m fine, I just wanted to surprise y’all with some grub to thank you for lettin’ me stay here!”

“Well, no need to thank me,” Stan mumbled almost imperceptibly. “It’s Ford’s house, after all. But... eh, you’re welcome I guess.”

Fiddleford could practically sense the cool metallic intensity of that man’s eyes boring through the back of his head as he continued searching about the kitchen, trawling for ingredients. He scratched at his arm. Constant surveillance made him feel kinda itchy.

“Uh, hey? If you’re making biscuits, then how ‘bout I make some bacon?” Stan spoke up then.

He grinned wide, flashing what teeth he had left. “Sure! Can’t have biscuits and gravy without ‘em! Now let's see, after flour I need... uh-" His brows sank, growing pensive as he desperately tried to sort through recently recalled memory. "Come on, Fiddleford, you should know this..."

Wordlessly, Stan pulled the correct ingredients off the shelves and placed them on the counter for him. He then got out a frying pan for himself, for bacon duty.

"Oh, thank ya’," he said, walking over to the counter to observe the ingredients. "Although-" He placed his hand on his mouth and leered at the food Stan set up for him. "There's somethin' missin', I just know it! Mcgucket, Mcgucket... The Mcgucket Family Secret Gravy Recipe!" He opened the fridge, and found a half used can of brown meat. "I can't believe I almost forgot this! My ma would have my hide if I messed up her gravy!"

“You’re rememberin’ more and more every day, aren’tcha?” Stan asked suddenly, glancing towards him as he watched the bacon beginning to sizzle. “After all that mind wiping cult stuff got taken down…”

Fiddleford nodded amicably, amid measuring flour and baking powder into his bowl. "Some days I get a ton o' them back and other days it's very slow." He looked up at the other man, smiling sincerely. "It's tricky piecin' a lot of them back, especially the ones about your brother. But I'm just happy I finally remember who I am!”

"That's, uh... that's real great," he said with a weak laugh, attention drifting away to the bacon again.

His smile faltered. Part of him wondered what was going on in Stanley’s mind right now, but the other part of him feared gathering the nerve to ask. It probably ain’t his business anyways.

Within a few minutes, he’d mixed everything together and formed the biscuits between his hands on the baking sheet. As he waited for the oven to heat up, he began to hum an old silly song he recalled his pa used to sing while strummin’ on the guitar... Oh, grandma’s in the cellar, and boy don’t you smell her cookin’ biscuits on that darn ol’ dirty stove? In her eye there’s a matter that keeps drippin’ in the batter, and she whistles as a- *SNIFF*- runs down her nose! His ma despised it, if he remembered correctly. He carefully edged the sheet into the oven, and pretty soon the sweet aroma of his cooking began to waft throughout the shack.

"Ya know, I used ta’ make this all the time for your brother,” he mentioned offhand.

"Is that so?" Stan said, raising a brow. "Well, good on ya'. Some days I think Ford would've starved to death if there weren’t someone there ta' feed him. I swear, it’s like he’s too distracted to eat half the time."

"You’re tellin’ me!" Fiddleford laughed. "I literally had to wrangle him into a chair and tie him down to get him to eat whenever finals came around!"

The other man’s face lit up, and he let out a loud bark of laughter- genuine, this time. "Yeah, that sounds like 'im, that nerd," he said, laying the cooked bacon on a plate. "Hey... it, uh- sounds like your memory's returning better then you thought. You said you had trouble remembering stuff about Ford, but... that's two memories right after another."

Fiddleford's amused chuckling died down as he stopped to think for a moment. "You’re right,” he murmured, eyes widening into saucers. He stared up at Stanley with probably the calmest expression he's ever given him. "Thank ya’!"

"For what? You're the one remembering everything, all I did was talk to ya'..."

"Well, talking to ya’ really helped." Fiddleford replied, still smiling. "It's hard rememberin’ on your own."

At that moment, the two heard footsteps approaching from around the corner, and muffled voices. It sounded like Ford and Dipper, cheerily talking about some supernatural creature they’d both encountered in the woods. Stan froze at the sound, and Fidds was sure that man was mentally hyperfixating on every last detail of his last not-so-friendly interaction with his brother the night before.

Ford poked his head into the kitchen first, drinking in the sight of the home cooking occurring. He inhaled deeply, likely having followed his nose to the kitchen. "Good morning, Fiddleford. Stanley." Can I talk with you outside? he mouthed at his brother.

Stan nodded nervously, ducking out of the kitchen with him.

"Mornin', Dipper!" Fiddleford said.

"Morning, McGucket." Dipper shuffled toward the breakfast table. “I, uh- I see you're making breakfast?”

"Yep, biscuits and gravy!" Fiddleford scooped up a heaping spoonful and offered it to Dipper. "Wanna taste? I promise it’ll be the best dang gravy you’ve ever tasted!" he said with a wink.

Dipper seemed hesitant, which he didn’t blame him for— the kid saw him cooking roadkill on a spit a few days ago, after all!— but it seemed the smell was too alluring. Walking over, he took the offered sample and gave it a shot. The moment his lips closed around the spoon, his eyes widened, and he promptly licked the utensil clean. Fidds beamed.

"Heh heh, guess that means I made it right!"

The boy stayed at the counter next to him after that, watching him finish cooking the gravy. "So Mr. McGucket, you and Great Uncle Ford were roommates in college, right?"

"Yes, siree we were!" Fiddleford replied.

"What was he like?"

Fiddleford paused from his cooking, considering the question seriously. "Honestly? I love that man, but he was an absolute pain in the tush to bunk with!"  

Stanley tensed as he walked into the hall with his brother, already getting flashbacks of the first argument they had here. As with every other interaction with Ford lately, nothing good could come out of this. He crossed his arms pensively. "Whatdy'a want?"

Ford sighed, pressing fingers to his temple. He seemed to almost deflate in his presence, oddly enough. "Stanley? Let me be frank with you."

Nevertheless, Uh-oh was all that could run through Stan's mind.

"I was-" Ford continued, forcing himself to look Stan in the eye. "I might have acted a little harsh towards you last night, and..."

"You think??" Stan burst out suddenly, residual anger from last night's encounter boiling over. "You were 'bout ta’ kick me out before the summer ended! Before my time, before I was ready, and exactly like what Dad did all those years ago!"

Ford stiffened at the comparison to their father, and continued. "I'm aware of that. Or at least, I was helped to become aware of that, and..." Another weary sigh. Where was he going with this? "There's no reason for me to treat you this way,” he said finally. “I'm- I'm not kicking you out. Obviously, you're free to leave if you ever wish to, but it would be unfair of me to uproot you from this place."

Stan stopped, and blinked. Dumbfounded. Did he just-? Did those words seriously come out of Ford's mouth? It wasn’t exactly an apology, but...

"So you're... you're letting me stay?" he said, mouth agape. "I don't have to leave after the summer?"

"No, you don't have to leave," Ford confirmed, a gentle smile crossing his face. "This has been your home for far longer than it's been mine, after all. I'd still like to talk about your Mystery Shack at a later date, and determine what compromises if any we could come to on that front, , but-"

Without any warning, Stan rushed forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his brother. Ford nearly stumbled back in surprise, at first not sure how to respond to this at all. But eventually, his hands stopped awkwardly floating midair and settled on Stan's back, tightly returning his embrace. They might still have a lot more to hash out- issues from their past to unpack- but for the moment they were simply happy to share in the kind of sibling affection neither had experienced in over forty years.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford continued to share embarrassing stories about his college years with Stanford, Dipper seeming wholly engrossed with each tale.

"Wow, so you two really didn't get expelled for setting the lab on fire?" he asked.

"Nope!" Fiddleford replied as he started to set the food on the table. "And luckily, too, the last thing we needed was to get kicked out of school. But boy howdy, were they not easy on us with the community service!"

“Are you giving me up, Fiddleford?” Ford asked suddenly, peaking around the corner of the doorway with a wry smile on his lips.

Fiddleford let out a surprised yelp. "H-howdy, Ford!" he said, grinning sheepishly. "Just sharin' some of our tamer days."

"Really? That's tame?" Dipper asked.

"My boy, setting a university laboratory on fire is child's play. Just wait until you hear about the time we almost accidentally released an alien superbug into all of greater Gravity Falls!" He walked over to his old friend, grinning mercilessly. "Fiddleford and I had all sorts of misadventures, back in the day..."

Fiddleford leaned his cheek against his arm, giggling at the memory. "Most of them were ‘coz someone liked to poke his nose into other critters’ business," he said, playfully nudging him in the stomach. "Yer’ just lucky we were able to synthesize that antidote, or else the town wouldn't be here anymore!"

Ford could feel the blood rushing to the capillaries near the surface of his face at the sudden physical affection, and while it left him with a sort of light, jittery sensation in his core he couldn’t necessarily attach a bad connotation to, he also felt a tinge of embarrassment that Dipper was there to see his reaction. He hadn’t gotten the chance to properly explore and catalogue his increasingly muddled thoughts on the matter yet. He’d far prefer to do that in private than in front of family, yes...

"Yeah, I fear we nearly destroyed the town on a number of occasions in those days," he replied to Fidds.

"Don't stop fearing yet," Stan butt in suddenly, returning to the kitchen. "Now that you're back in this dimension again, you've got plenty more years of potential destruction to cause!"

Ford frowned, picking at the stray threads on his jacket. Something about the way Stan phrased this brought the rift to mind, the rift he'd securely enclosed just this morning.

Mabel sleepily shuffled behind Stan, clutching onto a stuffed unicorn. "Mornin'," she yawned before climbing into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Mornin', pumpkin," Stan said, and gave her hair a nice big ruffle. He turned to the rest of the group, all loitering in the kitchen and surrounded by food. "Hey, we gonna eat, or what? This all smells delicious! Whoever cooked it must be a culinary genius... especially the fella who cooked that bacon!" He laughed boisterously at his own not-that-funny joke, and Ford promptly rolled his eyes.

"Do you need help taking any of these plates to the table, Fiddleford?" he asked, grateful for the change of topic from before.

"If y’all don't mind givin' me a hand. I'm hoping y’all like the food! Been a while since I've properly cooked anything."

"Tasted amazing to me!" Dipper smiled while helping a sleepy Mabel up to migrate.

Stan and Ford each grabbed a dish and carried them to the table in the living room. Ford carefully placed his at the center, and promptly returned to the kitchen to find some plates. Stan on the other hand, sat directly down, strategically positioning himself in the chair right in front of the bacon. "Hey, uh, kids," he began. "Just so ya' know, the Shack won't be open today. Maybe not for the next few days, who knows. But anyways, until this pigsty is fixed up, you two little gremlins are off the hook, okay? Go play with your friends, or in the woods, or whatever it is ya' do when I'm not lookin'."

"Really?" Mabel asked with a sleepy smile as she climbed into the seat beside him.

"Yeah, what's the catch?" Dipper asked, skeptical of his intentions as always.

Stan frowned deeply, more for show and dramatics than any true expression of disgruntlement. “The catch is, do it before I take advantage of Gravity Falls’ lax child labor laws and put you two to work on somethin’ else! Now, who wants bacon?”

“I’d like a strip or two,” Ford said eagerly, just returning to the table with plates and silverware for the five of them. He set the plates down and let the kids pass them out. “I don’t think I’ve eaten bacon for over thirty years. There’s not anything quite like it, out there in the midst of the multiverse...”

"I'll have a slice!" Dipper replied.

"Me too!" Mabel added.

Fiddleford walked in and set his gravy pot on the table. "It's been a long time since I've seen any bacon smellin’ this good,” he commented as he took his seat. "I wanna thank you again for helping me out with the cookin', Stanley."

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, or whatever,” he said, brushing off his thanks with a flourish of his hand. Ford shot him one of those looks, but said nothing. Stan dished out the bacon to everyone, grabbing four slices for himself, and soon everyone began digging in.

Fiddleford noisily gobbled down his share of biscuits. To him, this was the most luxurious meal he'd eaten in months. After polishing off his first, he realized he’d spilled crumbs all over his beard, but he was so caught up in enjoying his food that he couldn’t bring himself to truly care. Meanwhile, Dipper practically drowned his poor biscuits in the gravy, and with food in her stomach Mabel was finally beginning to wake up.

Stanley worked away at his own plate quietly for a moment, too hungry to provide much in the way of conversation. As he ate, he glanced from Dipper, to Mabel… to Fiddleford, and sitting next to him— after all these years— his brother.

“Heh,” he muttered suddenly. “Y’know, now that I think of it, it’s funny…”

The four of them paused, Fiddleford mid-chew, when Stan spoke up.

"What is, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked.

“This… well, it’s dumb, but once I got ta’ thinkin’ about it, this is the first real meal I’ve shared with Ford in over forty years,” Stan said breathlessly, staring off into the distance, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.

Ford dropped his fork against his plate, brows furrowing as he counted the years, calculated and double checked his claim. “You- my word, you’re right,” he said, eyes widening as he contemplated the truth behind this statement. Even yesterday— his first evening back— they hadn’t crossed paths much, since he’d dedicated nearly all of that time to constructing a containment field for the rift in the basement.

Mabel let out a loud and dramatic gasp at Stan's realization. "And it's the first time Grunkle Ford has eaten with me and Dipper period, meaning-" She shot up from her seat, all the vim and vigor Ford remembered from early this morning returning in a flash. "Be right back!" With no explanation, she rushed out of the living room, excitedly stomping up the stairs. Before anyone could truly comment on her outburst she returned with her polaroid camera.

"SCRAPBOOK-ORTUNITY!" she announced, holding the camera with lens facing her, the entire family in the frame behind her. When the camera flashed Stan was in the middle of picking his nose, and Ford was eighty percent certain he blinked. The greyed scientist began to laugh heartily at Mabel’s happy antics.

“You remind me of my Ma,” he said through laughter. “She was always taking pictures of Stanley and I, and mostly when we weren’t prepared for them.” He took another bite of his biscuit. A stray bit of gravy dribbled from his lip.

Mabel giggled and shook the polaroid when it came out of the camera. "I never miss a scrapbook-ortunity!"

“Mabel,” Dipper whined, “I was chewing when you took that picture!”

“It’s candid photography, that’s kinda the point, duh!”

Fiddleford gave his finger a lick, and reached towards Ford’s face. "Ford, ya’ got a little somethin' on yer chin..."

Ford blushed a deep scarlet as Fiddleford dabbed the gravy off his chin and the corner of his lips, his eyes blowing wide. He suddenly felt clammy, almost itchy as he felt the rest of the room stare at him… He knew for a fact they all saw the way his ears and cheeks flushed like some lovesick fool at Fidds’ touch, and his heart pounded at the thought of having to explain this to his own family when he hadn’t even taken time to fully consider these feelings himself. Not for the first time, he felt achingly like an alien— perhaps even an imposter— in his home, that is, if he could even claim it as such.

Mabel slammed her hands over her mouth and excitedly wiggled in her seat. She began to repeatedly nudge her brother's side, much to his annoyance.

When Fiddleford finished, he gave Ford a shy smile and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, old habit from the old days," he said, blushing as well.

“Sheesh, if you two want to leave the room for a sec or somethin,’” Stan said snarkily, “then don’t let me stop ya’.”

Ford roughly set his cup down on the table. ”Stanley. That’s enough,” he hissed. “We will not be discussing this at the breakfast table.”

The kids flinched from Ford's sudden outburst.

“Wow, okay, okay,” Stan muttered, recoiling a little. “Hit a nerve there...”

"Stanford, there's no reason to get so upset, he was only teasin'." Fiddleford said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I-I…”

Ford looked back and forth, from the kids— who were staring at him with slight apprehension— to Stan— who looked much like a kicked puppy— and finally to Fidds. Fiddleford. The man he knew deep down he’d never gotten over, never stopped loving, not even after thirty plus years, and the man who was currently gazing at him with such a gentleness in his eyes even despite his rough outburst. His palms sweat as he clasped them together, nervously threading his fingers between each other. Before his mind could catch up with his body, he found himself bolting through the door between the house and the gift shop.

Stan stared at the chair he left empty for a moment, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He was only teasing. Surely Ford didn’t think he would judge him if he did have an old crush on Fiddleford, if his prediction was in fact accurate? “You, uh,” he began lamely, glancing towards Fiddleford. “You might wanna go after him before he locks himself away in the basement for the rest of the day.”

"Yeah, uh..." Fiddleford stood up. "E-Excuse me fellas."

[shenanigumi]

Returning the Favor

An impromptu mini-fic for @impracticaldemon​!

It’s rough, and I basically pulled this out of nowhere over the course of an hour or two, but I happen to have SaiChi on the mind/heart anyway and I gotta get that out of my system before I switch continuities back to Heisuke’s route. I know this is a ridiculously clichéd concept, but I hope this Week Brightener is an effective one!!

It was a generally accepted fact that Saito never got sick.

All throughout his time at Shiei Hall, and later with the Shinsengumi, he had managed to avoid sickness. Among his friends, his immune system was the subject of much envy, regarded as almost inhuman—along with his other alleged superpower, in the form of an absurdly high tolerance for alcohol.

Saito had never thought himself capable of being lulled into a false sense of security, and in fact prided himself on his constant vigilance, but he must have grown so used to being healthy that he forgot he was still susceptible to illness. There was no other explanation for allowing himself to awaken with a congested nose for the first time in years.

Hovering between sleep and wakefulness in the early hours of the morning, Saito thought he was dreaming of suffocation, but he quickly realized that he actually could not breathe. Moreover, his throat felt parched, prickling when he swallowed, and he gave a faint (and painful) groan. This may be the entirely understandable result of ignoring Chizuru’s gentle warning last evening.

The long northern winter was just beginning, the air crisp and cold and delightfully clear, and Saito had wanted to stay outside and stargaze long after Chizuru was ready to sleep. (This was hardly unusual, considering that he still had some nocturnal tendencies from the fury blood.) In response to his… assistant’s… tentatively expressed concern about his health, he had given her noncommittal assurance that he would not be long after. The quality of the silence told Saito that Chizuru did not believe him, but she did not dare argue.

Now, more than a small part of him wished that she had.

Then again, thought Saito, rolling over with a snuffling sigh, he had been considering several rather important matters—among them, how exactly he should ask Chizuru to marry him. Perhaps he should pick up some ceremonial sake and insist the neighbor gave it to him; he has certainly been forward enough in his implications for it to be believable. And his own sentiments, likewise, might be easier for him to state as though they are someone else’s.

Of course, none of that mattered right now; he could never go out to get any sake in this state, ceremonial or not, and he certainly didn’t want to get his future fiancée sick. It would be better just to go about life as usual until his full recovery, and hope their workload was light in the meantime.

…Right. Saito supposed that meant it was time to get up; he could hear Chizuru in the next room, busying herself with breakfast as usual. He’d never hear the end of it if she found out he had ignored her warning, and she hardly deserved to fret over him after he brought this upon himself. Hauling himself out of bed, and almost staggering as his head and body felt light and heavy at the same time, he pulled on his clothes and tried valiantly not to miss any buttons.

As usual, Chizuru was focused on her work in the kitchen, but took the time to glance over at him as he shuffled out of his room. “Good morning, Saito-san,” she greeted him, just like always, but was thankfully too preoccupied with her cooking to take a good look at him right away. (Saito was sure her food was as delicious as ever, but he couldn’t smell it at all, and his appetite seemed to be mysteriously absent.)

“Good morning,” returned Saito… or tried to. His voice came out faint and hoarse, and the words made his throat smart a little. Struggling not to wince, he knelt at the table and fixed his eyes firmly on the surface before him, praying his condition would go unnoticed. Even the smallest sniffle could give him away…

“Oh no,” said Chizuru, and Saito realized with a jolt that even his tone of voice had been enough to catch her attention. She was much more observant than she let on, and often underestimated because of her bewitchingly innocent face; Saito had a habit of forgetting that he was more often than not among her underestimators. “I was afraid of this, after last night. Unless you feel like eating a little something, you need to go back to bed right now.”

Saito blinked a few times at her tone. “I’m… fine,” he told her, but his tongue felt dry and sluggish in his mouth, and he knew the instant he spoke that she would never believe him.

“You can’t work too well if you’re sick,” explained Chizuru, ignoring his protest in a fitting mirror of his own actions last night. “And you’ll only stay sick longer if you try anyway. It’ll be much more effective for you to rest now, and work later.”

“But I have to work,” mumbled Saito, unsure what else he should say. Coherent thoughts were surprisingly hard to come by in this condition, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull rank on her, considering their situation. (His resolution wavered still further as an unfamiliar little voice whispered that if he cooperated, Chizuru would be much more likely to accept his eventual proposal.)

Lost in his thoughts already, Saito only remembered Chizuru and her protests when she waved a hand in front of his face. “See,” she remarked, setting a jug of water down before him. Whenever his focus was suffering, Chizuru was usually the reason he couldn’t focus, yet now he couldn’t even focus on her. “You didn’t even hear me, so what makes you think you could concentrate on work? At least go back to bed and see how you feel in a few more hours.”

“I have that meeting…” Saito trailed off with a weak cough as the words tickled his throat, almost as though his body was laughing at the very idea. Taking a sip from the water Chizuru gave him, he found it cold and soothing, but knew all too well that relieving the symptoms does not cure the cause. (Being a fury had taught him that much.)

“Then I’ll answer for you and tell them you’re unwell,” insisted Chizuru, putting her hands on her hips resolutely. “You’ve always taken care of me, so let me take care of you for once. Please, Saito-san,” she added, scattering his thoughts effortlessly with a persuasive smile almost too brilliant for his tired eyes to take in. “I promise I know how. I’m a doctor’s daughter, after all.”

Saito could only look at her, his thoughts drifting away in all directions without the goal of working to hold them together, and Chizuru—understanding that he would not argue further—turned around to make sure the food wasn’t burning. Although it had seemed all-important mere seconds ago, his job fled Saito’s consciousness completely as he gazed at the woman before him. Chizuru, capable of changing his mind and removing his doubts with a touch lighter than the wind, was without a doubt the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Of course, Saito had known that for some time—more than two years now—but only now, in the haze of his increasingly more jumbled thoughts, did that fact seem so important. In that moment, all he could think about was marrying her; in fact, in his still-sleepy mind, their wedding seemed more like a faraway memory than a fantasy. She was practically his wife already, as their nosy neighbor had pointed out to him several times before.

“Will you… stay with me?”

The words came tumbling out unbidden, and Saito’s heart seemed to shudder to a halt, his breath catching as he prayed with all his might that Chizuru had not heard him over the clicks and crackles of her cooking. He had not intended to propose to her so early, especially not in such an unattractive condition. Could he have possibly chosen a time at which he would be less likely to be accepted…?

Thankfully, Chizuru took his words much more literally than they had been intended, accepting the sentiment in stride. “If you like,” she responded, tossing a reassuring smile over her shoulder, and Saito heaved a congested sigh of relief. “You did stay with me all through the night of my illness, after all. It’s only fair that I return the favor.” She pointed at Saito’s room with a wooden spoon, meek yet authoritative in that way of hers. “Now, Saito-san, please go back to bed. I’ll be in with some mending to keep you company, as soon as this is done.”

There was nothing else to be done. Obediently, Saito took the jug of water got to his feet, swaying in place for more reasons than one. Everything about Chizuru was dizzying, but it took removing all the layers of work and duty for him to realize the extent. Yes; he must marry her as soon as possible if he was to be truly happy.

“Y-Yukimura,” began Saito, swallowing her given name as he reached his door. The time for that would come, and hopefully soon; as of now, he had only ever said it in his dreams, and those were not something anyone needed to know about. Especially Chizuru. “Thank you. For everything.”

Chizuru only smiled again, her expression more soft and radiant still, and Saito’s heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. “Of course, Saito-san,” she murmured, and the sympathetic affection in her voice could not be mistaken even in his state. “I’ll always be by your side.”

As he tottered back to his room, trying not to look too pleased, Saito knew then that there was nothing to fear… and perhaps Chizuru had understood his original question after all. Always meant always—in sickness and in health.