#i won’t stop but i felt the urge to doodle her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatkidwholikesthunderbirds · 3 years ago

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TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

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Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

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“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile. “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. “Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There’s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanart #katblu42 #kidthunder's art #tag mini bang 2021

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loneworldgazer · 4 years ago

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Animator!Y/N

karasuno x gen!reader, hinata x reader

a/n: people who do animation, just take my whole heart pls

this felt like a proper fic but sorry if it's short,,

(please reblog darlings)

yachi first started being curious about you since you were one of the teacher's pet, always lingering around the art teacher asking questions with a tablet in hand

she was nosy, she had to admit

she wanted to sneak a glance whenever you drew on your tablet and you would glance at her if she wants to take a look but she managed to look away before you saw

but she finally founds out what you're doing when some students partake in presentation (even if you didn't want to, the teacher liked you so you had to) and you presented yours

her little heart couldn't handle her excitement when fluid carefully drawn animation popped up on the screen and you looked at your hard work with pride

whatever subject was in the animation you discussed about it with the class and you couldn't help but of course notice the crooked smile that yachi had

she was impressed and filled with so much undescribable feelings, she could cry with how astonishing your work is

after art class yachi decided to approach you and ask a bunch of questions to you and you had the pleasure to answer all of them

you also wanted to cry because of how hyper of a puppy was when yachi would bounce up and down when you started describing about your work and how she would apologize if she was being too excited which you would shake your head to and laugh

you started exchanging numbers and you saved her under "gal who won't stop staring", of course you noticed

she couldn't hide it,,

after finding out where she was after school so you could ask her about art projects or catching up when you're absent, you started going to the club a lot more to also see the boys

they would always see you sliding into the gym and going to one of their managers and asking yachi about something

which they didn't mind much, the simpy duo thought you were stealing her away which you teased them by putting an arm around her as she laughs and says "there was nothing to worry about, y/n doesn't bite"

the whole team suprisingly loves to see your work especially hinata since he would make sound affects for your characters if you haven't added any audio yet

he would leap when your character does a transition or the scenery changes and he would gush about how cool you and your animation were

you, hinata and yachi would walk home admiring your work and yachi would also pull out her drawing as well to show both of you

hinata were both your hype man, he would compliment and point out every detail he loves

(i'm also convinced he has made doodles but they would look wonky but cute)

and since you two were close you always had sleepovers!!

usually it was at hinata's house so you could bond with natsu and she was entertained by your animations that you set up on your projecter

sometimes hinata's mom would pop up and see how it goes and she appreaciates having you over since you were such a kind and close friend of hinata that matches his energy

it was such a blast, stuffing yourselves with snacks and chortling till midnight which hinata's mom would try to shush all of you but she couldn't help but join in because it was so much fun

you would all have headaches though the next day buuut it was worth it~~

whenever you feel out of it, yachi's there

she would always be there to give you snacks or ask you take a few breaks if you worked too much

she would try to scold you and you just can't help but follow because it would be mean of you to ignore her words

and oh they were so wise

it helped you through times when she wasn't even there and it was good that you followed so you didn't hurt your mental health from the get go

now to timeskip,,

T I M E S K I P :

you were an independant animator animating part of your manga with your crew which you grouped together with your friend who was the boss of everything

you felt proud of yourself since you reached a long way,

how your parent/s didn't suppprt you from the start to how stress swallows you whenever you were near a deadline to how people complain if their request wasn't fulfilled to their liking,

yes, you still experienced it but it was a lot more better now than your highschool years telling you to shut up about your dreams

here you were animating frame by frame of your own creation,

what exactly was your manga about?

volleyball :))

yachi and karasuno's volleyball team has inspired you so much about how much team work and pain they went through and your heart stop whenever you remember

your big inspo, yachi who would never stop babbling about you and being right by your side when you need it

you might cry on the tablet you're drawing on which make your crew question on what are you crying about but you held back which also made your crew question why were you smiling so hard

nonetheless, you were almost happy everyday because you could reminisce with the ideas yachi gave you back then which you still kept dearly because they were great plot points

and how you stick close to each character no matter how goofy or chaotic they were, they had a lesson for each time they appear and dissappear

that's how the stadium smelled like, the colours and the adrenaline you felt by cheers from the crowds, you felt like you could fly right now with how much you wanted to scream the team's name and let them notice you

it smelled like the victory the monster duo had, it filled you with so much glee to watch them gain fans from the sidelines

you also felt hinata and kageyama's pride swelling and you could knock your chair over if you kept this up

there he was the orange haired boy who used to be your biggest fan standing in front of you who now has a lot more fans trailing behind him

eventhough he smelled musky and felt sweaty you can't control the urge to hug him and he also can't too

you later hugged kageyama and just spilled all your excitement to both of them on how well the matches went and hinata couldn't resist hugging you again and twirling you around

he planned on telling you all about your manga and how he haven't catched up on it yet on some of it and a pang struck your heart as you teared up which confused hinata

ah, he still remembered

"are you crazy, of course i did!" his boyish laughter was louder than your sobs when he rested your head on his chest and pushed him off, complaining about how sweaty he was

oh you silly goose, of course he did

you also met up with the rest and tumbled into yachi when she appeared around the corner and everyone laughed it out

either of you got a headache as you both help each other up

hinata and kageyama would stand near the third years who held their hearts and congratulated them

which kageyama would smile and nod while hinata would still bashfully scratch his neck while happily thanking them because his seniors were proud of him

you would take a selfie with yachi and hinata, yachi would be the one leaping off the ground and eventhough the picture was a little blurry atleast you could catch both of their smiles

the next time you meet up, hinata was there in his comfy clothes melting into all the pillows you pelted at him and you snuggled right next to him when you both were fresh out the shower

just like the old times, how he would wrap around your arm and yachi would be on your left doing the same

except this time, you were the one snuggling onto hinata's arm

you felt kinda sad that yachi couldn't join since she was really busy

but hinata interrupted your thoughts with a screech when you whipped your head back to see what he was doing

the television showed your blood sweat and tears of the countless projects and art that you did about it, dropping your head on hinata's shoulder as not even a second in, you got a series of shout and yells of eagerness from him

"i added a reference of you somewhere~" "huh! really? did you add kageyama?? he'll text me about it later-"

and the night was drowning in the amounts of laughter and euphoria you two shared,

the number 2 who supports you will always be the number 1 in your heart

#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyū!!#karasuno x reader #karasuno #karasuno x y/n

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 34 (part II)

Fake Making-It

Social Media AU

part I

again, this isn’t proofread, because I literally wrote it all today, so sorry for any mistakes!

~^~

Lucas feels a little lost. He’s been looking around for what feels like hours, and he can’t find Sander. He hasn’t seen Robbe, either, or their friends Moyo and Aaron.

He isn’t sure if he’s looking for Jens.

He finds himself in the dimly lit bathrooms, and he sighs, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a gulp. He moves to the sinks and glances at himself in the mirror, brushing a hand through his curls. It’s a pointless attempt, trying to coerce them back into place. He gives up fairly quickly and takes another drink. His heart has sped up to the slightly uncomfortable rhythm of intoxicated.

For a moment he just stands there, bottle hanging by his side, and takes a few slow breaths. It doesn’t really do anything to steady his heartbeat, but it helps clear his head a little. This is when he finally takes notice of the humming.

He furrows his brows and spins around, eyeing the closed stall in the corner. Listening more intently, he realises the humming is a quiet singing, and he creeps closer to the stall and stares at the door. From here he can make out a few words, but he doesn’t have to to recognise the voice.

“Jens?”

The singing stops.

Lucas waits, and after a moment, he hears the slide of the lock and the door swings open. It reveals Jens curled up in the cramped space, sitting on the closed toilet with his back to one wall and his feet pressed to the other. He has his own beer cradled in his lap, with his other hand still holding the door open, and he’s staring at Lucas.

Lucas purses his lips to stop them from turning up in a smile. “What are you doing?”

Jens is blushing slightly. He shrugs. “There’s more people now. They were staring at me.”

“So you’re hiding, by singing?”

“I didn’t think there was anyone in here,” he grumbles.

Lucas huffs a laugh, smile coming out in full. “Obviously.” He leans against the door of the stall as Jens rolls his eyes, and tilts his head consideringly. “Why didn’t you come get one of us?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you. Couldn’t find Robbe.”

Lucas hums. “I can’t find them either.”

“No Sander?”

“Nope, up and disappeared.”

Jens sniffs. “On Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s after midnight now, so…”

“Still. Shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

Lucas takes a long breath, quiet enough that Jens doesn’t notice, the musician having resorted to staring at the wall again. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not when Jens is right here. Now when they’re supposed to be giving him a good night. He swallows down his protests and reassurances and instead says, “It’ll be really weird if someone finds you in here.”

“Yeah, but now you’re here.”

“I think that probably makes it weirder,” Lucas points out, smiling again. Jens doesn’t respond, and he sighs, knocking his fist on the stall door before turning on his heel. “Come on.”

He hears Jens scrambling after him with a small sound of protest. “What? I don’t wanna go back out there.”

“So we won’t. Well, we’ll just pass through.”

“Where are we going, then?”

Lucas looks around at him and raises his brows, pushing through the door back out to the bar. “Wherever you want.”

Slowly, Jens smiles.

They weave their way through the crowd, Jens sticking close behind him, so close that Lucas can feel his heat. He’s almost sure Jens actually has a hand curled in the back of his shirt, can feel the knuckles brushing against his spine. He ignores it and leads them to the room they’d left their coats, and Jens releases him to fish out his phone. He messages Robbe, to ask where the hell he is and to tell him they’re leaving. Before he has even hit send, there’s someone calling his name.

Lucas shoots a quick glance in that vague direction and doesn’t see any of their friends. He takes Jens by the wrist and draws him towards the front door, speeding up when more calls come and Jens begins urging him on. Lucas keeps a firm hold on him and gets them to the door. They’re almost running now, and they don’t stop as they burst through the door and start down the street. Beyond that, they’re laughing. Giggling like girls, downright giddy. Lucas is glad they had abandoned their beers in the bar, because by now he’s sure they’d have spilled them all over the street and themselves.

It’s only when they’ve made it onto a new street that they latch onto each other and stop, trying to catch their breath. Instead they catch each other’s eyes and break into laughter again.

Jens lets out an exaggerated ‘woo’ of relief, still clutching at Lucas’s collar. “Nice save,” he approves.

“Oh yeah,” Lucas snorts. He’s still holding onto both of Jens’s arms. “Very well thought out on my end.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Jens mocks, completing it with a small bow. He almost trips as he does so, and it sends them into another fit of giggles as he flounders for Lucas’s hand. Lucas waits until he’s steady, heart hammering, and then quickly lets go.

They take another moment to catch their breaths and look at where they’ve ended up, and then Lucas raises his brows at Jens.

Jens looks back at him and swallows. “There’s a swingset and stuff by the skatepark. It should be dead this late.”

Lucas tucks his hands into the pockets of his coats and nods, finding his lips drawing up in a smile again. “Lead the way.”

They’re quiet as they make their way through the dark streets, still sticking close but no longer touching. Jens scuffs his feet every few steps, and Lucas wonders if he wishes he was skating. It seems, even now, like his preferred method of transport. He picks up the pace, and Lucas does his best to keep up with the other’s longer legs.

They make it to a small park, set up with a kids climbing frame and slide and, as promised, a swingset. Jens makes a beeline directly for it and sits on one of them, tucking his arms around the chains and digging his feet into the ground to start pushing himself back and forth.

For a moment, Lucas simply watches, smiling. He had wondered if Jens was actually taking a day off, giving himself time to chill, but he hadn’t seemed at all relaxed in the bar. Now, however, he does, swinging gently back and forth with his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips, uncaring of Lucas watching him. Then he opens his eyes and meets Lucas’s, and beckons him over with a flick of his hand.

Lucas goes. It takes a moment to get settled comfortably in the swing, and he wishes he’d just worn his denim jacket instead of the long black coat he kept for more formal occasions. He’d watched Jens’s eyes sweep over him at the start of the night, however, and that had reassured him of his choice.

He wraps his hands around the chains and kicks himself into a swinging motion. “This is pretty much exactly like the one Isa used to love at home.”

“Isa?” Jens questions.

“One of my friends from school,” Lucas explains, smiling wider. “We still talk. For some reason she used to think a swingset was a great place for serious conversation.”

Jens huffs, pushing himself to match the speed and height of Lucas’s swings. “Okay. Serious conversation time, then.”

“Oh shit. Walked into that one.”

Jens huffs again, shooting him a grin. “When did you get into designing? Or how?”

“Oh.” This is a much safer topic than Lucas had expected. “I don’t know. I always kind of liked art, but even that, I kept it mostly private, just doodling and stuff where no one would see. I kind of dulled everything about myself down like that. My fashion sense was just as good as yours, which…”

“Hey,” Jens protests, though he’s fighting a smile.

Lucas grins, shrugging. “Then, I don’t know, it didn’t feel like me. So one day I just started fucking around with some of my clothes. I bought this like, multi-pack of kids fabric paint and just went for it. It was a fucking mess.”

Jens laughs, loud and surprised. “But it made you think, hey, I just wanna do this for the rest of my life?”

“God, no,” Lucas snorts, and Jens laughs louder. “But it still felt...good. I made the mess look purposeful and turned it into this paint-splatter, tie-dye, rainbow thing and I wore it the next day and Isa’s friend, Engel, kept asking where I got it and then begged me to make her something when I explained and, I don’t know. Since then I just kind of started, making stuff for my friends, and it spiraled from there.”

“And now here you are,” Jens muses.

“With the biggest celebrity in Antwerp.”

It’s teasing more than it is genuine, and Jens scoffs and twists his swing around to kick at Lucas, resulting in a rough tangle of legs. Jens yelps and grabs onto the chains with his hands when he’s almost tugged from the seat. Lucas tosses his head in a laugh and almost tips backwards. They’re both probably a little bit tipsy. Not drunk, definitely not, but both had clearly been on their way. Jens possibly more so than him.

“How are you?” Lucas thinks to ask. “After everything today. Was the stressing necessary?”

Jens starts swinging again and thinks before shaking his head. “No, probably not. I mean it when I say it’s not why I do it, you know, the whole publicity thing. I didn’t decide I wanted to be a celebrity, I just love making music and I thought how cool it would be if I managed to do it for a living. But then when people actually like it...it feels good, you know? It feels like I’m doing something but also like, I don’t know, I’m understood. Like people like me for what I have to say.”

“Or it could be because you’re hot.”

This startles another laugh out of Jens. “Okay, objectify me some more, why don’t you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Dumbass.” Jens grins.

“Hey, we’re having a serious conversation,” Lucas protests, kicking out at him this time, unable to help grinning back. Jens mimes zipping his lips and Lucas nods approvingly. “When did you realise this is what you wanted to do?”

Jens doesn’t hesitate. “Always. Music is the only thing I ever felt really passionate about, I guess. For the same reason as you. It’s just my version of art that makes me feel like myself.”

Lucas drags his feet against the grass underneath him until he stops swinging. Jens has already stilled, and he turns his head to look at Lucas. “You always do that,” Lucas says. “Say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you understand. You say it so confidently. Like you know me.”

“Don’t I?” Jens asks, brow furrowed and still smiling slightly. Before Lucas can answer, he says, “If I don’t, I want to.”

Lucas swallows. His question comes out as a whisper. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jens admits.

Lucas sways slightly, looking down at the ground even as he twists his body towards Jens, listening. Jens’s feet creep towards his own as he twists around, too.

“I just want to. I don’t know, I feel like you understand, too. I just like you. I want to know you and I want you to know me.”

It shocks Lucas into looking at him, and it also shocks him into silence.

Jens’s cheeks turn rosy, and Lucas guesses it isn’t from the cold. Jens laughs nervously and slides his feet, accidentally knocking into Lucas’s. “Sorry, that was probably weird. I’m just—I’m not used to getting to know people like you, Lucas, and it just, it feels good. I don’t think there even is anyone else like you.”

Lucas leans forward and kisses him.

It’s soft. Tentative. A drawn-out press of lips, frozen in a drawn-out second in time, all in the single breath caught in Lucas’s throat. Then Jens presses back, raises his hand to cup Lucas’s head, and time jerks back into motion.

Lucas instantly reaches up to grab his face, pulling him in, and Jens’s free hand comes to grip his wrist and hold him in place. Lucas’s heart batters at his ribs, grateful.

He’s not sixteen anymore. He’s had his fair share of kisses. It shouldn’t—usually doesn’t—make him nervous. But this, Jens, is something he doesn’t think he ever could have prepared himself for. Jens is careful and he isn’t. He’s experienced, knows what he’s doing, and yet he takes it easy, waits for Lucas to respond to every move before making another. His kiss is gentle and his grip is tight, lips warm and fingers cold. Lucas is less focused on the tongue in his mouth and more aware of the riot in his stomach, the beat of his pulse in his ears. Kissing Jens is nothing and everything like he expected, as surprising and beautiful as the man himself. Lucas can’t remember why he hasn’t done this before. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t been doing this, kissing Jens, forever. Or at least, since he first saw him.

Then Jens is shoving him away and Lucas almost topples off his swing, breath rushing out of him as his heart plummets.

Jens wipes his mouth and harshly says, “What the fuck?”

Lucas gapes. He tries to speak and only makes a wounded, croaky noise. He clears his throat and licks his lips before managing to ask, “What?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jens looks furious. Lucas doesn’t understand. “I—did you not want to? But you...you kissed me back.”

Jens laughs, and even that sounds angry. “So it’s my fault. No. Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck.”

“Jens,” Lucas pleads.

“No, fuck, look. I don’t know, what’s going on with you and Sander but I—no. I won’t do this. Jesus, Lucas, why would you make me do that?”

Oh. Oh fuck. That’s why he’s never done this before.

“Oh, no, Jens, no. You’ve—it’s not what you think, I swear—“

“Whatever you have going on, figure it out, Lucas. But I can’t—I’m not that person. I’m not being that person. After I told you—fuck, I’m not a consolation prize.” Jens stands up abruptly, and Lucas follows, but Jens holds a hand out before he can step any closer. “Don’t,” he says sharply.

They stare at each other in a silent standoff, Lucas feeling his world crumble as he watches the same thing happen to Jens’s resolve. Jens’s hand falls back to his side, and he looks entirely sober now as he gazes at Lucas with glistening eyes.

“I thought we were actually friends,” Jens says, voice trembly. Lucas shakes his head, pleading. “But after everything I said, you’re just like everyone else.”

“Jens, please, just listen to me,” Lucas begs.

He steps closer and Jens steps back. “Why should I?” he demands. “What are you going to say? I don’t want your explanations or excuses, Lucas. I thought you were honest.”

Lucas feels like he’s openly wounded. Bleeding. Surely Jens can see that. Surely he knows that he’s wrong. But Lucas—Lucas can’t tell him. He’d promised. He’d promised his best friend.

“Well?” Jens pushes.

Lucas shakes his head helplessly, and Jens’s expression falls the rest of the way. “Just—can you let me take you home? You shouldn’t be out alone like this.”

Jens laughs, but it’s just a breath. Incredulous. He takes another few steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t. Just—just don’t.” Then he’s turning on his heel and walking away.

Lucas wants to go after him. He should. He knows he should. But he can’t. There’s no point.

There’s nothing he can say.

~^~

tag list: @allthewayornowayy @wedarkacademia @lockerfivethreefive @yellowballoon @gucciboner @nora-keinwitz @moonskam @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @akucecilia @hischbabe @evaksobbe @alittleemo @boring-side-effect @franboos @debussyatmidnight

next chapter

#wtfock #skam nl #van der stoffels #vds #sobbe #robbe x sander #fake making-it #it’s super late oops #this is the one scene I’ve had in my head since the beginning #and...sorry

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raith-way · 3 years ago

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I clearly did something right in a past life to get spoiled like this, because the lovely @asirensrage made this beautiful GIF for me and it’s so perfect. I heard their conversation as soon as I saw the GIF, so it had to be written. (Thank you, Siren, for all of the amazing GIFs and the support. Thank you!!)

Fandom: Marvel

Fic: Traversing The Multiverse

Scene: Twenty Questions

“Darcy has taught me a new Midgardian tradition,” Thor announced as he walked into the common room. Kenzie, who had been contemplating the oddities of her new life, looked up from the doodling pad to watch Thor walk farther into the room. He chose to sit on the couch across from the chair that she was in, and she felt some slight apprehension as she placed her pad on the table next to her. The last Midgardian tradition that Darcy had decided to teach was the ol’ back-pat of celebration. Except, Darcy had clearly demonstrated that the pat should be quite low to show proper revelry in victory. Then again, seeing Thor in his full Asgardian gear slapping Hulk on the ass had been hilarious. It was too bad no one had caught it on camera.

“Which tradition would that be?” she asked. While she wouldn’t volunteer the information, Kenzie did enjoy Thor’s presence. He made training together fun, and his stories were always captivating.

“The tradition of twenty questions. You see, first, I will ask you a question that you must answer truthfully. Then you may ask me a question that I must answer truthfully.” That wasn’t how Twenty Questions worked at all, but Darcy was the one in charge of Thor’s Midgardian acclimation. Besides, there was no harm in talking to Thor. Be nice if someone else was around though, just in case she needed a quick out. What was she saying? She survived the destruction of her universe. She could survive a few questions from someone that she thought of as a friend.

“Twenty questions, so ten questions each?” she clarified. Thor’s head tipped to the side as he thought, he straightened as he came to a decision, and then he nodded in acceptance. “Alright. You go first, big guy.”

“What is your favorite comfort food?” he asked first. It wasn’t what she was expecting. Her confusion must have shown, damn her overly expressive face, because he explained for her. “Darcy said it is best to start with simple and easy questions.”

“Darcy was right. My comfort food is pizza,” she answered honestly. The pizza in her universe had been great, but the pizza in this universe was phenomenal. So greasy and cheesy.

“You eat a lot of pizza.” Clearly, Thor observed more than they realized because she knew what his pointed look was saying. She did eat a lot of pizza, because most days she needed a little bit of comfort. Still, they weren’t talking about that.

“It’s my turn to ask a question, and I want to know why you won’t let me cut your hair,” she said and smiled. Tonight, his hair was mostly pulled back into a low bun with some golden locks framing his face. Either he just naturally looked that good, or Darcy had helped him out. Both were a definite possibility.

“I have kept my hair long since boyhood. To change it now.” Thor stopped there and looked to the side, and she remembered the Thor from her universe when his hair had been forcibly cut. It’d been a comedic moment, but maybe there really was a deeper reason. Maybe he didn’t want to lose that last connection to his childhood, when things were simple. That was something she could understand. Clearly he’d been thinking while she had because he continued, “To change it now would be to change the last familiar thing of me.”

“Change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing,” she said like a total hypocrite. She’d spent so much time hating change, and that was before her universe went kaput.

“It is my turn to ask a question now,” Thor reminded her. She bowed her head, and the questions continued.

She talked about the bookstore she had owned, how her favorite part of owning the store had been being surrounded by the smell of books. He told her about growing up with Loki, small pranks that young boys would play on each other. Kenzie’s childhood pet dog, Romeo. Thor’s childhood pet, possibly miniature dragon, Gorm. The time she fell out of a tree and broke her arm. The time he slipped off a cliff and spent weeks waiting for the skin on his back to regrow. Her favorite time of day was sunrise, seeing the dawn of a new day. His favorite pastime was looking up at the stars, seeing galaxies that she couldn’t even imagine. She took gymnastics as a kid. He learned alien languages in school. When she was a little girl, she wanted to be a firefighter because she liked the color of the trucks. When he was a little boy, he wanted to be a Valkyrie because they were the best warriors. If she could have any other superpower, she’d be telekinetic so she could just float things to her instead of getting up. If he could have another superpower, it’d be the ability to talk to all animals. The thing she missed the most from her home universe was her routine, always knowing what needed to be done and where she belonged. The things he missed most from Asgard were his family and close friends, the people that he loved.

“Last question. Hit me,” she said and spread her arms wide.

“Are you truly disappointed that I am not who you expected?” Well, he definitely hit her with that one. He thankfully had the grace and tact to look away as she composed herself, because she had said something to that effect not long after meeting him and did regret the hasty words now. She’d been in shock! Her universe had died, she’d witnessed several universes dying, and she’d been expecting to see Alexander Skarsgard holding Mjolnir. The Chris Hemsworth look alike had been a shock.

“You’re definitely not Skarsgard,” she heard herself say. Her hand was even moving to emphasize her point, and Thor made a fair-enough expression as he took the words in stride. She thought, just maybe, that she could see a little bit of hurt in his eyes. “Don’t tell Mac I said this, because she’d never let me hear the end of it, but you are the best Thor.”

His sudden smile was too bright, too happy, that it made something in her chest flutter and then squeeze tight. Was that her heart? Possibly her lungs as she stopped breathing? Because backlit by the dark city, in his nice maroon jacket and casually messy hair, Thor looked like any other guy while still looking exactly like a god. Not some god on a throne either. An earthly god, that walked amongst mortals and could be touched. Like if she wanted, if he wanted, she could walk over to him and press her fingers against his lips to feel his smile against her skin. All that just because she said a few words? (A few honest words too. Sorry, Skarsgard, but Hemsworth really is Thor.) Kenzie pulled in a breath, laughed off her nerves, and leaned back in her chair to fight off the urge to get out of it.

“The last question is yours,” he said quietly. She suddenly had several questions that she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t think either of them were ready for them to be asked or answered.

“Kenz! I brought back pizza! Better hurry before Steve’s big mouth eats it all!” Mac’s loud voice cut through the common room, and Kenzie startled upwards in her chair. She looked over her shoulder, and she could hear Mac and Steve playfully arguing while Jamie and Bucky egged them on, and she turned back around to look at Thor.

“Would you like to go eat some pizza with me?” she decided to ask. Thor’s answering smile was just as bright as a minute ago, and her chest did that strange fluttery-squeezing thing again. That was probably something she should figure out soon.

“It would be my honor.” When Thor stood up and extended a hand towards her, Kenzie mentally shrugged and slipped her hand into his. She’d do some deep self-analyzing after eating pizza.

Forever Taglist: @jinxsflame @hughstheforcelou @uno-reverse-reversed @hiddenqveendom @asirensrage @ocfairygodmother @jewelswrites-ish @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

#asirensrage #oc: kenzie rowe #ch: thor #fic: traversing the multiverse #marvel #they’re such a cute pairing #and this gif is so perfect #i will be thanking you for the next hundred years or so

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dudeandduchess · 5 years ago

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Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Bed Weather (Fluff, Modern AU, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Kyōjurō and his wife snuggle in bed, talking about their future child, while rain is pouring outside.

Note: This was self-indulgent as hell, since it’s the rainy season now. 😂

***

The soft sound of rustling sheets stirred (Y/n) from her light nap, making her slowly blink her eyes open and savor the ever-welcome sight of her husband sliding next to her in their bed. He gave her a soft smile, one that had nothing but love and affection for her— which had her heart racing faster inside her chest.

“Did I wake you? Sorry, baby.” Kyōjurō’s voice was hushed for once, seeming so off on him due to his jubilant personality and general loudness. But (Y/n) appreciated his softness all the more, as it was a side of him that only she was privy to.

Out of all the people Kyōjurō loved, the quiet and serene side he showed at that moment was something that was only for her. Because she made him feel so soft; she was the silence and solace that he needed in his life, and it was really smart of him to have never let her go.

With a shake of her head, silence stretched upon the couple— something that was warm and comforting, instead of awkward and cold. It helped stave off the chill that the pouring rain outside brought with it, and added a much more comforting vibe in their bedroom.

“Did you wash your feet first?” (Y/n) asked quietly, inching closer to her husband and wrapping her right arm around his middle, while the left one stayed folded between their bodies.

In response, Kyōjurō hauled her closer to himself; holding her tight especially when he felt how cold her legs and feet were, despite having been under the blanket. “Yes. I didn’t want to upset you again.”

The young woman rolled her eyes at that, holding back a chuckle to keep her husband from knowing that she found his little teasing remark humorous, at the very least. It would just push him to start teasing her more, and that wasn’t what she wanted to deal with— since he could be such a big child about things like that.

“I only get upset because you always bring dust onto the bed, and it feels rough.”

Kyōjurō laughed at that, something much more subdued than his normal boisterous laugh— but a laugh nonetheless. He then leaned forward and pressed an affectionate kiss against his wife’s forehead; letting his lips drift down and trail butterfly kisses all the way to her lips. “I know, it won’t happen again. Promise.”

“Good.” With that, (Y/n) closed her eyes and closed the gap between their mouths— lingering for a couple more seconds, before pulling away and nuzzling her cheek against his chest.

Another bout of verbal silence stretched between them, filled only by the soothing sound of the rain falling on the roof, as well as the droplets ricocheting off of the windows.

The way that they were tangled together was already comforting— enough to lull (Y/n) to drowsiness— but it was the way that Kyōjurō drew nonsensical patterns, with his fingers, across her back that really had her fighting off the urge to succumb to sleep.

“How did your doctor’s appointment go today?”

(Y/n)’s eyes blearily opened at that, before closing once more. She then readjusted her hold on Kyōjurō, before slinging a leg over his hip; hooking the back of her right foot to the back of his knee all to make herself more comfortable.

“She said that things are fine with the baby, but that I need to eat more fruits that are rich in vitamin C,” She explained softly, to which her husband nodded at with a soft hum

He already had a plan to buy her a basket filled with oranges the following morning.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you,” Kyōjurō apologized sincerely, pausing with his aimless doodling on her back, before pressing another kiss to her forehead.

A small smile made its way onto (Y/n)’s face at that, right as she answered, “You can come to the next one. I made sure to ask for a Saturday appointment, so you won’t have work.”

It was such a simple sentence, and an extremely simple thought, but it warmed the young man’s heart all the more— bringing tears to his eyes, which he desperately tried to blink back.

The tranquil air between them only added to his emotional response; coloring his feelings such a soft yet simultaneously vibrant red for his wife, and the tiny life growing inside her— a tiny life that they made.

“Oh, I did record the little nugget’s heartbeat for you to listen to. It’s on my phone.”

Reluctantly, the blond pulled the tiniest bit away from his wife so he could get her phone, which she had put next to his on his nightstand. The lamp momentarily blinded him, yet it was worth it when he managed to unlock the phone with her passcode: their exact marriage date.

Well, the first one where they eloped, anyway.

That had caused such an uproar with (Y/n)’s entire family, but it was a story for another day. They liked him a lot, but the problem was that he and (Y/n) couldn’t wait another year to get married, so they’d decided to run away instead.

It was a good thing that, after the first few months or so, her family had forgiven her— all because they had promised to hold a proper wedding ceremony in the future.

While Kyōjurō got a bit lost in his memories, his thumbs brought up the Voice Memo logs— with the one and only file staring him in the face.

He couldn’t really explain why, but his heart began to race especially as his thumb hovered over the file itself. Nervous couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt; it was a mix of that, excitement, happiness, and a little bit of fear.

Not fear of having a baby, but fear of not being a good enough father to his child. Still, he pushed those thoughts down and played the recording.

And instantly, the sound of a fluttering heartbeat filled the room— playing over the rain falling outside. It was soft in its cadence, but it could have been considered loud what with the way that it totally had Kyōjurō enamored.

His eyes looked down at his smiling wife— whom still had her eyes closed. And he was glad that she couldn’t see him, because he felt his own tears bubbling to the surface.

The longer that he heard their baby’s heartbeat, the more that things seemed surreal. It calmed and excited him all at once; making him want to run up to the top of the house so he could yell in joy, all while rendering him so weak and jelly-kneed right where he was.

He couldn’t even bear to move, at least until the minute-long recording had stopped playing.

Then, in one fell swoop, he found himself clutching (Y/n) tight to his chest— burying his face in her hair as he tried his best to keep himself from outright crying.

“Thank you, (Y/n)... for everything.”

#rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny rengoku #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyōjurō #demon slayer rengoku #jen writes

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oneofyatosfollowers · 4 years ago

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Yatori Week 2021- Day 4

@yatoriweek2021

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32090953/chapters/79500055

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905660/1/Yatori-Week-2021

Yukine was in the living room studying for midterms when his dad busted the door down and flounced into the room.

This was a common occurrence, as this man was not his biological dad, but rather a once concerned neighbor that adopted him and was therefore hardly a decade older than the teen. There could be many reasons why his dad, a man named Yato, was excited:

He saw something to do with Capybaras

He got an extra sketchy side job for pocket change

The weather was nice

He bought junk with said pocket change

Anything to do with his beloved girlfriend, Hiyori

Based on the way the young man skipped into the living room, high on cloud nine, Yukine could only assume it was the last option. With sigh, Yukine closed his textbook and readied himself to lose the rest of his study time. Yato tended to talk about his girlfriend for hours on end, like he’s never seen nor heard of them before her, and Yukine would not be able to focus. Now, Yukine liked his dad’s girlfriend. Loved her in fact. His dad was her art tutor- and class nude model- in college since she struggled with the subject as a medical major. Eventually she had become Yukine’s tutor in everything else except math, which was reserved for his dad. It was unclear if Yato hired her, or she did it out of the kindness of her heart, or the two just wanted to see more of each other, but Hiyori wormed her way into both their hearts.

“Yukine!”

“What?” Yukine drawled. His dad was a whirlwind of smiles and flailing arms as he tumbled towards Yukine. Used to this too, the blonde simply waited for Yato to sit directly in front of him without knocking him over. Yukine blinked as his dad struggled to find the words to communicate in a language they both understood. It tended to take some time, as falling in love with Hiyori Iki was a grand affair that wrestled your heart and tied your tongue. She tended to have that effect on people, as most kind-angels did. However, when all he did was wheeze and let out a strange coo mixed with a whine, Yukine couldn’t help but scoff and roll his eyes.

“I did it!” Yato beamed.

“Did what?”

“I finished that old lady’s kitchen and finally got enough money!” He burst. In a fit of laughter that strangers might have thought was madness, the young man rolled onto his back and kicked his feet. It took a moment for Yukine to realize his theory was somehow wrong before he crawled over top of his dad.

“What-ugh,” Yukine slapped away the hands that covered the man’s face, “what are you saving for? You never save money. I’m surprised we haven’t missed any bills yet.” Hands away his face, his dad’s bright blue eyes stared into Yukine’s hazel, full of unbridled joy . That was hardly a good sign; Yato was known for extravagant plans that he got far too excited over. Especially when they failed more often than not. Honestly, Hiyori was a saint for staying with such a spaz.

“That’s the thing!” The man gasped. He didn’t wait for his son’s answer, leaping to his feet to dash into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Yukine was rolling his eyes, of course it was about her. Yato ran back to his spot on the floor next to his son.

“Our two year anniversary is coming up in a few weeks and you know it’s around that time! The age, the lifestyle, the current situation,” he swooned, “her parents and Kofuku and Daikoku!”

“What. Are you talking about?” Yukine groaned as he kneaded his forehead. Just because his dad was capable of speech, didn’t mean he used it properly.

“I want to propose,” he said, “I want to propose to Hiyori.” The three magazines that he clenched in his hands were squeezed so tightly they crinkled. This time it was big blue eyes that watched Yukine struggle to find words. Yukine sucked in air, swallowed, stared, opened his mouth with nothing to come out, blinked a few times, then swallowed again. The logical part of this brain just shrugged, this was the obvious next step. They loved each other, were old enough, and that was usually the point of dating, what it led to. It wouldn’t change their day to day. The emotional side was shocked, blindsided, and completely convinced this would change everything.

Just the word ‘proposal’ was heavy in Yukine’s mind because ‘proposal’ led to ‘wedding’ which means ‘marriage’ which equals ‘family.’ Not that they weren’t already a family, they moved in to Hiyori’s place a little less than a year ago but that was a financial decision if anything. The more childish part of Yukine, the one that had originally protested the relationship and acted out during the first month of their dating, feared that this would take away even more of Yato’s attention. Because the fact was that marriage led to more children. But Yukine knew better than that by now. On the other hand, families, something Yukine had once before Yato, left a sour taste in his mouth. What’s more, this would without a doubt make Hiyori his ‘mother’ and this would mean Yukine wouldn’t just have a ‘parent’ but ‘parents,’ functioning ones that both loved him.

That last thought resonated in Yukine’s chest. Yato and Hiyori loved him very much, unconditionally, and he loved them. They were already a family and Yukine- Yukine wouldn’t mind calling Hiyori ‘mom’ if she ever wanted to adopt him. But most importantly, Yukine finally let his eyes drop from Yato’s and fall to the magazines. They were all for different jewelry stores, the outlines of their pages lined with little color tabs. Yukine could imagine they were covered in little notes and doodles from long before this moment. Most importantly, Yato deserved this. He was a single, smart, and kind young man that worked his way from the very bottom. Even Yukine was old enough to understand that for someone in that position- an impoverished college student- that Yato had taken on a lot, adopting him. It couldn’t have been easy to find someone. Someone as genuine as Hiyori who loved him just as much. Yato deserved this and he deserved to have Yukine support him. Which Yukine found that he truly, truly did.

“That’s great,” Yukine finally said. His voice cracked from the emotion and worry flashed across Yato’s face. But with one sniff and a genuine smile, Yukine showed that he was happy for them. The two dissolved into excited giggles and laughter, eyes blurry with emotion.

“I want you to help me pick it out. I want you with me when I buy it and help me plan the whole thing! I want you to be there with me, I need my kiddo for support,” Yato confessed. Blinking away the moist sheen, Yukine nodded once with a wobbly smile. His dad laughed with every ounce of giddiness and happiness that Yukine felt.

“Originally I was going to make one-”

“No,” Yukine said offhandedly as he wiped his eyes. Yato waved his hands and put down the magazines.

“I know! I know. This is super important and Hiyori deserves the actual ring. The best of the best! I can’t keep getting away with handmade gifts,” Yato said as he opened to a tab in each of the magazines. Yukine eyed the objects he circled and crossed out, writing everywhere.

“You make great hand-made gifts,” Yukine muttered as he fiddled with the cuff of his hand-made christmas sweater. His dad looked up to him, down at his hands, then back up with a smile.

“Well, I was thinking of making her golden knucklebusters, with diamonds of course, as an early wedding present.” Yato huffed.

“She’d like that a lot,” Yukine laughed, “just don’t let her parents see.”

“Oh god no! They already hardly like me.”

“They like you.”

“Yeah, cause I fix their house for free. Redo their kitchen,” Yato mumbled, “I hope they approve of this. I already asked them but the dad seemed more on board with it than her mom.”

“Hey,” Yukine nudged his dad, “that’s a good sign. At least you asked first.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right! This is good! She just needs to say yes.”

“She’ll say yes,” Yukine huffed with another roll of his eyes. Despite himself, even Yukine felt the small spark of fear at the possibility of Hiyori saying otherwise. They flipped through the magazines for a couple minutes longer, Yukine balking at the prices and mental math of costs per month.

“Ah!” Yato suddenly shot up and grabbed both of Yukine’s hands, knocking the book out of his hands.

“H-hey!” Yukine sputtered, wincing at his dad’s sweaty hands.

“But you can’t tell anyone!” Yato insisted, “this is a surprise. It has to stay a secret. Okay? Don’t tell anyone. Okay?”

“Okay!” Yukine finally yanked his hands away.

“You promise?” Yato urged, leaning even closer. His son shoved his face away and picked up his magazine.

“Yes! Yes! I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

They really were made for each other, Yukine thought a couple days later, like soulmates. Once again he was at home, heading to his room after Yato dropped him off. They had a family dinner later and Yukine wanted to chill at home with Hiyori while Yato went to prepare for the proposal. The house was quiet when he walked in so Yukine slipped the quarts of ice cream in the freezer and made his way to his room. Hiyori must be in bed. She hadn’t been feeling well recently, getting nauseous everyday for the past week. All those thoughts went out the window when, on the way to his room, the bathroom door cracked open and Hiyori’s head popped out.

“Yukine!” She hissed, “Yukine!” If it weren’t for her eyes being so wide and pleading, Yukine might have felt a bit more embarrassed by the sight. He stopped short in the hall.

“What’s wrong?” He said immediately. First she looked nervously off to the side, then to him, then up, then behind her, then back at him, letting out a whine disguised as a hum.

“What?” Yukine asked, a bit more nervously now. Still finding it difficult to answer, Hiyori’s arm slipped out and waved him over. Fearing she might have a broken bone, Yukine took one look at the house phone then walked over to the bathroom door, heart in his throat.

“Are you ok-ay!” Yukine squawked as the front of his shirt was grabbed and he was yanked into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. He quickly glanced behind him, at the barrier, then back at his friend. She looked nervous, which made Yukine nervous. He would even say she looked anxious, scared, but the air buzzed with an excited tension. In front of her, Hiyori played with her fingers as she struggled to meet his gaze.

“Hiyori, are you okay?” Yukine finally got out. She looked okay, well not ‘okay’ okay but physically safe. The sweat that beaded her brow and the way her knees almost knocked together said otherwise.

“Um,” Hiyori looked up then down, “yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I- I think so?” Terrified at the thought of anything bad happening, Yukine quickly approached her with his hands up.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Do you need me to call Yato? We should call-”

“No!” Hiyori blurted out, causing Yukine to flinch. At this point he was almost shaking, Hiyori was rarely against calling Yato, especially during emergencies. More than just being the man of the house, Yato knew everything! He was calm and cool under pressure and could take on any problem without delay, dropping everything to help. Yukine certainly didn’t want to deal with whatever this was without at least telling his dad. Seeing the panic bubble, Hiyori reached forward and gently held Yukine’s hands like she often did during these times.

“No, no, no, it’s okay! It’s nothing bad! Nothing’s wrong!” Hiyori comforted, “I just got worrie- excited! I’m nervous about something and I wanted to tell you in private. It’s okay, nobody’s in danger,” her words quickly calmed Yukine back down.

“O-oh, okay,” Yukine nodded, “so, so what’s up?” He stuck his hands in his pocket to hide their shaking while Hiyori went back to fiddling with her fingers.

“I have a, uh, surprise! For Yato. And I, uh, wanted to hear your thoughts first.” She stammered out. This was rather confusing, but Yukine was relieved to hear that was all it was. Maybe she had a big anniversary present planned that she wanted his opinion with.

“Oh okay, what is it?”

“Well it’s not an ‘it’ exactly. It’s more of a, uh, uh, thing? Not a thing! It’s not a thing! I’m a thing? I’m something? I-I-I have something to give to Yato. And you? The family. My family too, you know, once I tell them. I’m just not exactly sure,” Hiyori babbled just like her not-yet-fiance, looking all around. Yukine resisted the urge to roll his eyes- he stopped doing that to her ages ago- and he refused to rush her.

“It’s okay,” Yukine offered a smile, “I’m sure whatever the thing is, Yato will love it. You know how sappy he is, he’ll love it cause it comes from you and you mean it.”

“Haha, yeah,” she didn’t sound too convinced and Yukine worried about why.

“I mean it, he will.” Yukine tried again. This time, Hiyori seemed to get rather bleary eyed and she hugged herself.

“Maybe not this time, Yukine, I’m just not sure. I mean we talked about it but it’s too soon and- who knows- maybe he won’t?” She continued looking around the room, biting her lip. Yukine was still an awkward sort of a teen and not very good with crying young women so all he could think to do was squeeze her hands.

“Don’t say that, Hiyori, there’s nothing on this earth that he-”

“I’m pregnant.” Her confession rang throughout the empty bathroom, echoing against the tiles and Yukine’s ribs. The boy’s mouth clicked shut as all those images he’d imagined, with Yato fawning over another child that was actually his, flooded in. When Hiyori sniffed again, the pictures shattered, leaving a frightened young woman holding her stomach.

“Yukine, I’m pregnant,” she repeated. Swallowing Yukine let his hands lightly rub her arms up and down.

“That’s,” he breathed, “amazing.” The honest wonderment he felt bleed through his voice and Hiyori looked up at him, eyes shining with pure hope.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Yukine promised. They deserved to be happy and experience having a baby and raising them with all the love and care they gave Yukine. After all, they already saved his life. What more can he ask of them? Once again he found himself blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Hiyori trying to do the same.

“But, what about Yato? Do you think he’ll,” Hiyori bit her lip and Yukine struggled to find the words and push away any jealousy he felt. Of course he wanted to be Yato’s one and only, for the man to never have kids of his own cause he had Yukine. But that was as selfish as it was stupid. Yato had a lot of love and Yukine knew he was no different than a son to him. Yato would never abandon him for something he deemed better and Yukine would be there to support him. Both of them.

“He will absolutely love them,” Yukine assured her, letting out a dry sob, “he’ll make the best dad.”

“Well, hehe, I think he already does?” Hiyori wiped under her eyes and Yukine found himself laughing.

“That’s right!” Yukine said, joyfully, “he’s the best.”

“Yeah, he is. The best I could ask for,” she murmured happily. The room was considerably warmer, lighter as Hiyori set her palms gently over her abdomen with a soft smile.

“Now I just have to tell him,” Hiyori said, “and my parents.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy too,” Yukine sighed as he leaned against the door, “you haven’t told them yet?”

“No, they’re old fashioned and I would rather tell Yato first. So you can’t tell anyone!” Hiyori suddenly stepped forward with pleading eyes.

“Huh?”

“It’s a surprise! I want to tell him on our anniversary but I really need you to be there as support, so you can’t say anything, okay? Promise me you’ll keep it a secret!” She begged. Yukine gave his answer before he could think, not realizing until later what it would entail.

“I-I will! I’ll be there! And I promise I won’t say anything!”

The anniversary dinner reservation was booked at the restaurant Yato took Hiyori to on their very first date. It stood on the corner of an annual festival that followed the date and where Yato often took them every year since. In the car ride, various levels of anxious excitement is so palpable one of them could cut it with a knife. The excitement mostly came from the two adults in the front seat. Yukine, who sat behind Hiyori, was the majority of the anxiousness. Both hands were stuffed firmly in his jacket, balled up in his right hand was a little box protecting a diamond ring, his left was gently pinching the image of an ultrasound. He kept trying to rip his hands out of his pockets, worried about the cold sweat ruining such valuable commodities.

“So Yukine, are you excited about the festival?” Yato peaked at him through the rear-view mirror, smiling gleefully. It was unclear if his dad noticed Yukine’s flinch, but he quickly shoved his hands tight in his pockets and tried a smile.

“Y-yeah!” His voice cracked and Yato let out an awkward laugh. In the passenger seat, Hiyori turned around to look at him with an equally wobbly smile and a nod.

“We’re glad you can come with us to dinner this time,” she said, “right Yato?”

“Sure are! Soon you’ll be too old for us to force you to come on our dates!” Yato laughed. Even with the implication, the air in the car was considerably lighter. Yukine found himself laughing too, secretly knowing that there would never come a day he would need to be forced. While anniversary dinners were different, dinners with your parents hopefully lasted forever.

“Yato!” Hiyori chided through her giggles, giving him a good whack on the arm. The family continued to snicker as Yato pulled into a parking spot. He ran around the car to open the door for his beloved, taking her hand and helping her out. Yukine’s amusement sank like a rock when both the adults gave him a pointed look and a nod, he was reminded of what was to come. Giving his name, Yato could barely contain his excitement as the waitress brought them to a raised booth in the back.

“Yato,” Hiyori said with a light gasp. It was unclear if she noticed that this booth was the only one with fake roses strung up along the back but Hiyori wore a look of awe as she sat down on the other side of the candle.

“Two years,” he sang in reply.

“Yukine, you can take off your coat,” Hiyori suggested.

“N-nah that’s okay!” Yukine said. Both of them must have understood the implication because neither of them pressed it. They took a glance at the menu and eventually, the waiter came to take their orders, offering the most expensive bottle of champagne that Yato had already paid for.

“Oh, uh, no thank you, I’ll just have water, please,” Hiyori asked as she shut the menu and handed it to him. Yukine watched the waiter flash Yato a lost look who just nodded as he handed his own menu.

“I’ll have a colosi,” Yato said. The meal picked up quickly after that, the three of them ordering good dishes. Shortly after they started to dig in, the violinist Yato had called from college- a man with glasses named Kazuma- came over and began to play.

“Mmm!” Hiyori slurped down her pasta, “this is our song!”

“Hmm?” Yato cocked his head.

“Our song! You know, the one they played at the after party for the art exhibit? Our first dance,” Hiyori said. She ducked her head, looking suitably embarrassed until Yato hummed.

“I remember! Of course I do,” Yato smiled, “best night of my life.” Love in the air, they finished their meal, sharing a dessert Yato treated Yukine too. Once the dinner was complete, Yato distracted Hiyori long enough for Yukine to run and give Kazuma a tip and the next phase. Then Yukine jogged after them, the three of them walking out into the festival. Hiyori, rather obviously, tugged Yato off to the right. The woman on track to being a doctor was clever enough to know her romantic boyfriend would be taking them to the spot of their first kiss. Of course he did that every year, but Hiyori hoped being in such a nostalgic place would help the news to be received more positively.

Still, the two of them put a lot of effort into making sure Yukine felt included. Part of him thought this was just done out of gratitude for his help, but they’ve taken him here more than enough times for Yukine to understand they just wanted him to have fun too. Of course, this was still part of Yato’s extremely detailed plan. A handful of the game stands held certain prizes that Yato planted for the proposal. So far, Yato carried a hand-made scarf that mimicked something Hiyori used to wear while they were dating, a small wooden house that was used in sketch class, a box of sparklers, and binoculars. Currently, Hiyori was selecting another prize Yato and Yukine won for her by playing darts. Based on Yato’s instructions, the man offered Hiyori the prize box of fake jewelry, one of which was real and hand made. Knowing her, she would notice the pink-flowered charm and select it.

“I’ll have to go back for that bottle,” Yato sighed as he watched his love look over the options.

“I can go back and put it in the car,” offered Yukine.

“No, no, no, I need you here with me,” his dad looked at him, “I can’t do this without you.” He sounded confident but his eyes were so scared that Yukine couldn’t help but nod. Yukine had made a promise to himself some time ago that he would protect this eccentric, kind-hearted man that saved his life, from others who would try to take advantage of him or go out of their way to hurt him. Just like Yukine once did.

“I have tissues in case she says no and I put the ice cream in the freezer for you.”

“Haha! That’s my boy,” Yato let his fingers noogie Yukine’s hair and they laughed. The moment of truth was upon them. As Hiyori came back to them, showing off her new bracelet with the claim that it was something Yato would make for her. They walked to the edge of the street, the overview circling out over the park with a fence and benches. Yato handed the house and sparklers to Yukine, wrapping the light scarf around Hiyori’s neck. The fireworks would start in exactly seven minutes and Yukine still had both objects in his pockets.

“Yato,” Hiyori suddenly said, “I need to talk to you.” She looked at Yukine who stared back at her with wide eyes.

“What is it? We can talk here, you know,” Yato tried to get Hiyori to come towards the railing, but she remained firmly where she was.

“I just decided that I want,” she looked around, “some cotton candy!” Hiyori frantically pointed towards one of the mini carts.

“Wha-? Right now?” Yato’s shock and fear cracked his voice but he quickly tried to cover it with a laugh.

“How about after the fireworks? They’re going to start soon and you know how much I like-”

“Please Yato?” Hiyori put her hands together and cocked her head. From the middle of them, Yukine sucked air through his teeth and looked at Yato. Those were the big guns, Yato rarely said no to begging.

“Uh, um, okay, Hiyori. One-one sec!” Yato started towards the treats, “come on, Yukine!”

“No, no! That’s okay! Yukine can stay with me!” Hiyori insisted. She smiled when Yato just sputtered then ran off to retrieve the sweets.

“Okay, give it to me,” she frantically hushed.

“You’re going to do it now?” Yukine gave a quieted exclamation.

“I have to! I can’t let this continue without him knowing!” Hands shaking, Yukine handed the ultrasound to Hiyori who stuffed it under the top layer of her shirt against her spine. Once glance at the clock told Yukine there was four minutes until the fireworks would light up the sky and Kazuma would light the sparklers next to the matching mini wooden house just below them.

“Okay! Okay, here!” Yato ran back to them, “here you go, Hiyori!” He handed her a pink mass of sugar, shoving it in her face.

“Wha-! Yato!” Hiyori sputtered. As she struggled to get the sugary treat out of her face, Yato dove his hand in Yukine’s pocket and plucked out the ring.

“Heheh, sorry,” Yato said as he stuffed it into his pocket, “I tripped?” he offered as she moved the candy out of her face. As Yato smiled awkwardly at Hiyori’s narrowed eyes, the first firework of the night boomed in the sky. Slack-Jawed, the three of them looked up at the sky, then back at each other.

“Ah! It started!” Yukine gasped.

“Let’s go get a closer look Hiyori-”

“Yato, I have something for you!”

“I have something for you too, but, uh, it’s over here. So let’s go over here!” Yato was quicker, and louder, than Hiyori and managed to grab her wrist and pull her towards the railing. Deciding that his job was done- and that he didn’t want to really get caught in whatever was about to happen- Yukine chose to stay a couple feet back.

“Yato, I- '' Hiyori's words were caught with a gasp as she looked over the railing. On the stone patio that surrounded the park were a bunch of pigeons eating the seeds Yato had Kazuma put down just as they left the restaurant. Feeding pigeons was something Yato did a lot in college and one of the places Hiyori would find him sketching before they started dating.

“Look at them all!” She gasped at the massive heart made purely out of hungry pigeons. In the center of the feathered shape was a small note, leaning on the matching mini home, with fancy calligraphy made clear by the sparklers that were stuck on either side.

“Is that a note?” Hiyori squinted, “I wonder what it says.” She looked at Yato when he cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you use your binoculars?” He offered them. Hiyori didn’t seem to think much of it, taking them and leaning over the railing.

“It says ‘Will You Marry Me?’ Aw I wonder who that’s- for?” Hiyori’s sentence fell off her lips, drifting through the wind as she lowered the binoculars and turned her head. Yukine watched her eyes drop to Yato on his knee, who was gently holding up the box and the ring. When she gasped, eyes growing wide, he nudged the box up higher and cocked his head with a forced smile.

“Will you?” he asked. It took a moment but Hiyori finally moved, closing her mouth and blinking rapidly.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Really?” Yato sprang up with a gigawatt smile, Hiyori laughing at him.

“Yes! Yes!” She professed, bouncing up and down with Yato. Quickly putting the binoculars around her neck, Hiyori quickly grabbed Yato’s face and they joined in a passionate kiss. From his spot, Yukine found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping with the few people surrounding them. Through their love-sick laughter, and Hiyori’s many kisses, Yato took her hand and raised her to the ring. Before the rock could slip onto her finger, Hiyori jolted, finger freezing.

“What is it?” Questioned Yato, terrified at the way she took her hand back.

“Before you give me the ring, I want to give you my thing,” Hiyori said. Her weak words were slightly drowned out by the fireworks display and chatter of the audience but Yato just nodded with tight lips. Eyes downcast, Hiyori’s fingers slipped under her shirt. Then, she handed the ultrasound to Yato who blinked at once before he gently took it. Yukine watched him stare at it, almost incomprehensibly, for a little longer than necessary. Yato blinked again, turned it around and blinked once more. Adam’s apple bobbing, Yukine watched Yato’s lips say something that was too quiet to hear. Hiyori nodded, a jolting movement, trying to force a smile around her wet eyes. This was it, Yukine thought, they were a little family; a mother and her future husband. Yato was a husband, a father, a man of the house. Yukine’s clapping hands stopped and gripped his shorts.

Yato suddenly got his breath of life back, his head jolted up and he looked to Hiyori with an open jaw. He couldn’t force it close until he tackled her into a hug, holding her head and waist so close, like she was the only thing keeping him standing. Whatever Yato said convinced Hiyori it was time to slip the engagement ring on her finger as they squeezed each other tight. Their laughter sounded again, overshadowed by the fireworks and sounding considerably more breathless than before. Lit up by the dancing colors, Yukine watched them alternate between laughing, talking, kissing, and pointing at the objects in their hands. Just as Yukine’s happiness was starting to be completely overshadowed with loneliness and isolation, he watched both of them point at their gifts then turn and face the blonde.

“Yukine!” They cheerfully called his name, arms open to welcome him into their hug. Heart leaping for joy into his throat, Yukine ran forward without a thought. By the time their arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly against their bodies, Yukine’s wet laughter was bubbling out of his chest.

“Yukine! You double player you!” Yato exulted.

“You did such a good job!” Hiyori complimented with tears, “thank you so much!” The family gave another tight hug before pulling away.

“We really couldn’t have done it without you,” Yato sighed. He kept his arms around their shoulders, holding the ultrasound up against the sky, the three watched the final colors of the fireworks illuminate the tiny bundle of life that would be greeting them soon. As the final boom pounded against their beating hearts, Yato finally gave it back to his fiance.

“I’m glad it all worked out,” Yukine said, mostly to himself.

“Are you sure?” Yato asked him.

“Huh?”

“We just want to make sure that you’re okay with all this,” Hiyori started, “we know this is a lot and we just want to hear your thoughts about all this.” She gestured to everything but when Yukine gave them a blank look, Yato put his hands on Yukine’s head.

“Our family is getting a little bigger, are you happy?” He asked softly. Warmth spread throughout Yukine, building in his heart and fanning the heat behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” Yukine breathed, “I’m happy.” He blinked and let out a hum of a laugh as Yato and Hiyori smiled at each other.

“That’s great because we have something for you too,” Yato grinned.

“For me?” Yukine blinked. What could it be? What more could they possibly give him?

“Yes, a surprise for you too! Mostly from me to you,” Hiyori offered. When she looked at Yato, smile matching his, the three separated and Yato lifted his top shirt to reveal a folded packet. He handed it to Hiyori who handed it to Yukine with a shy smile.

“If you want,” she tacked on. Yukine kept his eyes on her as he unfolded the paperwork, already knowing what it was before he looked it at. It was so familiar, nearly identical to the one Yato gave him so long ago, the one that now sat in a protective folder in Yukine’s bedroom.

“You want to? Adopt me?” Yukine asked. He squeezed the papers tightly against his chest. Unable to say anything more, Hiyori pressed her trembling lips together and gave a short nod, a couple tears falling from her eyes. He was back in her arms just as she opened them, sniffing against her collar bone.

“Is that okay? Will you have me, Yukine?” She tearfully asked as she brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

“Yes,” Yukine cried, “I’d love that. So much.” He had a mom now. Not that woman that gave birth to him, a real mother figure that loved and cared for him and his dad properly. He had parents.

“See?” Yato sniffed, “I told you he would gladly welcome you into the family!” He tried wiping the tears from his cheeks but it hardly made a difference.

“The family?” Yukine repeated, feeling the word on his tongue.

“Of course! Can’t be a family without you, kiddo!” Yato insisted. He pulled them back into a hug, each of the gifts to each other- sealing their love and connection- squishing under the force of their laughter. They came together in a rather unconventional way, and they were nothing Yukine imagined for himself, yet they were everything he could ask for.

His parents.

His family.

#yatori #yatori week #yatori week 2021 #yato #noragami yato #yato noragami #yatogami #yukine #yukine noragami #Noragami yukine #hiyori #hiyori iki #noragami #noragami fanfic #noragami fanfiction

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gaarasgirlfriend · 5 years ago

Text

helplessly in love - kaminari x reader

in which kaminari finally gathers up the courage to confess to you

god, that smile. it really brightened up his whole day. kaminari found himself sometimes barely listening to you whenever you were excitedly talking about something to just stare at the smile that was painted on your pretty face. that smile of yours always managed to provide him with some temporary amnesia for whatever tribulations he might have faced earlier.

“kaminari! there you are! i’ve been dying to tell you about the new switch game i finally got…” your voice called out to him but he was too far in a stupor to be pulled back into reality.

he looked into your e/c eyes that shone so brightly as you recounted your new game once more to the blonde-haired boy. whenever you gave a small laugh, the crinkles next to pools of e/c appeared, and kaminari felt his heart skip a beat. subconsciously reaching his hand up to his chest in a pathetic hole to calm the organ down, kaminari noticed you faltering in your words as you peered curiously at him.

“kaminari are you okay?” your soft voice asked him. you reached over to place a hand on his shoulder, your eyes slightly furrowed in concern.

“i-i’m fine! continue talking!” he insisted, noticing the way his heartbeat quickened when you placed your hand on his shoulder.

the concern still had not left your eyes, and honestly? it made kaminari happy. knowing that you cared for him. maybe, just maybe, he had a chance with you. but after taking a glance at your beautiful face that seemed to be what he saw in dreams, he decided that that wasn’t possible. a girl like you could never like a guy like him… right?

“class is about to start, you should tell present mic-sensei if you don’t feel well. i don’t want you to get sick kaminari, i care for you!” you said in a carefree manner, not realizing the effect those words had on the lovestruck boy’s heart. he was really whipped for you.

as he watched you take your seat he walked back to his seat which was only a few seats diagonal to yours— giving him a good view of you. in a daze, he sat back down and placed his chin on his palm, thinking.

thinking about what? thinking about you, of course! what else was there to think about? kaminari has been playing with the idea of finally asking you out on a date for a few weeks now. he even talked about it to kirishima, bakugou, and sero!

‘do it! you’ll never know if she returns your feelings if you never try! despite how much you err… ogle at ladies, you’re a great guy kaminari! i’m sure she’ll at least give you a chance! be manly and ask her out’ his redheaded pal had told him.

‘tch, like i care. i have no clue why y/n would say yes to a dumbass like you!’ bakugou said with an eye roll.

‘you guys have been close friends for awhile right? there’s a chance that she likes you back! based from all the movies i’ve seen at least….’ sero sheepishly said while rubbing the back of his neck.

‘could they be right? could she actually like me back?’ his mind raced as he subconsciously glanced over to you. you were soaking up all the words present mic spoke as he continued his lesson. your pencil moved furiously as you focused intently on writing your notes. kaminari gave a small pout, he couldn’t even focus in class because of you! truth be told, he probably wouldn’t retain the information anyways but still! he would like the option of being able to focus on aizawa’s words rather than paying attention to the h/c strand of hair that fell against your cheek as you tilted your head while writing.

‘not fair…’ he thought as he sighed while picking up his pencil, finally writing down notes. he had no idea what to do about you, but he would deal with you another time. he had more pressing matters to attend to. finally tuning into present mic’s babbles, his eyebrows furrowed. what the hell was an adverb?

kaminari soon gave up on the lecture, opting instead to just doodle on his paper, giving you the occasional glance. god, he really was living the life of a teenage boy in a coming-of-age movie. how lame. after adding finishing touches to the house he drew, kaminari felt someone poke his back. kaminari knew better than to turn and talk to kirishima, so he dropped his hand to the bottom of his seat, palm facing up expectantly. once he felt the folded piece of paper in his hand, he slowly unfurled it under his desk. present mic was facing the chalkboard currently, so he was safe.

‘hey bro, are you finally gonna ask y/n out?’

kaminari gave a small sigh before writing down his response and handling the paper back to the boy behind him.

‘i think i might, it’s just so nerve-wracking.’

after hearing kirishima scribble on the paper once more, he felt the familiar tap on his back before he collected the paper.

‘mina told me some second year student was thinking of asking her out on a date! you better hurry bro!’

kaminari’s heart stopped while reading that. you? with another man? that was just too much for kaminari to handle. he had to confess to you before it was too late! before he lost you to some cool, probably super handsome, super funny upperclassman.

as class went on, kaminari worked on his confession, writing some stuff down for kirishima to look over. it honestly wasn’t going too well. kaminari has so much he wanted to tell you, yet he couldn’t. the poor boy’s nerves were skyrocketing so much that he could barely form a proper sentence. he groaned frustratedly as he grabbed his hair. he felt kirishima pat his back in reassurance. class was about to end, and it was almost time for the students to go home. kaminari walked you home almost everyday, not wanting anything bad happening to you.

as the last teacher finally dismissed class, the students all got up and started to pack up their stuff. kaminari was scrambling to finish his confession letter.

‘what about her hair you idiot? how it smells like coconuts? or it seems so soft? no, no, no! don’t talk about her hair, that makes you sound weird!’ he thought.

he heard you walk up to his desk as he rushed to finish his paper. if only he worked this hard on his notes in class, maybe he would actually learn.

“you ready to leave kaminari?” you asked with that pretty smile of yours.

“y-yeah, just give me a minute.” kaminari said before getting his book bag and packing up.

“you still look a bit off, do you want to go see recovery girl before we leave?”

“haha, no i’m fine!” he chuckled unconvincingly, finally slipping his book bag onto his back.

before you made it out the door, kaminari made it there before you, quickly scanning the hallway in search of this mysterious second year that also harbored feelings for you. his eyes fell on a figure that was a bit taller than him, a brunette boy who was also clad in the ua uniform. he radiated a cool vibe and was also not to mention model worthy.

“nope, not today.” kaminari muttered before taking your hand into his and pulling you out of the door, power walking your way out of the school.

“k-kaminari- slow down! why are we running away? are you okay? what’s wrong?” you asked when you finally made it outside, standing beside kaminari as the two of you caught your breaths.

kaminari didn’t answer, he just focused on his breathing as he worked up the courage to confess to you. kirishima and sero’s words echoed in the back of his mind, urging the boy to tell the girl beside him of his feelings.

“kaminari are-”

“i like you. i’ve liked you ever since we talked during lunch on our first day of school! i liked the way you almost choked on your food because you were laughing at one of my dumb jokes! i like the way that your eyes crinkle whenever you smile! i like the way you do that stupidly cute dance of yours whenever you get food! oh god- don’t even get me started on your smile. that beautiful smile of yours… i just- i’ve liked you for a long time! and i’m tired of keeping it in! i won't wait for someone else to sweep you off your feet and be upset because i did nothing about it! y/n l/n, i like you! accept my confession!”

after he finished his speech it went quiet. kaminari could literally hear his heart beat with every passing second. oh god, bakugou was right, there was no way a girl like you would like him. he’d better start looking at other schools to move to. shiketsu was pretty good, right?

“kaminari… you like me?” your voice called out to him, breaking him away from his thought. he flinched at the mention of him liking you before nodding.

“yeah…” he said, twiddling with his fingers a bit as he waited for you to reply once again.

he looked at your face to see your mouth slightly opened in shock, your glittery orbs wide in shock as well. if he weren’t so terrified of rejection right now he would’ve laughed at that adorable look on your face.

“i-i can't believe it! you like me back!”

‘huh? like you back?’

“h-huh? does that mean...?” he trailed off, hopeful.

“yes! kaminari denki, i like you too!” you said, your face breaking out in the biggest grin he’s ever seen.

kaminari froze for a bit, taking a few second to register the words that you had just said. you, the girl of his dreams, liked him back? was this some kind of prank? no, you were too nice to do anything like that to him. kaminari could almost cry, his heart was overflowing with joy and pure happiness.

“y-you mean it? you’re not messing with me?” kaminari said while smiling, holding her shoulders.

the girl laughed while shaking her head, “of course not! i’ve liked you for the longest time! ever since you offered to charge my phone because it was dead! i thought you were really cute and funny!”

oh gosh, you thought he was cute? that’s it. kaminari could die happy now.

“i’m so happy right now y/n, you have no idea. i’ve waited for this moment for so long… this feels like a dream.” kaminari said while looking into your eyes.

you smiled before linking your hands together, “trust me, i know exactly how you feel.”

kirishima grinned as he saw kaminari and you walk out of the schoolyard while holding hands.

“looks like your plan worked bakugou! that note really did push him to confess to y/n! who knew that you were rooting for him…”

“tch stupid, i only got tired of him always talking about how soft her hair looks or dumb shit like that, not because i care for him.” bakugou said while rolling his eyes.

but maybe, just maybe, he did care for his friend who was so helplessly in love with you.

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari #kaminari imagine #kaminari denki #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #kaminari fluff #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #bnha imagines

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captainjanegay · 4 years ago

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Summary: Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue.

A/N: I was pondering whether I should leave the dance recital for later or just go with it and I decided that I had no idea how else could this third chapter go, so here it is! I hope you'll like it and as always I wanted to thank you so so much for all the love and kind words :') They all make my heart melt and make me actually excited (even though still anxious) about posting next chapters :') Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, liked or reblogged this fic, it means the world to me ♥

I was worried this one is going to be shorter but I've added some last minute Natasha content because who doesn't love Natasha content? I certainly do. Enjoy and see you all next time ♥

Chapter 3

(4.4k words)

Bucky is nervous. It feels almost as if he is the one who’s going to dance in front of all those people in less than an hour. Although he thinks it would be less anxiety-inducing than watching Alex's performance. It’s not like he doesn’t believe in her. If there’s one thing that Bucky is sure of, it’s that his daughter is talented and brilliant and that she’s going to be amazing. He just knows how important it is to her, so he wants everything to go perfectly. Which is why in the last two minutes he has sent at least four messages to Clint to make sure he won't be late.

Each time Clint told him to fuck off and not be a dick. There’s still over thirty minutes left before the recital starts and objectively Bucky knows Clint would never miss something that’s so important to Alex. It doesn’t stop him from worrying, though.

With a sigh, he slides his phone into his back pocket and looks around the lobby. Not that many people are around yet and Bucky is not that surprised. Besides the parents, there are rarely any other people coming to those things. Sometimes not even all the parents do. Alex probably has the biggest support group even on the smallest events. And Bucky doesn’t even need to drag anyone forcefully. They’re just lucky enough to have plenty of supportive friends in their life and thinking about it makes Bucky really emotional sometimes.

The door opens and Bucky’s eyes skip that way automatically. The man that walks in is tall and blond-haired, dressed in an old-school brown leather jacket and a scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck. He hovers by the door for a few moments and looks a bit lost, scanning the lobby.

“Steve?” Bucky says and the man’s head turns towards him quickly.

When Steve's eyes land on Bucky, a big smile blooms on his face.

“Bucky, hi!” Steve says, walking over to him.

“You came.” Bucky points out with a smile. Steve made it clear on a few occasions that he will, but actually seeing him here is still a bit of a surprise.

“Of course. Didn’t want to let Alex down. Or you, but mostly her,” the sincerity in his voice warms Bucky’s heart. Steve rubs at his neck in a nervous gesture and reaches to his messenger bag. “I’ve actually— You’ve said how important to her it was so I— I’ve made a little something for her, I hope that’s OK?”

Surprised, Bucky looks down and sees that Steve is holding an open folder. Inside, there’s a drawing made with coloured pencils and when Bucky sees it his breath catches.

It shows Alexandra in full ballerina gear, with a big fluffy tutu and a little tiara on her head. There’s a huge smile on her face and her eyes are sparkling in the spotlights. She’s caught mid-pirouette. Even though it’s just a drawing, it’s so dynamic Bucky half expects her to start twirling across the page. Around her there is a confetti of musical notes and roses being thrown her way, some of them scattered on the stage in front of her. It’s so beautiful Bucky’s fingers twitch forward to touch the drawing but he quickly catches himself.

“God, Steve—” he starts but he has no idea what to say next.

“I just— I don’t know, I wanted to have a little gift for her? The dancers are given flowers after their performances, but I— I don’t know, I can just—,” Steve mumbles.

When Bucky finally tears his eyes away from the drawing, he notices that Steve has an honest to God blush on his cheeks and he’s still rubbing his neck in that nervous gesture. A sudden urge to wrap this amazing, kind man in a hug overwhelms Bucky. He manages to stop himself. Instead, he puts his hand on Steve’s bicep and squeezes lightly.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t even— My god, it’s amazing. Alex will go crazy when she sees it. I bet she’s gonna make me hang it somewhere,” Bucky lets out a chuckle. “And I’ll gladly do that, it’s really wonderful.”

A shy smile appears on Steve’s face as he closes the folder and carefully tucks it into his bag. “It’s nothing, just a little drawing.”

“Maybe for you but she’s gonna be over the moon. And I can’t believe that you really came and did this drawing and— You’re amazing, Steve.”

The blush on Steve’s cheeks only deepens. He looks down, refusing to look into Bucky’s eyes and he opens his mouth to say something.

But before he gets the chance, there’s some commotion on the other side of the lobby. When Bucky looks that way, he sees Clint and Scott arguing about something, the former holding a phone in front of his face. Walking calmly behind them are Hope and Cassie, both with similar tired yet fond expressions on their faces.

“Hi guys, you’ve made it!” Bucky greets them with a smile.

“We did! Clint kept rushing us cause apparently you’ve been bugging him for the last hour not to be late,” Hope says giving Bucky an one-armed hug.

“I—,” Bucky stutters. “It wasn’t an hour. Besides I wouldn’t if I knew he was picking you up.”

“Of course it was an hour and of course you would, Barnes. Don’t lie and pretend you're not a crazy person,” Clint says, looking up from the phone.

Clint’s eyes skip from Bucky to Steve, who moved half a step back and is watching the commotion with a polite smile on his face. When Clint looks back at Bucky, he wiggles his eyebrows with an awful smile.

Bucky never wanted to smack him so badly.

“You won’t introduce us?” Clint asks.

Sending him one last hateful look, Bucky glances at Steve, giving him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Here’s Scott, his fiancee Hope and his daughter Cassie. And this idiot is Clint, sorry about him. Guys, this is Steve, a… friend, we’ve met recently.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Steve says with a smile.

“Wait, what Steve? How is James making friends, I didn’t know he could do that?” comes a voice from Clint’s phone, making Bucky groan.

“We’re just as surprised, Nat.”

Clint turns his phone around, showing the screen with Natasha’s slightly glitchy face on it. She quickly scans the new surroundings and her eyebrows shoot up when she notices Steve.

“Oh hello,” she greets with a signature Natasha smile, kind but slightly wolfish and possibly intimidating to strangers. "I'm Natasha."

“Um.” Steve sends a confused glance Bucky’s way, but says. “Nice to meet you too, Natasha. I’m Steve, the new friend. Apparently that's an achievement for Bucky.”

If Bucky felt sympathetic for Steve for being ambushed by his friends, he’s not anymore. Instead, he groans again and ignores the small smirk that Steve sends him and Natasha’s “I like this one!”.

“Can you all just shut up and proceed to the hall, please?” Bucky gestures towards the door across the room. “Since we’re all here already and the show is going to start soon we can as well take our seats already.”

When they don't move, Bucky ushers them forward, waving his arms as if they were a flock of chickens. Sometimes it feels like they are. Eventually, they do move and Bucky sends a small smile towards Steve who hangs back waiting for him.

"So, um—," Steve starts, looking at the small group in front of them before glancing back at Bucky. "Your wife couldn't come?"

Steve's voice is conversational so he seems surprised when Bucky halts to a stop.

"I'm—” Bucky furrows his brows in confusion. "I don't have a wife."

"Oh." Steve looks both confused and embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, I didn't— I just assumed, since Alex mentioned her mum a lot and— sorry."

"Oh no, Bucky's single," Scott says, apparently hearing the little exchange.

"And desperately ready to mingle," Clint prompts helpfully, throwing a grin over his shoulder.

It feels like Bucky has been doing nothing but groaning in distress during the past few minutes. "I'm not desperate—"

"I'm the mum!" comes Natasha's chipper voice from Clint's video call and he kindly turns the phone around. "Not the wife, though. James's too insufferable as anything but a friend. And likes men too much for that."

"Tasha, for fuck's sake," Bucky says loudly, getting a dirty look from some random mum who overhears him.

He pointedly doesn't look at Steve throughout this whole exchange. Why do his friends hate him so much? He doesn't deserve to be treated like this.

"Can we just—" Bucky takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, "not talk about this and to the performance, please. It's starting soon."

It's Hope who stops this madness and decides not to ignore Bucky's obvious discomfort. With a smile directed at both Steve and Bucky, she takes Scott by his elbow and turns him around, pushing Clint slightly towards the hall. They don't object. Bucky has never been more grateful for her.

It's not until a few minutes later when they are all seated in the hall, surrounded by the quiet murmur of different conversations before the show, when Steve leans closer from his seat next to Bucky's.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Steve says quietly.

Bucky chances a look at him. The lightning is dim but the distance between them is small enough for Bucky to make out the dark blush dusting Steve's cheeks.

"It's not your fault my friends are idiots," Bucky jokes to lighten the mood. "Should've worn ya' before I've invited you."

Steve laughs at that. "Still, though. Shouldn't have just assumed things."

"It was a perfectly normal assumption to make." Bucky points out. "Really, don't stress about it. It's all good."

For a moment, Steve doesn't look convinced but eventually he nods and smiles. Bucky reciprocates the gesture. For a moment they just look at each other but their attention is soon drawn towards the front of the room. Some more lights above the stage appear when the owner of the studio walks in with a smile, asking everyone to take a seat. Her introductions are pretty standard and she keeps them short. Soon enough, the main show begins.

It’s really entertaining, even considering the fact that the age of the performers varies between 4 and 12 years old. They’re dancing in many configurations, the smallest dancers mostly in big groups and Bucky smiles the whole time, watching their — sometimes still clumsy but oh so cheery — dancing. Two of the oldest kids perform an amazing pas de deux to the music from Sleeping Beauty. They dance to a lot of contemporary music and loads of Disney songs, to Steve’s great delight. Bucky only shakes his head with a disbelieving smile when he hears Steve singing along to A Whole New World under his breath. Feeling Bucky’s eyes on him, Steve only shrugs and laughs quietly.

Alex is in two group dances and she has her own solo performance. She’s brilliant in all of them. And it’s not just Bucky’s biased opinions, because the hall erupts in loud applause when she finishes her solo with a bow and a huge smile on her face. Watching the concentration on her face, mixed with the absolute joy of dancing makes Bucky teary-eyed and by the end of her last performance he doesn’t even try to stop the tears. All the pride he feels, threatens to tear him apart. He would be the proudest even if she sucked but the fact that she manages to awe everyone in the room makes it all so much better.

After the recital is over, some of the guests leave to wait in the lobby but Bucky and his friends stick around in the hall, moving closer to the stage. Soon enough, Alex bolts from backstage, still in her dress and everything and launches herself into Bucky’s arms.

“You were incredible, my love!" Bucky says, hugging her tight and kissing the side of her face. “I’m so proud of you! You made me cry real tears, you were so beautiful.”

“Thanks, papa,” Alex laughs, leaning away a bit to look at him, her eyes sparkling with joy.

Soon enough, she gets whipped away from Bucky’s embrace by Clint who starts spinning her around the room, both of them shrieking loudly. They earn some disapproving looks by doing that, but they couldn’t care less. Bucky only watches them with a fond smile, laughing and getting emotional again when Alexandra notices the huge bouquet they’ve bought just for her. She talks briefly with Natasha - the video conference was on during the whole performance so even though Nat couldn’t be here in person, she could still watch the whole thing. Natasha apologises for not being there but promises to make it to the next recital that is supposed to happen around New Year’s Eve and she points out how proud she is every two words.

Bucky lets everybody congratulate his little girl and shower her with the love she deserves. He’ll have plenty of time to do that at home. So he takes a step back and stands next to Steve.

Steve, who waits politely, probably not wanting to interrupt as he just watches it all with a smile on his face. But when Alex’s eyes finally land on him, matching big smiles bloom on both of their faces.

“Steve! You came!” Alex exclaims, bouncing closer to where Steve and Bucky are standing.

“Of course I did,” Steve says and he crouches to be on Alex’s eye level. “You were incredible! Thank you so much for inviting me, it was so worth it. And I have a little gift for you.”

Hearing that, Alex starts bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement and she watches as Steve retrieves the drawing. The moment her eyes land on it, she lets out a small gasp. Just like Bucky did before, she moves her hand as if she wants to touch it but stops, afraid to ruin it. When she looks up at Steve, her eyes seem a little watery.

“It’s for me?” she asks and when Steve nods, she carefully takes it from his hands. “I love it! Thank you so much, Steve!”

With that, she wraps her small arms around Steve’s neck. The movement catches Steve off guard, almost enough to make him lose his balance and Bucky laughs at the surprised look Steve sends him.

“You’re so welcome, Alexandra,” Steve says eventually, rubbing her back. “I’m happy you like it. Thank you again for inviting me.”

“Papa, look!” Alex yells, moving away from Steve and proudly showing Bucky the drawing. “It’s me!”

“It is!” Bucky agrees, hugging her close one more time. “It's my wonderful little ballerina!"

***

After the performance, they all decide to go to a restaurant for a celebratory dinner. Steve tries to flee but both Clint and Hope — which comes out as a bit of surprise to Bucky — nag him to join them. He sends a look at Bucky, probably hoping Bucky's gonna back him up.

He doesn't. Instead, both he and Alex send Steve their best puppy dog eyes saying that they'll love if Steve came along. Steve is not able to resist such power.

Bucky's not sure why he insists so hard on Steve coming with them, not really knowing what to expect. It turns out he had nothing to worry about. Steve fits right in with their little group. The evening is very nice and they all feel comfortable in each other's company. Bucky's a bit afraid at the beginning, when Clint starts asking some pretty nosy questions and is being his horrible self. Everyone except Steve has gotten used to it and they know that Clint is the best friend one can have but for some reason, he sometimes hides it quite well. But Steve doesn’t seem to be judging or getting annoyed in any way. Quite the opposite. It also turns out that under all of Steve’s gold-heartedness hides a little asshole with witty comebacks and good-natured jabs at whoever tries to mess with him. He can totally keep up with whatever Clint’s up to at any given moment.

It's enough to say that Clint absolutely loves it.

They don’t stay at the restaurant for too long. They can’t since Alex is tired after all of today’s excitement. She tries very hard to hide it, though. Fortunately for her, Bucky knows her better and he saves her from crossing the line between happy and miserably exhausted. No matter how nice the evening is going so far, they should go. So for the sake of Alex’s pride, Bucky says he’s getting tired and the two of them are probably going to head home. It's not even a lie. Considering he's only 29 and it's not even 10 p.m. it's kind of sad that he really does feel a bit sleepy. Alex tries to protest but it’s weak, which only proves Bucky’s assessment of her energy levels was correct. Of course, everyone else jumps to their feet almost immediately. They exchange hugs and thank-you’s and more congratulations for Alexandra and finally some goodbye’s as they all go in different directions.

The short walk home wakes Alex up a bit. And because it's still her big night, Bucky lets her stay up for a little longer than usually when they finally get home. They cuddle on the couch and watch How to Train Your Dragon together, while sharing a bowl of ice cream. Of course their private little celebrations can’t start until the drawing from Steve is safely put away in Alex's room with promises that Bucky will hang it tomorrow.

About halfway through the movie Alex drifts off to sleep, curled safely on Bucky's lap. He takes a few extra minutes stroking her hair, trying not to think too much about how big she's getting or that soon she won't be so happy about cuddling with her papa anymore. Eventually, Bucky picks her up gently and carries her to her room. He finishes the movie and gets himself an extra scoop of ice cream before he heads to bed.

The next morning Alex almost drags him out of bed, rushes him through breakfast and almost pushes him out of the door. All that because he promised they're gonna shop for things they need to put the portrait from Steve on the wall. Bucky is not even mad. It is a gorgeous piece of art and he's really happy that Alex is so thrilled with it.

A few hours, some drilling and vacuuming tons of dust later, he snaps a picture of the drawing hanging proudly on the wall above the chest of drawers in Alex's bed. He attaches it to a message.

To: Steve Guess who got bullied into an IKEA trip at 10 in the morning on a Saturday just to buy a frame? Saturday, 12:30 A.M.

From: Steve Sorry? :) Saturday, 12:31 A.M.

From: Steve I'm honoured she likes it so much, though. Saturday, 12:32 A.M.

To: Steve I bet you're not sorry at all, you jump out of buildings for fun, you can't be trusted. Saturday, 12:37 A.M.

From: Steve I did NOT jump out of a building, stop saying that! And what happened to "you're amazing, Steve"? Saturday, 12:40 A.M.

To: Steve ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Saturday, 12:41 A.M.

***

After all the emotions from yesterday, Saturday passes in a nice yet uneventful way. Alex falls asleep on her feet at barely half past seven, but it’s no surprise that the tiredness has finally caught up to her. She doesn’t even try to argue when Bucky suggests she should head to bed earlier. After tucking her in, he lays down on the couch for a second, promising himself that he’ll do the dishes before heading to bed. Suddenly, it’s past 10 P.M. and he’s mindlessly watching some late-night reruns of Say Yes to The Dress. He’s not even surprised at this turn of events.

The noise his phone makes blasts in the quiet of the living room, making Bucky jump. He’s in such a rush to turn off the ringing that he drops the phone on his face, accidentally answering the incoming video call.

“Hi, dimwit. Did you just drop your phone on your face again?” He hears Natasha’s amused voice.

“I’ve never dropped a phone on my face in my life, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky answers as he rubs his aching nose that has taken most of the impact.

Natasha only rolls her eyes at that. “My girl already asleep?”

“Yeah, went to bed before 8 p.m. and i bet she’ll sleep in tomorrow. She was positively exhausted today.”

“I’m not even surprised. She deserves some rest though, she was so brilliant last night,” Natasha says with a sad smile. “I hate that I couldn’t be there.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Tasha. She understands,” Bucky tries to convince her. “Besides you’re gonna be here for Christmas, right?”

Natasha is not reassured. She thinks she hides it well enough for Bucky not to notice, but he’s known her for too long. She sighs but then answers with a small smile. “Yeah, I will be home for most of December. I’ll need to go to Cali for a bit, as always, but I should be back for Christmas.”

“That’s great,” Bucky smiles. “We miss you here and you’ll be just in time to see Alex in the Nutcracker, you know that one’s even more important to her.”

“Can’t wait. She’s gonna outmatch me sooner than I’ve expected.”

“She will and I don’t even feel sorry for you. She’s just so incredible. Like with your skills and my brains and also my good looks she’s destined for great things. I feel kind of bad for other kids,” Bucky chuckles but he only half-jokes.

In response he gets a raised eyebrow from Natasha. “I think you’ve meant my skills, my brains and my good looks and your—,” she waves her hand towards him dismissively. “I mean, I’m sure there’s something, we’ll figure it out at some point. Maybe it’s your love for Say Yes to the Dress, who knows.

“I’m—,” Bucky tries to defend himself but the grin on Natasha’s face tells him it’s a lost fight. He didn’t expect Natasha to recognise the background noise of his TV but then — it’s Natasha, so he should have. “You’re so full of shit, Romanoff.”

“I’m not. You are though,” Natasha says and when Bucky sends her a questioning look, she explains with a cheeky smirk. “I can’t believe you haven’t told me you’ve found yourself a new, smoking hot friend!”

“You know what, I don’t have to put up with this, I’m gonna go to bed,” Bucky sighs, but he makes no move to actually hang up.

Natasha only laughs triumphantly. “Oh my, why are you so defensive all of sudden? I didn’t say anything bad, did I?”

“You’re something bad in general, so I’m always prepared. Why are you all so obsessed with Steve? I have to put up with Clint already, so please, leave me alone.”

“We just care about you! And since you’ve been stuck with just us for ages, we’re excited there’s someone new, kind and handsome in your life!” the grin on her face makes Bucky groan out loud. “He seems nice and I hope you’ll be able to get to know him better. In a lot of ways.”

“See? This is exactly what I meant. I can’t believe I’ve been friends with you for so long.”

Another laugh escapes her mouth but her eyes soften when she looks back at him a moment later. “Really, though. You can’t be alone your whole life. And don’t bullshit me saying that you have Alex, you know that’s not my point. You’re just a huge softie who needs someone to make heart eyes at, it’s basically in your blood.”

Bucky chuckles in disbelief, not sure how this conversation got to this point. “What are you even talking about? I’ve known Steve for way too little for you to say all this. I’ve seen him in person twice. Twice, Natasha.”

“I’m not saying it has to be Steve, I know you’ve just met him. It was just a side note, completely unrelated to Steve. If anyone’s making a connection here, it’s you. So maybe you should think about that.” Natasha looks at him pointedly and when Bucky tries to chime in, she doesn’t let him. “Also on a completely unrelated note, Steve seems like a good guy, if you think about dating. And if you think about casual, he’s also smoking hot.”

“You’ve already mentioned that,” Bucky points out. “And you’ve only seen him via video chat.”

“Well, he is and it was clear even through Clint’s shitty camera.”

It’s hard to disagree with that. Even though Natasha is insane and he is not going to date anyone in the near future, let alone Steve whom he barely knows. He can objectively agree that Steve is unfairly attractive, though.

“Before you go all defensive and mean again — I just want you to be happy, James,” Natasha says. “And maybe having around someone who’s not Clint would be good for you.”

Bucky shakes his head with a chuckle. “You might have a point. But dating is not really on my priority list and I don’t think it’s a good time to change that now.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Natasha groans. “I really hope it won’t turn out that our daughter actually inherited your brains, because you’re an idiot.” She takes a deep sigh and changes the topic. “But let’s get to the important things now — is it just me or the dresses he shows this Caroline chick are getting uglier and uglier?”

“Oh God, I know, right? I don’t think I can handle another one of those monstrosities.”

taglist: @steverrogers @till-the-end-of-the-line-punk (@ anyone else - let me know if you want to be tagged ♥

#stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #stucky fanfiction #where i'm meant to be #chapter 3 #i love you all and i wish you a nice day and i hope you like it :')#my writings

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strikearose · 4 years ago

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Uncovering Passione's Underside (1/1) GIOMIS

What one can learn by listening to what the secretive Passione's staff have to say about their Don... One-shot, GioMis, Post-canon, Humor, G+ You can also read it on ao3 here!

For as long as many Passione members could recall, Agnese Bianchi had always been there, grumbling as she would mop the hall floor and nagging at fellow cleaning employees and ruthless gang members all alike. It didn't matter how long their felonious resumes were, she simply couldn't stand slackers. Years of working within that specific industry had forged her strong character - she was honest, hardworking, and probably a tad too outspoken too about her aversion for mobsters, but she still knew better than to ask silly questions like some other people did.

The housekeeper glared at the man who'd been chatting up the new cleaner (and therefore, preventing her from mopping up the floor as she had explicitly urged her to) for the last half hour. His name was Trado, Trattore, or something that sounded way too much like Tradittore anyway: he was one of the Don's many henchmen. Ever since he had started working there, he had taken that annoying habit of snooping everywhere, making idle chitchat with the household staff during rush hour.

The old maid cleared her throat, grabbed her cleaning cart handles, and pushed it unceremoniously between the pair. "Is that what you call cleaning the reception room? Signore Giovanna wants it sparkling clean: go fix it now or apply for another job already!"

Her harsh tone worked just fine: the young employee, caught red-handed slacking work, gasped in surprise and mumbled a brief apology before leaving in a hurry. The man, however, didn't seem the least concerned about her admonition. He simply smiled and raised his hands in self-defense - and lord if there was a way he could possibly piss her off even more.

Agnese chose to simply disregard his presence and rummaged through her pockets to find the key she needed.

Click.

As it opened, she began to push her cleaning cart over the door sill with some difficulty.

"Need some help?"

Agnese sighed when she realized he was still there. Who the hell was he taking her for?

"I don't. As always, I'm doing just fine on my own."

To her dismay, it seemed that her sharp answer didn't manage to get rid of the gangster. For God's sake, couldn't he just go bother someone else, literally anyone but her? There was nothing Agnese hated more than to have someone watch her every move.

...

Or perhaps slackers.

Slackers who intended on watching her every move.

"So, for how long have you been working there? They say you'll bury us all..."

Agnese rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get her cart through the doorway.

"Long enough to have seen my fair share of slackers come and go..." The cleaning lady truly wished he'd get the memo this time. She had seen it all: louts in suits with fake good manners and scarred faces, but also men that seemed to be way too nice and curious for their own good. To her, that last species was the worst: they were wolves in sheep's clothing.

But of course, Trado (or Trattore or whatever was his name) didn't appreciate the subtlety of her response, and he continued his questioning: "You've been there long enough to have known the former boss, right? The one before Don Giovanna, a real freak apparently... "

Agnese tensed at that: she didn't like where the conversation was heading. She was unfortunately all too familiar with those office gossips. A little over five years ago now, Passione had gone from having no official face, to Giorno Giovanna's gracing every streets' corners. Rumors had it that the young, brilliant, man had brutally murdered the Original Don in the span of a week. Others thought that Giovanna's was his son and that the boss had simply granted himself a well-deserved retirement.

She couldn't care less about what had truly happened: Don Giovanna gave her a monthly salary as well as direct, concrete instructions. And those were the two things that mattered to her. He was good at that, giving clear orders to the people to his service. And it was nicer to serve him than to obey blindly the weird requests she'd receive by mail like before.

"Don't you really have anywhere else to go?", the cleaning lady suddenly turned to the man she had heard approaching but was relieved to see that he had not dared to enter the Don's office. He was looking at her, peering at what she was doing, from the door's threshold. "If you want a piece of advice, stop being so damn noisy."

The gangster laughed and at that, Agnese wished she could just sweep him out of the room.

"Relax! I'm new here, I'm just curious. Don Giovanna's pretty nice, he won't murder us over some harmless chitchat."

The Boss of a criminal organization, a nice man?

It was Agnese's turn to snort.

Yeah, she guessed it was the kind of public image he was adamantly working on And some people seemed to believe it: newspapers were reporting less traffic, a decline in thugs harming citizens' and tourists' safety. The astounding sums of money he was giving to local shelters, hospitals, and public schools were also common knowledge: rumors had it that the city council was even thinking of naming the brand-new biological museum, founded thanks to his many donations, after him.

As a boss, Agnese considered him to be pretty decent - well, as decent as being the Don of a criminal organization could possibly allow him to be considered. After all, he was well-educated enough not to leave clothes and magazines scattered everywhere like the previous boss and some of his most favored underlings did.

But as a man, there was no way she could possibly tell if he was nice. Agnese was just an old, tired cleaning lady: she never pried into the Don's private life even though she guessed there were things that couldn't escape her lack of malicious curiosity. Details such as notes and silly doodles scribbled on his desk, scraps of paper (of extremely dubious content) discarded in the garbage can she needed to empty or sweaters which were at least two sizes too big for him lying on the normally spotless ground of his room...

Sighing, the old maid was about to close the door behind her when she noticed it: the stupid smirk on the gangster's face. The stupid knowing smirk they always had whenever they would bring up the one topic she had no desire to discuss.

How she wished she could just spray him with a window cleaner to wipe it out of his face.

"You know people say 'bout them, right? I'm sure it's complete bullshit but..."

The answer Agnese gave him was the same she would lecture her own underlings with: "One thing I know for sure is that the Underboss always carries his gun on him... And the Don sure doesn't need one to silence people. So just drop it and mind your own business."

With a last sigh, she finally shut the door closed and started her heavy work. However, even though the noisy snoop had left, Agnese felt her mind drift to her first encounter with the Don as she was dusting the ancient bookcase.

It had happened about four years ago, on a late December afternoon - was it because she had arrived too early or because he had stayed in his office later than usual, but the door had been left open so she had loudly pushed her cart inside. The old cleaning lady had instantly understood her mistake - after all, there was little mystery about whom that man was... Who else would dare to enter the big boss's office in his absence?

Golden locks, emerald eyes looking right at her with mild surprise: he obviously had not been expecting her.

"Oh, it's already that time of the day," his chin tilted high and proud, the mafia boss had flatly made that statement.

Not knowing what to say, Agnese had simply nodded and taken a discreet look at the massive clock behind him. 8:17 pm. He was definitely the one behind schedule, not her: she was just on time.

Not that she could say it aloud anyway.

"I didn't know you were still in there, Signore Giovanna," while her head was slightly bowed as a sign of respect, she had not apologized for her intrusion. She had nothing to apologize for: boss or not, he was the one messing with the established schedule. "I'll come back to clean your office later."

Don Giovanna had however soon dismissed her concern with a motion of his hand.

"It's fine, you can start working now. I was about to leave anyway."

The old housemaid nodded and was about to approach the bookcase when she had stopped right on her track, seeing the state of the ancient Victorian carpet. The boss had a rather keen hearing as he almost instantly turned his attention away from his papers to peer at Agnese, understanding what the problem was right away.

The blood hadn't just spattered on the carpet - there were traces of it on the sofa. And on the cushions. As well as on the desk's marble border.

And of course, the Don had to insist on furnishing his office with pristine white furnitures - even the smallest stain could be spotted from miles away.

Well, at least to look at the bright sight, Agnese realized that she wasn't the one who had to take care of the body, to each, his own mess: scrubbing out the carpet was already going to be a real nightmare.

"I apologize for that," the voice of her employer was surprisingly gentle, and it had taken her off guard. "I'll make sure the floor is covered properly next time."

As unbelievable as it might sound, the Don had kept true to his word: she hadn't been able to find a single drop of blood in his office ever since.

And she had even gotten a raise in the following week.

Rumors had it that Don Giovanna was capable of prodigious deeds that a rational mind could not possibly explain: that dazzling smile of his could enchant things and bend them to his will. Some prominent figures from all parts of the world, whose identities shall remain hidden, had apparently come out of his office miraculously cured. But rumors also had it that the reason why his public appearances were becoming more and more scarce was because of a growing sensitivity to daylight.

So Agnese paid very little to no regard to them. Most of the time, like Tradutti had stated, it was indeed complete bullshit.

However, later that night, as she undid her bandages to observe the state of the burn on a forearm (a stupid domestic accident involving a boiling teapot), Agnese was amazed to find her epidermis completely smooth. There was no more blistering or dead skin: her forearm was of a softness that contrasted with the rest of her body:the astronomical amount of tiger balm and aloe vera used could not possibly explain that. So as much of a skeptic as she was, the cleaning lady was forced to admit that it had to be somehow related to her earlier encounter with the Don.

As soon as she had stepped outside his office after tidying it, she had spotted the mafia boss in the hallway. He was accompanied by five or six men dressed in equally expensive suits. Among them was a face quite familiar to her: the city mayor who was making it to the news because of yet another corruption scandal.

The last thing she needed was to get involved in this ugly mess, so the cleaning lady kept her head high and bravely pushed her cart forwards. What she wasn't expecting however was for the Don to stop her.

"Did you injure yourself?"

She had had no choice but to peer down too at her bandage and lie through her teeth: "It's nothing, Signore."

His face showed no emotion, but he took a step towards her and delicately grabbed the injured arm before she could protest. His grip was somehow gentle but tight: there was no way she could escape from it. It was a literal iron fist in a velvet glove.

Agnese could still recall feeling the gazes of the Mayor and his bodyguards on her, they had also stopped walking to stare at her. Her heart rate had momentarily quickened when the Don's hands had brushed over her wound, his emerald eyes never leaving her confused expression. A sharp pain had set her wrist on fire... And then nothing.

She no longer felt a thing - it was as if it had never happened: Don Giovanna had taken a step back and addressed his subordinates, and they all had resumed their walk, any concern about the poor old maid definitely forgotten. The only one who had graced her with something (a strangely amused smile) before leaving was Guido Mista.

The Underboss truly was something. He often reminded Agnese of her own son: way too careless and untidy. His room was a literal nightmare to clean: most of his cashmere sweaters (which he had no problem leaving on the floor for all that mattered) needed to be hand-washed, and he also had the specificity of returning several times a month completely riddled with bullets.

The fact that he was somehow still alive despite his many injuries was as much a real blessing to him that it was a curse for her.

After all, Agnese was the one who had to clean up after him: and there was nothing easier than to track him because with Underboss Mista came blood everywhere.

Everywhere.

From the pavement outside to the sheets of a certain person whose name shall remain unknown.

...

The kitchen timer rang and Agnese was brought back to reality.

She couldn't say for sure if the Don was responsible for this miracle, but she still wished he could have also helped with her rheumatism too.

━━━━━ ༻🌱༺ ━━━━━

Unlike Agnese, Rolfo Giardino was still fairly new at that whole managing-not-to-get-mixed-up-in-mafia-mess-while-working-for-them dilemma. This gardener may have had twenty years of experience, nothing could have possibly prepared him for what was about to come.

The headquarters' gardens themselves were very pleasant - they were spacious and ideally located. Starting from scratch, that is to say from an austere backyard where some pathetic trees were beginning to wither to this authentic example of Giardino all'italiana, adorned with classical sculptures, flowering shrubs, fountains and ornamental parterres, had not been easy at first but Signore Giovanna had agreed to pay the price without thinking twice and the result was worth it.

Now that it was done, now that Rolfo and his team only had to maintain the garden (meaning watering the flowers and cutting the hedges one or two times a week), he guessed the job would be pretty nice if it weren't for all those mobsters who, for some reason he still couldn't gather, enjoyed watching him work. That, as well as those dreadful echoes of gunfire and screams which would shatter from time to time the peaceful atmosphere of the garden.

The rustling of water, the birds' chirping, a loud explosion from within the building... A nice sunny day overall.

Some of his employees were still refusing to work there despite his best attempts to reassure them: for as long as they would stay away from the actual building, it was not like something could happen to them, right? Still, they were places where even Rolfo himself did not like to approach, near the window overlooking what he thought was the Big Boss's office for instance. He had been forced to come close (way too close) to it because of his client's special request to have ivy and white roses gambling along this wall.

He had started working on it on a day when the weather was so mild that the window had apparently been cracked open for once - and the uncanny noises and groans that had escaped through it had scared the gardener to death. He hadn't dared to peer inside to find out what was really happening: the last thing he needed to know was what the Don of Passione's private torture sessions consisted of. Ever since that unfortunate incident, Rolfo had not ventured any closer to the damn white rosebushes. The branches were becoming too long, they were clearly starting to block the path of light, but as long as the Don didn't make any complaint, Rolfo would leave them be.

But on that day, however, the poor gardener saw red as his eyes fell on the figure loitering near that damn window: who was that son of a bitch was stepping on his flower beds!

"Hey you fucking moron: Move! Can't you see you're ruinin' my work?" Rolfo's shout managed to hit the bull's eye. The criminal was startled by it and half a dozen of armed men (probably criminals too) suddenly burst out the building to see what the hell was happening. He sprinted in the direction of the jerk and threw his pair of pruning shears at him. The gardening tool narrowly missed him - it crashed against the window instead (which, thank lord, did not shatter after the impact), but still made him leave. The stern face of Giorno Giovanna soon appeared, his head comically peaking out the building.

The Big Boss frowned when he realized that five of his men were gathered outside, frantically looking for someone, and took a deep breath: "Did one of you just threw a rock at my window?" He sounded confused, and to his credit, that was quite understandable.

Rolfo felt all adrenaline leave him abruptly - he could feel on him the murderous glares of literal murderers, who would have probably murdered him on the spot were it not for the presence of their Big Boss. He had no choice but to come clean: "Uhh, I do believe it was my pruners, Signore. I apologize, I swear they weren't aimed at you. It was for that damn...- uhh, I mean, that employee of yours!"

The Don didn't seem the slightest taken aback by the choice of weapon. He ran a hand through his braided locked and motioned for the others to go.

"You're saying that someone was eavesdropping on me just now?"

Rolfo looked down for a moment before answering: "Uhh, probably? I mean, he was stomping on my rosebushes near your window, that's for sure. They're Blanche Moreau's you know? They took weeks to arrive from France, weeks to finally blossom in Italy's sunlight!"

The mafia boss frowned at that, and Rolfo just knew he understood how valuable these roses were. After all, the Don seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about plants and lots of stuff: rumors had it that they were going to name that new museum after him so...

Signore Giovanna looked behind him and seemed to be addressing someone in the room: "Make sure to find him."

Curiosity overcame his initial reserve: standing on tiptoe, the gardener finally peered at the window to see what was happening inside. The office seemed incredibly spacious and clean: a dark-haired man, behind the desk, was adjusting the position of his cap on his head.

"Kay, I'll climb down the window to catch him faster! The fucker must be hiding somewhere close!," as soon as the man finished speaking, Rolfo couldn't help but react straight away.

"No, you can't do that! You'll ruin the other bushes!"

Both mafiosi looked at him for a moment and the old gardener realized he might have spoken out of turn, but the Don settled the matter for them anyway:

"He's right, I do like these Blanche Moreau's: go around my office Mista. And please, your zipper." That last part had been uttered quietly, but Rolfo had still managed to pick up on it. His devout Catholic mind would probably have been offended by it were it not for the sudden realization which left him quivering.

How on earth was he able to peak so clearly at the window now...?

"That fucking son of a bitch!", at that the mafia boss frowned and looked at him quizzically, but Rolfo couldn't halt the stream of profanities coming out of his mouth. It was too late. "He chopped it off! The whole branch!! It's all gone!"

Rolfo had promised his wife he would never get too close to the mafia, even though those paychecks sure were quite weighty. And yet as he was now, comfortably sitting in a well-made leather seat, a cup of coffee in his hand, he thought that for a first time within the shady building he had tried to avoid entering for so long, things were actually looking pretty normal. A week had passed since the unfortunate roses incident, and he had been surprised to receive after a subsequent sick leave a call from the Don's office. He didn't really have much choice, so he had shown up on time and was now patiently waiting in the lobby.

"Don Giovanna will now receive you."

Rolfo followed without a word the pretty secretary - she too looked way too customarily pretty to be involved in that kind of business. It was only when he passed under the massive arch of the door that he became fully aware of what was happening: the head of the Italian mafia had summoned him here.

As expected, it was the Don's spacious office, the one he had managed to catch a glimpse of through the window free of rose branches. The room appeared to be spotlessly clean - hell, it even smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and fresh lemon. Definitely not what he was expecting it to look like. Oddly enough, the very first thing he noticed was the tarp on the floor: that gaudy blue plastic was seriously clashing with the rest of the pristine white furnishings.

"Good afternoon, Signore Giardino. Is that the man you spotted by my window the other day?," Rolfo met the gaze of the mafia boss who was calmly standing to what soon turned out to be a man in bad shape, feet and fists bound onto the chair.

On the other side of the suspect, nonchalantly propped against the desk, was the gangster who had wanted to hop out the window.

All three of them were looking at the gardener expectantly, and he heard behind him the sound of the door closing. Of course, the pretty secretary couldn't stay.

"I can't say for sure Signore. See, I was so focused on the combat boots trampling my bushes that I didn't pay too much attention to his face..."

He hated the bastard who had wrecked his work, sure, but to rush him to such a tragic fate...

"Cool, then check it out!," the underboss had spoken with a casualness contrasting with the cruelty of the angle in which he twisted the poor man's leg. Rolfo had no choice but to look at the sole of his boot.

...

The fucking bastard.

There were still manure and rose petals stuck to it. And those were no common rose petals - they were large, fluffy and creamy white. They had been violently snatched away from a Blanche Moreau's sepal.

The gardener hardly needed to speak up to convince the mafia boss - the lethal look he was giving the tied-up man was already enough evidence.

Umberto Tradduto's fate had just been sealed.

Rolfo couldn't say what prompted him to look outside, but after that he only overheard bits of the conversation whispered in front of him: what was he was seeing right now was far more chocking anyway:

"I leave it to you for now Mista. I'll dispose of him later."

"Another donation to the museum?"

"Not this time. I think he'll make a fine aphid instead, that way our gardener will be able to settle his score with him."

Rolfo wasn't even pretending to be listening to what was being said anymore. He couldn't believe his eyes. He took a step towards the window and the two mafiosi, deep in their discussion, didn't notice it immediately.

"Keep your evening free, we'll be paying a visit to the mayor tonight. I'm getting tired of the spies he keeps sending here."

"Tonight? Hey, do you know how much it cost me to book the entire restaurant?"

The Don cleared his throat as if suddenly reminded of the other two's presence: "The sooner the better. I'm sure she won't mind. You'll reschedule your date later."

Mista was about to protest, but he fell silent as he realized where the gardener was standing: "Hey man, what the...-"

But Rolfo overstepped his role again to cut him off. His eyes shining with emotion, he turned towards the mighty Giorno Giovanna and addressed him as if he was a true deity.

"How...- How did you...? This is prodigious Signore!"

Behind him, blocking the light from the window, were proudly standing three beautiful unscathed roses branches.

━━━━━ ༻ 🚗 ༺ ━━━━━

Alfredo waked up completely startled as he heard someone bang on his window: dozing off at the wheel was a rookie mistake, he was well aware of that - but still.

"Hey open up!"

The underboss' voice was agitated - something very rare for such an easy-going man, so Alfredo immediately unlocked the doors and got out of the vehicle to assist him. Mista was backing up the big boss, a hand wrapped under his shoulders to help him stand.

The driver shot a panicked look at the small cottage they had just come from: what the hell had just happened in there?

Alfredo glanced at the Don's patent leather shoes - he was dressed as reverently as usual - and then at the underboss' worn-out leather jacket: even though they were clothed as if they were going to very different events, they had asked him to drop them at the same address: the mayor's private country hous. He had followed the itinerary scribbled on the paper an informer had given him a few hours before. It was the driver's special talent: being resourceful. Even without a precise address, he always knew how to bring his customers to the desired place.

His clients never asked him how it worked, and in return, he never made any remark on the state they would return to the car in. Or to question why they seemed so keen to surprise the mayor at such a late hour of the evening.

Alfredo was even willing to give an extra hand if needed, occasionally overstepping his role of a simple driver if the client was likely to be a good tipper.

He opened the passenger door for the mafia boss, but to his great surprise the latter stopped him right there:

"I'm fine. Just open the trunk instead."

Alfredo tensed up but said nothing as he went back to his seat to retrieve his leather gloves.

It was another kind of extra service: helping them to get rid of incriminating clues. Well, it wouldn't be the first body dumped in the back of his precious vehicle, and certainly not the last. As long as they would pay for the subsequential cleanup, he didn't mind.

"How many bottles have you stolen?," The underboss had ushered that question to the boss not discreetly enough, and the driver allowed himself a relieved sigh.

No bodies on the horizon, then?

No scandal of the mayor's disappearance making the headlines on the next day?

Great, he'd be able to go back to bed sooner.

As he passed next to the two mafiosi to open the trunk, Alfredo noticed the two bottles of prestigious champagne that the Don was clutching tightly against his. chest. Oh wow. The underboss, on the other hand, was eyeing Giorno with a bewildered look, as if it had just occurred to him that the mysterious gigantic box he had been forced to carry from the cottage contained more bottles.

"Guido please, go fetch me a last one," the Don was less assertive than usual - you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Alfredo awkwardly stood next to them in silence as he waited for his next instructions. Charcoal and emerald eyes were engaged in a long, fierce battle of dominance, neither of them breaking contact. Hell, it even seemed to Alfredo at some point that the Don fluttered his lashes - but that could also be exhaustion talking.

Years of working within that specific industry had taught Alfredo how they would inevitably settle that growing tension between them.

Once again, for as long as they would pay for the subsequential seats cleaning, he didn't care. It wouldn't be the first indecent make-out session to happen at the back of his precious vehicle, and probably not the last.

A partition wall was always between Alfredo and his clients. Until now, he had never managed to catch them red-handed, but he had heard of those rumors. And he, better than anyone else certainly, knew for a fact that the Don had never sought to have good company brought to him. He'd always travel to his secondary residence alone while the underboss was the kind of man who preferred to drive there by himself.

Apart from the occasional names slips, he had never witnessed any tender gesture, he had never overheard anything remotely ambiguous. The details that had tipped him off were more subtle, or well usually at least they were. They would simply sit a little too close to one another, with no free seat between them - the pair was never five feet apart so that to speak. But right now, unless he would turn off the parking lights, there was no way Alfredo could pretend he wasn't seeing the Don's right hand slowly lowering far too low along the other's back. It was clearly no longer a question of keeping his balance.

"Fine," the Don let out a dramatic sigh and the driver nearly said hallelujah - now that he had admitted defeat, they would be able to leave at last! "If you won't do it, then fine I'll ask our driver instead."

Holy shit, what the hell was going on that night?

Alfredo quietly took a step back to exit the scene but it was too late - both mafiosi were already looking at him. If they were seriously intending on making him break into the mayor's house, he sure hoped they were ready to give a real good tip.

Fortunately, the underboss shook his head and rolled his eyes (had they just swapped personalities?), before reluctantly talking: "'kay you win I'll go. But then, we're outta here." Mista put the box inside the trunk and headed back to the cottage, leaving the driver in the company of the big boss who didn't seem quite inclined to enter the car yet. So Alfredo had no choice but to stay with him outside, on the chilly night and very awkward silence.

It was only after the third hiccup of the Don that the realization came down to him: he wasn't injured by any means, he was just completely drunk.

"Umm," Alfredo knew he wasn't supposed to question his boss, but the silence between them was becoming seriously uncomfortable. "So were you celebrating something Signore?"

The mafia boss looked at him for a long moment - god, the poor driver sure hoped he hadn't made a mistake, before shrugging: "Not really. I simply like Champagne, especially when I'm not the one paying for it."

Who could have thought that someone who spent so much on luxury clothes could be stingy?

Alfredo decided to politely answer. "Yes, I've heard you own several vineyards in Europe Signore. It's clever, I'm sure you never run out it..."

At that, the mighty Giorno Giovanna ungraciously hiccuped again, and the driver had the decency to pretend not to notice it.

"Mhhh.. You don't get it," had the mafia boss just snorted in contempt? "It's not so much about the Champagne itself as it is about the pure satisfaction of having taken possession of it... The mere contentment in knowing that the stupid mayor will never be able to savor it now that it's mine, you know?"

No, of course, not. There was no way Alfredo could possibly relate to that: it must be one of those crazy rich people whims.

Not that he could say it out loud, of course. The night was getting colder and colder, so he hoped the underboss wouldn't take long to be back.

"Would you like a bottle?," the Don's question took him by surprise so the driver, out of reflex, shook his head.

"Good, or you would have had to convince Mista to go back."

The stingy rich bastard.

Alfredo couldn't believe he was thinking that of him, in any other situation he would never have allowed himself to think that of Giorno Giovanna, but there were at least eight bottles in the trunk, he had seen them. And the Don knew that.

Fortunately, the underboss chose that exact moment to reappear and slam the trunk door shut after charging it with two other bottles.

Discreet much?

But whatever, the Don seemed rather pleased with that and finally agreed to go inside the car - his customers' satisfaction was what mattered the most to Alfredo.

After all, with good service came good tippers.

And that night, in exchange for the obvious promise to keep his mouth shut about what he had witnessed, the underboss sure went overboard with the tip.

━━━━━ ༻ 🧹 ༺ ━━━━━

It was now 8:20 a.m.: even though the day had started way earlier for Agnese, she had had to wait for the mobsters living upstairs to rise and shine, so she could proceed to clean their rooms. It was by far the task she hated the most: grabbing her heavy cleaning cart, she pushed it towards what had to be the cleanest place of them all. The Don's private quarters, starting with his excessively large bathroom: since the fancy tiles there took the longest to dry, she would then continue with his connected bedroom.

However, as soon as she stepped foot inside, Agnese almost fainted at the horrible sight that met her eyes.

Clothes, confetti and popped balloons were scattered everywhere, pieces of glass were covering the soaked floor, and an astronomical amount of what furiously smelled like Champagne had been dumped into the bathtub, splattering the walls and the carpet- hell, it even seemed like some of it was still fizzing inside.

Up until now, she had thought that she had seen it all, that nothing that the most wicked mind was capable of, could possibly surprise her. But that was a whole new level of a mess.

Thankfully, the inscription on a balloon (the survivor, the only one that had not exploded yet) was what prompted her not to hand the culprit her immediate resignation letter.

The Don's birthday would only happen once a year.

And with some sheer luck, she'd be able to negotiate her well-deserved retirement before the next one.

That morning, Guido woke up because of a cuss word that reminded him very much of his native Italian countryside. He had no idea what time it was: Giorno's expensive alarm clock having been inadvertently smashed the night before. He yawned gleefully and stretched out his arms before turning to face the lumpy shape beside him.

The mighty Giorno Giovanna, drool on his chin, was muffled in his blanket, and it didn't seem from the look of it that he'd be getting up any time soon.

He was probably dealing with a hell of a hangover right now - served him right for the astronomical quantity of Champagne in which he had literally bathed and drowned. Giorno would decidedly never learn from his past mistakes. Well, he was very much looking forward to taunting his lover for years about that unfortunate late birthday episode.

There was no way the mafia boss would be able to conduct his meetings of the day - changing the planning wasn't something to worry about even though it would piss the hell out of Fugo for sure. Feeling compassionate about what was awaiting Giorno, he gently patted what he thought was his head (?) and smiled as he heard him grumble in return. How cute.

Guido finally stood up to start his day, he would smuggle him some Ibuproben later but first thing first, his much-awaited morning tinkle. And a long hot shower. Yeah, that way he would perhaps find a ploy to avoid dealing with Giorno's responsibilities instead of him. While he was not hungover, the late night's events had completely drained him of his energy.

Giorno's bathroom truly was something: it was way more spacious and tidier than his own. To him, it was a literal spa: cool extra-powerful water jets, a gigantic glass shower cabin AND a massive marble bathtub, a myriad of bottles of heavenly-smelling shampoo, conditioners, shower gels and body lotions everywhere - hell, there was even a housekeeper politely handing him a towel.

...

Holy shit.

Trying his best to cover his naked glory, Guido Mista could only stutter pitifully:

"Uhh.. Yeah, so about that new raise of yours we were discussin' the other day..."

This would only be the fourth time of the year, so at this point...

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