#is such an incomprehensible take to me from every end of the aisle

[ot3]

love for that all tlt is supposed to be reworked homestuck fanfic, nobody can agree on what it originally was. which is a long way to say that I had to see someone accuse it of being a lesbian rose/dave rework once.

it's crazy it's almost like despite the fact that TLT has a lot of similarities to stuff taz did in the homestuck fandom/shows its influences she's a talented and competent writer who was able turn those influences into fully unique characters and settings that can't be 1:1 compared to fanfiction she wrote a decade ago. it's almost like Filing Serial Numbers off of fanfiction to publish it outright as an expy for those same dynamics is something that happens when you have an unskilled or lazy writer try and transition into publishing original work.

[chibitantei]

jesterofinaba​:

Work that day hadn’t been too much of a hassle, for once. Because Adachi was the newbie, freshly graduated, most of his days on the job as a street cop involved more desks and paperwork than any kind of riveting action, and if he was out on the street, it was usually checking for stolen bikes or expired parking meters.

It was about ten minutes through his lunch break that his mobile phone started to ring, and when he saw the number, he scrambled to answer it.

The other new cops looked at him in confusion as he had a very hasty conversation with Naoto’s teacher on the phone, and he offered his coworkers a rushed wave as he was already on his way out of the building.

Thankfully, the train wouldn’t take too long, and he had about an hour left of his break, and he raced into the school. The teacher greeted him and walked him down the hallway as he panted, removing his police cap and stuffing his gloves in his pocket. She soon thanks him, knocks on a door in an otherwise empty classroom, then turns to leave.

The only person inside the classroom was Naoto, looking close to tears and holding her bento close to her chest. Adachi smiles softly and walks down the aisle of desks, then sits next to her with his own lunch. Their bento boxes matched, at her insistence.

“Hey, Naoto. Miss me already?” He reaches out and ruffles her hair gently.

“You wanna eat lunch with me and you can tell me what’s going on? Your teacher told me a little, but I wanna hear from you.”

The door sliding open makes her jump, giving a reason to look for the cause of the sound. When she registers the person at the door as Mr. Adachi, the tightness disappears. Worry that she’s taking up his time comes as a package deal with relief, but Naoto keeps that particular worry to herself and opens her bento box.

Eating lunch sounds all right, but telling him about why the teacher had to call him here? Heart hammering in her chest, Naoto looks at the floor, mentally tracing over the floorboard grooves. Every fear she has about him has never come true. Not once has he ever acted the way she imagined he would. 

Not even when she was nothing but a random kid in his apartment.

She nods. “Okay.” After eating one of the octopus sausages and leaving a small dent in the portion of rice, she steels herself, hoping that her words won’t be completely incomprehensible. “I was...” She holds the box a little tighter. “I was scared that you’d... leave me.”

If she could get off the train and walk to school herself, she could definitely do the same in reverse, without Mr. Adachi’s help.

“Like... you wouldn’t let me back into the apartment or... you’d try to lose me in the crowd... I don’t know... I’m just scared of being alone again.” This time, she slowly chews on a piece of broccoli while thinking of something else to add on, something that makes her sound professional.

“I think the teacher can explain it better.” Times like these always make her wish she was one of them already, then she wouldn’t be worried over silly things and she’d know what to say and do.

“But... I guess it’s silly to think about. Because you came back to adopt me ...and I never thought I’d see you again. And you gave me my own room—the bigger one, too. We’re.... We’re family too, so of course, you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Naoto sets the bento to the side, then awkwardly wraps her arms around him in a weird hug. “And I know you have to go back to work soon, but... can you stay here for as long as you can?”

Maybe she didn’t need to voice the question if she has a gut feeling his answer will be a yes.

And the answer she receives is what she had hoped for.

[End]

[doverly]

Up the Road

A werewolf takes her newly turned almost girlfriend on a road trip to their new home. Unfortunately, the road is paved with old enemies.

~5.7k Words

Even my superhuman abilities couldn’t keep me awake forever. I had been driving for 18 hours straight and to be honest the lines on the road were starting to blur. Analise was asleep in the passenger seat beside me but even if she had been awake I wouldn’t have asked her to drive. She had been through a lot in a short amount of time, I didn’t want to give her any extra responsibilities. 

A light flashed to life on the dashboard, we were almost out of gas. I blessed the truck’s terrible gas mileage as I pulled into the nearest exit. We were trying to get there as fast as possible so I was trying to avoid unnecessary stops. Getting gas would be a way to break up the interstate monopoly though, and I could get some coffee while I was there. 

While I was carefully monitoring how much gas went into the hulking dull blue beast of a truck Analise started to wake up. She had been sleeping since we left Arkansas, twelve whole hours. I was worried that she wouldn’t wake up. Though I supposed that being in the truck had lulled her into a deeper sleep than usual. When I wasn’t driving I normally fell asleep on road trips as well. 

“Sorry I slept for so long,” Analise yawned, “I was trying to decipher our future through my dreams. So we’re in Maryland?” she asked sleepily. Analise had grown up in the south, but being quite introverted she had never picked up too much of an accent. Still, her voice spoke of hurricanes and pecan pie. I could have listened to that voice for hours. 

She was right, going through D.C. would have been faster but there were some people there that I needed to avoid. “Did your dreams tell you that?”

With a small smile she pointed at the 7-11 behind all of the gas pumps. On the windows ,along with deals on slushies, the Maryland Powerball was proudly advertised. I laughed and quickly pulled out the gas pump. Fifty dollars worth of fuel should have been enough for most of our trip, Analise had done something to the tank to make it use less fuel. 

I quickly paid, in cash, for the gas and then started counting out the money I was willing to spend on coffee. Before we left I had managed to get a couple thousand dollars together, and we were only half a day away from our destination, but I still wanted to budget. I never knew when we would need money. As I counted out the money I watched as Analise completed her divination. She had taped a light pink crystal to the head rest, I supposed that had to do with the spell. Analise took the crystal off of the head rest and taped it onto her pencil, then she started writing. I supposed that she was writing down her dreams, or her interpretations of that they meant. Even though Analise undeniably had some sort of power I wasn’t that well versed with spells. If I kept staring I would just be in her way, I turned to go into the shop. 

“Hey,” Analise asked shyly, looking up at me from her notebook with those deep brown eyes that I loved to get lost in, “If you’re going in can you get me some pizza, or a drink, or some candy or something?”

I nodded and counted out twenty more dollars, determined to get her everything that she had asked for. When she had moved just the year before she had taken a plane the few short hours to her new town, so I wasn’t sure that she was too used to long road trips. 

It was amazing what stayed the same no matter where you were. A 7-11 is the same no matter if it's Arkansas, or Maryland, or even Maine. The smell of the place made me smile, it was so familiar, so comforting. Donuts and slushie syrup and cheap beer. As I made my way through the short aisles I could almost imagine my dad behind me, trying to hurry me because his girlfriend was waiting in the car. At the thought of a girlfriend I blushed in the candy aisle. Analise I hadn’t talked about our relationship much before we left, I wondered if she was still interested in me. After all I was pretty much responsible for ruining her life. 

I chose a bag of Starbursts for the candy requirement of Analise’s request. She mentioned once in passing that she preferred candy you could chew, so the fruity candy seemed pretty safe. That plus my medium mocha, a large lemonade, and two slices of rubbery pizza costed fifteen dollars. Less than I thought, which was nice.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” I said when I slid back into the driver’s seat. In reality I had no idea whether or not I was gone for a long time. But not being around her felt wrong somehow. 

She laughed and took her food from my hand, I wondered if I had gotten what she wanted, “It’s fine. Actually I could smell you all the way from here, it was pretty nice to know that you were still close by.”

If I had tried to open my mouth nothing would have come out, just incomprehensible sounds of happiness. So instead of talking I just started up the truck and drove back onto the highway. 

A comfortable silence fell over the cab of the blue truck. Analise wasn’t too much of a talker even when she wasn’t eating, which I was just fine with me even if I loved hearing her voice. My coffee tasted exactly how I expected it to. With my heightened senses I could taste every over roasted coffee bean and low quality chocolate. They gave the entire cup an unmistakable burnt dark chocolate taste. I drank it all down greedily, we still had almost a day’s driving ahead after all. 

Once Analise finished her pizza and stopped sipping on her still half full cup of lemonade I expected her to doze off again. A playlist of her favorite songs I had prepared drifted through the truck’s speaker system. I had to fight to keep the music from lulling me to sleep before the coffee kicked in, but it seemed like Analise was wide awake. Just staring out of the tinted window. Passing signs were unreadable going 70 miles per hour, but Analise’s eyes still lingered on every one of them. She was thinking, I wondered what her dreams had told her about the future. 

“How much longer till we get there?” her voice sounded weary. 

I had memorized our route and several possible routes so I had an answer for her instantly, “Still about 20 hours left.”

Analise didn’t answer, just nodded. I winced. It seemed like all up and down the eastern seaboard I had enemies, so we were having to take a detour across Pennsylvania to avoid the major cities. If I wasn’t so scared Analise could have just flown to Maine and  she wouldn’t have been so tired, if I was smart I would have gotten a faster car, if I had never moved to town she wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place. I took another sip of my coffee,the bitterness didn’t seem like a harsh enough punishment. 

Another two hours on the road another state sign passed. We were in Pennsylvania, farther away from the big east coast pack but still within striking range. I tried to stop it but I instinctively relaxed. The smell of hostile wolves grew less prominent and I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. The most dangerous part of our journey was over, it all going up from there. 

I got a surge of energy when we entered the Keystone State. Maybe it was the caffeine or maybe it was the relief. Either way I was confident that I would be able to get us to Maine without any more stops. With my renewed energy I tried to stop seeing the roads as the same. From Arkansas to where we were the scenery had changed greatly. Shallow forests had replaced empty scrubland, cars were now four wheel drive, and it seemed like we were only the truck on the road. We had really left the south behind, I wondered how the north would be. Dad and I had spent the first few years of my life in the pacific northwest, that was where he met Clair after all. But I had never had to survive this far up the east coast, I wondered if deer tasted different the farther up you went. 

“It's getting late,” Analise said weakly. And she was right, the pink clouds of sunset were being replaced by the deep blue sky of night. Even though the stars weren’t out yet you could feel the time changing by the second. Maybe the coming darkness was responsible for some of my energy. Still I wondered why Analise said that, she was never one for pleasantries or small talk.

I wondered if any normal person could have heard her, she was almost whispering, “Can we stop for the night?”

Even though we were going at highway speeds I risked a glance at her. She could hardly keep her eyes open, yet she hadn’t slept a little. Her breathing was shallow, I wondered if she was sick. Gas station food didn’t have a stellar reputation after all. Yet she didn’t look green, just tired. I took a hand off of the leather covered steering wheel and reached it over to her, running it through her kinky black hair. Analise sighed, almost whimpered. 

“Alright,” I said softly, “Don’t worry I’ll find us a motel.”

Once both my hands were back on the steering wheel I booked it to the next exit. Even if Analise’s senses and strength were heightened I shouldn’t have expected her to go almost two days without sleeping in a bed. 

I tried not to spend too much time searching for somewhere to sleep, but in the end I was kind of choosy. If we stayed at a traditional motel then our scent would be open to the world. My enemies could gather in the parking lot and attack us at any time of the night. Instead of a drive-in motel I chose a small hotel for us to stay at. It would be more money, but it would protect us at least. 

Once I was parked I went out to get our suitcases from the truck bed while Analise got herself out. Her suitcase was big and light green, by the weight of it I think she had packed her entire wardrobe and all of her favorite books and plushies. Me, I had packed pretty light, quickly having to move wasn’t a new thing for me so I knew the procedure. 

I held onto the suitcases while Analise had her still half full cup of lemonode and the rest of her candy. The light of the hotel and the rest of the fast food places around the town drowned out the stars. Analise had once told me that she hated how the night sky looked in towns. She had grown up in the suburbs so she had never even seen how beautiful it could be at night until she went camping when she was ten years old. The simple dark blue and few bright stars didn’t do the night justice in her opinion, so when I told her that we were moving to the middle of nowhere Maine that was a positive in her opinion. Being able to see the true night sky was exciting, but for meI didn’t care as long as I could feel the moon on my skin.

“Can we have one room with two beds,” I asked the receptionist once we got into the carpeted lobby.

I wondered how we must have looked to him. Two black teenaged girls all alone with no supervision, I wonder if he could tell that we were hundreds of miles from home. 

“Actually we have a deal tonight for a suite room with a king-sized bed for just twenty dollars extra if you are interested.” he said in a cheerful customer service tone.

Analise nodded her head behind me but I shook mine. We had only been on two awkward dates, I didn’t know if she would even want to sleep in the same bed with me for an entire night. I decided to save the twenty dollars and take the double twin bed room. The receptionist nodded and handed Analise our room key card since my hands were full with the suitcases.

It was on the third floor with windows facing the main parking lot. That would be good, I thought, we can have advanced warning if someone is coming. Then I laughed to myself. We were states away from their territory and I was still worried, they might have even forgotten about me. It had been more than a year after all. I just needed to relax and get some sleep, another day of driving was ahead of me after all.

“Do you mind if I take a shower first?” Analise asked me once we got settled in the room.

“Oh yeah don't worry. I’ll check for bedbugs in the meantime.”

The thought of bed bugs made Analise’s eyes widen but I waved off her fear. I was only being cautious, and there was only some much the bugs could do to us, after all.

Instead of lifting up the mattresses I got down on my knees and started sniffing the crisp white sheets. They were relatively clean, thankfully. No used condoms and only a few spare crumbs were stuck under folds in the sheets. That was good, I’m not sure I could have let Analise sleep on a dirty bed.

I brushed the crumbs off of her bed and straightened up the sheets. Her’s the one farthest away from the window, I’m sure she was tired of sleeping next to windows after a day in the car. Though giving myself the window bed also quieted my fears that we would get sneak attacked, even though I tried to stop myself from getting scared in the first place. I didn’t bother smelling my bed or brushing off crumbs, if I got sick then so be it. 

Analise exited along with a cloud of steam from the bathroom, she was wrapped in a towel but I made sure to close my eyes. 

“You can go in now,” she said while I heard her unzipping her suitcase and rooting around for some pajamas.

It was a short cold shower for me, though I made sure to shake myself dry afterwards. The feeling of cold water spraying out of my hair and skin was amazing. I had basically been turned my entire life, so some of my more wolfish traits had entered my everyday life. It was the little things, shaking, running, looking at the moon, that really made me feel alive. 

I came out dry but naked, I hadn’t thought to grab a towel. The lamp beside Analise’s bed was off and she was curled up under the sheets, her breathing regular and deep. But her heart rate was still fast, she was trying to fall asleep not actually sleeping. Still I tried to be quiet as I could as I snuck over to my suitcase and put on my pajamas. 

“No one’s going to hurt us, nothing’s going to happen.” I whispered to myself firmly as I padded softly to bed, “Just go to sleep.”

And I tried, I really did try my best. The bed was comfortable, the sheets were soft, and the window let in buckets full of soft moonlight. But I had just drinken a bunch of coffee and since I was a werewolf sleeping during the night had never come naturally to me. The moon enchanted me awake, its many craters and silvery glow so mysterious and beautiful. I tried to turn away from the window and close my eyes, but just knowing that the moon was up was enough to get my mind racing.

While I was trying to fall asleep my mind wandered. I wondered where Clair was, I hadn’t seen her in person in a year and hadn’t spoken to her in three months. She would know what to do in this situation, she wouldn’t just grasp at straws. Dad was so stupid to give her up. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of that fateful day when she left. Dad hadn’t just fucked his own life up, his actions had broken me for so long. And he wondered why I was avoiding him.

“Are you sleeping?” Analise whispered into the dark room.

I hadn’t been paying too much attention to her breathing or heart rate, I had thought she would be asleep. 

Once I heard her I sat up in bed and looked over. She was still curled up under the sheets facing the door. 

“Yeah I’m up, what do you need?” I asked quickly. 

I heard a head shake, “Nevermind, I don’t want to bother you.”

At this point I got out of bed and walked over to her. I didn’t want her to think that she was bothering me, I didn’t even know how she could have bother me. It was my fault that she was there, I didn’t want her to hesitate to ask me anything. 

“It's okay,” I whispered once I was closer to her.

She turned around and I could see that she had been crying. Analise sat up in bed and I kneeled down next to her. She sniffled, it sounded loud in the dark room. 

“I had trouble sleeping when Mom and me first moved. Even though my bed frame had come in the moving truck too, everything was different. Whether it was the sounds or the smells, everything was weird. It took me like a month to get a full night’s sleep.”

I nodded, she had seemed tired when I first met her. It was the first time she have moved away from her hometown, it made sense. 

“And it’s so cold here,” it seemed like her voice was getting smaller and smaller, “I didn’t know how cold it could be inside.”

She paused and I stroked her hair, she was so far from everything that she had ever known. 

“Can you sleep with me?” I’m glad it was dark in the room and Analise hadn’t yet gotten her night vision yet. That phrase had so much meaning so I waited until she started speaking again, “Just for tonight, it's so cold and I don’t think I can sleep without warming up a bit. I’m sorry if it's weird or if you don’t like me anymore, but…”

I didn’t let her finish before I crawled into bed with her and started cuddling up to her. It was awkward for the first few seconds, but once I wrapped my arms around her waist and leaned my head into her shoulder she and I both relaxed. 

“Wait…” I just registered what she had been saying, “What do you mean that I don’t like you anymore?”

Instead of answering she went quiet for a minute then told me a story. I was fine with that, maybe it was a sensitive question. And besides I always loved learning about what her life was like before we met, before everything went to hell. 

“When I was in 7th grade I had a boyfriend and I think we were pretty serious, as far as middle school relationships go.” she said and I could tell, even in the dark with her facing away from me, I could tell that there was a sad smile on her face, “We had been in the same classes together since 6th grade, but we started dating in April of our 7th grade year. Summer came and we stayed together, my friends even commented on how great our relationship was when we all went to the beach together. When school started again we kept dating, but in November, right before thanksgiving, my grandma died. I was really sad about it about it and I didn’t talk for like a week straight. My friends supported me, even though they were bad at it, but he didn’t. He kept trying to keep going on dates and acted like nothing happened and when I couldn’t he broke up with me. He wrote me a letter saying that he had cut me out of his life for his mental health. Me being sad about my grandma was bringing him down.”

I was starting to understand but Analise kept going, “When everything happened and I yelled at you when we were in the movies I thought that we would be over. And I know that you’re just staying with me because of guilt or something…” Analise’s voice broke and she sobbed quietly. 

This was too much, Analise might have been tired but I needed her to know what I knew. I turned on the lamp beside the bed and turned Analise’s shoulder so that she was facing me. Tears were streaming down her face and pooling on the tip of her nose, she must have been crying for longer than I thought. 

“I’m not just here doing this because of guilt Analise,” And I wasn’t. I had been an irresponsible idiot for accidentally turning her, but I was doing more than taking responsibility, “I want to be here, I want you to live a happy life. Not just because I feel guilty. And I’ve been kind of distant because I thought that you were going through a lot, not because I don’t like you still.”

“Thanks,” her mouth barely moved, and she kept crying.

I brung her into a hug and brought us both down on the bed. Analise kept crying into my chest, I wondered if she believed anything that I said. I hugged her tighter, feeling her tears stain my gray pajama shirt. The lamp was still on, leaving us in the light while the rest of the room was cloaked in darkness. A sob ripped through the room, Analise’s tears ran harder. I just hugged her.

“Did you---?” Analise started, stuttering and sobbing, “Are you… I’m sorry, I just…”

I stroked her back, silently telling her that it was okay. And I was about to verbally tell her too, when I heard something. The doorknob was turning, slowly and quietly. Quieter than any human could have done. I resisted the urge to growl, whoever was at the door needed to think that we were both sleeping. Analise’s and I’s physical well being trumped emotional security as I hopped out of bed and lifted a finger to my lips. She hadn’t yet adjusted to her super senses so Analise didn’t hear the door opening, but she stopped crying all the same. I smiled at the trust she had in me and then turned all my attention to the door.

Luckily the walls of the hotel were pretty thick, so they could only vaguely hear our heart rates through the door. Though those thick walls were probably the reason I couldn’t smell our attackers before they were so close, that and the mellow scent of tears that had spread throughout the room. We had the upper hand, they didn’t know we were still awake. By we I mean I, I would never ask Analise to fight for me. Not making any sound I crept behind the door and motioned for Analise to turn off the lamp. In the darkness I waited.

Their smell assaulted me when the door finally creaked open. Dirty river water, purebred dogs, and brandy. It was them, the Maryland pack. Internally I cursed, how were they here? We were seventy miles away from their pack boundary? I allowed them to creep farther into the room while I thought quickly about how they must have done it. In a car with thick walls they must have followed us up the highway, staying downwind the entire time. For a second I thought them insane, Dad and I had crossed them a year and half ago and they were still this obsessed with me. Then I remembered our time with the pack. They looked after their dogs and they looked after their own, and we had damaged a lot of dogs. I still remembered the smell of labrador blood on dirty snow, those nightmares still haunted me. 

A short barking laugh not too dismisimar to my dad’s, “Crying already, don’t worry we’re not going to hurt you much.”

I wished that Analise hadn’t cried, but her tears were hiding my scent at least. By their footsteps I counted two people, maybe I would be able to hold them off while Analise got to the truck. It didn’t matter what I could do though, it mattered what I needed to do. I lunged, extending my fingernails into sharp claws I lunged for the man’s throat.

If it had been a human I could have severed their artery right there, but werewolves can dodge even in human form. I caught his arm when he raised it to block my attack. By that I could tell that he was a low level enforcer, both of them were, probably recently turned. I had been turned when I was just 8 months old. Mastery of my wolf, my senses, and my abilities had come naturally. I tore my claws through his forearm, blood tinged the air as I ribbed through muscle. I could win.

The second enforcer, it was a lady, came behind me and reached for my throat. I could hear Analise’s panicked breathing in bed, short and fast, she probably couldn’t even tell what was happening in the dark. I could tell by the sound in the air that there were no claws coming at me, I laughed audibly into the gloom. They had probably only been werewolves for a few months, she couldn’t even summon claws on command. I didn’t let her hand reach me before ripping my claws out of the man’s arm and bringing my foot around and connecting a kick with her shoulder.

“Turn on the lights!” I yelled into the void, my kick had blown the lady away and I wanted to be able see everything that was happening.

A few seconds of Analise noisily grasping for the switch before everything was illuminated. I was able to see the woman charging at me with light blinded eyes and a snarl before rolling out of the way. Right into the legs of the man. Quicker than I would have thought he would have been able to, the man grabbed my throat and ripped me into the air. With me seemingly taken care of the woman stalked towards Analise, still cowering in fear on the bed. Her eyes were wide and she was frozen with fear, I’m sure she would have peed herself if she hadn’t already gone to the bathroom. I tried to crane my neck to see how fast the woman was going, if I had any time, but the man’s grip on my neck was strong. Too strong. He was using too much force, if I was a human he would have broken my neck twice over. Since I wasn’t, all he was doing was cracking the bones in his fingers. 

There was no time to be careful, I could see the sharp teeth that he had gotten out. Glinting in the lamplight, white and long. I got out my own teeth, shorter perhaps, but I was holding the advantage in experience. He had brought me closer to his face, probably going to spew out some curse or insult. But that was his mistake. I stretched my neck further than humanly possible and took a bite out of his nose. By that point I had bitten into a lot of fur and wolf blood always tasted odd. More like pence than pennies. I ripped cartilage and muscle out of his face and in his agony he let go of me and dropped to his knees. There was no time for mercy, I brought my foot down on his still bleeding head and heard a crack.

With a growl I launched myself at the woman, who was towering over Analise in her bed. She was probably saying something but my rage was too loud to hear. If I had been able to calm myself down then everything would have been different. I saw it before I heard it, a gun. A single shot, an infuriating smile. I was on the floor, smelling my own blood leak out of the wound in my shoulder. Dimly, my mind wondered how no one had heard what was going on. The woman’s foot was on my back, pressing me against the carpet. Though I don’t think I would have been able to get up even if she hadn’t been on me. I had been in enough fights to know that whenever I lost enough blood I passed out, and even though I was trying, I wasn’t fighting the blackness hard enough. 

“Don’t worry, puppy,” the woman said sickeningly sweet to Analise, who’s panicked breathing along with whimpering I could still hear, “We won’t hurt you, you’ll just be coming with us. If you do good you’ll get food, if you don’t…”

Her words had ignited something in me, I flexed muscles I didn’t know I had and growled deeper than I ever had. Before I even knew it I was a wolf and it wasn’t even the full moon. The last time I had measured my wolf was 7.5 feet long and my fur had darkened to a brown almost black with sunnier brown patches. When the moon was out I loved to run and swim and hunt and catch any fish I could find. But there was no time for play that night. 

The woman wasn’t expecting a shifter, and to be honest neither was I, she lost balance and almost fell over before regaining her balance. I was slow because of the unexpected shifting, she got a shot in and it whizzed through my fur. The wound in my shoulder was still there, but as a wolf I was better able to accept pain. With an enraged growl I leaped at her, and she knocked over the lamp as she went down with all 160 pounds of me on top of her. Strange shadows were cast along the room and I could barely see Analise’s face. 

“Plea-!” the woman started the shout, but I didn’t let her finish. I knew that she and the man were only following orders. As minor enforcers their position was always in flux. Enough mistakes and they were demoted lower than where they started at. Both of them were ambitious newbies, probably were this close to promotion. Really I didn’t have any malice toward the pair. But their situation didn’t let me excuse what they had done. They had scared Analise, they had harmed her. I had no mercy for them.

My teeth ravaged her collar, neck, and shoulders. Skin got stuck in my teeth but I kept biting and scraping and snarling. Eventually she stopped blinking and she stopped trying to scratch me through my fur. I stepped off of her awkwardly, suddenly aware that Analise was still in the room. I turned to face her, blood still soaking into and staining my fur. Her heart rate didn’t slow, I must have been terrifying to her. The first wolf she sees and I was covered in blood and had just maimed someone.

“Laurie?” she choked out.

I nodded my wolf head and sat down on my hind legs, trying to look cute and nonthreatening. Analise crawled out of bed slowly, her legs jelly as she approached me. I’m sure she couldn’t ignore the two bodies in the room like I could. When she managed to take the four steps toward me Analise fell to her knees and hugged me, actually hugged me. She buried her face in a part of my fur that wasn't bloody and let out all of the tears that she still had in her. As a wolf I couldn’t hug her back, tell her that everything would be okay, kiss her forehead. The heartbeats of the pair had slowed down to dangerous levels, they would either die soon or be unconscious for a while. There was no risk to detransforming. Yet I couldn’t do it. A process that was so easy when the sun was rising after a full moon was impossible that night. I tried to go to that place in my mind that I did when I normally detransformed, a place in my mind filled with everything that made me human, but it didn’t work.

Analise picked up on my distress, maybe she was finally learning to hear my heartbeat, “Can you transform back.”

She was looking at me in the eyes. They hadn’t changed, they were still a light brown, somehow looking at me finally calmed her down.

I shook my head and whined softly. Even though Analise hadn’t studied wolf language she understood what I meant.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ll stay with you until morning.”

Again I whined, but this time in a more reassured way. Though I wasn’t exactly reassured. I had never transformed like this before, what if I couldn’t transform back? What if I had to stay a wolf until the next full moon? 

“It’ll be okay, don’t worry too much.” This time I looked into her dark, dark brown eyes and actually started to relax, “It’ll be okay.”

For the entire night, while the bodies in the room grew colder and their heartbeats grew feeble Analise held me. Blood soaked in and crusted into my fur, a few tears fell from my wolf eyes but I found that I didn’t sink into despair. Just because Analise was there, I didn’t let myself worry.

Thanks for reading guys! I’m really bad at writing romance so I hope that the two girl’s feelings toward each other stood out clearly. If you have any tips leave a comment I guess. I hope you have an amazing weekend. :)

[before-we-get-started]

Dream Come True

Colin Shea x O/C Corinne MacAdam

Multi-Chapter Story - Complete

Summary: Colin Shea and his band Rock the Cradle are finally making it big - until something unexpected happens. When he meets a girl that makes him reconsider his player ways, he thinks his life may be coming together, until she blows it apart.

Warning: Bad language, smut, suicidal ideations - no one under 18, please

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please do not read if you are underage. I do not own the character of Colin Shea; the rest are my original characters. By reading beyond this point, you understand the disclaimers as posted.

Chapter Seven

Cori and Seth fell into a very comfortable rhythm, meeting for dinner, going for walks, catching an art exhibit, getting coffee. He was great company and she felt truly at ease with him.

Her job was starting to pick up. Ms. Robbins was ready to start entertaining. Cori found a confidence she didn’t have when she started, and she credited it to her rebirth – new place, new job, new boyfriend. She felt better about herself than she had in months.

In the meantime, Colin’s life was about the same. Lots of gigs with the band, lots of girls, but the one he wanted was out of reach. He and Cori had spent a few evenings together, a couple of times on the rooftop when he was writing songs. She’d giggled at some of his lyrics until he got them straightened out. The problem was, all she wanted to talk about was Seth. He was amazing. He was great. He was outstanding. He was smart. Colin hated him. He was everything Colin wasn’t or ever would be. He was established and well educated and a grown up, all the things that Colin wasn’t.

One evening when she’d invited him for pizza, they watched the Red Sox game on TV and started talking about when they were in high school. Then Cori shared a couple of college stories, but her mood took a turn and she wasn’t so talkative.

“Ok Debbie Downer, what just happened? I was telling you about how I got taped to the top of a flagpole for high school football initiation and then suddenly, you tell me about college and you’re quiet. What’s up?”

She looked so cute tonight. She had on jean cut-offs and a pink sleeveless button up blouse that tied at the bottom, cut low to show the swell of her breasts and with just enough skin visible around the waist that Colin had to shift a couple of times to get comfy on the couch. Her hair was pulled back with a few tendrils hanging down. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose from being in the sun and her eyes were particularly gorgeous. He kept looking at her from the top of her head to the sweet pink toenails on her bare feet and each time, his breath would hitch in his throat.

“I told you about my fiancée, right?”

“Yeah,” he said sadly.

“Well I started seeing him my senior year of high school and we stayed together during college, even though we went to different schools.”

Colin took a swig of beer. “I think I know where this is going,” he said.

“Yeah. He cheated on me. Of course I thought it was the end of the world, except I didn’t even know what that was yet.”

“That’s tough,” said Colin and she let out a laugh.

“Colin. Seriously. For you, it’s incomprehensible. I know you probably think it was stupid that we even tried to stay together.”

He looked a little hurt. “Hey, I respect people that want a relationship. I think it’s hard at that age, with all that temptation, but I know it can be done. Would it be my choice? Hell no. But it meant something to you. So what happened?”

“I was pretty devastated, but he was very remorseful. He came all the way to see me at my school and apologized profusely. He told me it would never happen again. It took a while but I took him back and eventually, I trusted him again.”

“You must have felt like he was worth giving another chance,” he said.

She sighed. “I thought he was, the best. When we graduated, we got engaged. I could see all of it – the wedding, the house with the white picket fence with kids running around. He and I were so compatible.” Her voice dropped off at the end.

He hesitated. “Do you want to talk about the rest? You don’t have to –“

“No, it’s ok. We had our rehearsal dinner at the hotel where we were getting married on Friday night. We parted for the night and wouldn’t see each other until I walked down the aisle. As I was leaving the bar, I noticed he’d left his credit card. I took it up to his room, excited that we’d get one more kiss. I was so stupid.” She felt the tears coming.

He could see it too. He moved toward the couch to try and get closer to her. “It’s ok,” he said softly. “We can stop.”

“No,” she said a little sob escaping. She took a deep breath and sighed. “I caught him in bed my very best friend. And when everything was said and done, he’d had girls all along. He’d never been faithful to me, not even in high school.” She wiped a tear away from her eye.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings – rage at this guy for hurting her, sadness because she was sad, protectiveness because he didn’t want her to hurt anymore. Her tears truly broke his heart. He knelt down in front of her chair and started to put his arms around her, until there was a knock at the door.

“Great,” she muttered, wiping her eyes. She stood up and made her way to the door, gathering herself as she went. She looked through the peephole and let out a little squeal, opening the door. “Seth! You said you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!”

He swept her up in a hug, lifting her off the ground, then planted a soft kiss to her lips. “I got an earlier flight. I didn’t want to be away from you a second longer than I had to be.” He kissed her again, this time more deeply and urgently.

Colin suddenly felt incredibly conspicuous. He stood up, dropping his beer bottle in the trash can. Seth eyed him over Cori’s shoulder.

“Hey Seth,” he said with a half smile.

“Colin, hey,” he said.

“Well, I’m gonna get out of here so you two can enjoy the night.” Colin stepped around them and walked out the door as Seth lifted Cori again, kissing her as he shut the door behind them. He stood there for just a second. It was jealousy this time, but there was something else – longing, maybe. He was really smitten with her. In fact, if he was really honest, he was falling in love with her.

This was dangerous territory. Time to take evasive action. He ducked into his apartment and changed, then headed to the bar down the block. Time to find a companion for the night, to make him forget that he wasn’t going to be with the girl he really wanted.

“Colin, you guys have to do this.” Cori was pacing around her apartment, talking with her hands, full of energy.

“I don’t know. It’s not what we normally do.”

“It’s a great way to get your name out to people who wouldn’t normally go to Rap’s or some of the other places you play. And it’s really good money.”

He was leaning against her kitchen counter, beer bottle in hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but this is different. This is a big, stuffy old people event.”

She leveled him with a look. “It is not,” she said. “My job is to broaden the net for her fundraising. She has plenty of big stuffy events for old people. She has to widen her demographic. She says if they’re having fun, they’ll donate. I know lots of young people feel like they are a charity, but it’s my job to bring them in so we can teach them about our foundation.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t make any decisions for the band, we do it as a group. I’ll ask them.”

“Make sure you tell them how much she’s paying,” she said with a smile.

“That’s what worries me. I know they’ll say yes.”

“Why is that so awful?”

“It’s not awful, it’s just – I don’t know, I never pictured us being that kind of band.”

“The kind that makes money?”

He shot her a look. “No,” he said forcefully, “a band that kind of sells out and plays just stuffy events.”

She crossed her arms and gave him an angry look. “Colin. Are you crazy? The biggest names in music play private events all the time. One of the attorneys at Seth’s firm just paid huge money for Maroon 5 to play his daughter’s 16th birthday party. You think Adam Levine was like, ‘oh man, I’m compromising my principles.’ No, he took the money and probably even said thank you.”

He smiled a little, he knew when he was beaten. “Fine. Give me all the details and I’ll talk to them at practice.”

“Great!” she squealed. “You guys are so hot right now, getting you at an exclusive event will be huge. And the venue is so awesome. I promise we’ll take good care of all of you.”

He smiled, trying to hide the fact he’d love to work with her. “Oh, hey, I meant to tell you – Rap’s is closing early Wednesday for an employee appreciation and we’re going to play a set. I thought you might want to come, it won’t be so crowded and crazy.”

“Mm,” she said, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Thanks, let me check with Seth and I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, the invite is just for you. Since it’s employee appreciation, they told us we could each ask one person.”

“Wow,” she said, “I’m your plus one? I’m moving up in the world!”

“Damn right,” he said confidently and they both laughed.

“Alright, count me in. I’d love to come.”

He felt a swell of excitement – he loved every minute he spent with her. He was lucky her boyfriend didn’t mind him hanging around as much as he did. Some guys would get all possessive, but Seth seemed fine with it. Thank goodness.

“Alright, I’m out of here. And thanks for including us in the benefit. I don’t think I even bothered to thank you before I went full diva.”

She laughed, a sound he had come to love. “Well, if you’d said no, it was on to U2. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind being sloppy seconds to Rock the Cradle.”

He grabbed his left pec, laughing heartily. “Bono should be so lucky.”

For just a second, he had an impulse to kiss her. She looked so good, he loved that he made her smile so much. But he stopped himself – he had to do this right or he’d blow it.

“Ok, see ya later gator.”

“Bye,” she said seeing him out the door. As she closed it, she thought how crazy it was that she’d ever been interested in him. She’d always have a thing for him, but he’d never see her the way he saw the swarms of girls that were all over him at a gig, or the ones that nuzzled up to him at parties or the ones that were lucky enough to enjoy a sunrise with him. He’d always be out of reach for her. She was lucky that Seth had come along when he did or she’d spend a lot of nights staring through the peephole, wishing she was with 6A.

On Wednesday, she worked a little late so she went straight from work to Rap’s. The doors were locked and a guy was posted with a guest list. He opened up, saw her name on the list and let her in. He directed her to the green room where the band was prepping.

She came to the door and knocked softly. “The groupies are here!” someone shouted from inside and they all hooped and cheered. The door was opened by a guy she recognized as the drummer. She shoved her hand at him. “Oh man, it’s just Cori.”

She giggled. “Sorry to disappoint you!”

“If you’re looking for Colin, he’s in the bathroom squeezing into his leather pants. He’ll be out in a minute.”

She laughed as he led her to a table with some food and drinks.

“Help yourself,” he said.

“Thanks!” She grabbed some veggies and fruit and a bottle of water and found a chair by Kevin. The other guys were coming and going, getting ready.

“So,” she said, “is it good to be back at it and so busy?”

“Yeah,” he said. “There was a time I wondered if we’d get back but we did.”

“Yeah, Colin told me,” she said.

He looked surprised. “Wow, he must really like you. He never really said much to anyone. I just wish I could find out what really happened with him. Something he just doesn’t want to talk about.”

Cori knew he thought she knew more than she did, so she played along. “Yeah, just crazy. Thank goodness he was ok.”

“Oh yeah, he took a really hard hit. I was terrified. I thought, here we were playing hoops like we always do, and in just a second, he was flat on his back not breathing. Leave it to Colin’s dumb ass to die while he’s showing off a killer dunk.”

Cori’s breath caught in her throat. She tried not to show her surprise.

“We were lucky someone knew CPR. He was so upset we missed the meeting with the record company. Between recovering from being hurt, having a horrible concussion and missing out on that opportunity, he was so down. Colin is never down, but he was almost too far to reach.”

For a second she felt guilty – she’d wondered if it was drug or alcohol related. How could she have thought that about him?

“Good news is here we are, back in the swing. I hear you got us a high-end gig.”

“What? Oh yes, did you all discuss?”

Kevin let out a laugh. “There’s nothing to discuss! It’s great money and exposure, we’re doing it.”

“Oh good! I’m so glad,” she said, still reeling inside about what Kevin had told her. Just then, her golden rock god emerged from the bathroom. He was truly born to front a rock band. When he saw her, he broke into the most beautiful smile. She felt that pull of desire in her belly, but tried to look as normal as possible.

“You made it,” he said.

“Of course!”

Someone stuck their head in the door behind him – “five minutes.”

“That’s my cue. Have a great show, break a leg or whatever you say to a band.” She giggled.

“Thanks Cori.”

She made her way to her seat and sat through an incredible set. All the bar’s employees were having a ball, dancing in front of the stage and partying. She nursed a drink and spent her time watching him. He was so beautiful. He had a good voice, not the greatest but no one would ever notice because his stage presence was incredible. He had the crowd in the palm of his hand.

When it ended and the lights came up, the crowd swarmed the stage. The band’s guests emptied out of their tables and climbed up, hugging their significant others and chatting with the crowd. Just as Cori was about to walk towards the stage, a tall, dark haired girl strode in. Cori stopped and looked at her. She was breathtakingly gorgeous. Long legs in a short skirt, crop top that showed off her tanned skin, her hair perfect, large gold earrings dangling from her ears. She had on designer high heels and as she walked by, Cori caught a whiff of what she was sure was expensive perfume. She walked right up to the stage and looked at Colin, and he froze for a second, then reached down for her hand and pulled her up. She wound her arms around his neck, leaning in to say something to him and then laid a kiss on him that was pure fire.

Cori suddenly felt out of place and was grateful she had a clear shot at the door. She left quietly, no one any the wiser. She walked the few blocks home, locked the door and went in to prep for bed. She looked at herself in the mirror. She’d come straight from work so her cardigan and skirt weren’t cool at all. She looked frumpy compared to the glamour that Colin was kissing on stage. Her phone rang.

“Hey baby,” she said to Seth.

“Hey, you’re home.”

“Yeah, I left soon as the band finished.”

“I figured they’d have a big party after.”

She thought about the great time Colin was having with the gorgeous girl. “Nope, no party, just came home.”

“Aw, well I’m glad you’re home safe. We’re still on for Friday, right?”

“Yes! I’m so excited, I can’t believe you got us a table at Basile. You’re the best.”

“I fly in about 7 and I’ll head straight from the airport, should be there by 8 no problem.”

“Great, I can’t wait.”

They said their goodbyes and Cori pulled on a sleep shirt and crawled into bed. The last thing she thought about was her sexy rocker neighbor and how no matter how much she wanted him, she could never have him, not even a little of him.

Colin kept an eye on Cori as soon as the band finished. He wanted to sweep her up and spend the rest of the evening with her. When Claire suddenly appeared in front of the stage, he couldn’t believe it. She’d appeared just as instantly as she’d disappeared from his life. She was the one he thought might be for good, and he’d allowed himself to fall hard for her. Then, just like that, she was gone. He’d awoke one morning to find a note next to the bed. No explanation, just “Thanks,” and she was gone. Now, here she was again, and her timing was horrible. He looked up just in time to see Cori slip out the front door.

He stayed for the party, Claire catching him up on her travels and telling him she’d missed him and just had to see him. She saw on the internet that they were playing at Rap’s tonight and even though it was a private party, she talked her way in (she was used to always getting her way). He drank too much and took her back to his apartment. He didn’t know that across the hall, 6C couldn’t sleep and was up when she heard voices. She’d peered through the peephole at them, Colin’s hands all over Claire as he fumbled with the door, where they’d fallen into 6A and closed the door behind them. Knowing he was home safe, Cori crawled back in bed and finally fell asleep.

The next morning, Ms. Robbins had an early appointment and told her not to come in until 11. She’d made up for the sleep she lost the night before and was stepping out the door when Colin appeared at his door.

“Hey,” she said.

He hesitated, then “Hey.”

“You guys were great last night.”

“Thanks. Hey – I need a favor, a big one. Can I come over?”

She looked at her watch. “Sure, I’m going in late today, I have plenty of time.”

He walked into her apartment clad in only his boxers and laid down on the couch, arm behind his head.

“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh.

“Waiting.”

“On what?”

“For Claire to leave.”

Cori looked perplexed. “Wait – why don’t you just ask her to leave?”

“She’s not awake yet.” He said all of this as if it was perfectly normal.

“So wake her up.”

“Well, we were up pretty late, I wanted to let her sleep. But I don’t want to be there, I just want her to go.”

She thought about this for a minute. “Why?”

He sat up on the couch and pulled a throw pillow over his crotch, resting his arms on it. “Remember when I told you there was one girl I thought was the one?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s her.”

Cori raised her eyebrows. “I understand. She’s stunning.”

“Yeah, and she knows it,” he grumbled. “She’s the worst. The whole time we were together last night, all I could think was how she’d unceremoniously dumped me, never called or texted, then just showed up last night. Like everything was fine.”

She sat down on the chair. “A normal person would’ve said, ‘hey Claire, I was really disappointed in how it ended and I don’t want to be with you anymore.’”

He thought about that for a minute. “I mean, maybe. That never entered my mind. She looked really good last night and we had a few beers, probably too many. But that’s it, I’m done.”

Cori shook her head, processing all he’d said. “So let me get this straight. You really, really liked her, she broke your heart and dumped you on your ass, you don’t hear from her for a long time, she shows up out of nowhere and now you want her to disappear without saying a word to her.”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’.

“But she was ok to fuck last night.”

Colin flinched at the words. He’d never heard Cori use any language like that. “Jeez Cori, where did that come from?”

“It came from someone that got dumped by an asshole who also wanted to come back – again – but I had enough dignity to tell him to go fuck himself instead of setting myself up again.” She could feel the color rise in her face.

“Look,” said Colin, “I think these are two different situations. I never thought about marrying her or anything, I just really liked her.”

“So that’s what ‘the one’ means to you? Someone worth fucking more than once?” Cori could feel her temper spiraling out of control, but she wasn’t completely sure why and she was flying without a net.

He looked down at the floor, then back at her. “I’m sorry if you’re offended –“

“I guess I’m offended that she treats you like shit, shows up out of nowhere, jumps on stage with you and you bring her home and can’t get enough of her. I saw you when you were trying to get in the door while you were attached to each other. So she’s worth another shag even though she treats you like shit and I’m not worth fucking at all. I can’t believe I’ve actually been comparing myself to these girls you sleep with. How stupid am I?”

He was speechless. What did she just say?

“Cori, hold on a minute –“

“No,” she said, standing up. “You need to go. Go across the hall and grow the fuck up. If you don’t want her there, tell her. I’m not letting you hide over here. I’m just another girl for you to use. I guess I should be happy, at least I get to see you once in a while. As soon as we sleep together, you’d disappear. I’m lucky that I have a mature boyfriend who respects women and doesn’t just see them as a good time. You’re no better than my ex.”

He swallowed slowly, not sure what to say. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She did have feelings for him. He didn’t think that was possible. How could she, she was way too good for him. On the down side, she was comparing him to the ex that cheated on her with her best friend. Not great.

“I mean it. Go. Get out of here. Just go.”

He stood up from the couch and hesitated in front of her.

“Go,” she said with venom in her voice. He did as she said.

Cori was so hot, she started fanning herself. Her fists were balled up and she was grinding her teeth. She looked at her watch and saw that she’d better head out or she’d be late. She made sure through the peephole that Colin wasn’t around and hurried out and down the stairs.

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 7

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent imagery

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

Prepare to be baited. Apologies in advance.

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough.

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s brooding. During the curtain call rehearsal, he sits with his arms folded across his chest and a clear “Do not talk to me” on his face. When Changbin asks him what’s wrong, he snarls in response. It’s so bad that he doesn’t even feel like watching you on stage. It’s not your fault at all, but he can’t help feel that it kind of is. You just… forgot about him last night.

A thunderous applause jolts him out of his thoughts. Shouts of “Thank you, tech!” comes from the many actors on stage, though their words are more directed toward the back of the house where sound and lights are. The freshman crew member wonders out loud why the stage crew doesn’t get any mentions, and Jisung resonates with those feelings. Some kind of recognition would be nice.

“We’re going to do a full runthrough today,” the director announces. “Actors, be back in ten minutes.”

The whole crowd stampedes off stage, and a select few head to the dressing room to change for Act I. The main curtain comes down, and Jisung can relax for some time while everyone else prepares. He leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes, dreaming of ways to get you to acknowledge him again. More Pepero? That didn’t work well last night. Flowers on opening night? No, three days is too long to do nothing. Giving you a homemade dosirak? Too over the top. Well, maybe you would like it; you always seemed dissatisfied with your dinners.

“Hey, Ryujin?” calls a faraway voice. Jisung’s eyelids flutter open when he realizes it’s you. “Do you know where the sash is for my first dress? It wasn’t on the dress, and it’s not in the dressing room.”

“Um…” She shuffles through the costumes on the rack, checking to see if any of the dresses for an extra accessory.

“Do you want help?” Jisung offers, his earlier annoyance forgotten. He’s already out of his seat.

“Can you check the stage?” Ryujin asks. She pushes another hanger to the side, scanning its surface. “It might have fallen off during the scene.”

Jisung nods and is about to head out when you say, “I’ll go too.”

You fall into step with him, your footsteps matching perfectly with his. His heart begins thumping in a familiar way, and he’s aware of how close you are to him — it’s nearly shoulder to shoulder.

“I’ll take stage left,” you tell him. When he nods, you continue walking, stopping near the black curtains to see if the sash was kicked underneath them.

Jisung checks near the cyc lights but only finds cables and dust. You don’t have much luck either as you report finding nothing. Your eyebrows knit together, and Jisung can see you biting your lower lip rather hard. The actors for Act I are already in the wings. The two of you go to ask Ryujin if she found it. He can practically feel your worry radiating off you in waves.

“It’s probably with the costumes,” he assures you.

“I hope so,” you anxiously reply. “Thanks for helping.”

“No problem.”

“Did you guys find it?” Ryujin asks.

You shake your head, and Ryujin’s mouth flattens into a line. She checks the costumes over and over again with a fervor Jisung has never seen before. It seems to be mostly fueled by irritation rather than determination. When other actors ask what’s the problem, you inform them, and before he knows it, there’s a small search party for the missing sash in the stage right wings. To none of Jisung’s surprise, Hyunjin is by your side.

The first scene of the play ends before Ryujin snatches the thin ribbon around the waist of a dress belonging to Lady Capulet and triumphantly hands it to you. “Found it! She probably took it by accident last night.”

“Thank goodness,” you breathe. You loop it around your waist and begin tying into a bow. “Is it straight?” you ask no one in particular.

“I’ll fix it,” Hyunjin offers before Ryujin can.

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, ready to turn you around. Jisung’s eyes go wide, and he reaches his arm out to stop Hyunjin. He’s not going to relive this scenario again. But he’s not fast enough, and you’re already tugging at the loose ends of your sash. Jisung can only watch as Hyunjin delicately reties it into a neat bow, careful to not touch your back.

“Thank you,” you say as you turn to look at him. It’s not a head tilt though; your chin is dipped down, and you peer at him through your dark lashes.

There’s less than a foot in between your bodies.  “I’ll see you later. It’s almost my cue,” he smiles.

“See you,” you reply as he saunters off.

There’s an expression on your face that Jisung unfortunately recognizes because he’s seen it in his bathroom mirror when he’s thinking of you. He feels a tension building in the center of his chest. It travels outward, constricting his air flow, obscuring his vision in a red haze, sending blood pumping into his ears. He needs to break something. His eyes land on you first and then Hyunjin.

He tears off his headset and steps forward, ignoring Changbin’s whisper-shouts of “Where are you going?” He wants to storm across the stage and stain his knuckles with blood, but he can’t. Instead, he stomps to the restroom, knowing it is his only refuge. Colorful posters advertising clubs and sports are taped to the walls, and he angrily rips them off. They flutter to the floor, and he makes sure to leave a dusty footprint on all of them.

There’s no one inside the bathroom, thankfully. As he scans the room around for something to break, he catches a glimpse of his reflection and realizes how crazed he looks — wild eyes, a snarl etched on his face, and the unmistakable aura of murder. The tension transforms into alarm, and he fumbles for the sink faucet. He splashes cold water on his face numerous times, willing it to wash away everything he just saw. He forces himself to take deep breaths. When he looks up, it’s his old self again, only with water dripping down his jaw.

He wipes himself dry and leaves, picking up the fallen papers and pressing them back against the wall. Unfortunately, remnants of his footprint remain, no matter how hard he dusts them off.

By the time he returns back to the auditorium, the next scene has already begun.. While you, Yugyeom, and Ryujin only stare at him on his way back to his previous spot, Changbin glares at him and reports into the comms, “Jisung’s back.”

He puts on his previously discarded headset and weakly says, “Sorry.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” comes the tech director’s voice. It’s calm, but he can hear the irritation underneath it.

Jisung mutes himself, and to Changbin he pleads, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know it was wrong and that I shouldn’t have left and—”

“Don’t it again,” he flatly says. Then his tone softens. “What happened? You looked pissed off when you left.”

I was ready to smash in the lead actor’s face isn’t exactly an appropriate response, and it’s especially not when you’re in hearing range. “Stress,” he shrugs. “I’ve got a lot on my plate this week. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. It was supposed to be a quick walk to let some energy out. What happened here?”

“Yugyeom filled in for you when we realized you weren’t back, and we messed up. Then we got yelled at, so I told Mr. Gi that Yugyeom had to do your job because you disappeared. Now Gi is mad at you.”

“As expected,” he glumly says. “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

“I know.”

Rehearsal goes on like normal, or as normal as it can be. Jisung forces himself to concentrate on his homework instead of the stage. The numbers and symbols blur together into incomprehensible mush. Nothing makes sense. His frustration combines with some lingering tension from earlier, and he’s so close to snapping again. He latches himself onto his seat and practices breathing exercises, even when the party scene is going on and when you have your costume change. He hopes you’ll initiate a conversation with him when you’re waiting in the wings, but you don’t. His heart sinks, and he has to remind himself to focus on the exercises instead.

It continues like that until dinner. Jisung has nearly lost his mind, and he’s sure it’s evident from the glassy look in his eyes. He tags along with Jeongin and Seungmin to the convenience store even though he brought his usual meal. He doesn’t trust himself to stay calm when Hyunjin’s in the same room as him. The conversation on the walk to the store is inundated with questions of “What happened?” and “Where were you?” He gives them the same answers as before, and they seem to accept it.

At the convenience store, Jisung glances down the snack aisle and spots the distinct pink box. His mind immediately goes back to last night, and anger flares up inside him. He glares at the rack of Pepero for far too long.

“Hey, Jisung?”

“Coming,” he calls. He wrenches his eyes away from his fire-laden fantasy and follows Seungmin out.

They all eat their dosiraks while walking back, and he’s glad that he doesn’t need to talk. He wonders what you’re doing at the moment. Probably chatting with Hyunjin and sharing food and laughing over dumb inside jokes and everything else Jisung wants to do with you. When they arrive back at school, he dumps his empty plastic container into the trash can with more force than necessary. He peeks into the classroom and sees that you’re doing exactly what he predicted. He observes you for a while, and the two halves of his heart begin to crack apart.

He listens to Chan’s mixtapes over the speakers in the auditorium until the second half of the rehearsal begins ten minutes later. It’s like the first half all over again — headset on, eyes on his homework, and breathing exercises. Lots and lots of breathing exercises.

It feels excruciatingly long, but rehearsal eventually ends. He can’t wait to go home and unleash his emotions on something. Tech notes feel longer than normal, and Jisung halfheartedly listens to the tech director talk. He’s looking at him and nodding occasionally, but his words go in one ear and out the other.

“Good night, everyone,” Mr. Gi says. Then he looks directly at Jisung, who still has a vacant expression on his face. “Jisung, we need to talk.”

Jisung mumbles a curse, and Felix goodnaturedly pats him on the back. As everyone else goes their separate ways, whispering to one another, Jisung walks to Mr. Gi and braces himself for a verbal lashing. His words, while controlled, are laced with rage, and Jisung can feel himself shrinking as time passes. He meekly apologizes and promises that it won’t ever happen again. He gets let off with a stern warning, and Jisung slinks away to the green room after.

Like usual, you’re one of the few people still inside. You’re in your usual position — sitting on a table, phone in hand. You look up when he enters the room and wave to him with your free hand. His spirits lift, and he returns the gesture. You hop off your seat, and he notices that you’re wearing the same too-large sweater as yesterday. He tries not to imagine how cute you would look in his favorite hoodie. You would look so cute.

“Hey, are you okay? You left really suddenly during rehearsal,” you say.

He really doesn’t want to talk about it, but he just shrugs. “I’m fine. I was just stressed out and couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, I see. It happens.”

“Yeah.” Gosh, what is he supposed to say now? The awkwardness is starting to build, and you look like you’re ready to leave the conversation. He scans you up and down, trying to find a new topic to discuss. “Isn’t your jacket too big for you?”

He winces at the accusatory tone, but you don’t seem to care. There’s a small smile playing on your lips as you answer, “It’s not mine. Hyunjin let me borrow it yesterday when I was cold in class. I keep meaning to give it back, but it’s really comfortable.” You twirl the hoodie string with your index finger and gaze lovingly at it.

The crack in his heart widens. “So, where is Hyunjin?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can. It still comes out strained.

“He left right after notes with Minho. Why?”

So, I can break his skull. “I was gonna suggest you give it back to him now.” With more composure, he asks you, “I think I already know the answer, but do you need a ride home?”

You laugh. “I’m good, but thanks.” Your phone chimes, and you glance at the lock screen for a second before gathering your belongings. “See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“It’s alright.” Your phone chimes with another message, and you sigh once you see it. “I gotta go. Bye, Jisung!”

You run out of the room, your open zip up sweater swinging side to side.

On the drive home, he has trouble focusing on the road. He can only see visions of himself running over Hyunjin with his car. Back and forth, back and forth.

~ ad.gray

[trixree]

Okay so I had a panic attack in a Costco today and had a really unexpected (but wonderful) reminder that the person I am with is The Right Person For Me and I wanted to share this stupidly long story.

So my SO has to get a couple immunizations updated, so he tempts me along with him to Costco with the promise of pizza. And look. Look. Costco stressed me the FUCK out before the pandemic, alright? Fuck that place and it's lawlessness and massive, impossible-to-drive carts and families that pull up with ALL 4.5 of their children, okay? Costco sucks. But I was... utterly unprepared for how much WORSE Costco is DURING A PANDEMIC. (Don't worry, I had an N95 under a tripple-layer cloth mask and I stripped out of my clothes as soon as I got home. I'm not taking any chances, pizza be DAMNED.)

You'd think the giant signs everywhere reminding people to keep 6ft from one another would do something to temper the Usual Pre-COVID madness of a Suburban Area Costco on a Saturday afternoon. You'd be fuckin' w r o n g. The aisles are still lawless. The families are still there. Hell, it's all families. Not a single child is wearing their masks correctly. Everyone is glaring at me. I'm sweating. I'm not okay. I am in EVERYONE'S way no matter what I do. I must have said "sorry" approximately 30 times in the span of 20 minutes. My arms are short. The carts are hard for me to maneuver. I'm trying to stay 6ft away from everyone and succeeding Not At All because all these impatient white women keep running up on me to snag some fuckin bananas and I'm TRYING. MY BEST!!!!! It is loud. There are humans everywhere. Im d yi ng .

I go to my SO at the pharmacy. I have all that I could ever desire from this nightmarish place. "I have to wait 30min," he says. What little remained of my sanity dissolved like wet tissue paper. Very logically, as I am firing on All Cylinders and at 110% Capacity, I decide to go put the freezer items back so they don't melt while we wait. The freezer section is on the entire opposite side of the store, a good two miles away. As I bend down to put the yakisoba back in the freezer, my purse slips off my shoulder and smacks me in the face. I come back to the pharmacy, almost definitely sweating visibly through my clothes at this point.

I cannot overstate how badly I want to go home. Navigating these crowds is like that scene in Finding Nemo where all the grey fish are crammed together in that big ass fishing net and are panicking and wriggling every which way trying to escape. I somehow end up with the books at one point??? I'm so stupid. Copies upon copies of Obama's memoir stare at me with open disappointment.

SO and I decide that I will check out with the groceries and chill in the car while he gets his immunization, because I am clearly Losing My Fucking Shit. We trek all the way back to the freezer section and reclaim the items I just put back. As we get in line to self checkout, I almost take out this man at the kneecaps with the cart. I'm so sorry, sir. I was Not Okay.

It is finally our turn. I'm so close. So close to the blissful quiet of the car.

"You need two of those," the gatekeeper of the self checkout says incomprehensibly, pointing at the big thing of muffins in my cart. She might as well have been speaking Mandarin at me. I did NOT understand. I thought the Costco police were coming.

"I'm sorry, say that again?" I am choking on my fucking brains.

"You can't just buy one pack of muffins. It's two for one. It's 'cheating the member' otherwise."

There are moments in life that just utterly break you, body and spirit. This was one of those moments.

There were literally tears in my eyes. I would pay actual money to know what this woman's impression of me was in this moment. I would p a y.

I turn around, almost bumping into about 3 people as I do. My SO follows me. We stop, ironically, by the giant packs of assorted nuts, which I am deathly allergic to.

"I cannot do this, I gotta go. I gotta go." SO takes one look at me and hands me the car keys.

Now once I am no longer about to vomit, I'm in a whole DIFFERENT spiral of Anxiety because I think, "oh god. He's so fucking mad at me, isn't he? He just wanted company and I fucked it up. I'm such a goddamn child." I text him NINE (9) TIMES. NINE TIMES.

Two minutes later he shows up at the car with all the groceries and holy fucking shit,,, he isn't mad at all.

I almost cried again just from the relief of it. He wasn't mad at me. He handled the situation when I had to bail. He went back, got that damn second pack of muffins, and checked out on his own. He brought the stuff out to the car, checked on me with a truly infinite amount of patience, went back in for his immunization, and came back out with pizza for the both of us.

The best partners are those that can step in when we need it most, without complaint. Even when we melt down over the stupidest shit.

[apparitionism]

Decalogue

Ten years! I certainly didn’t expect to be observing such a Bering-and-Wells first-meeting anniversary, and I double certainly didn’t expect to be doing it while staying at home during a pandemic. The situation has, in all honesty, severely limited my creativity; I admire and envy those who are able to produce good work under these conditions, but I’m not among them. So ideally, this would have been better... a few sentences here and there say what I want them to, though, and I’m going to take a tiny bit of solace in that. This is the first half of this anniversary piece; the second half will happen when it happens, but I’ll aim for sooner rather than later. I do promise, for anyone who cares, that I’m still working on Run and everything else.

Decalogue

Year one: Meet at gunpoint.

Each of Myka’s Helena years could be marked and counted by the unique commandment it issued, a commandment by which she was forced, or graced, to live... and if “meet at gunpoint” was no “I am the Lord thy God... thou shalt have no other gods before me,” nonetheless it was first, for that first year, that short year, that long year, that year of confrontation. That year of threats sliding so easily into thrills, and sliding just as easily back again.

When Myka looked back, she couldn’t remember (she couldn’t remember!) the extent to which she had, in the moment of the first standoff, understood it as the beginning it was. If she had been able to perceive, all at once, the rush of dictates that would follow the first leveling of her weapon at H.G. Wells, would she have been able to stand so steely and so sure?

Steely. Sure. That was what she enacted, that first time.

As gunpoint followed gunpoint, that was increasingly not what she felt.

Tamalpais showed her the mismatch between her awareness of threat and susceptibility to thrill.

Moscow—without the urgency of the gun—showed her how easy it was for thrill to take over.

The urgency of the gun... one middle-of-night at the B&B, very late, Myka just managed to avoid blindly colliding with Helena in the unlit hallway that separated their bedrooms.

“We meet again,” Helena whispered.

“At least it isn’t at gunpoint this time,” Myka whispered back, close to breathless in the dark.

“It might be.”

“What?”

“I can’t see your hands. It’s dark. You could be armed. Or I could.”

Threat or thrill? Myka’s body said “both.” Her mind said “neither” and “go back to your own room.” Later (minutes later, then days then months then years later), she wondered what would have happened if her mind hadn’t won out. If she had said what her body prompted, when Helena said “I can’t see your hands”: No, but you could feel them.

In Egypt, foolishly, she had had that night on her mind, that night she had not let her body have its way. She had been looking forward, considering how to engineer a do-over, a hotel-hallway meeting, something breathed about gunpoint, about hands, some answering breath of what might be felt instead. The real instead: she was yanked back to the present, feeling only soft, astonished disbelief that dissolved into shocked pain as Helena pulled a trigger.

Then at Yellowstone... every gunpointing, every day, every night, every threat, every thrill ran in her head, forcing her to reckon them, to add them together, to total the end of the world.

But there was no reckoning any of it, in the end. Or in the endless: reckoning was all there was, endless reckoning, endless rethinking, endless negotiating with herself over what she had allowed herself to do (and to feel), and the price she would force herself to pay for her lapses.

Year two: Thou shalt not touch.

Myka tried to punish herself sufficiently—to lay the lash for accurate agony— but she should have known that her own imagination would be inadequate. She thought she had fathomed how wrong she had been, and what she deserved for that wrongness, but the Regents knew better. They knew her exiling herself to the family bookstore was a pathetic penance.

Of course Helena herself was the only right scourge. Of course she was.

And of course Myka had not ever expected to be able to touch Helena. Not ever again, not after what had happened. But, equally, she hadn’t expected touch to be so tantalizingly impossible. She hadn’t expected the ache of desire to be so much more acute upon being confronted over and over (and over yet again) with the impossibility of its fulfilment.

Myka hadn’t consciously thought the word “desire” before, but now it preoccupied her. Helena unexpected in the space of that bookstore: desire. Helena in Artie’s office, speaking like an oracle: desire. Helena bleak in a field in Ohio: desire. Helena saving the day with words about consequences and sorrow: desire. And certainly Helena in a Warehouse aisle, talking of truth and regret and what had once so briefly and brightly been good: not a body, but the visual embodiment of all that Myka desired.

Even later, even when everything seemed to be ending, even when Helena was giving up and looking at the sky and Myka was being a coward and letting her do it: desire. And its frustration. No touching, no embrace of the only body that mattered, because it wasn’t there. The only body that mattered to Myka was elsewhere.

A commandment, but also a punishment: and as a punishment, was it just? That judgment was above Myka’s pay grade. Everything was above her pay grade. Everything was put above her pay grade. Pushed above it, onto a shelf just that much higher than she could reach.

In the absence of the prohibition, would she have wanted to touch Helena so very very much?

In the absence of the prohibition, would she have been so very very willing to read Helena as wanting so very very much to touch too?

She thought the answers to those questions didn’t matter, because she shied from imagining that the day could be saved in such a way as to allow for real satisfaction of those clearly commandment-violating wants. And she wondered, later, if the rope-induced violation—though brief and fraught and not their fault—was the inexorable cause of the next year’s anguish.

Year three: Suffer in silence.

Nothing Myka said made a difference. Nothing she said was of consequence, not after Helena disappeared. She tried. At first, she tried, repeating “Where is she?” endlessly to anyone with ears and power, in response to which she was, endlessly, put off: Helena was on a secret mission for the Regents. Helena was engaged in arcane Warehouse business. Helena had affairs of her own to settle...

Eventually Myka stopped asking: that was the first silence. And she thought she was suffering; naively, she thought the absence of information, with its echo of the absence of Helena’s physical body, was the worst torment.

She was wrong.

In Boone, the requirement that Myka suffer became acute.

She tried to violate the commandment—tried to ease her suffering by breaking the silence. But the person to whom she was speaking refused to hear her.

She really did have to laugh at how unimaginative she had been: how she had thought the inability to touch Helena was too much, was the worst price, to pay. The Regents, or fate, or whatever was in charge certainly did know how to alter one’s retrospective view... because now Myka could touch Helena, could even embrace her. All while suffering Helena’s new knout of a wish to have nothing at all to do with Myka. Myka wanted to howl against that incomprehensible wish, scream in protest, make Helena listen. Make Helena hear. Instead, the words Myka did say didn’t matter; they all translated to I am being silent.

Different silence. More suffering.

Myka also had cancer and did not speak much about it, though that was suffering, and silence, of a far different kind. She wished she had said even less, later, because her speaking led, stupidly, into the next year.

Year four: Make mistakes.

Looking at her life over that fourth year, Myka saw that she had never before made 365 days’ worth of such terrible mistakes. Not even during the year through which she and Helena had pointed guns at each other. (And that was of course yet another mistake, to ideate those gunpointings as mistakes.)

She looked at the idea of being with Pete and didn’t dismiss it out of hand as an impossibility. She knew it was a mistake, and yet at every step, she did not dismiss it: mistake upon mistake.

Eventually: “You think this is a mistake,” he accused.

This... this was the path. She could see no other way forward. Myka had always been very good at putting her head down and following the path. “No,” she said out loud to him. That was a mistake too—or so it seemed, in the first instant, as she saw his face flash with anger.

But in the next instant, it seemed the first right thing she’d done in a long time, because he said, “You’re lying.” Out loud.

The full force of it hit her: she was lying. And that was by far her worst mistake.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, because she was.

“So am I,” he said, but Myka knew they weren’t sorry for the same things.

Her mistakes usually redounded to her alone; they didn’t hurt other people. And yet she did wonder what sort of mistake Pete had made: what future had he imagined he and Myka could have? Marriage, children? That seemed to be what he was asking for, even if he’d never said that out loud, but why would he have thought Myka wanted those things in such a conventional way? Had he never seen her as herself?

Then again, who ever saw any other human as the self they believed themselves to be?

Myka asked herself that question, philosophically, then immediately castigated, You set yourself up for this one, Bering. Because that was how Myka had felt seen by Helena, in their best moments. No matter how ultimately untrue that sense of being seen might have been, she knew Pete was never going to look at her and make her feel that way. But of course Helena was never going to look at her like that again either, given her absence, so Myka made yet another mistake: in Helena’s absence, she allowed herself to blame Helena for it all.

And that very nearly became the ruin of everything.

Year five: Thou shalt not hold grudges.

The miracle of Helena’s return to the Warehouse had not, at first, seemed to be a miracle. Instead it was a rebuke, a shout about everything Myka had done wrong. All her mistakes, highlighted. Go away, Myka wanted to tell her. Just go away. Helena’s presence prompted an eerie echo of going home to Colorado: a constant knocking reminder of the whole wrong string of things she could have done, should have done, better.

Claudia was responsible for the real miracle. Myka had taken—not consciously, she told herself later; not consciously—to walking slowly in the hallway, particularly late at night, particularly when no one else seemed to be awake. Later, she of course realized she’d been looking for that do-over, but at the time, she’d colored herself restless. Just restless.

So when, one night, Claudia opened her door onto Myka’s dark hallway pace, Myka was, to put it mildly, surprised. She was even more surprised when Claudia said, “This nonstop lurking? It’s creepy. You’re not a ghost, so knock off acting like one.” Myka said a swift “okay” and tried to retreat to her room, but Claudia marched out, crossed the hall, and knocked on Helena’s door, saying, “H.G., get out here! It’s time!”

And there was Helena, not sleep-fogged as she should have been.

“Batter up,” Claudia told her, “or throw the pitch or take the handoff or whatever sportsball thing you want to do. My work here better be done.” She then went back to her room, closed the door, and locked it with a conclusive snick.

“Claudia has it right,” Helena said. “It’s time.”

“For what?” Myka asked. She knew she sounded thick. But she couldn’t... something. Couldn’t something, couldn’t anything. She couldn’t identify, not even in her own head, what she couldn’t do, or say, or think. Any of it. And now here stood Helena, the cause of it all. I might not have been happy before, but before, I had only myself to blame... now I have you.

“For what...” That was accompanied by a mirthless laugh. “Do you not know why I’m here?”

Myka did not have to give her answer any thought—the only thought she had was whether she should say it out loud. But maybe it was time. “To break my heart. That’s always why you’re here. Or there. Or anywhere.”

“As if you’ve left my heart alone,” Helena scoffed.

As if she had no idea what being silent had cost Myka. “I have tried so hard to leave your heart alone.”

Now Helena snorted. “You claimed to be in love with Pete. What do you think that did to my heart?”

“I don’t care what anything did to your heart,” Myka said, and she was in that moment telling the absolute truth. “You claimed to be in love with Nate. And Giselle. And god knows who else you didn’t tell me about.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth! I claimed to be in love with no one.”

“Fine,” Myka conceded, mulishly. “Who cares about love? You put words in your own mouth and spat them at me: how you belonged. With some random man and some daughter who wasn’t even yours.”

“So in retribution, you decided you belonged with Pete.” Helena curled her lip and nodded a sour nod. “Good judgment all around.”

“Don’t insult him. He’s a good person. He actually cares about me.”

Helena took that as the accusation it was. “That’s low.”

It was Myka’s turn to snort. “That’s low? Yeah, because you throwing Nate in my face—making me look at him, making me look at you stand next to him—that was so elevated.” Helena took a breath, as if to defend herself, but that made Myka push on, “And then Giselle—with you going out of your way to make sure I knew, like it was the most important thing in the world for me to be informed about exactly who you were with who wasn’t me—that was so exalted. Please. Spare me.”

Helena pressed her lips into a line, then very consciously unpressed them. She lowered her shoulders, which had hackled into rigid wings. “Fine. I will.” She went back to her room, and she did not slam the door, but she closed it such that Myka felt finality. No more slow walks, she told herself, and she turned to go to her own room, to close its door with the same sense of an ending.

But again, Claudia intervened, opening her own door and springing, sharp and swift as a wolf, to grab Myka’s arm before she could complete her turn, her escape. “Pay attention!” Claudia said. “In sportsball, you have to do something with the ball.”

She kept her hold on Myka and banged on Helena’s door, through which Helena said, “We are finished.”

Claudia said, “We’re just getting started. I swear to god I will stand here and yell for hours, because Myka’s not a ghost and neither are you.”

A minute passed. Another. Claudia did not yell, and for those moments they were all ghosts, waiting, in-between some before and whatever would come after.

Finally the door handle began to turn, hinges creaked, and Helena emerged again, her face blank, but rigidly so, as if she were concentrating on each muscle, holding every one still.

“Get it right,” Claudia said. She let Myka go, then muttered, as she retreated, “I swear to god.”

I swear to god, Myka thought, I wish I knew what “right” could possibly mean.

Helena cleared her throat. “Claudia holds strong beliefs.”

That was not what Myka had expected to hear. “Good for her. Or bad. I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. I’m exhausted,” Helena said. She slumped a bit.

It seemed to be a too-conscious illustration, designed to spark sympathy, and it enraged Myka. “Fine,” she snapped. “Get some sleep if she’ll let you. I’m done here.”

“She won’t let me. So you are not done here.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Myka demanded. “Forget everything that happened?” She ended on a crescendo; she had never made such noise in the night before.

Helena did not answer. She stood and breathed—a real body in space—the sound of the sea in, then out. Myka felt her own angry breathing slow in response. In response. To a real body in space, breathing audibly in, out. Chest rising and falling.

What wouldn’t Myka have given, a year ago, two years ago, three, four, to be right here? Was she supposed to forget everything that happened? No, she needed to remember everything instead. Remember everything that hurt, and why.

“Okay,” Myka said.

“Okay what? What is okay?”

“Nothing,” Myka admitted.

“Okay.” And Helena’s mouth moved a little—not a smile, but something like the beginning of one.

Myka didn’t smile either, but she felt her jaw soften, her teeth unclench. “Okay what? What’s okay?”

Helena nodded. “Nothing,” she said.

“Neither of us is good at letting go,” Myka said. She did not have to add: of grudges. Or of each other.

Helena said, “I know,” and she did not have to add anything either.

Myka had tried not to anticipate this moment—because it was never going to happen. Never, never, never. But she had, of course. Anticipated. Wished. Dreamed, literally dreamed about it, then awakened to loss, a dissolve of desire that would never be satisfied.

Now, desire dissolved into satiety, rich and soft, as they neared each other, as their mouths met and their bodies pressed and their hands grasped and they did not let go.

Words of love—even the very word “love”—might have occurred to some people in such a moment, but all Myka could think to say, as they looked at each other in the wake of that world-beginning kiss, was “Thank you.”

And so grudges alchemized to gratitude.

TBC

[heckyeahitsnick]

Her Soul is Like Magnolia

Written By: @heckyeahitsnick​

Pairing: Harry Styles/OC

Word Count: 20,979

Warnings: Some explicit/foul language

Summary: 

Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.  

Harry Styles has a ghost problem.

Mags has a Harry Styles problem.

An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.

“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.

She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.

“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”

She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”

He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.

Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.

“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.

No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.

You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.

The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!

She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.

“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”

Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.

“What?”

Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.

Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”

His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.

“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”

“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“

“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”

“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”

Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.

“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”

The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.

“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong.  “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.

“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.

“Wait! I’m sor – “

“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.

But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.

Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”

She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?

Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.

Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J  Can’t wait ‘till ur home.

If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.

The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween

“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”

“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”

She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”

“But I – “

She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.

While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.

Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.

The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.

Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”

He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.

She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.

It was the boy! The boy from last night!

“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)

“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”

Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.

“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”

His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”

Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.

“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”

“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.

“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween

On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –

“What’re you doin’?”

A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.

The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”

It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.

“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”

He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”

“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.

“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”

“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.

“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”

They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before

Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”

“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”

“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though.  G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.

“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.

“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.

Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.

“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”

“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.

“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.

Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!” He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”

“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.

“Pinky promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Same day, later that evening

Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.

She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.

He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.

Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.

Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.

Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.

Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.

harry!! im so glad u txted!!!

I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?

yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.

Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).

As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.

also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:

Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.

But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.

“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”

She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”

They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous.  A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.

“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”

“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”

Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”

Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”

Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”

Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.

“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”

Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”

Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”

“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”

“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.

He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.

“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”

“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.

“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.

“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”

“Things?” Mags encouraged.

“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”

Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.

“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”

Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.” Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween

The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.

Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.

She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.

Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.

But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.

When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.

“Boo!”

“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”

“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “

“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”

“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?

Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?

“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.

Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.

“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”

“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”

The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”

She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.” “I’ll be waiting.”

She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.

In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”

It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.

Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.

On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.

But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.

“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”

Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.” Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?” “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?

“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.

He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.  

Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”

Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It’s the Beatles.”

“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.

“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.

“Top 40’s? What’s that?”

“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”

Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”

Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”

There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.

“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.

Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.

Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.” “You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”

Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.

As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.

And he wants to. And so he does.

And she doesn’t pull away.

They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way. 

Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”

“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.” “Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.” “Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”

Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.

He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.

“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.

Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.

He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“ “No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.” “Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”

“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.

Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.

Harry would describe it as footsteps.

It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared. 

Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.

Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”

“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug. 

“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly. 

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”

They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.

The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?

Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.

Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.

His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.

“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?” “I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”

Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?” “Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.

Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.

Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.

As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”

Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”

“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.

Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.

Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.” Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“ “What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”

Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.  

Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”

“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.” The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?” Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.

Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.

“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?” “Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?” “Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”

Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.

“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.” “Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?” “No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”

“A medium,” Mags corrected.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.

“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.

As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?” “Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.

Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.

Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.

“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”

“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.

“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”

Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”

“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”

“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”

The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.

“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.” “And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “ Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.” “You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”

And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.

As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.” “My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.

Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.

“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.

Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ” “Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.

She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.

Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ” Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.

“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” “At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”

“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”

“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.

“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”

Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?

“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”

Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”

“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”

Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”

Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”

Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.

It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”

Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.

Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”

Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.

She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.

As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.

Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.” “How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.

“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.” “Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”

Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”

They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.

Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.

Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.

“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “ “Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.

Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”

Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her.  She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.

“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.” “They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.

“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “ “Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.

“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.” The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.

The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.

And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.

The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.

This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.

The figure screamed back.

A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”

“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.

As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.

Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?” “Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.

“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?

Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.

Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.

“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”

He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”

He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.

“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.

“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”

From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?” Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.” They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.

“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.” Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”

Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.” A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”

He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.

Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.

“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.” He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”

Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”

“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.

Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”

Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.

“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”

Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”

“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.

Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.

Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”

He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.

Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”

Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.

“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”

Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.

“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”

And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.

“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.” “Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.

“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”

“Awww,” Niall cooed.

The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.

Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.

She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”

“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!

Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.

It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.

“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.

She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.

Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”

Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.

It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.

Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.

“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?” “You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”

Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.” “Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.” She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.

And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.

Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.

Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.

As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.

A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.

Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.

“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.

Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.

“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.” Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”

It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”

Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.

Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buzz! The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” “How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.

“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”

“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”

Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”

“You promise?” She teased.

His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”

Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.

Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!” Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!” Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”

Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.

As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention. “Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.

“For a picture of us, of course!” Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?” In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.

Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”

His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.

“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”

Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”

The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)

(Just kidding, it is.)

[yootipweek]

Yootip Week 2019 Day 6 "Perspective"

By Kimione (Yootip Amino)

"It's okay. Thanks for the ride."

His eyes narrowed at her dismissive tone and he couldn't help the raising suspicion that she was lying. He always had a remarkable talent of detecting lies and this intuition had never failed him so far. His eyes followed her receding back, that stubborn set of shoulders, the disheavled hair but the girl didn't even spare him a backward glance.

Kousuke's eyes narrowed to a slit. She was a stubborn person but he wasn't someone who easily gives up either. He wasn't a force to be underestimated. If one thing is true about Kousuke Hirahara, it is that he gets his way once he sets his mind to it.

With a firmer resolve, he swerved the car towards a nearby parking slot and killed the engine. Within moments, he found himself inside the hospital lobby and it didn't take him long to determine that the girl in question was nowhere in sight. He slowly made his way to the reception counter in the rear part of the room where a nursing staff was engaged in a deep conversation with the receptionist, his eyes still scanning the area for a silhouette in black dress.

"Excuse me, but could you tell me where Mr Yoo is currently posted? I've been told that he works the night shift in the capacity of a nursing staff of this hospital." Kousuke queried.

He was momentarily taken aback by the brief gasp that ensued from the man in green scrubs.

"You.. You.. I mean.. How on earth..?!" he sputtered incoherently.

Kousuke frowned. Has he seen this man somewhere? The face did look vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite place it. His patience was already growing thin at his sluggish response. For all he knew, he was wasting valuable time over some incompetent employee.

Thankfully, the receptionist chose that moment to intercede on the nurse's behalf.

"I'm afraid Mr Yoo is on a leave of absence in light of his recent medical condition. It is difficult to say when he'll report back for duty"

Kousuke took a sharp breath.

So he was right all along. The girl is a terrible liar.

He couldn't help the momentary disappointment that surged inside him. She really didn't trust him enough. But again, he couldn't exactly blame her after what had ensued in the hospital hours earlier.

"Can you at least tell me where he's been admitted?" he inquired.

The lady raised an eyebrow at his presumption but smoothly denied the request since it's against the hospital policy.

"That's alright. I understand", Kousuke nodded briefly. Frustration and impatience was waging a war inside him. If only he had managed to convince her in the car. He should have known better. Her pride is like a double edged sword.

Sparing a transitory glance at the other person in the vicinity (who was slowly getting redder with some kind of indignant expression), Kousuke directed his attention to the visual sign board to the right. And his breath caught in his throat. He could have sworn that he saw a trail of black skirt disappearing around the corner.

"If you'll excuse me", he hastily murmured before chasing that brief glimpse. Shin ae still must be feeling quite sluggish to still be around. He rounded the corner to find a stark white corridor paving the way to a set of private rooms. His mind raced, quickly assessing his options as he made his way down the passage in a near frenzy. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. That girl wasn't Shin ae afterall. Frustration engulfed him at the thought of hitting a dead end. He was nearly at the end of the aisle when he heard a familiar voice seeping out through the door ahead. He probably wouldn't even have caught it if it wasn't for the near complete pin drop silence in the vicinity.

To his surprise, the door was partially ajar, letting some light seep in while the rest of the room was plunged in darkness. The girl he was seeking had not even bothered to turn on the lights. Her back was facing the doorway and Kousuke had never seen a more defeated silhouette as Shin ae cried inconsolably over her father's supine profile.

"Who am I kidding? I should have never gone. Everything was supposed to be fine after yesterday night but nothing is! I should have been truthful to you from the start instead of trying to handle things on my own! I should have never gone behind your back to work! You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me! " her cries pierced the still air with a heart wrenching pitch.

"I'm so sorry."

She looked so small and so completely, utterly defeated as her tiny frame rocked with tears and despite Kousuke's every attempt to remain detached and clinical, his heart couldn't help but ache at such a despondent sight. . He clenched his fist as it almost defied logic and wished to reach out to her.

Behind that carefully preserved strong facade, lied a lonely girl who could also crumble easily to pieces. The shoulders that defied even gravity itself were forced to droop down. Hopelessness, despair and loss engulfed her in a tight vice like hold. It's a sad sight to see anyone break, but one as headstrong as Shin ae who faces every challenge head on? The sight is borderline tragic. It felt like a cruel mockery by fate.

She slowly quietened down to incomprehensible sobs as she laid her head on the only family she had in the world, the only person she could count on. Unknowingly to her, there was a shadow enveloping her from behind. A shadow that noticed her in her weakest moment, when she poured out her real self. A shadow that symbolically had her back when she cried herself to sleep, that slowly receded from the room to do some tinkering with the fate itself, for her.

Kousuke drove away that night but his mind was buzzing with words and memories.

"He still has feelings."

"You had me think your son would face backlash from everyone. I couldn't let that happen. Especially if it was due to me in the first place."

"Can't you see your son is uncomfortable?!"

"You took advantage of my situation."

"All this time I thought your son will lose his job because of me."

"But you should talk to him about these things. Let him have a say."

"Would you have given me a job as a favour?"

She had reached out to him in her moment of need and he had proved that her hope was misplaced.

Her words replayed in his mind. She had subjected herself to utter misery so that he could keep his job. She had fought for him, stood up for him when he never even asked her to, when the thought of someone caring for him never even crossed his mind. He had thought that every person has to look out for himself for so long that he himself had forgotten how deeply impactful it is to realise someone cares. No one ever thought he needed that, least of all he himself. Until she came along.

She had tried to shield him in her own way. And it was time that he returned the favour. He could make sure that she's shielded from harm as long as he's out there looking after her from the shadows.

His mind started formulating possible steps to achieve the goal.

A phone just for her. A post right under him. A social help organization.

The rational part of him reasoned that he owed her that much at the least and a small, unreasonable part of him cared enough too.

And knowing Kousuke, he always gets his way when he sets his mind to it.

Fin.

[gumnut-logic]

The Prince Who Would Not Be King

Okay, I cracked and wrote the scene. It is an approximation of what appeared in my brain upon awakening. It is weird as this is the first time I have ever removed a set of characters completely out of their world and slapped them into another.

It is just a scene and I don’t know if I will develop it any further as I reeeeallly shouldn’t as I have far too many WiPs anyway and I neeeeed to finish something for a change. Things are a little out of control.

But I hope you enjoy the glimpse my brain offered this afternoon.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and thanks to @its-lovelyhappycollection @faerie-dancer and @fictivekaleidoscope for the egging on :D

-o-o-o-

Sal was old and weary. Tired of the waiting, the dread, the not knowing if her loved ones would be returning and the doubt echoing throughout the halls of her home. Each year her body ached more with age. Each year she missed those she had lost more.

She knew her time was fading, but she could not leave. She was needed.

Her bodice was tight as she stood waiting on the dais. As always she took her place to the left of the great empty chair that stood looming in the middle. Above it, in all its majestic awe hung the gilt Thunderbird crest, its great wings flourished and defiant. Fire shone in its jewelled eyes and the crystal sword of justice clutched in its talons sparkled with the cause.

The cause that was so broken.

The bells at the gates rung furiously, followed not long after by the deep resonance of the central bell tower.

She held her breath.

At least one of her grandsons had made it home.

Her spirit was anxious to flee the room and find her grandchildren to reassure herself that they had all come home, that her family had not lost more to this holocaust, but there was more than her to consider here. There was the people, the desperate souls looking to their ruling class to save them from the menace.

So she held her position.

And waited.

It was not long, but forever, before the great doors at the end of the hall opened with a clatter and her littlest, Alan, just sixteen, burst through. He wore his state baldric, his accent as ruby as the great firebird the stars had foretold at his birth, his expression one of fury.

He had been forbidden to set out with his brothers, despite his aptitudes, and he had been angry the entire month they had been gone. Kay had attempted to reassure him, but he refused to listen. Worry for his brothers and frustration at not being accepted as a full Lance had him storming the halls late at night.

None of her words had been enough.

She prayed her grandsons had all come home whole.

“They have returned, Grand Mother.” His voice rung clear throughout the Great Hall as he strode hurriedly towards her, and the gathered nobility murmured words of relief and expectation. His stride was still growing, and she found herself so grateful for his youthful presence. He stopped at the ceremonial line and executed a perfect bow to the empty chair, before turning to her.

His startling blue eyes flashed hope and he bowed in deference to her before crossing the line and taking his place on her left.

The chancellor stood off to her left and his single clap echoed throughout the Hall. She straightened instinctively as the drums started up their entrance beat and her old heart kicked up and echoed them, their thrum powerful yet ominous.

The trumpets heralded the entrance of her eldest grandson.

For a moment, all was well and her heart lifted. Four young men entered the room, their baldrics lauding their identities, followed by the chaperone force of twenty lances. But the trumpets faltered as realisation set in.

The room fell silent as Scott limped his way down the aisle, his silver baldric stained with something dark. Sal drew in a breath, but behind him Virgil was staggering. His weight seemed almost all on young Gordon. The Warder’s robes were singed, torn and bloody, his head bowed and his green baldric barely hanging onto his body.

Gordon was wearing his armour, his yellow baldric dulled with dirt, his cape torn. It was obvious he had channeled recently, his eyes still shining red-gold. There was a story there between the two of them, between the fire and the water.

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

Their procession up the aisle was slow and the room silent in horror. Scott defied tradition several times to turn and check his brothers’ progress. An incomprehensible sound issued from Virgil and he stumbled, but Gordon caught him and they continued their silent journey to the dais.

The moment Scott reached the line, he bowed to the Great Chair, and in echo of his littlest brother moments before, he bowed to his Grand Mother and then dipped his head to Alan.

Sal’s voice was dry as the wind from the north when she spoke. “Speak.”

“Grand Mother.” Scott’s voice was commanding as always, blue eyes flickering. “The mission was a failure.”

The room erupted into loud murmuring.

“Silence.” She still had enough strength in her old body to command that at least. She turned to Scott once more. “Tell me.”

He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a groan behind him as Virgil collapsed against Gordon and the young lance was hard put to hold his older brother up.

Eos took flight, her great wings spreading with an angry squawk as she leapt into the air. John stepped in to catch the teetering Warder. Between them, Gordon and his older brother kept Virgil upright and prevented him from meeting the polished stone floor.

“Please, Grand Mother, Warder Virgil saved our party at his own expense. He held the wards to enable us to escape, but was unable to escape uninjured himself. If it wasn’t for Lance Gordon, we would have lost him.

Sal’s heart crawled into her throat.

“Please, he needs attention.”

Eos circled in a tight ring above them, her stark calls taunting. The crowd grew nervous, eyes darting up and shoulders hunching.

The situation was a poor one. Tradition dictated a full report before the nobility, but it was obvious her grandson could not comply. Virgil appeared to have lost consciousness.

“You are excused.”

The room erupted in an uproar.

“SILENCE!”

And there was, shocked and scared. She glared at her subjects, daring any of them to contradict her order. Since the loss of her son, rule had fallen to her. Scott refused to believe his father was dead. Taken from them in a ball of fire it appeared obvious that he no longer lived, but Scott refused to step up and take his place as king. So Sal stood regent.

Their rule grew more fragile by the year and she feared if Scott did not face reality soon, all would be lost.

The shock in the room was shattered by footsteps on the stone floor as a figure pushed her way through the chaperone force behind her grandsons. Kay emerged, dressed in her leathers and worry on her face. As always she ignored tradition and hurried up to the boys, her hands immediately reaching out to the Warder hanging limp between her brothers.

The crowd did not appreciate the lack of decorum.

But to be honest, Sal didn’t care. “Take Warder Virgil to the healers. We will discuss the situation at a gathering tomorrow.”

Scott dipped his head. “Yes, Grand Mother.” And the boys, along with Kay, were hustling their injured sibling out of the Hall. The chaperone force split down the middle and then followed them out.

The crowd was not happy, but a defiant squawk from Eos far above silenced them once more. Sal’s lips thinned as the great bird dipped beneath the door’s lintel to follow her grandsons from the room.

“I do not know how you allow such conduct, Grand Mother.” The chancellor approached from her left, his long robes whispering over the floor.

“The man was injured, Belah.”

“Tradition must be observed. It keeps law and people in their place.”

She rounded on him, the ire of the day and her long standing discomfort of the bald and devious politician coming to the fore. “I rule here, Chancellor, not you.”

His eyes flickered at her, startlingly yellow in the dim light. “Yes, Grand Mother.”

-o-o-o-

TBC?

[honestandsincere]

viva las vegas

Ethan can’t feel his right arm. It tingles with the cool sensation of numbness, but it feels right. Her head rests in the crook of his elbow, her hair tickling his sun-kissed skin. He can feel the softness of her breath along with the almost inconceivable touch of her lips as they graze his forearm with each exhale. His entire side is aching, stiff against the carpeted floor. He has a pillow so his neck hasn’t cramped up completely, but the lack of mattress has taken its toll. They’re staying with a friend y/n made in college, her name is Natalie, whilst they’re in Vegas. He’d suggested a hotel, his mind conjuring images of silk sheets, room service, and a balcony overlooking an excessively flamboyant fountain. But, she’d told him that wasn’t an experience; having everything at your beck and call isn’t properly living, y/n wants to live. So they’re here, in the suburbs, sprawled out on Natalie’s Persian rug and covered by a blanket she’d handed them from her laundry cupboard. Ethan has a leg pressed between y/n’s, the curve of her spine flush against his abdomen. This position is gorgeously familiar, he’s held her innumerable times in his life, except this time it feels so much more intimate. He’s only thinking about now, not what’s going to happen within the following minutes or hours. Lying on the floor, his body hurting in a sweet way, is the first time he’s felt truly relaxed in months.

Y/n shifts, twisting around in his grasp, screwing her eyes shut as if willing sleep to last a few moments longer. Ethan smiles at her, watching her nose that’s dusted with freckles wrinkle a little. She whines and throws her leg over his hip and he automatically reaches down to brush the smooth skin of her thigh. “Morning,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she burrows her face into his neck, “Sleep well?” “The best,” y/n murmurs, “considering we’re on the floor.” Ethan chuckles and pulls his arm from behind her head, fearing it may actually fall off if he isn’t careful. He props up his chin on his palm and watches as she nestles into him, inhaling the remnants of his cologne. She’s so peaceful, so comforted in his embrace and he feels so at home holding her. Having her to hold is something that cannot be taken for granted or overlooked.

Light filters through Natalie’s blinds as they skim the dusty windowsills of her living room. Ethan guesses that it could be around eight in the morning or maybe even noon, he can’t seem to tell the time around his girl. Moments bleed into memories that are so vivid that weeks feel like days and hours are mere seconds. Spending the day on y/n’s friend’s floor feels like a twisted kind of bliss, but Ethan knows y/n came to Vegas to play. Life in Los Angeles had become stagnant. She's finished her classes and is as close to free as she can get for the summer. Ethan's work commitments seemed to consume every facet of his life, work becoming the only focal point of his existence. They needed to escape the confines of the city that refuses to sleep, take a trip somewhere without a fully conceived concept of where they might end up. Several rollings of dice and blinded stabs of drawing pins onto a map later, they settled on Sin City. Ethan thinks about Grayson at home, imagining him waking up to the hum of his phone's alarm, reveling in the fact he has the house to himself. Grayson's abandoned work for a little too, focusing on some DIY projects he'd intended to pursue months ago but had been discarded due to professional responsibilities. Ethan needs his brother like he needs his right arm, but he can’t help but think that his twin is relieved to be alleviated of y/n and Ethan’s relentless displays of love. The younger twin can’t seem to catch a break living in close quarters with the non-fictitious version of Romeo and Juliet, minus the tragic ending at least. Y/n presses a kiss to the base of Ethan’s neck. “What do you wanna do today?” he asks her. “What is there to do in Vegas?” He pauses for a second, moving his hand to her hair and weaving his fingers through its strands. With a gentle tug, he pulls y/n’s gaze to his so she can see his creased brow in its expression of faux-pondering. “We could go gamble all of Grayson and I’s savings in a casino, take a coach trip to the Hoover Dam-” “San Andreas,” she says with wide eyes and a small shake of her head. “Excuse me?” “You know the movie with The Rock about that huge earthquake and the dam explodes?” “Oh right, fair enough. We could try and sneak into St Mark’s square at the Venetian? Steal a gondola or something?” There’s a pause and Ethan watches as her eyes dart around his face. She absorbs his every detail; from the burgeoning scruff adorning his jaw to his unjustly long eyelashes that graze his browbone. He pouts his lips - an invitation. She places a chaste kiss on his mouth and he hums in contentment. “We could get married?” y/n shrugs, still watching him intently. She feels Ethan tense a little, his jaw slackening in surprise, “Only if you want to, of course.” Ethan’s mind begins to twist into a kaleidoscope of incomprehensible thoughts. This girl is the love of his life, he may be young but he knows this. There isn’t a being or thing or concept that could make him feel the way y/n does. She is unparalleled in the way she loves him, so fiercely and wholeheartedly and not once has he ever doubted that she’d ever stop loving him. Ethan loves her with such an intense passion it’s impossible to verbalize, sometimes even transcending his own comprehension, verging on unfathomable. He burns with the thought of y/n, a deep feeling settled in the pit of his stomach telling him that nothing has ever been more right. Nobody knows him the way she does, it’s different to the way Grayson knows him. Y/n reaches parts of his mind that Ethan has been too scared to visit himself. She brings out the best in him, as cliche and trivial as it sounds. Nobody can make chai like her, with enough honey to leave a sweet syrupy thickness at the bottom of his mug. Nothing will make him laugh the way she does when she trips over her own feet or makes a snide remark that isn’t intended to be funny.

Spending the rest of his life with her feels like a logical progression of their relationship. Ethan is certain that she’ll be the best mother; he’s conjured an image of her, round-bellied and glowing despite her swollen ankles. He sees her cradling a tiny creation in her arms, whispering lullabies in the early hours, her face illuminated by a tiny nightlight. Quiet nights with her, sipping tea and flipping through his mother’s collection of film photographs, spotting resemblances in chubby baby Ethan and their own babies. He wants to travel with her first, before they settle down properly, take her around Europe so she can visit every gallery she’s ever wanted to. Ethan aches to watch her bask in Italian sun or dust Bondi sand from the soles of her feet. Everything that life could offer him, he wants to experience it with y/n.

“Marriage?” he asks her, shifting his hand to her jaw so he can press the pad of his thumb onto her plush bottom lip. Y/n nods her head, “When in Vegas,” she speaks against his finger. “Yeah ok,” Ethan whispers. “Really?” “Do you not want to now that I want to?” he jokes. “No! God, Ethan I’d marry you in a heartbeat. I just didn’t think you’d wanna go through with it.” “Why not?” “I don’t know, people aren’t here with us, y’know like people that’d actually wanna come to our actual wedding. I swear Grayson’s written his best man speech already.” Ethan laughs because this is probably true. He pulls her closer to him, wanting them to be inseparable. Of course, he’s worried about Grayson too. They’ve done everything in tandem since the day they were brought onto this Earth, but he knows his brother will understand. Grayson can appreciate the unadulterated spontaneity that pulses through Ethan’s veins, he feels it himself sometimes. He’ll know that if Ethan is going to dedicate his life to any other human being, he’s not making a mistake. Nothing about y/n could ever be deemed a mistake. “It’s just a piece of paper, E,” her hands slip into his hair, dexterous fingers twisting tresses. “Yeah but it says I love you. Properly. I want to do this,” he says, kissing her nose.

“Ask me then.” “What?” “Propose.” “Oh shit!” Ethan untangles their limbs and moves to sit cross-legged on the floor. His bare chest is littered with goosebumps as the covers slip from his frame. Y/n joins him, mimicking the position he takes and smiling at their childlike innocence. Their youth. He takes each hand of hers into his, linking their fingers. “I don’t really know what to say, I mean ideally I’d have time to plan some kind of elaborate speech or something about my undying love for you. But, I don’t so I’ll improvise,” he takes a deep breath and looks at her. He studies the way her hair is disheveled and her lips slightly chapped, “I’m so in love with you, y/n. You’re so in love with me. Let’s get married, I love you and I wanna stay with you. So if you wanna be my wife, I’m down if you’re down?” Y/n grins and nods her head, “As if I’d say no. I’m down.” ---- A few hours later, they’re stumbling out of Natalie’s house having left her a note of thanks and the bottle of wine they’d bought for her the night before. Ethan can’t take his hands off her, consistently stealing glances at her as they drive into the city, a huge grin plastered over his face. Y/n’s on his phone, Googling the nearest thrift store. They find one eventually, after a series of wrong-turnings and frustrated giggles. She clambers from the Jeep excitedly jumping from one foot to another. Ethan wraps an arm over her shoulders, tugging her to his side and kissing her temple. “You get a dress and I’ll go grab some rings, ok?” She bites her bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile and nods before heading to the first aisle of the store. She settles on something whimsical, wanting to feel like some kind of ethereal goddess. It’s a cream colored tea dress, decorated with lace over its bodice. Y/n knows that it doesn’t really fit her, it’s a bit too loose in some areas and too tight in others, but she loves it. If she’s going to marry Ethan in anything, she’s going to look like the pixie dream-girl she’s always wanted to be. Her fiance is on the hunt for rings, studying the selection of costume jewelry on show in the glass display cabinets. He asks one of the older ladies working there to open it up for him, to let him see them and feel their weight in his palm. None of them are what he’d like to give y/n, nothing like the hefty gem he’d imagined that would grace her left hand. He finds two simple silver bands that look like they’d fit their fingers, one considerably wider than the other. They meet at the entrance of the stoor, y/n carrying a paper bag in her arms and Ethan keeping his hand in the front pocket of his dress pants to ensure he doesn’t lose the very symbol of their union. “Ready?” he quirks a brow at her. “Always.” “Let’s go make you a Dolan.” The chapel they choose is arguably the trashiest of the selection available to them. Y/n said she likes it that way, that they’re doing the Vegas wedding the way it should be done. Neither of them have told anyone, not a text has been sent. It has to be just them, no outside world, just them. Ethan fills in the necessary paperwork at the front desk, gushing about his girl to the secretary, whilst y/n is in the bathroom changing into her thrifted wedding dress. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he chuckles. “It’s not too late to drop out, kid,” the older woman that smells of cigarettes and perfume croaks. Ethan shakes his head adamantly, “Not a chance.” He signs his name along a dotted line and waits for y/n to do the same. He wonders if this will be the last time she’ll ever use her last name before it’s changed to his. She emerges from the cotton candy-colored door, a sheepish smile on her face. Ethan looks upwards at the sound of her entering the lobby and he can’t fight the pounding in his chest. Y/n’s gorgeous, always has been and always will be, but there’s something about her now that knocks the air from his lungs. She twirls for him, letting the skirt of her dress dance around her thighs and a perfect trill of her laugh leaves her lips. “Like it?” “Love it. Love you,” he can’t seem to formulate any other words. “Let’s get married, baby!” ---- “Let me get this straight, you have a wife?” “Yeah Gray, we got married.” “Like officially?” “It’s all legal, bro.” “Not a prank.” “He wishes it was, G!” y/n interrupts as she focuses her eyes on the road ahead of her. They’re leaving Vegas, headed God knows where, happily married. The service was quick and admittedly underwhelming, deprived of the Elvis impersonator y/n was so looking forward to. “We just wanted to let you know, Gray,” Ethan says, fiddling with the ring that rests so prettily on y/n hand that’s resting in his. “Yeah, just in case you freaked,” y/n laughs, “I don’t wanna come in between you guys.” “Jesus y/n, I’m so happy for you! Like so happy,” he sighs over the phone, “I haven’t lost a brother, I’ve gained a sister.”

Ethan is beaming, every ounce of his being buzzing with acute happiness. He was blind before he met her, stumbling through life. He’s still stumbling, but it’s with her now, falling into her and falling for her. They’re so infatuated with one another. Life feels good. Love feels better.

----

Here ya go angels! Admittedly, this is a little rushed and a bit all over the place but I wanted to get something up for you guys! Hope you enjoyed it! Lots and lots of love, -K x

[amuseoffyre]

October Prompts - 31st!

Notes: I did it :D 31 days, 31 scenes of Inverse and almost 45k words :)

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD.

Prompt - Wicked

Life had settled into a comfortable kind of routine.

Technically, they were both two indolent, unemployed layabouts, but because one couldn’t really change one’s nature or the duties of many, many lifetimes, Aziraphale still found himself habitually tempting the unwary, while – unsurprisingly – Crowley’s acts of mercy and good deeds and miracles bloomed out from him like solar flares.

Occasionally, Aziraphale had returned to his shop from a minor temptation and found Crowley waiting for him with lunch. Every time the blessed creature came into the shop, it still gave Aziraphale a little flutter of wonder. No matter that they lived in the same place and spent their nights in one another’s arms, it was still a delight to see Crowley sitting there, smiling in greeting.

It didn’t hurt that he’d been working in Soho as well, from time to time.

New charities, particularly for at-risk young people, had sprung up. He didn’t even have to do anything more than can-rattle for them and profits went through the roof. And the fact he occasionally can-rattled near Aziraphale’s door led more people to the shop.

Somehow, in spite of everything, both parts of their lives managed to fit together so neatly.

It was… nice. Not just the fact that it all worked so beautifully, but that he had someone to go home to. That he had a home with someone who – for some utterly incomprehensible reasons – loved him, where he was accepted exactly as he was, overindulgences and all.

The useful thing, he thought, about being in London was that they didn’t even really have to go far to fulfil the nagging little quotas at the back of their minds. He’d never needed to spend a night away from Crowley, not since the day they had turned their back on their respective head offices and sauntered into the sunset.

The phone rang on his desk and he picked it up. “That had better be you, darling.”

Crowley snorted. “One day, you’ll get a customer when you do that.”

“Oh I have,” Aziraphale said, grinning. “They believe it’s all part of the service.”

He could hear the angel stifling his laughter. “Course they do.” There was a grunt as he must have thrown himself down on a chair. “Listen, what time are you going to be home tonight?”

Aziraphale glanced up at the clock. It was after four already. “I can finish any time, darling.”

There was a contemplative silence on the other end. “Can you make it seven o’clock? I’ve got some bits and pieces to sort out.”

“Naturally.” Aziraphale toyed with the coils of the cable. “Do you need me to fetch dinner?”

Another silence, a hum. “No. No, I don’t think so. I’ll get some stuff in.” Another pause, another silence, then a mischievous, “I have something for you.”

Aziraphale’s ears pricked up at once. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Lord, Crowley was giggling. That was seldom a good sign.

Once, that had meant walking through a water balloon fight in the grounds of the community centre. Another occasion had resulted in an exquisite meal smuggled in from Aziraphale’s favourite restaurant in Cambodia. With the angel, it could be one extreme or the other. There was no middle ground.  

“Will I… like it?”

“Mm-hm.” Aziraphale could picture his grin. “I think so.” A bell chimed in the background. “Have to go! See you at seven!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested. Sometimes, for an innocent little angel, he could be such a damned tease.

The rest of the day passed quickly enough, though the threat and promise of some angelic surprise on the horizon was enough to make it drag. Aziraphale liked to think he could be very patient, but sometimes, one couldn’t help one’s latent curiosity and at seven o’clock, on the nose, he arrived at the gates of the community centre.

They were closed for a change, which was unusual in and of itself. Crowley had a ridiculously lenient open-gate policy. The centre was there for the people he said, and that meant all the time. But apparently not tonight.

There was also an envelope tied to them with a letter A marked on the front.

Aziraphale plucked it down, curious.

Inside, there was a rectangle of card with a scribble on it: Close the gate behind you and come into the centre.

Curiouser and curiouser.

The gate opened under his touch and Aziraphale closed it behind him with nary a clank. He heard the touch of a miracle as the locks – which looked too old and disused to be functional – grated into the locked position.

A peculiar flutter spread through Aziraphale’s chest.

Whatever the angel had planned, he had no intention that they would be disturbed. And if that was the case… well, he really ought to look his best. A flick of his hand replaced his usual – and very comfortable – suit for something a little more elegant and tailored. He mussed his hair up, arranging one curl to fall coquettishly against his forehead, then walked around towards the door of the church.

Like the gates, it was also closed, but it opened at the lightest touch of his hand.

Warmth spilled out from the interior and Aziraphale quashed a smile as he walked through the vestibule, but the moment he stepped across the threshold of the body of the centre, he stopped dead, heart in his throat, emotion welling up unsolicited and stealing his breath away.

Another time, another place, and the angel had been standing there in a black suit, lit by candles, miserable and shocked.

Now, in the evening sunlight, he glowed, from the shining beads in the white, knee-length dress he was wearing to the smile illuminating his face, and the shadow of gleaming wings. His hair was tousled into wild curls and shimmering with crystal hairpins. Even his damned shoes, adorable little kitten heels, were studded with sparkles.

“Right on time,” he said happily, holding out a hand.

As if someone had hooked a string about his heart and tugged, Aziraphale walked forwards. There were chairs on either side of him. An event, he tried to remember, but the thought swallowing him whole was that he was walking down an aisle and Crowley was waiting for him in a white dress and smiling as brightly as the sun.

As soon as he was within reach, he extended a hand and caught Crowley’s, lifting the angel’s fingers to his lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said, unable to quantify all the superlatives flooding his brain. Too many, so many, utterly drowning him.

Crowley ducked his head with a self-conscious laugh. “I wanted to make an effort,” he said, tugging Aziraphale closer. “Special occasion and everything.”

“Is it?” Momentary panic flared. “Oh! Yes! Just over a year since we saved the world, isn’t it?”

Honey eyes shone with mirth. “I was thinking of something a little more personal.” He leaned closer and kissed Aziraphale softly. “Like that.”

He tasted of lipstick and happiness and it was rather intoxicating. “Ah, yes. The first time we kissed.”

“Not quite,” the angel said, smiling. “It was when you said you loved me.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew warm. “You’re so soft, darling.”

“Yeah, I am,” Crowley said, the wash of his happiness like the warmth of the summer sun. He fumbled with his skirt, then brought his other hand up between them. “I thought we should mark the occasion.”

When he opened his palms, Aziraphale forgot everything.

Two rings.

Crowley.

White dress.

Church.

Two rings.

He stared at them, then stared at the angel, then back at them.

“Rings,” he said weakly.

“Yes,” Crowley said. No doubt. No hesitation. No fear.

“For us?”

“Yes.” Creases around his eyes. Warm, knowing, happy smile. Fucking beautiful.

“You want us to…” Big thought. Too big thought for words. Good thought, but so big. So damned big.

Crowley took him by the hand. Held his eyes. “I do.”

There were definitely other words. Big ones. Probably good ones, if he could remember them. ‘Yes’ was emphatically one of them. Several times. A lot. And some tears. And rings, given and taken and Aziraphale’s hand shook as Crowley – the ring – his finger–

And then there was kissing and – yes, admittedly – quite a bit more crying.

Some time later, when the setting sun was painting the walls in gold, they were sitting side by side on the raised dais. Aziraphale had his arm around the – his – angel’s waist. His words were finally inching back in, no longer quite so frightened off by the breath-taking euphoria.

“It’s lovely,” he murmured, tilting his hand in the light. Red and white gold in the shape of wings folding together. Crowley’s matched and, though very similar, they were very much not the same. For Aziraphale, red folded over white. For Crowley, white over red. “Your design?”

The angel nodded with a smile. “It’s us,” he said, as if Aziraphale had somehow missed it. He laid his hand over Aziraphale’s, both of their rings shimmering in the hazy golden light.

Aziraphale gazed at their hands, then tilted his palm and threaded his fingers through Crowley’s. “Did you ever imagine we would– we could–”

Crowley shook his head, then tightened his fingers around Aziraphale’s. “What God has joined,” he said suddenly, softly, fiercely, “let no one put asunder.”  

Aziraphale gave him an amused look. “Do you think She would have sanctioned this?”

“I told Her,” Crowley said with a small smile.

Aziraphale glanced upwards, then around. “You’d think she could’ve at least shelled out for some confetti or something, wouldn’t you?”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, shush.” He released Aziraphale’s hand and braced his palm on the demon’s knee to push himself to his feet.

Aziraphale gazed up at him in adoration, particularly admiring the way those rather lovely long legs vanished up under the swirl of the skirt as Crowley brushed it down. “You really do look ravishing in that dress.”

Crowley – though he still blushed – beamed happily and twirled on the spot. “I miss wearing dresses. Robes. Flowy things. I always liked them.”

“Wear them, then,” Aziraphale said at once, well aware he sounded far too eager. “I would love to see you in them again.”

“Yeah?” Honey glowed.

“Long, short, big, small, modest, shameless,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Anything that makes you happy.”

The angel offered both hands down and pulled Aziraphale to his feet. “I love you.”

Aziraphale drew him closer, wrapping the angel up in his embrace. “The impromptu wedding did rather suggest it.”

The angel gave a small giggle the likes of which Aziraphale hadn’t heard since the angel had given up alcohol. Giddy and ecstatic and utterly without any shame. “We’re married,” he said, flinging his arms delightedly around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You’re my husband.”

Oh look, Aziraphale thought helplessly. My words got lost again.

Probably a good thing, though, since Crowley kissed him, burying his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair and twisting them in a way that made his toes curl and his stomach flutter and blood rush to all kinds of interesting places.

And he didn’t stop.

Angel’s hands were moving even as he stole Aziraphale’s breath and thought. Broke the circle of Aziraphale’s arms to push his coat off his shoulders. Set to work on the buttons of his shirt. Hot palm on bare skin made Aziraphale rear back, gasping, breathless.

“Darling, if you continue–”

Crowley cut him off, kissing him again.

Oh well, Aziraphale thought happily, might as well suffer and cooperate. A snap of his fingers loosened his cuffs and waistcoat and shirt joined coat on the floor. The angel pressed him onwards, fingers grazing over Aziraphale’s skin, exploring, caressing, squeezing, and he stepped forward, forward, forward, each step nudging Aziraphale back, back, back, until he was trapped between an angel and the wall, a blade of golden sunlight slashing down from high above them.

Only then, only when Aziraphale was breathless with want and need, only when he reached for the angel’s skirt, stroking a palm down Crowley’s thigh, did Crowley break the kiss. His eyes were liquid and dark and his cheeks flushed. His tongue darted along his lower lip.

Lord, if he went to his knees, in that dress, in the church…

A faint moan escaped the demon.

Crowley’s kiss-plumped lips twitched. “You all right?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale caught one of his hands, guiding it downwards, giving him an imploring look.

Crowley squeezed him through his trousers, making him rise on his toes, a breath sloughing from his lips, then the hand was gone.

“Not today, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “I have a present for you.”

Present?

The rings? Weren’t the rings…?

Crowley caught his hand, lifting it to his lips, kissing the middle of Aziraphale’s palm. “I need you to listen to me for a minute, love, all right?”

“Listen?” Aziraphale echoed, every warm brush of lips on his palm a stab of heat through his body. “Mm. Listen.”

A flush glowed on the angel’s face. “If you– if I’m–” He cleared his throat and began again. “If I do anything you don’t like or want, I want you to say ‘samsung’.”

Aziraphale blinked at him slowly. “If you do anything… I…” No. No, that didn’t make sense. That wasn’t– Crowley didn’t– that– it didn’t–

“You say ‘samsung’ and I’ll stop,” Crowley said, nodded.

Say a word and stop. If I do anything you don’t want or like. Say a word. Stop word.

Aziraphale’s breath dried up. “Angel,” he managed through a throat thickened with want. “Is… is that a… a safe word?”  

Crowley blushed to the tips of his ears. “Yes. I want you do have one.”

“Why?” Stupid question, idiot demon. Stupid question. Why would anyone want one? Probably more of that lovely, lovely angel magic or something and doesn’t want to go overboard so he’s–

“Because,” Crowley cut across his thoughts, honey eyes finding, holding his. “I want to… know my husband.”

“Mbuh?”

All gone. All away. Again.

The angel’s face lit up and he was kissing again. Kissing and pressing and snapped his fingers and the rest of Aziraphale’s clothes vanished around him. He groaned as the textured ruffles of the angel’s skirt rubbed against bare skin, and caught Crowley’s hips, pulling him closer and–

And that wasn’t the usual bare soft smooth angel he knew.

Throat closed, eyes wide, mouth open.

Crowley reached down between them, pulling up his skirts with one hand and taking Aziraphale’s hand with the other. He was flaming, red as his hair, but he pushed Aziraphale’s hand to something that definitely wasn’t flesh and blood, but was firm and warm and held in straps of leather and had somehow been hidden under the skirts the whole time.

Aziraphale embarrassed himself, both in sound and action.

“You like it, then?” Crowley was pink. Pink and pleased and Aziraphale could only lean in and kiss his mouth again and again. The angel licked at his lips, nipped at them, then, without warning, dipped down, caught the back of Aziraphale’s thighs with his hands and yanked them up.

Angels… angels could be bloody strong…

Crowley pinned him in place – all froth and white and virginal – up against the wall. The sheer sin of it all, with an angel in a former church of all places, teased so closed to wickedness that Aziraphale thought he might discorporate from the pleasure of it. Hands cradling thighs. No effort at all. Pinned him, held him, and Aziraphale could only grasp at his shoulders, eel the press of him, and lower down, the press of it…

“You know what to say if you want me to stop?” Crowley said softly, holding him there, holding him so still and steady, his own Atlas.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Say it for me, so I know.”

“S-samsung.” He twitched his hips, shifting their alignment, and groaned helplessly as Crowley’s accessory rubbed against him.

Crowley bestowed a heavenly smile on him. “Can you… prepare?” he asked. “I’m–” Hands squeezed Aziraphale’s thighs. “Bit busy.”

No effort at all, that. Twist of the fingers, little indulgent miracle. Slick and ready and oh… oh Christ, it was Crowley and Crowley was–

“You don’t have to,” he babbled out. “You don’t have to fuck…”

Crowley pressed him up a little higher, rough stone scraping against his bare back. “I don’t have to do that, no,” he agreed in a whisper against Aziraphale’s lips. “But I want to make love to my husband.” And then he pushed his hips up and Aziraphale didn’t know what made him keen more, the words or the slow, steady press into his trapped, wanting, greedy, shivering body.

No words.

All gone.

Best he could do was wrap his legs around Crowley. Arms too. Holding him close and warm.

Breath on his skin, soft, warm kisses, everything still and warm and close and perfect.

And then…

And then he started to move. Slow at first. Cautious. Aziraphale tightened his thighs, dug in his fingers, growled in want and made things so much worse. Crowley – always good with positive feedback – understood. Crowley started to move with purpose. Strong, stronger, fast, urgent little bastard, oh Christ. Skirts rucked up between them. Wall grazing across his back. Fingers dug into his thighs and bruising. Urgent, heated breaths on his lips and honey eyes watching, drinking him in, swallowing him whole.

The world shrank to honey eyes and every point of contact, skin on skin, fingers in hair, lips a hair’s breadth apart. Aziraphale forgot how to do anything but respond, feel, drink him in, the scent of him, the taste, salt on his lips, flush of exertion in his face, the pleasure and happiness, the delight in the angel’s eyes when he made Aziraphale cry out and shudder and come hard – and almost at once – soft again.

Once, twice, again and again, over and over, until he was spent and his hands were slipping and he was trembling and helpless and making small, soft, kittenish sounds. Crowley laughed – triumph, joy, rapture – and slowed and slowed and stopped.

With no visible effort, he descended to his knees, still joined so intimately with Aziraphale, holding him steady and close.

Aziraphale sagged back against the wall, breathless, sated, reeling. “Mm.”

Crowley lifted a hand to brush a sweat-damp curl back from his brow. “All right?”

Aziraphale tilted his head to kiss the angel’s palm. “Mm-hm.” He shifted his back, wincing pleasantly as Crowley’s toy shifted inside him. “Spiffing.”

Crowley burst out into beautiful peals of laughter. “Spiffing…” he echoed, giggling. He leaned closer and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Shall we get you next door? I don’t think you’d like sleeping in the scud on the floor in here.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale nodded, eyes closed.

Warm hands were on him again and he was lifted – like a babe in arms – as if he weighed no more than a feather. Not empty, though. Oh, naughty, naughty angel, leaving a toy in place. He nuzzled Crowley’s throat, nestling closer, arms under his ribs and thighs.

The evening air was cool on his skin and he shivered, opening his bleary eyes to look up as they neared the chapter house.

Crowley was gazing down at him, all fond and soft and radiant. “I love you.”

“You too,” Aziraphale murmured happily, then giggled. “Carrying me over the threshold.”

“Just a bit,” Crowley said, laughing. “Just rest, love. I’ll take care of you.”

Took a while for all words and thoughts to come creeping back in. Not when the angel filled a bowl with warm water and cleaned him up and tenderly washed the scrapes down his back and kissed the bruises on his thighs and finally, finally slipped the toy free. Not when they cuddled on the couch, angel behind him, blanket around them both, and they sipped from the same mug of hot cocoa.

Only when they were getting into bed – after Crowley gave him and his still-wobbly legs a piggy-back up the stairs – did they settle back down, wrapped up in the glow of one tremendous and wonderful and amazing thought.

“Darling,” he said, pausing in the process of buttoning his pyjamas. “We’re married.”

Crowley, already tucked up in bed, smiled up at him. “You noticed that?”

“But it’s us,” Aziraphale said, sitting down – admittedly gingerly – on the edge of the bed. ���I mean we are married.”

Crowley pulled the cover back invitingly. “Yes, we are,” he said happily. “Is my husband coming to bed?”

Aziraphale’s heart felt overly full and Lord, if this was what joy was, then he could see the appeal. “Yes,” he said, “I am.”

[fandom-necromancer]

162. Here, take this.

Just as a note, this one is a bit longer because my initial idea ‘Hey, would be funny for Nines to gift Gavin a pebble’ kinda took off a bit.

Fandoms: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

part2   part3

Nines had learned a lot in the little time he had been active. If he had to boil it down, he could reduce it to three things. One: humans were confusing and so much more complex. Two: Him not having a social module made it unbelievably difficult to work with them. Three: His working relationship with Detective Gavin Reed depended solely on the fact that an RK800 unit – Connor – considered him a brother and had knocked out the human immediately after every fight they had.

It was a relief to have the Detective behaving in his presence now, although Nines had wished the reason to be himself, not the looming threat that was Connor. But that would need time. Experience and learning. Cyberlife never finished him. His hardware was completed, yes. But a lot of the software-tweaks they wanted to implement had simply been forgotten over the revolution. Most could be overlooked but the lack of social skills was a severe hindrance.

Sarcasm, humour, body-language or just a slightly different tone that altered the meaning of a sentence completely – all that were concepts he knew. He had done the research and memorised it in all the empty space where the program should have been, but recognising it in real life situations? An impossible task for him.

‘Phck, shit, goddamnit! Why are you phcking doing this to me?’ RK900 looked up and over his desktop to Gavin quickly analysing the situation. No eye-contact. Looking at the screen with wrinkled face. Tone harsh. Nines concluded it wasn’t directed at him pretty quickly, but what was this emotion? Anger? Incomprehension? Despair? Could be anything. ‘I detected you are in some way irritated. Can I help?’ Gavin flinched and looked up to him. ‘What? No. The damn computer just asked for a password and I mistyped it. Now I’m blocked for the next five minutes.’ ‘I have to remind you, your Computer isn’t in any way sentient and you speaking to it won’t achieve anything.’ ‘I know, tin-can! But sometimes you have to let your frustration out and yell at a machine. I mean, look at you! You also seem not to be sentient enough to understand me and yet I phcking talk to you! I need a damn coffee!’ The human jumped from his chair letting it scoot a bit backwards. Nines remained seated and started analysing the last conversation. Had he done something wrong? Had something he said angered the Detective? Had there been another social cue he had overseen, something subtle he should have picked up? He was still deeply in thought as Connor came over. ‘Has he done something?’ Nines studied the other android and somehow it was easier to read him than humans. There was this evident worried protectiveness together with disdain for the Detective. ‘I don’t know. He stated to be “frustrated”.’ ‘With you? You know I can talk with him anytime, just say the word.’ ‘No. RK8- brother – your “talks” tend to end in physical violence. I think it would be detrimental to the efforts I put into understanding the human. He seemed frustrated of his Computer.’ ‘Fine.’ Connor locked eyes with Gavin coming back from the breakroom and as soon as the man realised his presence there was resistance in coming nearer. The cause of it stayed illusive to Nines, although Gavin returned to his desk as soon as Connor had departed. ‘Jesus, your brother is terrifying.’ ‘Jesus didn’t have a brother.’ ‘What the… Nines, I meant your brother. Connor.’ ‘I wouldn’t call him threatening. He is easily agitated when it comes to the people, he calls family.’ ‘Whatever. Just please don’t tell him to beat me up again, okay? I learned my lesson, I’m trying to be nice to you, although you are weird as phck.’ Nines took a while to try find out the meaning of weird as a fuck. In the end he agreed on the basic expression of him being weird and the rest of the sentence due to the Detective’s very unique use of expletives. ‘I never told him to do that. I don’t even understand why he tends to do it. I don’t wish any of my surroundings harm.’ ‘Well, you are not very good at it. I’m gonna go home. See ya tomorrow.’ Nines nodded but didn’t answer, not knowing one was required.

The night shift arrived, and Nines was still working. Connor and Lieutenant Anderson had gone shortly after Gavin and Connor once again offered him to come with them. But he had declined as always. There was no use going somewhere when there was work to do. Although, around midnight he found himself distracted more and more. The conversations of the day replayed in his mind over and over again, analysing every second of them, learning from it and trying to figure out what he did wrong again this time. He managed to dismiss most of his thoughts for later but wasn’t able to let go of the Detective explaining he was frustrated. Frustration. The feeling of being upset or annoyed as a result of being unable to change or achieve something. A kind of mental pain humans experienced. Maybe if he could help the Detective, they would warm up to each other. But what could he do when he had to research what frustration was, what it felt like? Frustration could be caused by stress, but also from various other sources, there was no way Nines could find out what it was exactly that put off his partner. All he knew was that Gavin wasn’t happy. How to make your partner happy? There were quite some results to the search. He hadn’t expected there to be so much advice when clearly little jobs had people partnering up. Compliment him. Well, Gavin was intelligent. He was on the upper scale of human attractiveness according to online-tests and really stubborn. But he wouldn’t know how to say any of that without getting misunderstood. Tell him you appreciate what he does for you and your family. Again, not the best thing, when all Gavin had done for his “family” to hold Connor at gunpoint repeatedly. Make time for things to get hot in the bedroom. That just left Nines clueless. Sure, he could hack the Detective’s smart home and manipulate the thermostat, but wouldn’t the human know best what to do with it? Be supportive of his alone time. At least that he already was, following his orders when he told him to fuck off. Look him in the eyes. Manageable. When you get something for yourself, get something for him, too. So a gift, then. Difficult but also in the realm of possibility.

He decided to take the next day off. There hadn’t been new cases lately, so his new mission was far more interesting and rewarding. Learn how to compliment. Acquire a gift. He figured the mall would be as good of a place as any to start and so he strolled through shops filled to the brink with humans and androids, trying to find something in the overwhelming heap of goods. Somehow he ended up in a small shop for minerals and simple jewellery. He hadn’t made the decision consciously and realised he had only entered because it was empty and somehow… tranquil. The android wandered through the aisles of sparkling crystals and polished stones beginning to think he was going to fail his mission.

‘Hello. Do you need help?’ Nines nearly forgot he wasn’t alone. He was about to decline but maybe the human could actually help him. ‘I’m looking for a gift for a friend of mine. He is a human and stated to be frustrated. I thought a gift would help.’ ‘Ah, so is your friend interested in minerals?’ ‘I… I don’t know if he sees any value in these stones.’ Nines quickly did some research about the public opinion on them realising what he said had the potential to hurt the shopkeeper. ‘But I heard humans enjoy… shiny things.’ The human huffed at that and nodded. ‘Most do. Is your friend someone who wears pendants or rings?’ Nines didn’t even have to check to answer that. ‘No. He has a keychain, but that’s as far as it gets.’ ‘Okay, so more of an ornamental object. Do they have a favourite colour?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What about eye-colour?’ Nines frowned. ‘How is that important?’ ‘Well, it’s something few people realise unless they spend time with each other. So, it is a proof you remembered it, a sign of affection. Some people tend to say the eyes are a gateway to your soul.’ ‘I don’t have a soul.’ ‘Well, humans aren’t really sure they have one either. It’s more of a saying, symbolism.’ ‘Do humans compliment on each other’s eyes if they mean so much?’ ‘Oh, yes. Most do. So what is his colour?’ ‘Green bordering to grey. It kind of depends on lightning and how much he slept.’ ‘Okay, I have some green ones.’ He led Nines to a shelf full of little stones, all of them varying tones of green and blue. Although Nines had no real grasp at aesthetics one caught his special interest. It was small, not bigger than a pebble, but it looked like ocean waves crashing against a cliff, turning in on each other and creating a pattern of delicate complexity. Somehow it seemed fitting – a storm caught in a moment. ‘That’s an apatite. But not the best of quality. See those enclosures? Normally they are thin and not as prominent. We have better ones over here if you like.’ ‘No, I think I’ll take this one.’

The next day he was back at work, the stone in his pocket. Gavin hadn’t asked why he hadn’t been at work yesterday. Both simply worked on their cases and reports, close to ignoring the other. Until Gavin announced he was going for a coffee break. Immediately Nines stood, this being the cue he had waited for. ‘May I accompany you?’ ‘Sure, I mean it’s just to the breakroom and out for a cigarette.’ Nines waited until the Detective got his coffee and followed him to the parking lot.

‘So why are you so clingy today, toaster?’ He took a deep breath and blew the smoke out in the air. ‘You stated you were frustrated.’ ‘And?’ ‘That means you are not happy. As this is the prerequisite for a good working relationship, I aim to correct that.’ ‘What?’ ‘I noticed that your eyes are remarkable. There is a high possibility you won’t need glasses until old age.’ Nines scanned the human but couldn’t decide whether the expression he wore was flattered or dumbfounded. But well, that was complimenting him done. Now to the gift. ‘Here. Take this.’ He stretched out his hand, the stone on his palm. Gavin hesitantly took it and studied the object. ‘What is this?’ ‘It’s a stone. It reacts badly to pressure and heat, just like you and it looks like your eyes when we investigate at night. My research deemed this a suitable gift. I’m going back to work.’

With a more than pleasing [mission successful] in his HUD he left Gavin standing in the parking lot, the man staring a hole in his back.

[summersoldier-616]

First Impressions

Chapter 00/Prologue

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

word count: ~3.000 words

warnings: swearing, talk about murder, alcoholism, drug abuse, angst, sulky reader and surely some grammatical mistakes or mistranslations :)

A/N: This is actually a kind of pilot for an actual series I am starting. I am indeed fairly new to writing fanfiction and espacially this little lovely bastard but hopefully I’ll do my fair share. So please enjoy and let me know what you think.

I also wanted to say that I am in no way an expert in forensics, biology or anything similar. All facts I use are either researched or fictitious. However, I try to come as near to the truth as possible.

You found yourself in a dark room devoid of any warmth or furniture, not even a window to determine the daytime. The only light source consisted in a naked bulb which hung still; the light beaming neiter bright nor large enough to illuminate the walls or ceiling as you made your way towards the dirty light source, the floor cracking underneath your feet as you neared.

Standing close enough to touch it, you carefully reached out for the lightbulb. Holding your breath for a second you finally gave it a spin to make the bulb turn around in circles in hope to see more of the foreign room. However, nothing new came into focus as you kept staring into empty space, the spinning light source making the atmosphere even more eerie than before.

As you were about to turn away, a blinding reflection appeared for a second making you halt in your movement. Seconds went by before the action recurred, this time revealing its location. When you took a step forward the sound of breaking glass rang out, making you direct your focus downwards in an attempt to decipher the new sensation.

Picking up a small, oblong object you stepped farther out of the light cone and recognized the item without much effort as a syringe, a dirty one at that. As soon as the term fell from your lips, a low grunt rang out which in return made you turn around. You screamed in horror as a shadowy frame hang underneath the lightbulb, desperately gasping for air while his limbs had been bound.

With shaky steps you closed in on the struggling being but as you reached out, about to touch his shoulder, you felt a hand on your own.

“Ma'am, excuse me“, a soft voice accompanied by a slight shake of your shoulder awoke you from your slumber. As you opened your eyes to find yourself in another foreign environment, in a confined seat surrounded by strangers and backrests, the friendly face of a young flight attendant came into your field of vision. “Ma'am, we're about to begin our final descent. Therefore I have to ask you to fasten your seat belt“, the stewardess repeated kindly.

With a short nod you quickly fiddled with the safety belt, your brain still slightly foggy from the nap and the corresponding dream. At the sound of the fastener clicking into place the young woman in costume gave you a quick smile and then continued her check down the aisle.

As you looked out of the small airplane window and saw nothing but grey clouds, you quietly scoffed; already missing the burning hot sun of Phoenix, Arizona. After graduating from the University of Arizona – the College of Medicine in Phoenix, to be quite exact – you had started to work for the Phoenix Police Department while still participating actively in the Department of Pathology at your former place of study.

However, the work with the PHXPD was not exactly as thrilling as you would have expected. Most of your 'patients' had died by some drug related crime or the drug itself wherefore the actual pathological examination proved to be less difficult than you had hoped. So when your dreaded 30th birthday rolled around and you came to the realisation that you were heading down an impasse, the decision to alter the current course wasn't that difficult.

And that's exactly how the now 32-year old you found herself on an airplane headed to England's capital with all important belonings stuffed into two large suitcases and the letter of resignation back home on your employer's desk. However rash that decision might have seemed and no matter your family's protests, till the moment you boarded the plane almost ten hours ago you didn't doubt your decision; feeling almost encouraged by the outcry you had caused.

With a sigh you teared your eyes away from the cloudy view and redirected your attention towards the slight mess you had created before falling asleep. As your departure was at quite short notice and you didn't like to leave unfinished buisness behind, you chose to take some unsolved cases with you, including a quite unsettling case, a young gang member's corpse being found drifting through the Gila River, which had occupied your mind just before your involuntary nap.

This may not seem out of the ordinary if it wasn't for the man to die from asphyxiation. And although throughout your examination you had found multiple indications for physical abuse, neither of those were from strangulation or the like which could have led to suffocation.

However, as you took another look at the forensic report everything seemed so painfully obvious. Quickly grabbing the toxicologic report you scanned the results for a certain data and as you finally found the object of desire you had to fight the urge to smite your forehead.

You emptied the rest of your overprized gin and tonic in one gulp before rapidly typing away on your laptop, determined to finish the covering letter before deboarding as you had just solved the case in your sleep – quiet literally.

“No, listen to me“, you audibly groaned on your way to the baggage claim, the mobile phone pressed to your  ear since you had stepped out of the airplane, “Bobby, if you'd just shut your mouth for a minute, I might not have to repeat every second sentence.“

You really weren't a short-tempered person, cross your heart, simply incredibly impatient. Since early days you had been irritated by the obvious inability of your fellows to follow your trains of thoughts, always feeling pressured to slow down which in return made you even more frustrated.

However, as time went by and you grew older you found a way to at least dial it down a notch in 'emergency situations'. The initial bad habit to sometimes drink one to many became a slight addiction to more often than not being at least a bit tipsy; numbing your brain to slow down your racing mind.

“Yes, I am well aware of the time difference but as criminals never rest, lawmen shouldn't either“, you reasoned while your destination came into view, the first suitcases and carpetbags already passing by on the baggage conveyer belt. As you heard light snorring instead of an answer you shouted loudly into the speaker, “I finally understand how they murdered him!“

As soon as the sentence had left your lips, you felt countless pairs of eyes on you; some passerby even stopped in their tracks to cut you a look. Looking around you mouthed an inaudible 'What?', forcing yourself to look more confident than you actually felt, and continued your way, hopeful to now have your collocutor's attention.

“I hope this is a good one“, Bob murmured while you heard rustling in the background, he was probably leaving the bed as to not disturb his wife. As he rambled on you arrived at the baggage carousel, standing between other passengers who had already found their luggage.

“Cry me a fucking river, Bob“, you taunted absentmindedly while scanning your surroundings, quickly growing impatient as you waited for your baggage. Looking to your left you saw a small child at the hand of her mother who shot you a deadly glare; probably for swearing within earshot of her offspring that was surely too busy watching items of luggage rolling by on the baggage conveyer belt to listen to some stranger's phone call.

“Do you remember how I had a hard time understanding how someone could die by suffocation with neither external influence nor pulmonary aspiration? And yet it is so painfully obvious that it must have been too easy for me to see. The drugs, Bobby, it's his addiction!“, you explained, earning a few more irritated side glances. “So what?“, Bob asked, his voice still laced with sleep and now additionally incomprehension, “The little junky took an overdose?“

“No, no, quiet the opposite actually. His body did not only show symptoms of regular drug use, which doesn't come as a surprise considering his presumable addiction, but they also found evidence for recent drug withdrawal. That was the missing piece, Bobby, don't you understand?!“, you asked excitedly. Your question was answered by a short peroid of silence, followed by a deep-drawn sigh and a muttered, “Do me the favour and just tell me.“

If it hadn't been for the importance of the current phone conversation, you would have ended the call at this point. Explaining an officer how the cause of death was brought about was basically solving the case for him. However, as your luggage seemed to be long in coming you chose to elaborate.

“Okay, listen and listen closely. The victim showed signs of physical abuse in form of possible captivation which means that he quiet surely wasn't able to satisfy his cravings and therefore went through an involuntary withdrawal. This 'shock theraphy' probably resulted in a seizure which thereupon led to the asphyxiation and due to the lack of medical intervention his death.

I just gave the results from the toxicology a once over and all indications are that his serotonin as well as the noradrenaline level must have been extremely low which would complement my assumption about the deprivation and considering his physical condition I am confident that my presumption concerning the captivity will turn out to be true as well.

I already sent an email to my replacement in the pathology department to run another test on the victim concerning his external injuries and as soon as I arrive at the hotel I'll send you my report on the current data which I worked with. If you'll excuse me now, I still have a busy schedule ahead of me and there are only so many hours in the day.“

Without awaiting an answer you ended the call and with a smile on your face put the phone in your jeans' backpocket. However, as you realised that the conveyer belt had come to a halt without a trace of your luggage your facial features derailed. Spinning on your heel you quickly made your way to the next information while holding your handbag close in a futile attempt to slow your racing thoughts and heart.

You stared wide eyed at the middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter, wearing a sympathetic look on her face. “I am truly sorry, Miss, but it seems like your luggage wasn't on the plane. Our personnel could not find it either in the cargo area or somewhere on the way to the baggage claim“, she explained once more.

“But that is impossible“, you choked out, “All my belonings, clothes were in those two suitcases and you are telling me that you lost them? How is that even possible?“ Just as the woman was about to answer your rhethorical question, the ringing of her phone stopped her before you could, saving her from further embarrasment. While she concentrated her attention on the computer, typing away on the console, you had time to check your phone, only to realise that you had already wasted two precious hours in this maze called airport.

“Thank you, I'll inform her immediately“, the female sighed into the telephone before hanging up. Before she even managed to address you, you stood at the desk and asked hopefully, “So, you did find them? Oh, thank god. I wouldn't have known what to do without them. Where exactly can I pick-“ -  “Miss, we indeed did find your luggage. However, I must inform you that your suitcases are currently in Madrid.“ The last part was a slightly whispered answer, followed by an unsettling long pause.

“I do not expect that you have by any chance a town called Madrid in England?“, you muttered tiredly although the question sounded more like a half hearted joke which the staff member answered with a shake of her head. Suddenly you felt exhausted, tired and absolutely fed up with the whole situation. Massaging the bridge of your nose, you chose to end this conversation as quickly as possible; not like it was leading anywhere wherefore you quietly asked, “How long?“

After a quick look into her computer she informed you that it should take about three days, maximum five. At this point you just accepted your fate silently, leaving behind your phone number and e-mail address if by a fluke your luggage would arrive any sooner. The woman apologized again profoundly before releasing you by wishing you – quite ironically – a 'good day'.

On your way out, you made a quick stop at one of the airports' outpriced shops to buy some necessities. The cashier, probably a student who needed to make money on the side, shot a scornful glance at you as he scanned your purchase consisting of a fresh-perked coffee and a bottle of whiskey.

While the young man put away the cash you opened the bought liquor, opened the lid of your steaming coffee and poured some of the spirit into your caffeinated drink. As you took a sip and tasted the delightful flavor on your tongue a content sigh fell from your lips; answered by a quiet snicker from the male student.

“Listen, kid“, you warned the boy while you stored the liquor away in your purse – your only luggage at the given moment. With a quick once-over you knew that the male behind the counter had it coming; glazed over eyes due to increased production of lachrymal fluid, chapped lips and lastly a light swelling of the lymph node meant that the poor boy would be laid low with a pretty nasty flue in a few days.

A dry chuckle escaped your lips before you rummaged through your handbag, all the while lecturing, “First of, if you haven't heared of Irish Coffee, then you should probably rethink your attitude to life. Secondly, you have no idea how shitty this day has been so far.“ As you finally found what you were looking for, you tossed the item in his direction while adding with a frosty smile, “And lastly, my bad habits surely shouldn't be your greatest concern.“

Whit that you took your coffee and left the store behind with the boy looking back and forth between your departing form and the package of tissues.

You couldn't help the content sigh that fell from your lips as you finally breathed fresh air; and although it was slightly drizzling by now, the cooling effect was more than welcome as you were practically fuming with rage at this point. As you dragged your feet towards the street to hail down a taxi, your rational side managed to regain the upper hand after being too emotional for the last two hours.

Straightening your back and raking your fingers through your hair to look the least bit presentable, you whistled with your fingers to catch some taxidrivers attention. With a small smile adorning your lips as seconds later a taxi stopped you walked towards to vehicle; only to be outrun by two men, the smaller one opening the door while the taller man tipped away on his mobile phone, mumbling to himself.

“Excuse me“, you shrieked furiously, admittedly louder than you intended to but as the one holding the car door open focused his attention on you, it obviously had served the purpose. With a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a bitter sweet voice that dripped with venom you purred: “I believe that is my cab.“

While the blonde one quickly let go of the car door, wearing a guilty expression mixed with a tinge of embarrasment, his friend didn't seem to mind the inconvenience as he began to step into the taxi, not even bothering to spare you a glance. With a quick movement you banged your fist on the car roof which in return made the man stop in his tracks. “I think you failed to hear, sir“, you repeated sibilantly, “This happens to be my cab.“

As you looked angrily at the male he scanned you blatantly, only for his expression to grow even colder as he retorted monotone, “You are already late so I don't see the necessity for your rush.“ Shocked not only by his straightforwardness but the veracity of his claim as well, you failed to come up with incisive answer, only hissing a half-hearted 'You don't know the last thing about me'. Misinterpreting the retort as a challenge the dark haired man turned around, beginning to slowly stroll around all the while ignoring his friend's attempts to stop him.

“Early thirties which would explain your decision for a significant life change like – in your case – leaving Arizona; an age in which the average person decides to conduct a sort of 'life audit' to assess meaningfulness and satisfaction. The farewell must have been quiet tearful considering the residue of lachrymal fluid on your shoulder; your mother must weep easily, doesn't she?

However, considering the evident lack of luggage you either a) had it collected or b) the airline must have made a mistake which is much more likely due to your tense posture and the alcohol you mixed in your coffee; don't you think ten o'clock in the morning is a bit early to drink?

Which overall brings me to my original assessment of your lateness. After all, as an arrival you surely had an appointment for the key delivery which you must have missed by now. Therefore, it shouldn't be to much of a hastle to wait for the next vehicle and leave this taxi to us.“ His deduction concluded with a fatigued sigh from his companion.

You were taken aback. It was neither do to his perceptions and following conclusions being spot-on nor because of the obviousness he stated those facts with but the simple aspect of meeting someone who was able to talk even more than you made you speechless. As you made eye contact with the other man he gave you a compassionate smile, implying that his friend's remarks weren't anything out of the ordinary. But no matter the impressive demonstration, you weren't about to loose this fairly one-sided verbal exchange.

“Impressive“, you cooed, trying to keep your composure which proofed to be a difficult task, “Right down to the last detail, except for one minor exception.“ At these words the dark haired man stopped in his tracks, keeping his back turned to you. You couldn't fight down the smug smile that overtook your features – admittedly, you didn't try to either – as you heared his deep voice asking: “And what would that be?“

You shot his companion a knowing look and although you weren't quite sure why, his features held the same smug look present on your face as he let go of the door, stepping back onto the pavement. Stepping inside the car, you calmly answered, “That this is my cab.“ With that you shut the door while the dark haired man turned around, an unreadable expression on his face as the car drove off with the two men standing at the roadside and you sitting inside the taxi.

“Whereto, Miss?“, the taxidriver asked, a slight tinge of petulance evident in his voice. As you turned around, looking through the rear window to see the tall man standing in the same position as you had left him while his friend hailed down another cab, you answered with a smile on your face, “236 Baker Street, please.“

[those70scomics]

Links to the Rest of the Story: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Outline for the End

Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER FIVE THE CIRCLE

“Honey,” Eric's mom said at the kitchen table, “what kind of food does Donna like?” Eric was halfway through his breakfast, pancakes slathered in maple syrup. He gulped down some orange juice, in preparation to give his mom a thorough answer, but his dad spoke first: “How's the boy supposed to know that? He's barely met the girl.” “I just though he'd seen what she'd eaten at lunch. Eric, you have been sitting at lunch with her, haven't you?” “Oh, yeah,” Eric said, and it wasn't a complete lie. He'd eaten lunch with her once in this life but thousands of times in his other one. “Chicken Parmesan's her favorite meal. She, uh … she told me. She also loves strawberries.” Mom smiled, and her blue eyes crinkled. “Thank you, sweetie. I'm going grocery shopping for our dinner this Saturday. I want to make sure Donna's comfortable. Her father looks like he'll eat anything, and Midge—” She twirled a finger around her temple. “She probably won't notice what she's eating.” “What you're mother's trying to say, Eric,” Red said and turned the page of his newspaper, “is that the neighbor girl's mom is a ditz.” “Red, I did not say that.” She nodded at Eric and mouthed, “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

Eric ate a bite of pancakes, and the syrup  tasted sweeter than before. Even if he wasted today and tomorrow, that dinner would give him and Donna a real chance to bond. All he had to do was not alienate her further. But Coach Ferguson alienated him during gym. It was the first class of the day. Twenty-five minutes in, and Eric's second greatest wish was never to see a soccer ball again. He'd been made goalie of his team for some incomprehensible reason. The soccer ball sailed past him one too many times, and the more athletic students on his team converged on him. “Hey, quit it!” Kelso said and moved in front of Eric. “He may be a lousy goalie, but he's got it up here.” Kelso pointed to his head. “He knows stuff. Spooky stuff.” “Either take his place, Smells-so,” Kevin Oakridge shouted, “or get outta the way!” “Fine!” Kelso turned around and patted Eric on the shoulder. “Take my position. I got you covered.” Eric left the orange cones that served as goal posts. He had trouble believing what had just happened, but when he glanced back at Kelso, Kelso gave him a thumbs-up. Several minutes later, Eric blocked a kick from Fez, who was on the opposing team. The ball slammed into Eric's stomach, and he grunted. Fez had put all his strength into the shot, as if he were aiming for Eric's beanbags and not the goal. “Fez,” Eric said as Kevin took control of the ball, but Fez sprinted to another part of the gym. Gym ended, as always, with Eric covered in sweat. He had a few short minutes to towel off and change from his gym clothes. By the time he was finished, Kelso and Fez were both gone from locker room. No chance to ask them questions. During homeroom, Eric found Hyde but no answers. “Have no clue what's going on in Kelso's skull.” Hyde said. “You got history class with him next. Find out.” Eric planned on doing just that, but his shoulders stiffened as Mrs. Bridges went through the school announcements. “How did you know I have history?” Hyde's attention was on Mrs. Bridges, and he gestured for Eric to be quiet. “You're such a teacher's pet,” Eric said. “Get bent, Forman.” But Hyde seemed more annoyed than pissed, and he walked with Eric to the hallway after homeroom. “Donna's got history,” he said. Eric’s stomach hollowed out. Hyde had memorized Donna's schedule, just as Eric had done in his other life. Hyde wanted her, just as Eric did. Only, in this life, Hyde had a much better chance with her.

Eric entered history class unsure of where to sit. Donna and Kelso were already at their usual desks, with Pam Macy sitting beside Kelso. But as Eric passed by their aisle, Kelso shouted, “You!” Eric braced himself for an attack. Kelso's friendly attitude in gym class must’ve been an anomaly — or a setup — but the attack never came. “Why're you just standing there?” Kelso said and slapped Donna's desk. “Sit down.” Eric looked at Donna questioningly, but she offered him no assurances. She had her pencil out and wrote in her notebook. Kelso slapped her desk again. “Move down a seat, Donna.” She continued writing. “Knock it off, dillhole” . “Move down a seat.” Kelso shut her notebook. “Me and Eric have to talk.” She glared at him. “What?” “Kelso, leave her alone,” Eric said. “I'll go somewhere else—” “No, I'll go.” She picked up her notebook and backpack and left the aisle completely. Eric's instinct was to grab her arm and tell her to wait, but he took her desk instead. Kelso leaned in close to him and whispered, “I gotta thank you.” He hiked his thumb at Pam Macy. “Me and Pam didn't stop at making out yesterday.” “That's … fantastic, Kelso.” Eric tore a page from his notebook and began turning it into a paper football. “So why, exactly, are you thanking me?” “Because you know me better than myself. I can't be tied down to one woman, and Pam's totally cool about me fooling around with other chicks. That was your plan all along, to free me from monogamy.” Eric ripped his piece of paper in half. “Sure.” Kelso wagged a finger in Eric's face. “I see your plan now. You're here to make all our lives better, like some kind of genie. The Genie of Janesville.” Eric didn't argue. If Kelso thought Eric was supernatural, so be it. Better than having to fend off Kelso's fists everyday. “So who're you gonna help next?” Kelso said. “Hyde?” “Who knows?” Eric was folding his strip of paper into triangles. “But no hard feelings about Jackie?” “No way. She would've told me not to fool around with other girls, and Pam—” Kelso's next word was garbled. His body jerked back, and Eric spotted the cause. Pam Macy's arm was under Kelso's desk, and a smirk glided over her lips. Eric focused on finishing his paper football. Donna didn't know how lucky she was he'd taken her desk. Mr. Wilcox arrived to class late but not late enough for Kelso. Pam withdrew her hand from him, and Kelso shrieked. He pushed himself from the desk and fled the classroom, no doubt to finish Pam’s work in the bathroom. Mr. Wilcox cleared his throat and continued the week's lesson the Cold War. Kelso's absence had to be on his mind. Class disruptions were more than a pet peeve to him. He took them as a personal affront, which was why Eric behaved himself during class. Getting a detention in this life would interfere with his other life, depriving him of a precious hour to win Donna back. “People aren't property,” Mr. Wilcox said when Kelso eventually returned. “But in communist societies, everyone is treated as a slave — and you, Mr. Kelso, will see me after class.” “But I see you now,” Kelso said. “After class, Mr. Kelso.” “Fine!” Class continued with Kelso scrawling angry notes. Eric glanced at Kelso's notebook, afraid that Kelso blamed him for his trouble, but Kelso wrote about experiencing his own Cold War because of Mr. Wilcox. Eric didn't leave his desk when the bell rang. He had study hall with Donna next, with Mrs. Fletcher supervising. It would be a prime talking opportunity, but he needed to give Donna space. She had to see he wouldn't pen her in, and letting her walk the halls without him stepping on her heels was a good start. Kelso sneaked behind Pam on his way out of the row, but Mr. Wilcox called him to the front of the classroom. “I had a bathroom emergency!” Kelso shouted after a minute-and-a-half, and that was Eric's signal to leave. He strolled out of the classroom, walking slowly to give Donna even more time. If he bumped into her in the stairwell or hallway, that was fate's fault, not his. But he got to study hall without seeing her, and her red hair was like a signal fire. He found her easily among the other students already seated. The tables were full of yammering guys and chattering girls, including Jackie and her cheer-squad friends. Donna had taken a table in the corner and seemed to be actually studying. Eric curled his fingers into his palms. His hands weren't sweaty yet, but his heart beat loudly in his ears. Donna's affect on him was as frustrating as it was necessary. In his other life, those few hours without her had turned him into a breathing corpse. Having to live a lifetime without her wasn't a prospect he'd consider. “Can I sit at the table with you?” he said by her shoulder, and her head dropped to her chest, like he was intolerable to her. “I don't mean next to you.” He gestured to the other end of the table. “I'll sit over there, but I figured I'd ask your permission since you think I'm — well, since you don't like me very much.” Her head rose with a sigh. “It’s a free country.” He went to the end of the table and sat down. His blood thrummed with his pulse, with his small victory. She hadn't rejected him. She hadn't pushed him away, and he removed the triangular paper football from his backpack.

“Will you ever talk to me again?” he wrote on the football and flicked it across the table. His aim was perfect. The paper football landed on Donna's notebook, and every gaze at the table turned toward it, including Donna's.

Her hand glided over the football and pulled it closer. She must have read his message because her hair fell over her face, and she wrote on the football herself. The football sailed through the air a moment later and smacked Eric in the chin. “I haven't decided yet,” she'd written below his message. He ran his thumb over her round, feminine scrawl before writing, “I'm not an asshole.”

He tossed the paper football across the table. Hands not belonging to Donna reached for it, but they were too slow. Donna snatched the football from the table and wrote on it again. She threw it back to Eric, and her message said, “But you are creepy.” “And you're judgmental,” he wrote. “True,” her next message said. “Sorry.” “But I can see why you think I'm creepy,” he wrote and threw the paper football to her. It hit her arm; but she read his message, wrote below it, and tossed the football back. “How did you know?” her message said. The question was tiny but not illegible. That side of the paper football had run out of writing space, and he flipped it over to the other side. “I dove head-first into Kelso and Jackie's lives the first day I met them.” He chucked the football toward Donna, but someone grabbed it out of the air: Debbie Filipelli, an honors student and well-known gossip-monger. Donna stood from the table and moved menacingly toward her, and Debbie relinquished the football to Donna's custody. Donna took a moment to write her next message, and she hurled the paper football so hard it overshot the table. Eric had to get up to retrieve it. The power she put into her throw must’ve been for safety's sake, to prevent other people from getting the football. “No,” her message began. “I mean, how did you know Kelso was a cheater?” “Our first history class,” he wrote. “His eyes + Pam Macy's boobs. Simple math.” She smiled as she read his message, and he grinned at reading her next one: “So you're not a sociopath. You're just perceptive?” “Yes!” he wrote, and the tip of his pencil broke in his enthusiasm. He pulled a pen from his backpack and kept writing. “That's what I've been trying to tell you.” He'd drawn smiley-face beside the last word, but she didn't seem to appreciate his artwork or his message. She unfolded the football and refolded it, exposing a blank space to write.

“You're also a busy body,” her message said, “sticking your nose into other people's business.” “Was trying to help,” he wrote. She read his message looked over at Jackie, who was deep in conversation with her fellow cheerleaders. Jackie gestured wildly, and her voice carried but not enough for Eric to make out full sentences. Donna inhaled a heavy breath. Her shoulders drooped while she wrote, and she flicked the football back to Eric. She'd given him her longest response yet: “You probably did help Jackie, but I haven't made my mind up about you. You could still be a sociopath in a perceptive guy's body.” “Fair enough,” he wrote back, “but I promise you, Donna, I don't want anything from you other than friendship.” It was a lie. He wanted a lot more from her than friendship, but that was in his other life. In this one, all he wanted — needed — from her was a kiss. “Sociopaths lie to get what they really want,” her next message said. “Actions speak louder than words.” He turned the paper football around for a clear space to write in large letters, “What do you really want?” She read his message and stuck her pencil between her teeth. Her fingers drummed on the table, and her gaze drifted to the ceiling before writing him back. “For you not to be so damn creepy.” It was her last message to him. By the time he looked up from the football, she was on her way out of the study hall. He stuffed the paper football into his backpack. He and Donna hadn’t developed any trust between them yet, but at least she'd started to communicate with him.

But he still had plenty of work to do — and not just with her. He approached Jackie’s table, and six pairs of eyes turned toward him. They belonged to the cheer squad, and he found no kindness in them, only judgment. “Jackie,” he said, “it's time to settle up.” Jackie rose from her chair. “Not here,” she whispered and pointed to the center of the room. She strode ahead of him. He followed, but standing in the middle of all the tables made him feel exposed. Even Mrs. Fletcher glanced at him from her desk. “Can't we sit somewhere?” he said. She scoffed and clasped her hands behind her back. “Where people can't see exactly what we're doing? Please. Do you know how much damage control I had to do because of Timmy Wilson's big, fat mouth? I'm sorry, Derek, but...” She jutted out her bottom lip in what had to be false-sympathy. “You're just too skinny and weird for me to make-out with, despite that you're friends with Buddy Morgan.” “Okay, first of all, it's Eric, not Derek. Second...” A scathing burn surfaced in his mind, but she hadn't paid him yet. If he antagonized her, she could back out of their deal. “All I want from you is those tickets.” “What tickets?” He gaped at her. She couldn't have forgotten their bargain. She'd just referenced the gossipy fall-out from their negotiations. “To the Rundgren concert in Milwaukee!” “Oh.” She examined her nails, as if this conversation couldn't be more boring. “My dad left for a business trip this morning. He won't be back until Sunday night, so I can't get you any Todd Rundergament tickets.” She lookat at him again. “But I heard there's a Rush concert in two weeks. I could get you tickets for that.” He gripped the top of his hair, and his cheeks grew hot. “For the love of — I ask you to do one thing!” “Don't shout at me!” She swung her foot at him. It connected with his shin, and pain spread through his tibia. He doubled over with a grunt, and by the time he recovered, she was back at her table of cheerleaders.

Eric spent all of music class fantasizing about calling WFPP, winning the Rundgren tickets, and presenting them to Donna. He thought about it on his way to the cafeteria, about the kiss she'd give him as a reward. The angel didn't specify that the kiss be on Eric's lips. A kiss, freely given, to his cheek had to count just as much. “Gross” Edna — Hyde's mom — dropped a greasy hamburger onto Eric's tray. He grabbed a fistful of potato chips and scurried from her sight. She was known to bitch-out students if they didn't move fast enough. Eric went toward Buddy's table. The spot across from Buddy was unoccupied, but shouts of “Eric, over here!” and “Yo, Forman!” drew his attention. Kelso and Hyde were calling him to their table. This was new, and Eric grasped his tray hard enough to make his knuckles hurt. Fez was still in the lunch line, but his objections to Eric's presence would likely be ignored. Donna, though, was seated next to Hyde. She bit into a potato chip and stared at Eric, as if challenging him to sit across from her. She had no idea who she was messing with: a man with his future on the line. He changed directions and sat at her table. “So, any of you manage to bag tickets to the Rundgren concert?” he said before anyone else spoke. He had to act cool, as if Kelso and Hyde's invitation weren't a big deal. “'Cause I've had no luck.” “Been calling every night,” Hyde said. “Got through once — and was caller number eight.” “That sucks.” Eric bit into his hamburger. A mixture of grease and meat juice dribbled onto his chin, and he wiped it up with a napkin. A person had to be caller number thirteen to win tickets. “Timing is everything,” he said. “Too bad we don't have someone working there who could help us out.” Hyde angled his head toward the ceiling as he chewed his last bite of food. Eric recognized the look. Hyde was mulling over an idea. “While I'm against nepotism in any form,” he eventually said, “getting concert tickets could make me abandon my principles.” Kelso laughed. “Yeah. I'd abandon Principal Pridewell on the side of the road for Rundgren tickets.” “Principles,” Donna said, “not principals, you dink.” She picked up her hamburger but didn't bite into it. “Oh, man, I'd love to work for WFPP.” “And I'd love to work for Jackie,” Fez said. He'd arrived with a tray piled high with potato chips and sat beside Eric. “I'd be her assistant, and eventually she'd let me choose her outfits, and I'd be there while she got dressed—” “Fez, gross,” Donna said. “Could you at least try to be less skeevy?” Kelso thrust a potato chip in Fez's face. “If you go after Jackie, man, I'll shove one of these where the sun don't shine.” “Why would I care if you shove a potato chip in Sweden?” Fez snatched the chip from Kelso's fingers and ate it. “I mean it,” Kelso said. “Jackie's mine.” “But I thought you didn't want Jackie anymore,” Fez said. “Not if she's the only chick I can fool around with. But after I'm doing it with all the girls who don't care about stuff like that, I'll give Jackie a chance.” “But that could be years!” Kelso shrugged. “Thems the breaks, Fez.” Donna's nose wrinkled. “Give me a break. Kelso, Jackie can date whoever she wants, including Fez. You don't own her.” Eric instinct was to back her up. If they'd been in his other life, he would've done it without hesitation. But here, she might interpret his support as undermining her.

He kept his mouth shut, but Hyde said, “Hey, I don't want Fez dating Jackie either. We just got her out of our life, thanks to Forman.” “No, thanks to Kelso being a horny pig,” Donna said. “And, apparently, a self-entitled one.” “A self-en-what?” Kelso said. She put up her hand dismissively. “Never mind.” Fez put up his hand the same way examined it. “This feels powerful.” He held his hand steady and glared at both Kelso and Hyde in turn. “If I choose to pursue Jackie, that is my choice.” “But, Fez—” Kelso said. “My choice!” Fez put down his hand and continued to eat. “Whatever.” Hyde swiped a potato chip from Donna's tray. “Study sesh after school?” “Sure,” she said. Their easy interaction occupied Eric's mind through the rest of lunch. Donna's friendship with Hyde was impenetrable, inviolable. Trying to get between them would be a foolish endeavor. As much as the idea soured his stomach, he'd have to treat them as if they were two parts of a whole. Being on Hyde's good side had gotten him this far. If Eric concentrated on that, it might get him even farther.

OUTLINE MODE BEGINS

Chemistry class. Eric and Buddy continue the lab experiment from yesterday and write down the results.

Buddy Morgan says, “Things must have gone well yesterday because you sat with the redhead at lunch.”

Eric says yes and no. Donna thinks Eric's creepy, etc. And Jackie flaked out on giving Eric the Rundgren tickets. The bargains he's made here so far aren't panning out.

Buddy says that's too bad.

Buddy's a bit cold to Eric, and Eric wonders if it has to do with Eric not eating lunch with him.

Eric asks if Buddy wants to hang out with Eric after school. Eric says he plans on going to Donna's house, and there's no reason Buddy can't come, too. Buddy thanks him, smiling, but declines. He has plans of his own.

Eric leaves school concerned about his friendship with Buddy. He hopes he didn't lose it by not eating lunch with him one day. The Buddy in his other life isn't so sensitive or fickle. But in less than three days, this life's Buddy won’t be a concern for him anymore.

Eric cringes at that thought. It sounds so callous. Tomorrow, he’d make sure Buddy knows Eric really does appreciate him.

Eric also wants to make a peace offering to Donna and Hyde. So he buys pot from Leo at the Fotohut.

Afterward, Eric goes to Donna's with the pot in his backpack. Donna opens the front door, and Hyde's on the living room couch. His and Donna’s trig notebooks are open. They really are studying.

Eric shows them the bag of pot.

Hyde says, “Holy hell.”

Donna says, “Whoa.” Eric says, “And I've got the perfect place to smoke it.”

ERIC'S BASEMENT. Eric locks both basement doors, the one to the kitchen and the one to the outside. Donna comments on the creepiness of that, asks if Eric plans on getting them high them murdering them.

Hyde says Donna's paranoid, which Eric finds funny since Hyde's the paranoid one in Eric's other life.

Eric says it's just a safety precaution. If Eric's parents catch them down here, he's dead.

Donna says, “Some perfect place to smoke.”

Hyde tells Donna to lighten up on Eric.

DURING the circle, Eric tries to guide the conversation to women's rights. But Hyde's much better at talking about them than Eric is. Hyde, in Eric's other life, always was, too.

BY THE TIME the circle is over, Eric wonders why Donna was ever with Eric in his other life. Eric sucks, but he can do better. He prays to God that if he gets that kiss from Donna, he'll read all the Feminist books that exist.

The angel appears and says this is bargaining. “And didn't you say your bargains don't pan out?”

Eric says this whole situation is a bargain. The angel can't argue. Eric asks if he's doomed to failure. The angel says he's got a little more than three days left to figure that out. 

[vddls-blog]

Friend reader, imagine a place where you could cross 15 clones of the One Piece Hero, eat octopus balls, buy cat ears (stuffed!), Be photographed on the back of a virtual pig or receive a lot of cuddles coming from perfect unknowns … Impossible, do you think? Well no ! This idyllic world, strange, perfect, crazy, kawai (bar useless mentions) exists. His name is Japan Expo!

Favorite robot..

As you say right now, I'm not mad about manga. Although I have the pseudo "BDphilou", it is especially the Franco-Belgian comics that has always fascinated me. Younger, I still loved the cartoon "Akira" which remains a reference of the Manga genre but other than that, few have caught my attention.

In these conditions, why go to the Japan Expo? Especially since I'm not able to quote any minor character of Naruto or to sing the least credits of cartoons appeared after 1985? Well it's simple: Japan Expo is an experience in itself!

For those who do not know at all what Japan Expo is, know that it is a kind of huge living room based at the Paris Nord Villepinte exhibition center. And what do we see? An incredible amount of stands more or less in connection with Japan in general and Jap'animation " in particular.

On the menu of this event many different activities:

Of shopping in the countless shops of the show selling everything and often anything: Who wants to buy cats paws stuffed? Or keychains in the shape of Cup Cake? Or very "kawaïs" stuffed animals representing llamas (yes, I'm still looking for the relationship with Japan), bottles of fruit juice with real pieces of fruit inside? And lots of other objects as useless as necessary.

of the course martial arts, wrestling (!?!), calligraphy, majong, cooking and – in the midst of the deafening sound of the Yoga Salon!

of the restaurants selling a whole lot of Asian specialties as tasty as unexpected. Well, do not count on me to give you my impression on the menus, I had loosely bought my sandwich at the station just before entering the exhibition!

of the scenes where groups of Japanese singers-unknown to ordinary European mortals-whose average age should not exceed 15 years, make a real card to the applaudimeter.

of the conferences more or less surprising. Thus, one could religiously listen to the creator of the hit video game series "Crazy Taxi" that explained how he had designed his game … or go a few tens of meters away to see a huge crowd cheering a big yellow stuffed that had a badly mad to move and who was screaming in incomprehensible language!

of the stands for the less curious where you are offered to sit on a cube and in front of a green background. A snapshot and 2 minutes later, you leave with a picture of you on a virtual pig with written: "Seven Deadly Sins". Why ? How? What happened there? So many questions that will remain unanswered!

Stands video games represented a little by Sony and a lot by Nintendo. It was also the part of the noisiest room. It must be said that the animators visibly confused the verbs "comment" and "scream" to describe what everyone could yet see on giant screens.

But ESPECIALLY: there is Cosplay !

Well sorry for this old-fashioned reference to Captain Flamme, but as I said above, I'm not super up to date on the latest Japanese cartoons. So, back to our sushi, and unlike this as one might think, the most interesting point of the Japan Expo is not necessarily in the various stands and activities on offer. No ! It is indeed in its alleys that is all the "salt" of this event. Indeed, many visitors are " cosplayers ". Understand that they made the trip to walk in the living room fully disguised as heroes of manga and / or video games. But be careful, do not imagine the costume knitted quickly by Tati Huguette the eve of the last year's holiday party. Here it is really about often impressive costumes. We feel that most Cosplayers had to spend a considerable amount of time designing the smallest details of their clothes. It goes from the simplest (The Hero of One Piece with his red jacket and his straw hat was very well represented) to costumes simply impressive or confusing realism. So even though, like me, you only know the 10th characters crossed in the aisles of the show, it is obvious that your eyes will naturally be attracted by all these creations. Thus, Ariel the little Mermaid rubs Cobra with her cigar, Princess Amidala talks with a zombie nurse and the Spartan "300" queues at fast food with a warrior looking straight out of prehistory! Surreal and very fun at the same time. Especially since all this beautiful world is very easily affordable and will be happy to ask for any objective on request from you. Some even give you a business card so you can take a look at their website presenting each of their costumes!

As you can see, strolling the aisles of the show is an attraction of every moment.

To conclude this little report, I realize that I forgot to talk to you about many things. For example, we could notice the locations for dedications of Japanese authors well known who were not so far from those young amateur designers seeking to break through by presenting their first fanzine. I also forgot to mention the presence of a clone of Freddy Mercury vacuuming on stage with a giant panda (!! ??). And how not to mention people walking around with their signs " Free Hugs ". Understand that they propose to hug you, just for fun! I could also talk to you a little about video games by telling you quickly that I was able to watch a fight from the next Super Smash Bros (to be released at the end of the year on Wii U) on a giant screen. This was the 1era European public presentation, if I'm not mistaken. And the baffles are flying low, believe me! I also discovered " Splatoon (Still on Wii U / planned release in February 2015). A game of confrontation with 4 players against 4 where it will be the team repainting the largest area of ​​the playground. To move faster, you must … turn into a squid! (???) A game perfectly in keeping with the spirit of the show: completely barred and incredibly endearing! Well, there are still 1000 things to tell about the Japan Expo but I prefer to leave you the surprise to live them in one of the next editions! Sayonara!