#it's 19.5k words so far

[tinogiehd]

are you still writing the bodyswap?

YES i have 2 fic exchanges coming up and the ts fic project thing though

[pirateprincessblog]

Blue Paradise

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: the news of park seonghwa, your best friend's brother you haven't seen in years, joining your birthday trip to maldives doesn't excite you the slightest. so far.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: park seonghwa x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 19.5k

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: smut, bit of angst, summer love, innocent but curious seonghwa, experienced reader, childhood friends, a little sadist reader, almost a milf, subby seonghwa

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: oral (both receiving), public, submissive seonghwa, dominant reader, gagging

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, nsfw scenes, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of body dysmorphia

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: use of the word noona! i'm not a koreaboo i promise, and i don't care if you think it's cringe, the word noona has a special grip on me. eternal sunshine prettiest boy seonghwa is the one i'm writing about in this piece <33 my sadistic side is showing a little here. also ???????

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

when you said the words i'm fine out loud, you weren't sure if you were trying to convince the group of girls in front of you, or yourself. you weren't angry. nor sad. you were simply disappointed. the notebook you were subconsciously gripping in your lap contained all the plans and goals that were now impossible to fulfill. just two days before leaving your hometown and visiting the sweet tropical delight, nearly all the people from your friend group decided they wouldn't be going. the trip was paid by you, as a celebration for your birthday.

maybe you chose the wrong location. or the wrong time. or just the wrong people. it didn't matter. you could say goodbye to the printed images of the blue water and the clear sky in the notebook, along with the idea of swimming with sharks or drinking straight out of a coconut. you worked hard to save up for this celebration. hours of working even after your shift was done, drowning in sweat and running home just for a few extra dollar bills. little by little, you saved up for all the tickets. true, your parents did give you money here and there. but you have your little hobbies and dirty pleasures, and oh, you just love desserts and dresses. it's not easy to save up when the marketing teams of your favorite stores work harder than you or your parents. how can you not buy that tight bright pink sequin dress with the feathery sleeve ends? and the heels which come in half price if you buy the matching bag? what a steal.

your eyes scan the room, looking for the slightest sign of guilt on their faces. yet, not a single one was visible. you wished to rip their plane tickets in front of their faces, throw the notebook at the girl who proposed the idea of rather staying home instead of getting drunk in a whole different location far from home. you witnessed their excitement, screaming and yelling when you announced the trip. then, what happened?

"we're sorry, but-"

"you're not sorry. you just want the feeling of guilt to disappear. that is, if you're feeling guilty at all." you interrupt, your tone pure frost.

your best friend cups your hand, making you soften the grip on the notebook. in other circumstances, she is the one who does the talking. but today, she is willingly letting you handle it. you've had enough of everyone using you and reaching out to you only when they need something.

"it's not like we took any money from you. you're acting like we robbed you or something." the girl says, looking at the rest of the group and asking for support.

"not directly, you didn't." your face stays stone cold. "but cancelling this late means i cannot get a refund. or real friends to go with me."

they all scoff in disbelief, some of them already angry and ready to start spitting insults. you don't care. you're ready for everything they have to throw at you.

"real friends? are you fucking with me?"

you feel like you're in a euphoria episode. and yes, it is as fun as it looks. especially when you know damn well you're right, and they're wrong. you watch them yell at you, accusing you of accusing them, making up a thing or two along the way, even getting into your face and pointing into your chest. you watch with a lazy smile, which only enrages them more. each moment that passes, they're only proving you right. they were here just for the money. if you asked them your favorite colour, they'd just look at each other helplessly. but if you asked them how much your parents have given you for christmas, they'd know to the last cent.

"you know what? fuck your parents, your trip, your money and your fake ass."

and just like that, you were left alone with the only true friend in the big house. the appetizers were untouched, and so were the cocktails. you feel a hand wrap around your shoulders.

"we'll figure something out. i won't let anyone ruin your birthday."

you smile, this time sincerely. it takes less than fifteen minutes to lift your spirits. with your friend saying stupid things in a normal tone, it's easy to come out of the shell. you're already opening your notebook again, scribbling over the names that were once involved, and adding up new plans.

"you know, we have to go swimsuit shopping. i'm still bloated from the period, and i don't think it'll pass until the trip. the plane ride will only make it worse."

you agree, already picturing the colour and shape you'd want to wear. but still, what to do with the remaining tickets? the amount of money is too huge to just let it go. you can't ask your parents to come, they're busy with a recent project that is supposed to help their business. you can't think of any other friends, and there's no way in hell you'll bring your sibling. constant bickering is something you wish to leave for home, not bring to the maldives.

"what do i do with the tickets?" you mumble, your head now lying on top of the notebook. you feel helpless. at this point, you want to cancel and never go anywhere again.

"well, you might kill me for this, but i have an idea."

you turn your head to the side, cheek pressing into the notebook. your friend is sprawled over the couch upside down, her feet resting on top of the backrest and her head hanging from the seat. she dramatically chews the chips, purposely dragging it out to tease you.

"come on now, we have a little over twenty four hours from the flight. i'm begging you, give me a solution that will save my money."

the girl finally swallows the chips, then looks up at the ceiling.

"when was the last time you visited my home?"

not sure how that is connected to her idea, you raise an eyebrow in confusion. "i can't remember. your parents usually come over here instead of us coming over. why?"

"well, you do know that i have a brother?"

"that i do." you laugh, remembering the little rascal. even though he was younger, he never hesitated to flip you both off when you bothered him, or kick you in your knees if you even looked at him the wrong way. ever since he enrolled to a high-school in a city nearby, you barely saw him. then, he went to college. he comes over every other weekend, but sometimes not even that. it's been many years since you've last seen him. "little park seonghwa."

"not so little now," she laughs, "i think he's, like, taller than your dad."

"impossible. he was shorter than me last time i saw him."

"yeah, because he was eleven."

you roll your eyes. she's right, but you'd rather eat scrapped toast burns than admit it. you hear the leather of the couch squeaking, then footsteps. she sits next to you on the floor, then pulls the notebook towards herself without warning. your head follows the notebook, almost falling off and hitting the edge of the table. you glare at her, but she just giggles mischievously.

"i thought, we could invite him and his friends."

"invite your little brother with us? to the maldives?"

she nods, not seeing anything wrong with it. your brain is already listing out what things are out of question and impossible.

"first of all, he's like, fifteen."

"he's twenty-four."

"he's basically a kid." you ignore her, sticking to your own idea as if you know her brother better than her.

"you'd be surprised how much of an adult he is now. little turd still gets on my nerves, but he has come a long way. he even hugs me sometimes."

you sigh. in your head, he is still the little eleven year old seonghwa with blue shorts and the green polo shirt. seonghwa with the blue crocs and a dirty ipad. seonghwa who would enter the room without knocking just so he could wipe his boogers on your clothes. gross.

"fine, let's say he comes along. am i supposed to wear a bikini in front of him?"

"that's normal! it's just a bikini. besides, i haven't seen him make a move on a girl since he got roasted by one for his hair at homecoming."

you can't help but feel bad for the poor boy. your brain forms an unwanted image of seonghwa, all dressed up and fixed for his date, only for his date to bring him down in front of everyone.

"i did not need to imagine that." you mumble to yourself, then try to take the pen from your friend. "give me that."

"no, wait! he has like seven friends, so one ticket will still be an extra. still better than all nine going to waste, right?"

"right."

"so,

seonghwa takes mel's ticket,

wooyoung takes lara's ticket,

mingi takes josie's-"

"hold on, hold on. they're all boys?"

"men, yes."

you close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. you try to breathe, but the idea of taking literal kids to such an expensive vacation is driving you crazy.

"i'm going there to get drunk, get a tan and fuck somebody in my pretty pink dress, maybe even get scissored by you, not to babysit your brother and his friends. and what the fuck are those names, are they forming a kpop group?"

the girl laughs, her head falling back against the sofa behind you. all of this is so hilarious to her, while you're feeling like it's a bad dream that'll be gone if you pinch yourself enough.

"first of all, very flattering, i appreciate that. i'll think about the offer. second, you're literally just a couple years older than them. and third, they're more than capable of getting more drunk than you and fuck someone, just like us."

there wasn't any space to think about it. it's either spending the week guarding kids from getting alcohol poisoning or spending the week feeling guilt because of the lost money.

"fine."

"oh? just like that?"

"what other choice do i have? let the kids have fun."

she giggles, then finishes the scribbling on the page. you scan over the names, then the female ones that were crossed out. you feel your heart tighten, but remembering that you got rid of something you didn't need the whole time, you feel at ease.

"i'll tell them to come over tomorrow, just so you can meet them and tell them the plan."

"yeah, that'd be great."

the rest of the day is spent outside, visiting various stores and trying on various swimsuits. all of them were extremely exposing, something you weren't quite used to. still, you managed to gain the confidence and buy a risky set. a baby pink set with panties that had a lower cut than you preferred, along with a shiny waist chain, and a decent bra. the summer heat waves were more than present, causing people to run into stores just to cool off, including the two of you.

after an ice cream, a few burgers and slushies, you finally collapsed on your bed. it wasn't long until your alarm clock had your eyes peeling open. you had slept for almost nine hours, yet it felt like ten minutes.

your friend was supposed to be here around dinner, bringing takeout and the boys with her. you made a deal that the boys could sleep over, so that you can drive to the airport together without having to wait for anyone. you packed all day, proudly stacking your bikinis for each day of the week. the pink one was reserved for the day of your birthday, the shiny chains carefully placed in the corner so they don't get broken in transit.

you had just packed your backpack, changed into a dress that didn't stick to your skin, letting your it breathe and get a relief from the hot summer evening. you admired your skin, wishing for it to stay that clean during the following week. you had refrained yourself from eating chocolate for three whole weeks, and the results finally showed up. you were proud of yourself for not picking on it, and decided to keep a count for it. it'll make you happy when you see a progress each morning.

deep voices travel to your ears, a sign that they have arrived. you didn't expect them to sound this grown up. you expected those soft boyish voices, that match their boy body structures. but once you reach the bottom of the stairs, you stop breathing for a moment. these weren't boys. not at all.

they were men.

eight tall men stood in your living room, patiently waiting and helping your best friend sort out the food orders. one of them stood extra close to her, telling off others if they get too close. could it be?

and as if he knew what you were thinking, he turns his head, eyes looking directly into yours. you stand there, not moving a muscle. you are scared to breathe. a sudden wave of anxiety washes over your body. these were all grown men foreign to you. and then it hits you.

they're all going on a vacation with you. they'll all see you in a bikini, in your dresses, they'll see you drink. they'll probably see you get railed somewhere behind a club. they'll probably see you at your worst when you're near alcohol. fuck.

"oh, there you are! i was already starting to go mad with all these male alphas." she turns to look at them, and one of them sticks his tongue out at her. "let's eat first and then you'll do the introduction and all that shit."

park seonghwa doesn't avert his gaze from you. he smiles, sending you a little wave from across the room and giving you the prettiest eyes you've ever seen in your life. the sparkly irises wake up a volcanic eruption in your stomach; something you haven't felt in a while. the boy- young man- sits down on the floor, his back resting against the sofa. seeing your frozen state, the girl comes towards you, hands resting on your shoulders.

"look, i know it's a bit much for you, and you definitely didn't expect them to look or act this mature and intimidating, - and, well, bulk - but give them a chance. they're really nice and comfy to be around."

you nod, then skim over the group once again. they're all wearing short sweats with basic t-shirts, yet you feel under-dressed. you wished you put something nicer on, like that green flower dress or-

"come on, now. your food is getting cold."

they have spared a seat for both of you on the other sofa, along with a set of forks and plastic plates.

"my friend is a little shy, give her a moment," she announces, and pretends to not notice you glaring from the side. "anyways, enjoy your meals."

everyone eats in silence, occasionally murmuring something among themselves. you take the moment when you're out of focus to scan each one of them. they were all built athletically, with their t-shirts straining against their muscles and the thighs occasionally flexing as they laughed or spoke. then, you stopped at seonghwa. his dark hair was softly falling over his eyes, and his bright teeth showed up every now and then whenever his friends spoke. you watched his hands spin the fork to get the spaghetti easier into his mouth, the veins on his arms distracting you from your own food. he brings the food to his lips, eating in a way so polite, chewing with his mouth closed and no messy ketchup accidents. you were amazed that this man is the little seonghwa with boogers smeared on his star wars t-shirt.

he catches your gaze again, this time smiling wider than before.

"noona, how have you been?"

you wish to bury your face between the sofa cushions. the name he once used to call you because his mother made him, was now used because he himself wanted to. why else would a grown man call you that in the place far from his homeland, where that labeling is not necessary?

"good, seonghwa. very good." you manage to say, cheeks burning as he smiles sweetly at you. "what about you?"

"i've been good, noona. pushing through college, trying not to drop out."

"says the guy with all of his exams at not lower than ninety-five percent," his friend scoffs.

he earns himself a nudge in the ribs, then whines dramatically.

"jongho, you're basically in kindergarten." your friend teases, and the young man acts offended.

"just because i'm the youngest-"

"so, seonghwa's sister's best friend, exactly where are we going and what will we be doing?"

you laugh at the addressing, then set the plate aside. the focus is on you, and your head becomes dizzy for a moment. you feel lost in time and space, and it takes you a while to get back to reality. you're there, surrounded by nine people who are waiting for you to speak instead of staring blankly. it takes one knee pat from your friend to assure you that it's okay to speak, and that they'll listen.

"we'll be staying at bungalows, the small ones you see on insta all the time. which means two to three people per one. i'll make the list later, so we can settle as soon as we arrive and not lose time on organizing."

you continue to explain your plans, but make sure to tell them they're not obligated to follow what you had in mind. still, they all seemed amazed at your ideas that none of them protested. by the end of the meal, the conversation had gone from stiff to comfortable, with multiple people talking and you feeling confident enough to speak up when needed.

"seonghwa is scared of sharks, what do we do about that?"

"i'm not, you dipshit."

"language," you laugh, looking at the bickering young men in front of you.

"sorry, noona," and there it is, the sickeningly sweet smile again. he does it so naturally, it has your heart fluttering.

the conversation about sharks and how harmless they are continues, and your focus shifts on the dessert they brought. you ate a whole plate of your favorite takeout meal, and drank almost three glasses of soda. would they think you eat too much if you took just one cupcake?

you reach for the red velvet delight, your eyes focused on your friend as she scolds the boys for the unnecessary swearing and dirty comments. your fingers brush against something cold, and you look down to find seonghwa reaching for the same cupcake as you. he sees you hesitate, so he splits the dessert in half, leaving the bigger one for you on the plate. you give him a smile of gratitude, then lean back into the leather and listen about dinosaurs and chickens and how they're related.

almost two and a half hours later, you notice them getting sleepy. they help you pick up the trash from the dinner, and then stand in front of you, as if waiting for orders.

"i'll pull out these sofas for four of you, and the other four can fight about two guest bedrooms with a couple bed."

seven of them call dibs, running upstairs to the rooms and fighting along the way.

"like i said, kids."

"oh, i don't think kids can do this."

you look at seonghwa, who was fine with sleeping on a pullout sofa, and raise your eyebrows with amusement, and amazement, as he flexes his arm in front of you. your expression is probably priceless. the veins traveling along his muscular arms are giving you trouble breathing, or existing at all.

"stop flexing in front of my friend, you idiot. she's not impressed."

"right," he says, clicking his tongue and laughing when he gets hit by a pillow. "i'll take it from here. you go rest, noona."

seonghwa takes the covers and pillows from you, making sure to brush his fingers against yours once again, looking into your eyes with a smile while doing so. he could step on you and smile like that, you'd ask him to do it again.

"oh, it's not a problem." you insist.

your friend clicks her tongue, then rolls her eyes. she puts her hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you upstairs to your room.

"if the little turd wants to set up his bed, let him. that's the only use you'll have of him this whole trip."

"i love you too!"

and that's the last thing you hear from him before going inside your room. voices echo through the hallway, coming from the two guest rooms. you hear them play various games to decide who wins the bed, yet when one side wins, they switch to a different game that benefits the other side. they stop only after you've brushed your teeth and changed into sleepwear. you hear multiple heavy footsteps passing by your door, then knocking.

"yes?" you say, looking at the door through the mirror. your fingers don't let go of the halfway braided hair as a head peeks in, eyes quickly scanning the room, then falling on you. you remember the man as wooyoung. he's the social butterfly of the group, that you've noticed.

"nice pj's, noona." he grins, shamelessly staring at your bottom. "pandas look very cute on you."

"wooyoung you come over here right fucking now." hongjoong, you think, warns him. you laugh, still looking at the young man standing at your door, now holding it open for everyone to see inside.

four of them are lined up behind him, trying to sneakily look inside. until hongjoong rushes them all downstairs, then points his finger at wooyoung with a stern look.

"out."

"whoops, gotta go. good night, noona."

the door closes with a loud thud, hongjoong's scolding still travelling through it. it doesn't feel the same when he calls you that. only seonghwa can do it properly. wooyoung seems to be using it in a flirting way, yet seonghwa... he seems genuine with it. he says it so sweetly, with respect. you find yourself excited about hearing it again tomorrow. and the day after it. and the whole week like that. so far, you're having a great time. you can't wait to see what surprises this week has for you.

after many plane pictures and more scolding from hongjoong and you all the way to the destination, you're finally gathered in front of the most vibrant sea you've ever seen in your life. your body soon falls face first into the mattress, as if you haven't been sitting and sleeping for hours until now. your friend, on the other hand, already had plans to dive into the endless turquoise heaven.

"come on, now. we didn't come to sleep." she throws a pillow at you, which you don't bother to avoid. it lands on your head and stays there, making her giggle. "we have all night to do that."

"if we have all night to sleep, when are you planning to get drunk and laid?" you mumble.

at the other bungalow, park seonghwa is cussing under his breath. he shouldn't have agreed to the trip right away. he should have seen you first. then, when he realizes just how hot you are and how difficult it is to maintain his polite attitude around you, he'd decline the invitation. now, he stands in front of the mirror, scolding himself for not going to the gym when his friends would ask him. and to think you'll see him shirtless at the beach for seven days straight?

then, he realizes. he will see you too. fuck, how will he survive it? to see you in a bikini, with your skin all exposed to the sun? with water drops sliding down your sun-kissed skin? what if you had a tattoo somewhere, like right above your panties on your back?

"seonghwa, are you going?"

his head follows the voice, face blank and brain suddenly frozen. "huh?"

wooyoung snickers, grabbing the deflated beach ball they had brought. "here, make yourself useful until you are capable of leaving this place in a normal shape."

he throws the plastic smelling item at seonghwa, who is now as red as the cocktail wooyoung is already slowly sipping. "it's not what you think-"

"we'll be outside, having fun. without you. bye!"

and just like that, park seonghwa is left alone in his shared bungalow, with a flat beach ball in his hands and a painful erection in his pants. maybe, just maybe, he could skip today.

his plan goes well, and he spends his free time collecting all the discarded sweaty clothes from the flight. carelessly thrown items around the place are now neatly organized on the dresser. he is now wearing a tank top, the one which makes his body look bigger and more formed. just in case he bumps into you. which he hopes he won't. not yet, at least.

he manages to clean the mess in the other bungalows, then proceeds to the last one: his sister and yours. he wonders how bad he would get scolded if he did a little cleaning inside. after all, his sister is a bigger mess than him. he stares at the opened suitcase, disapprovingly scanning the balled up clothes his sister had 'packed'. then, he sees yours. it is perfectly packed, corners neatly tucked so that you don't have to iron and creases won't form on the delicate materials. your side of the space is a drastic difference from his sister's, and it looks like something out of a cartoon.

voices travel to his ears, mingi's dominating. he goes deeper into the room, until he is standing at the other exit looking at the sea, with the net hanging above it. he has seen the view countless times on those influencer instagram accounts and pinterest, but witnessing it all first-hand is truly a breathtaking experience. no signs of sharks yet, though. luckily for him.

but the unlucky part is still here for seonghwa. he catches a glimpse of you in the deep water, your figure swallowed by the vibrant liquid, hiding your form from him. his eyes feel blurry, sudden heat spreading in his body. he's wondering what kind of swimwear you are wearing.

was it a one-piece? the one with the covered front but exposed back? the one exposed on both sides? the one with a deep cut? or the one with a regular cut but high leg? maybe it was a two-piece. maybe it was pastel, it would suit you. you seem like the type of girl to like soft themed things. or maybe you're like that just on the surface. maybe you liked fierce things, like a g-string and triangle top which barely covers your tits. or those panties that are tied up on the sides, and come off with just a pull of a single string.

he feels his swim shorts getting tight again. he looks down, hopeless. this whole trip is going to end him. the man turns around, trying to clear his head. but how is it possible, when he is standing in the middle of your belongings and he can clearly hear your laughter from outside? his eyes fall on your suitcase, again admiring your folding skills. he might have to take a few classes from you.

then, he spots the bikini section in the corner. his eyebrows raise in surprise at the amount you had packed. his fingers reach for the one on top, carefully pulling it out without disrupting the organisation of other items. a brasilian cut hangs from his finger in all its glory, the vibrant green taking all his focus. he spreads it, and exhales once he realizes how high it has to sit on your hips. the matching white top is indeed triangles, with extra long strings. will you wrap them all around your waist like he saw on instagram? or maybe you have your own creative ideas and you'll surprise him?

"seonghwa?"

caught red handed, he stands like a deer on a highway. he feels his knees go weak, barely holding his body up. he stuffs the panties in his pocket, and immediately curses himself. he couldn't have thrown them into the suitcase?

"seonghwa?" you call again, voice dripping honey as you say his name he suddenly loves.

"yes?" he says, voice raspy and tone uneven. he clears his throat, and runs his fingers through his hair. he tries to collect himself before you can see him this messy and flustered. but his cheeks become an even deeper crimson when you step into the room, colour almost matching your swimwear. he has to grit his teeth to keep his jaw from falling. but his eyes betray him. they shamelessly roam your body, taking in everything you are serving him. you're wearing a one-piece today, cuts sitting high up on your legs, and a deep cut going down to your belly button. your hair is falling over your tits, denying him a chance to be a complete creep right in front of you.

"you're missing all the fun." you pout, eyes big as you look up at him.

it takes every ounce in his body to not slam you right there and worship every inch of your body, from the food belly bump to the stretch marks decorated with water drops. he wished to hold your waist, to feel the wet fabric which stayed tight against your skin. he is breathless in front of you, and you haven't done anything but exist.

"seonghwa?" you say once again, calling him out of his fantasies.

"yes, noona?" he breathes out, hoping your eyes stay locked with his until the situation in his pants calms down.

"aren't you going to join us?"

no, i'd rather stay and stroke myself to death thinking about you.

"not today, sorry. i'm not feeling well."

he tries to leave the room, but your fingers press into his chest, pushing him back in front of you. just when he thinks you have discovered his plans and his little crime, he is confused once again. you press your palm on his forehead, then his cheeks. your brows furrow, and he subconsciously mimics your expression.

"well, you are hot. and not the it's summer kinda hot. maybe you should really stay." you say, disappointment evident in your voice.

the last thing he wanted to do is let down the person who made this whole trip and his erection happen. he closes his eyes for a moment, clearing his head as much as he can. "i'll come."

the smile you give him is enough to make him do whatever you want. you have him wrapped around your finger, and you don't even know it.

he spends the day laying in the sun, occasionally napping and waking up when cold water drops hit his hot skin and he feels a figure blocking the sun.

"you're ruining my vibes, san."

"oh, sorry, mr i'm horny for my sister's best friend."

seonghwa's eyes shoot open, and he sits up immediately. san giggles, searching his backpack near seonghwa's head. the man smacks his friend behind the head, resulting in a glare from him.

"stop saying dumb shit, you'll get me in trouble for nothing." he scolds.

san raises an eyebrow, eyes dropping to the man's crotch. seonghwa covers it with a t-shirt, cheeks burning from embarrassment once again.

"wouldn't call that thing a nothing. if anything, it's truly a something."

"you fucking weirdo, get out." seonghwa growls, head falling back on the beach towel. "as if i have any chance with her anyway."

little did he know, you had trouble keeping up the conversation with your friend. the way park seonghwa took off his tank top so sensually, exposing his defined figure so you can drool over it, had you pressing your thighs together underwater. you watch as he smacks his friend for something he has said, then briefly lock eyes with him. his gaze goes from sharp to soft so quickly, and you wonder if he is aware of how much impact his eyes have. awkwardly, you wave towards him, inviting him into the water. you're not sure if he has gotten the message, since he doesn't move from the beach towel. just when you start to shift your attention to the conversation going on near you, you see him stand up.

he steps into the water, shivering at the coldness. as hot as it was, he still felt uneasy entering it.

"ah, seonghwa decided to show up." wooyoung grins, throwing the ball his way.

you hear him cuss when water splashes him from the ball, and your thighs press again when he picks it up, an annoyed look on his face. the serious gaze has your stomach doing back flips, and by now you're sure that you're wet. all for your best friend's brother. you struggle to stop staring, hell, almost drooling, but when he glances at you one more time, you're almost sure that a smirk was on his lips. he then dives into the water, his figure disappearing completely for a few moments. you begin to worry, and you start to swim forwards in hopes you'll catch a glimpse of him somewhere. and then, you gasp.

park seonghwa resurfaces right in front of you, face to face. your jaw drops subconsciously, and if you weren't in deep water, you'd probably search for a place to sit. the young man opens his eyes, ignoring the burning from the salty water. maintaining eye-contact with you, he runs his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so that it doesn't bother him. you watch in awe as water drops glide down his golden cheekbones and lips, toned chest and arms, and you have to fight every urge in your body to not lean in and kiss him right there.

"hi, noona." his lips curve in a sweet smile, the one that has your heart beating a little too fast for two days now.

"seonghwa," you choke out, the poorest greeting that has ever come out of you.

"let's join them, shall we?"

you feel a light touch on the small of your back, and that's when you decide it's enough for today. it's only day one, and if you decide to ruin a vacation or a friendship, you'll do it on the last day. until then, you have to gain control over your body again.

"actually, i'm feeling a bit tired. "

a slight frown appears on seonghwa's face, almost barely noticeable. he pulls his hand back, and you want to whine at the loss of contact. it was only a second, yet you crave his whole existence. you want to feel him all over you, his warmth, his scent, the refreshing water beads and his firm hands on your waist as he fucks you into the hanging net, looking at the sunset over your shoulder. images form in your brain, one, two, three, four. then suddenly, a whole scenario. park seonghwa having you in the water. park seonghwa consuming you in your bungalow as you hide from his sister. park seonghwa making love to you in the moonlight in the shallow water. you breathe out, feeling your chest getting heavy with each thought that rushes through your brain.

"i'll see you at dinner tonight." you wave at the group, then swim past the man that squeezes the filthiest thoughts out of your brain without him even knowing.

you drop down on your bed, sprawled out like a starfish. you stare at the wooden ceiling, trying to collect your thoughts. but how can you, when he looks so goddamn good in those beach shorts and his hair slicked back, with a few strands falling over his eyes? it's been long since you craved someone's touch. fuck, you don't think you've ever craved someone this much. you don't remember wishing for anyone to fuck you in any place you can think of.

meanwhile, seonghwa is busy hiding his frown from the group. you dragged him outside, just for you to run back inside. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass up until the moment you disappeared inside the bungalow. he stays away from his sister, afraid that she might somehow hear his thoughts and become angry. she cannot know about his feelings. nobody can. well, nobody else. his friends weren't blind, but they aren't the ones to rat out a person. it is a chance for seonghwa to stop on time and save his bond with his sister. he can't even begin to imagine the disaster that would happen if she ever knew. besides, you don't look at him that way. for god's sake, he used to fight you all the time as a kid, purposefully sneezing into your face just to see you freak out. he giggles with himself, remembering your angry and crying face while running to tell his mother.

"don't you think you should get out of the water?" the female voice interrupts his thoughts, and he looks at the group that has formed a circle and is playing with the beachball.

"no, why?" san ignores, throwing the ball seonghwa's way.

"everybody's lips are practically green. let me see your fingers. i bet they're pruney as fuck."

a round of protesting and finger examining later, the woman is forcing everybody but seonghwa out of the water. as she swims past him, she makes sure to ruffle his hair, giggling at the result.

"you can stay, but don't make it too long. i don't want you catching a cold on day one. and ruin my vibes."

"don't worry," seonghwa smiles, assuring her that he will obey.

he feels his muscles tighten, a familiar sweet pain forming and telling him that tomorrow will be hell for his body. he hasn't been active for a while, and a little swimming won't kill him. just make him unable to move. and so seonghwa swims, to the boats, to the shore, and towards the bungalows. he lays on his back, absorbing the sun rays and letting his brain roam. they go back to you every time, and it's starting to annoy him. why can't he accept that he can't have you? he must be just way too worked up. surely, he'd fuck anyone if given the chance. he can't possibly have these thoughts only about you. you're his sister's best friend, for fuck's sake. and, you're older than him, which makes it impossible in his head. how could he possibly please you, when he had the least experience in the group? he has only ever done sexual things with his first girlfriend, and since the breakup, he hasn't had any encounters with anyone else. what could he know about pleasing you? maybe you liked it rough? he only knew slow and romantic. though, he is willing to try, for you. did you like it messy and sloppy? or clean and organised? maybe you liked foreplay more.

"seonghwa!"

he opens his eyes, looking the way the voice is travelling. hongjoong is calling him, and just like that, he has to put his brain on hold. he cannot think about you. he mustn't.

"be right there!"

dinner came and went, with the young men ordering simple for day one and eating in the bungalows. you, on the other hand, have ordered the most complicated meal you could, and were now humming with each bite.

"this is better than dick." the woman next to you speaks, mimicking your reactions when eating.

"depends, whose."

"let's say, like, jeffrey dean morgan's."

your jaw drops, offended, "how dare you?"

"fine. mads mikkelsen?"

you nod approvingly. she's not right either way, but how could you possibly know? you haven't tried neither of the two. sadly.

"i need to talk to you." the tone is suddenly low, and the atmosphere is no longer relaxed.

you can feel the tension in the air. she leaves the plate, then turns to sit across from you so she can look at you while speaking.

"yes?" you ask, mimicking her actions.

"seonghwa."

fuck, did she realise what was going on with you? was she going to tell you to stay away from him? was she going to threaten you?

"what about him?" you act stupid, innocently looking into your friend's eyes while the most sinful thoughts roam your head.

"he's a little, like, awkward and antisocial. he gets nervous around pretty girls, and, well, you're one hell of a pretty woman. maybe you could strike up a conversation with him? just to let him know that you're a normal person and he can behave normally around you. without all formal labeling and all that crazy shit he has been doing since he saw you. i mean, noona? seriously?"

that you did not expect. her to encourage you to talk to park seonghwa. you hold back a smile. being too enthusiastic won't look good, and will only make her more suspicious.

"i'll try, sure. but i won't force him into anything."

and you meant it. you won't force him into anything, if you decide to make a move at all. any sign of discomfort, you'll back away. you don't need that. and neither does he.

it isn't long until you have to wake up early, get ready and follow your friend. her part of the vacation was to take canoes and swim towards a little nearby island a few minutes away. good booze and hot guys, she said. so you go, all dolled up in your black bikini that ties up around your waist, and a black lace kimono draped over your shoulders. the young men trail behind you, and you can't help but imagine seonghwa sneakily glancing at your figure. doesn't hurt anyone to daydream.

"here we are. five teeny weeny canoes, two people per one." the woman points towards the famous clear canoes, the ones that allow you to see what you're rowing over. "mingi, come on."

"me?" the man stutters, but doesn't question it any longer when she grabs his wrist and pulls him in the water.

they all hop inside, leaving seonghwa and you still in the sand. the water splashes your legs, refreshing waterbeads inviting, along with the scorching sun. it finally smells like proper summer.

"noona, i think i'm feeling unwell again." he tries, already turning around.

without thinking, you grab his arm, your nails subconsciously digging into his sun kissed skin. he turns around, eyes wide. like a deer on a highway looking at the car in front of it, he stands and waits for something to happen.

"you're not going anywhere. come on, now. hop inside."

seonghwa gulps, his skin burning where your fingers touch him. the sight of your bright summer nails digging into his skin awoke a volcano inside of him, lust spreading in his body slowly and burning, like magma waiting to erupt. you put so little effort, yet you had him harder than he has ever been. he wonders if you'd dig your nails like that when he eats you out. seonghwa is weak just thinking about it; you sprawled out just for him to feast on. his cheeks are already flushed, and he begs heavens to help him erase those thoughts. but how can he get rid of them, when you stand there in front of him, in all your glory? he watches you climb into the little boat, and he has no other choice but to join you. he sits behind you, letting you take control of the rowing and only holding his paddles.

"so, tell me what you've been up to all these years I haven't seen you."

"well, I haven't been up to much. lots of studying, a little less absences, almost perfect grades. it's going fine."

he hears you hum, and he wonders what else you will question him. whatever it is, he must impress you.

"no girls?"

so much for impressing you.

"no," he mumbles, shyly dropping his head, "i'm not that desired."

his breath hitches when you throw your head back so you can look at him, position somehow a huge turn on. "not that desired?"

"y-yeah, I mean," he scratches his neck, avoiding eyecontact, "none of them ever showed interest. I had, like, one girlfriend, and that went horribly."

you hum again, then get back to rowing and following the rest of the group. he now follows your movements, silently moving in sync and definitely not looking at your ass.

"why? if I may know." you push, desperate to know how no girl could want someone like him.

"I guess I'm just a pretty face. she wasn't satisfied with, well, anything. not with the way I communicated, not with the way I ate, sat, studied, even breathed."

he opens up like a book in your hands, ranting about all the times she was angry with him for the most ridiculous reasons, and was at one point just searching for ways to make him leave her so she wouldn't feel guilty. so that's what seonghwa did, with his heart shattered by his first love, who he thought would be his last too. he was the bad guy, yet he didn't do anything wrong.

"oh, can she complain. is there anything that didn't bother her?"

instantly, seonghwa's cheeks go red, and he stutters. you stop rowing, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

"seonghwa?"

"well, she always said I, uh," he stops, thinking about whether to tell you, "it's stupid."

you scoff, not believing anything he has to say is stupid. with great difficulties and lots of slipping, you try to turn around towards him, so you can look at him while you talk. your eyes widen with horror when your leg slips on the wet inside of the canoe, hands desperately reaching out for anything for support. you weren't ready for a swim yet.

just in time, the young man reaches forwards, firmly planting his hands on your waist and stabilising your figure. his cheeks are a deep crimson, eyes wide with realisation at the way he's touching you. you don't move, suddenly too aware of your surroundings and the man in front of you.

"she said I had skilled hands," he whispers, subconsciously rubbing his thumb against your skin.

it pains you that you can't just lean in and kiss him right there. if only it were that simple.

"like- like massages, right?" you offer him a way out, gently removing his hands. "and, well, catching things."

"yeah," he laughs, awkwardly looking at the water surrounding you.

"in that case, I could use that little skill of yours."

seonghwa goes red again, and you fight the urge to laugh. he is crumbling in front of you, so small and gentle despite his figure being much bigger than yours. you don't remember ever having this feeling of the upper hand. it is new, and it's setting your whole body on fire. your fingers yearn to move that strand of hair that has fallen over his pretty eyes.

"I could use a massage."

and with a wink, you start rowing again, this time staying in the other position and facing him.

the day is loud and quick. wooyoung is tipsy, hongjoong has embarrassed himself three times already, and san is almost desperate for the waitress that had the thinnest waist you've ever seen in your life. right away, your appetite is gone. your gaze drops down to your body, suddenly feeling heavy and stuffed. everyone is already at their second plate from the buffet, and you're still playing with the one from an hour ago.

"noona?" 

when you don't respond, because you know just what they will tell you, you feel a soft touch under the table on your ankle. you raise your head, ready to scold wooyoung for inappropriate touching. but then you see seonghwa's worried gaze, eyes big and shiny as he looks at you, then your plate. nobody else is paying attention, half of them having stood up to do karaoke and make complete fools out of themselves.

"is it not tasty? do you want to exchange plates?"

you look at his plate filled with fruit, and it looks much more acceptable than your grease filled plate. just what were you thinking?

"I'll just try something..." you reach towards it, stabbing into a mango,"...if i may?"

he smiles, his eyes somehow prettier when he does so. you are mesmerized, and you feel like you've been staring at him for hours. you wouldn't mind doing so, when he is a walking sculpture.

"of course you may, noona. that is why i offered."

"you know, you don't have to call me noona. you can call me by my name."

"i'm not sure i can do that."

"sure you can. try it."

he stuffs his mouth with fruit, pointing towards it as an excuse for not speaking. you laugh, watching him cutely chew and wiggle his legs under the table in the process.

"cute," you say, getting up to empty your plate.

you don't miss the way he stops eating for a while, ears and cheeks a matching red with the strawberries on his plate.

it is past midnight when you hear water splashing, and taking the nosiness from your parents, you have to get up and see what is going on. you stand at the edge of the opened glass doors, scanning the night view. the sky is clear, and no light pollution allows you to see millions of shiny dots sprinkled on it. one particular shiny dot reminds you of the way his eyes sparkle, and you catch yourself just in time before diving further into the thoughts. you've spent too much time thinking of him, and it's not doing any good to you. not when everything is starting to remind you of him.

your gaze drops on the figure in the water, and you curse under your breath. still, it's a hot night, and a perfect opportunity for you to relax without the group swarming around you like usual. it doesn't take long to change into a bikini, careful not to wake up your sleeping roommate. but even if she knew, she was the one who asked you to talk to him. so that's what you'll do. talk.

you sit in shallow water, and watch the moonlight caress his skin. he swims, back and forth, disappears under the water once in a while. then, when he comes back to the surface, he throws his head back, runs his fingers through his hair and rubs his eyes from ocean salt. whatever is clouding his mind, he could really use a conversation.

just when you want to step into the water and join him, he turns his head, eyes locking with yours. he dives in again, this time staying there longer. but after yesterday, you trust him. he doesn't need you panicking when he was simply searching for a calm swim.

even though he did it once already, when he resurfaces right in front of you, repeating the hair motion you so intensely watched, not once breaking eye-contact, you can't help but shamelessly stare.

"seonghwa," you greet, lips curving upwards and mimicking his smile.

"noona," he says, not moving a muscle.

his hands are firmly pressed in the sand, holding his body so that he is hovering in the water. you have your knees pressed to your chest, the beach lace cardigan loosely hanging off your shoulders.

"what's on your mind?" you ask.

your chin rests on your knees, hands hugging your legs as you examine his facial expressions. the young man sighs, and the smile fades away. he drops his head, thinking of ways to lie to your face.

"seonghwa," you call.

when he doesn't respond, you place your hand under his chin, gently lifting it so that he can look at you. he is surprised at the sudden contact, not hiding it in the slightest. big irises match the starry sky, an endless sparkle and mystery.

"talk to me, love."

and just how was he supposed to tell you he went for a cold swim to calm his erection? it has been difficult for two days now, and he can't take care of himself. not with so many people around him. not with you right near him.

"is it the girls talk?"

"no, no, of course not." he quickly denies, trying to move away from you.

"stay there," you ask, your other hand firmly placed on his bare shoulder. "i quite like this position."

you indeed like it; him laying in front of you, looking at you from below, and you having him right there in your hand, completely vulnerable.

"now, tell me. is it the girls talk on the canoe?"

"maybe."

"maybe?" you raise an eyebrow, thumb subconsciously rubbing his jawline.

"i don't know how to please a girl," he blurts out. "i guess my hopes were too high for this trip."

"don't be silly, sure you do."

he snorts, tearing his gaze away. "you wouldn't understand."

"why is that?"

"you're telling me that a girl would enjoy an inexperienced man? imagine me taking one home, just for her to find out i can't even put it in."

you bite the inside of your cheek. you think, for what seems like an hour. he lays there, water caressing his bare torso, eyes looking up at you for further comfort. you cup his cheeks, your brain coming to a stop and letting your heart gain control.

"noona?" he stutters, eyes dropping down on your lips.

"there's more to it than just putting it in, seonghwa."

he is a blabbering mess, defending himself and saying that he knows, it was just a saying. you let him speak, watching his plump lips move as he struggles to put a sentence together. your intense gaze isn't helping his messy state at all, and he decides to simply give up. he drops his head again, a sigh escaping his lips.

"tell me, would you waste your time with someone who can't even kiss?"

"if i'm a little fond of that person, yes."

he looks up at you, expression unreadable. his silence gives you encouragement, and you lean back and slowly peel your legs open. you feel feverish, watching his parted lips and gaze fixed on your body. the night is calm, water climbing up and down the shore, caressing seonghwa's toned back. you would be lying if you said that the simple touch on his shoulder didn't make you all worked up. he was warm, firm, inviting to bite and scratch. his eyes follow up your body, and stop at your bikini top. the lace slides down your arms, pooling in the sand and giving him a free view.

"come closer," you whisper.

when he fails to move, your hand raises his head once again so he can look into your eyes.

"you need to touch,"

your hand grabs his wrist, pulling it out of the water and placing it on your hip.

"you need to get close,"

you tug at his bicep, inviting him out of the water and closer to you.

"you need to feel,"

you drag his hand up your leg, over the edge of your briefs, and place it on your side. he comes out of the water, hovering over you and holding his body up with his free hand. slowly, you lay back into the sand, giving him space so he can comfortably lay over you.

"you need to want it."

"i want it," he whispers into your lips, holding himself back.

"then come and get it."

a groan leaves his mouth, and he is eager to grab your waist with both of his hands. his wet skin against your dry one makes you shiver, cold water drops rolling from his body onto yours. his plush lips press into yours, gently taking in your bottom lip and giving it a soft caress with his tongue. he repeats it, giving sweet kisses and equal attention to both lips. his fingers dig into your waist, the nervous feeling spreading over his body and making it painfully obvious. you place your arms around his neck, fingers creeping into his wet hair and giving his scalp a gentle scratch. you swipe your tongue over his bottom lip, tasting salty water. he pulls away, face flushed and lips plump.

"feel me up, seonghwa," you drag the tips of your fingers and nails down his arms, down to his lower back, and back up to his shoulders, "like this."

he shivers at the sensation, and without a single further touch yet, he is already growing hard thinking of ways he could feel you.

"don't think too much."

peeling himself off of you, he kneels between your spread legs. your eyes close, you know you can trust him. a sigh of sensation leaves your lips, feeling his hands almost hovering over your sides, stomach, and down your legs. he makes his way back up, feeling every inch you had to offer him.

"want to add another pair of panties to your little collection?" you tease, a smirk dancing on your lips.

"w-what?" he stutters, his hands stopping at your hips.

"you think i wouldn't notice i'm missing one of my favorite panties?"

you hear no response. you eyes peel open, lazily looking into his scared ones. it is so adorable how new he is to all of this, and so hot that you get to teach him about it. you have him on his knees, quite literally, and it feels like you've been given a puppy for training. and you just can't wait.

"you can keep them, don't worry. i'll get rid of these too." you raise an eyebrow, and place his hand on the waistband. "soon, i hope."

he doesn't move. his cheeks are flaming, and the tips of his ears even worse. he looks lost. a whole feast in front of him, and yet he doesn't know where or when to start.

"there are too many clothes in the way, don't you think?" you help him out, reaching behind to pull at the string that is holding your bikini top.

you drag his hand up your body, resting it on the crease between your breasts. he gulps, loud. it makes you chuckle, and makes him look away.

"seonghwa," you call.

"yes?"

"you don't want it." 

"i do—"

not so gently anymore, you grab his jaw, tilting his head back towards you and pulling him close. he shivers at your nails digging into his cheeks, and to say that he wasn't drowning in lust from your stern look and tone would be the lie of the century.

"then fucking take it."

his hands cup your breasts, exploring the softness and size of them. he massages them, watching your face and searching for a sign that he is doing it right. but you only lay down, eyes closed, not a single sound leaving your pretty lips.

he pulls at the bikini triangles, exposing your chest to the warm night and himself. he cups them again, this time thumbs rolling your nipples. you merely hum, and look at him through half closed eyelids. he has gotten closer, eyes examining your sensitive buds and the way his fingers played with them.

"tongue, baby," you say, holding back moans. "nipples are sometimes more sensitive than the clit, and you have to— oh, yes, just like that."

seonghwa is good at listening, that you are familiar with. he drags his wet muscle over your tense bud, then again, and again. he takes care of you with soft kitten licks, occasionally taking the bud between his lips and gently sucking.

"look at me."

his eyes lock with yours, hazy with lust. you watch as he rolls your nipples between his lips and fingers, sending gentle waves of pleasure through your body. he moves to the other one, giving it equal attention. your hips subconsciously buck into his knee, searching for friction. he pulls away, letting his fingers work. he slowly touches you, teases your sensitive area as slow as he can. he enjoys taking it slow, that you've noticed. you wish you could orgasm from just nipple teasing, but it isn't that easy.

"am i doing it right?" he asks, massaging you as he pinches your buds with his fingers.

"of course, baby."

"i'm not getting any reactions from you," he frowns, hands dropping back on your waist.

"well, we have just started. you need to work me up, give me a little attention before the real thing."

"real thing?" he stutters. "we are having sex tonight?"

"not tonight." you assure him, and almost laugh when you see him sigh with relief. "keep going."

he follows your instructions, dragging his hands to your waist and hooking his fingers into the waistband.

"you have to feel first."

he stops to do exactly what you have told him. his fingers dip between your legs, and press into your warm crotch. due to the thin material, he can feel your bottom lips through the panties. it makes him bite his lip to keep him from groaning. he slides his fingers up and down, hoping to get a noise or two from you. when he doesn't, he lowers his body so that he is hovering over your crotch. he moves the panties aside, immediately tasting you and catching you off guard. your hand reaches towards his hair, fingers grabbing at the strands as he rolled your bud between his lips. his tongue teases the tip of the clit, spinning it in circles and making your hips buck into his lips.

"press a little harder, baby," you encourage, pushing his head into your skin.

when he delivers a particularly strong lick, followed by a suck, you moan. your thighs close around his face, and when his arms grab them and force you to spread your legs for him, you lose it. you are a moaning mess, his dominant side coming out of him without him even noticing. you want him to be rough with you, to snap his hips into yours hard, to mercilessly overstimulate you, to kiss you while he stuffs you with his cock.

something about watching him give your clit slow kitten licks is throwing you into a whole different world. he has his hand placed on your lower stomach, tugging at the skin so that he can reach your clit better. placing his fingers on your soaking folds, he looks up at you, finally satisfied with the results.

he rubs you in circles, slow, then fast, then licks you a few more times. he tugs your clit between his lips, tongue swirling around it and fingers spreading your folds as he does so. nobody has ever eaten you out with such passion, and seeing him make out with your bottom lips only makes you want to take him into your mouth until he is begging you to stop.

your orgasm announces its arrival, pooling at the bottom of your stomach and waiting to erupt.

"seonghwa," you gasp.

he hums, eyes still locked with yours. you yank at his hair, trying to pull his head away from you before you can cum on his tongue. but he is much stronger than you, and much more stubborn than you. another gasp leaves your mouth, and your arms find themselves planted in the sand, your wrists firmly trapped in his hands. your legs are clenching around his head, and after a few minutes of making it difficult for him, he presses his knee against your thigh. you are trapped under his firm grip, your most sensitive spots completely at the mercy of his soft lips and hot tongue.

"seonghwa—" you choke out, orgasm swallowing your body and lifting it up from the sand.

you shake in his hands, body working on the waves of pleasure ripping through your figure and blinding your vision. you don't even notice that your hands are now free, and his are pressed on your thighs again. he is doing his best to help you ride it out, generously giving your folds soft kisses and an occasional graze with his tongue. he admires your face from below, taking in every reaction you have to offer him. your body shakes in his hands, aftershocks of pleasure still very much active. your shallow breathing and quiet gasps fill his ears, and his brain makes sure to remember this picture of you forever.

he doesn't know whether you're faking it or he really did it, but he knows for sure that the way your wet hole clenches around nothing is making his cock twitch in his pants. he isn't far from cumming; one stroke from you and he would be done. and humiliated.

you look down, finally capable of forming a sentence other than "fuck" and "oh shit". seonghwa plants a final kiss on your lower stomach, then proceeds to press his body above you one more time.

"did i do good?" he asks, worry taking over his features.

"no."

his eyes widen, and his cheeks become a deep crimson which you can see even in the dark. something snaps inside of you, seeing his vulnerable and innocent state. originally, you wanted to tell him that he did better than good. but to have the upper hand and break him little by little, until he snaps and takes you from behind and fills you up with his seed? sounds way more inviting. how mean.

"it was okay," you caress his cheek, eyes roaming his pretty face, "but a woman needs more than just an orgasm."

"i rushed." he realizes.

"you rushed." you confirm, then push him off of you.

he almost whines at the loss of contact, but he has embarrassed himself enough for one night. he was so eager to make you moan and cum on his tongue, that he didn't think further. what if he has blown the single chance he had to impress you? what if you had hopes for him, but he let you down, and now you don't wish to try anything with him anymore?

the words are stuck in his throat, refusing to leave. he wants to say so much, but afraid that he might ruin this little dignity he has, he settles for watching you stand up and get dressed. the lace cardigan slides on your body just right, hiding your curves and only exposing your chest. he wonders how you can just stand up and move on, like you didn't shake in his hands just minutes ago.

"was this just a lesson for me?" his voice almost cracks behind you. "like, a one time thing?"

when you only spare him a glance over your shoulder, then start walking back to the bungalows, he falls into the sand. he spreads his arms and legs, imitating a starfish, and helplessly looks at the night sky. one chance, and he blew it. it isn't his fault you caught him off guard. he wasn't ready. he swears he could do so much more, if only you would've let him one more time. he curses himself for being impatient, and more stubborn than obedient. though, he is always obedient when it comes to you, his stubborn side had to find a way to make an appearance tonight.

his head falls to the side, eyes following your figure as you walk away from the shore. he is tired, from thinking more than swimming or, well, pleasuring you. though the latter didn't take long.

"fucking idiot."

another day passes, spent in the town center exploring street food and sweets. you buy souvenirs, all sorts of them. even the overpriced little magnets. you must have them all. the boys are filming everything, from the making of the ice cones to your face devouring it. you ride rented motorcycles, wooyoung holding onto your waist and screaming into your ear whenever you speed up. your friend catches up soon, holding onto her brother whose gaze only focused on the road in front of him.

the rest trail behind, ice cones in their mouth and tongues stuck out proud and green from the kiwi flavor. the whole time you've spent together, seonghwa stays aside, avoiding you at all costs. it is only when they go separate ways that he spares you a glance, much like you did to him last night. only his eyes are big and yearning, but yours were cold and uninviting.

you bite your cheek, watching as he licks the ice cone the boys have gotten for him. he isn't aware of his sensual way of eating it, and you hope his sister isn't aware of you staring at it.

you shop until you collapse, your bed suddenly the most comfortable place on Earth. you aren't sure how you'll fit all the items in the suitcase, but you'll leave the worrying part for the last day.

you now stand in front of the mirror, putting the clip in your hair and thinking whether or not you're satisfied with your appearance. even if you weren't, there was no time to change anything. you just had to obey your impatient friend.

eager to get drunk and laid, she orders shots, finishing four by the time you've only done one. she is tipsy and leaning into you, trying to tell you something over the loud club music. you laugh, hoping that she didn't ask a question. you simply don't have the energy to figure out what she is trying to say.

the boys are scattered on the dance floor, mainly making fools out of themselves and each other, trying to get most of this vacation. girls look at them, more with interest than worry because of their behaviour. you spot four familiar heads on the dance floor, and three are sitting on the couch with the two of you. the eighth one is missing.

"where's seonghwa?" you ask, trying to look and sound as careless as possible.

"we made him go to the bar." says san.

"yeah, he seriously needs to get laid."

the boys laugh at hongjoong's words, and even your friend giggles. but you don't find anything funny in that. your eyes roam the bar, in hopes to find the fluffy wavy hair and a pair of big shiny eyes. your neck hurts, raising your head every time someone gets close to the table, in hopes that it's seonghwa. but seonghwa is nowhere to be seen. until you stand up and make your way through the dance floor towards the bar.

you spot him, leaning on the bar with a drink in his hand. the girl in front of him is twirling the ends of her hair, hips swaying with the beat. your teeth sink into your cheek, keeping yourself from acting up. then, she reaches towards his hair, feeling the softness much like you did last night.

"noona!"

the voice comes from behind you, and a pair of arms touch your sides.

"wooyoung," you greet, turning around to wrap your arms around his neck.

fuck seonghwa. he's not yours. he can talk to whoever he wants to. and you're not his. so when wooyoung presses his lips against yours, you don't complain. his lips are hot against yours, and when comparing to seonghwa, much more skilled and confident. his hand grips your waist, pressing you into his firm body as he does body rolls to the beat of the music.

"fuck, noona, you're so hot." he groans into your mouth.

"am i now?" you tease, placing your hands on his and sliding them down to your ass.

"are you kidding me? with your hair in a clip like that, and your lip gloss, and your thongs sticking out of these incredibly tight jeans? i could just—"

"wooyoung."

the grip on your ass is gone, and the heated moment between you two is shattered. your eyes stare at seonghwa's side profile, watching his jaw clench as he tells wooyoung he needs you for a minute. the younger man removes his hands from your body, and then looks at you.

you don't get to protest, your wrist already in his hand and your legs following him outside.

"hey, what the fuck? let go of me!"

and he does let go. but when he does, it is by slamming you against the wooden wall of the club.

"how can you calmly kiss my friend like that after humiliating me last night?"

you take your time to admire him properly. he is wearing one of those over worn hawaiian shirts, all buttons undone and a single necklace resting on his sun kissed neck. he smells like sun protection and aftershave, and his hair is fluffier than usual.

"do you want to break me? do you want to see me at my lowest?"

"i don't know what you're talking about, seonghwa. go back inside."

"what, does he kiss better?" he bites the inside of his cheek, and his jaw clenches a lot more than usual.

"he does have more experience." you remain calm, a monotone tone leaving your lips when you speak to him. "this is all just fun. we're doing this for fun. nothing serious involved."

"then," he reaches forwards, cupping your face," let me fuck you. for fun."

"what? no."

you push him away once again, and start walking away. he gets deja vu, but this time, he speaks up.

"why? you were just seconds away from sitting on wooyoung's cock. why is it a problem when it's me?"

you turn around, still walking backwards towards the entrance. he is almost drunk, and surely doesn't know what he is saying.

"you're just not that type."

"not that type?"

"you know. you're soft. you don't fuck. you make love."

and you can't make love right now. you want him to break you, fuck you in positions that have you helpless and gripping at his built body, to make you beg for mercy as he drives you to your fifth orgasm.

and there he is, again, standing alone, helpless and horny. his legs carry him inside again, to the bar, and back to the girl he wasn't even interested in. he leans in, mimicking wooyoung's moves he did on you. when the girl moans in his mouth, it gives him a boost of confidence. he just hopes you sit there somewhere, watching this unfold.

"fuck, wanna take this outside?" she gasps, hips rolling into his.

seonghwa doesn't need to be told twice. he is thrown on one of the beach chairs, the girl already on her knees in front of him. he breathes heavily, heart beating so hard he swears it could jump out any moment. the alcohol in his veins made it impossible for him to be uncomfortable from the company around him. they didn't even flinch. situations like these are a regular occurrence for them.

"oh, shit, you're huge."

his cheeks burn at the compliment. the first few licks make seonghwa twitch in his sleep, but by the time she has him in his mouth, he is passed out. he was at the verge when he pressed you against that wall, and if he had just drunk two shots less, he would've proved that he can do better than you think.

in the morning, he finds himself wrapped in clean white sheets. he blinks slowly, his eyes getting used to the strong light.

the surroundings are unfamiliar, and for a second, he fears that he might've slept with the girl from last night. but when he sees your almost bare figure in front of him, back turned and hair falling over your shoulders, he silently gasps. that can't be true. he didn't sleep with you. did he?

he checks under the cover, and becomes even more confused when he sees he is fully dressed.

"i didn't sleep with you, seonghwa." you answer before he manages to put a sentence together.

"she did sleep with me, however."

"wooyoung." you warn.

seonghwa sits up on the bed, and looks around the room. wooyoung is also sitting on the bed. your bed. seonghwa sighs, feeling his heart tighten. he looks at you through the mirror, where you stood to fix your bikini. you catch him staring, and your lips twitch into a smirk when seeing his flustered expression.

"headache?"

"what am i doing here if we didn't sleep together?" he asks, the alcohol in him still a little active.

"first, you were passed out with a girl all over you, so i brought you to my bed since your sister spent the night with some guy anyway. second, i would never sleep with a drunk guy. at least not that drunk."

"can't believe you fell asleep mid blow job." wooyoung teases, glancing at his older friend.

"well, if it was any good, i doubt he would've fallen asleep." you come to rescue, deciding that he has suffered enough teasing for the morning. "right?"

"right," seonghwa agrees, scratching his neck.

"luckily, that's not the case with you, noona."

"wooyoung, get out."

"of course, baby."

seonghwa is now alone with you, eyes still trailing up your body. somehow, even though his friend had you before him, he still wants you just as bad as the day before.

"he's bluffing, don't listen to him."

"is he, though?"

you sigh. you did have fun with wooyoung last night, but it didn't go to the point of having sex. even though it was very hard to keep your hands off him. he is passionate, and rough, just how you like it.

"go get dressed, seonghwa. we are leaving soon."

"why won't you fool around with me, just like you did with him?"

his words make you sigh again. you leave your lip-gloss on the dresser, then sit on the bed.

"you don't ask. you just start it, then see where it gets you. i gave you the green light for that. but i told you last night, and i'll tell you again. i realize you're just not the type. you're too soft for me."

"then teach me."

at this point, he has no regrets and refuses to be embarrassed. he wants wooyoung's confidence, his passion for sexual activities, and his charm. all he has is a figure, which is not enough to satisfy you.

"teach you?"

"yes."

"you're out of your mind, seonghwa."

you have him right where you wanted him. right in your hand, like a marionette. you decide his moves, and he obeys, like the cute little doll he is.

"noona," he whispers, desperation dripping from his lips like sweetest honey, "please."

your fingers reach towards the loose strands of hair falling over his glossy eyes. neatly tucking them behind his ear, you bring his face close to yours.

"this time," your lips brush against his as you speak, "listen to what i say. if i say stop, you stop. got it?"

"got it." he nods.

"good."

as slow and soft as possible, you press your lips into his. he exhales, relaxing further into your hands. you are one step away from pushing him back on the bed, and all it takes is just a touch from him. ironically, as if he hears you, he rests his hands on your waist, and you don't resist anymore. you push him on the mattress, laying flat against his warm body.

"your boobs are soft." he comments, noticing the way they are pressed against his chest.

"aw, thanks, bub."

so easy to make him blush. he kisses you this time, tongue hungrily searching for yours. he hums when you finally give in, allowing him to take in the taste of you.

"hey, anyone seen my brother? did he come back last night?"

you pull away, jumping to the other side of the room to buy yourself time to fix your hair and put on a beach kimono, back turned towards him. you glance at seonghwa over your shoulder, and it is enough to make your heart flutter. he is flustered, eyes shiny and big as he panics while his sister's voice is becoming louder and louder. his lips shine from your lip gloss, and his hair is a fluffy mess. oh, you want to have him squirming and milking in your hands.

"ah, there you are! i've- woah, what happened here?"

"not what it looks like-" seonghwa stutters, but you are quick to interrupt.

"he is feeling a bit feverish from last night. he fell asleep in sweaty clothes with the window open."

too hung over to think, she waves it off, turning towards her suitcase in a search for a bikini for today's adventure.  you hear seonghwa exhale, and you turn around to wink at him. he seems calmer, seeing how relaxed you are.

"seonghwa, now that you're feeling better, you want to go and get ready?"

"huh? oh, yes. yes, of course."

you watch him as he tries his best to hide the bulge in his pants, eyes full of panic as he walks away hoping his sister doesn't turn around.

"see you, honey."

"see you, noona."

he leaves the room, and you see him through the window picking up his pace and running into his own. you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face, watching his messy hair bounce, and his hand wipe off the lip gloss from his lips.

"what an idiot." his sister comments, sitting on the bed and carelessly taking off her top and bra.

"aw, come on. he's being such a good boy, why are you calling him that?"

"noona? seriously? he is a piece of shit to me, and he is so nice to you. that asshole."

"he's cute, let him be."

she makes a mocking face your way, then starts to get dressed.

the day is hotter than ever. you are laying in the shades of nature, yet you are sweating so bad that you might actually get into water. you don't feel like it today. you just want to lay down on the fancy beach chair, hiding under your big sun hat, and daydream. about seonghwa.

"you know, i met a guy last night, and let me tell you! his friend is drop dead gorgeous. i told him about you."

you scoff, but don't give any other reaction. you know where she is going with that.

"what? not interested?" she questions.

you laugh, taking the hat from your face and placing it properly on your head. you glance over at the boys, who sat down just beneath you on the bright shark towels. seonghwa is busy squeezing his hair, and doesn't yet realize that you are shamelessly staring at him.

"not really, no," you finally answer, tone disinterested and distant.

"wasn't your plan to have a one night stand of your lifetime on this vacation?"

that seems to pick up seonghwa's attention. he sits down, acting unbothered as he opens his bag of candied almonds. his side eye is very obvious to you though, and his cuteness only increases when you notice small things like that.

"that still stands."

"well?"

"well, i think i already have my eye on someone. someone... younger."

"oh?"

the young man turns his head slightly, just enough to look at you without his sister noticing. you wink at him, and when he blushes, you can't help but smile proudly. you've never had a man behave so giddy because of you, and you are living for it.

"who's the lucky guy?"

"i'm not too sure if he's interested in me yet."

seonghwa turns towards you in disbelief, as if trying to ask you how you could think such a thing. but seeing the playful glint in your eyes, he relaxes.

"can i have one?" you ask, pointing at the candied almonds.

"sure," he mutters, turning the bag towards you.

you wink at him again, before opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out a little. his cheeks are the usual red, eyes wide and frantically looking over at his sister and friends. but none of them really pay attention. even if they do, the sight would simply seem playful to them. after all, they do not know about your secret little interactions.

he carefully aims the single almond towards your mouth, and when you so flawlessly catch it, you could've sworn that his jaw had dropped just a little. he is feeding your ego, and he won't regret it.

"good boy," you mouth, hoping he would catch it.

he does, his eyes wide in shock. you love getting reactions from him.

time is slow, the boys having lost interest in the sea and opting to play games and bickering on the towels. the sun is still high up in the sky, not yet ready to end the day. you cannot stop ogling at seonghwa, who is currently trying to doze off but is constantly bugged by something.

"what is it, ddeong?"

ddeong? that's very cute.

"my head really hurts. i wanted to take a nap but it's pounding so bad." he complains, rubbing his temple.

"guess it's your lucky day, because my bestie here gives the best scalp massages."

oh, right. you do. that's so clever, and she doesn't even know it.

"yeah, why don't you come over and i'll show you?" you ask, as innocently as you can.

glancing over at wooyoung and seeing his smirk, you know he knows. the dipshit knows everything. but he isn't the type to rat you out. you hope.

seonghwa stands up, cluelessly looking at you and trying to figure out how to do this.

"sit down, silly." you pat the space in the sand between your legs.

he finally sits, slowly resting his back on the edge of the beach chair and closing his eyes. there, you have him right between your legs, in your hands. not the way you want, but you can still work your magic. his hair is soft between your fingers, and you swear you've never felt such hair on a man before. seonghwa is very neat, that you've noticed. not like all those men that you've dated. it feels nice to have someone so clean and pretty in your hands.

he sighs as you put pressure on his scalp, nails softly grazing him. he is having the time of his life, and you can't help but smile when he lets his head fall back, resting on the chair between your thighs. so close to your already leaking cunt. wonder if he can feel it.

"feeling better?" you ask, seeing that he isn't doing anything aside from breathing.

he doesn't answer. you continue your motions, watching his features carefully. he has the prettiest pink lips, and the most perfect eyebrows. he is just so... fresh. and young.

"seonghwa?" you call again.

no answer. you tug at a strand of hair gently, jolting him awake. what you didn't expect was the whine that escaped his lips, and you find yourself trying to squeeze your thighs together. he realizes his mistake, and looks at you with horror.

"y-yes?" he stutters.

"uh, i just-"

you are at a loss for words. he is so unintentionally submissive, it is driving you crazy. 

"i think i'll go in the water."

and just like that, he grabs a floatie you had brought and almost runs to the water. your eyes follow his poor attempts at climbing the armchair shaped floatie, his hands continuously slipping from the water and slippery surface. he tries a few more times, until he almost gets it, but ends up falling back into the water and flipping the floatie upside down.

"god, what an idiot." his sister scoffs, putting on her sunglasses and hiding under her book.

"aw, stop. i'm gonna go help him." you laugh fondly, eager to get alone time with him.

"don't waste your time. jesus, look at him. i can't take it, please poke my eyes out."

you also wish to poke your eyes out. seonghwa is surrounded by three or four girls, all of them making sure he's okay, laughing and being all touchy with him. you're not liking that. you're not liking the way their nails are grazing his arms, while he is still processing what is going on around him. he is clueless, and only awkwardly smiles with them. for a split second, his eyes land on you, as if asking for help. but then he looks away, back to the girls, and relaxes. his mouth moves, and the girls go into a laughing fit. just what is he doing? he isn't that funny.

"huh. how about that. my brother can rizz up girls?"

"no offence, but nobody uses that word anymore." wooyoung chips in, and earns himself a smack on the back of his head.

"shut up. seriously though, look at him. and four at once? wait, where are you going?"

you almost throw the hat and kimono at your friend, and fix your hair. hell no.

"hey? i thought you aren't getting into the water today! why is everyone so weird today?" her voice is becoming distant, and the ones in front of you are getting louder.

ha-ha, so funny. you are dying to know just what it is that have them drooling over him and forcing their laugh.

"hwa?" you call, lowering your sunglasses just enough so he can look into your eyes.

"uh, yes?" he answers, completely smitten.

oh, yes.

if someone were to film you, the scene would really look like one from a movie where the rich older woman is seducing her pool boy, all while her husband is working up in his bedroom. and you like it. you adjust your bikini top, accidentally pushing your boobs together, and finally get into the water.

the girls have their eyebrows raised at you, and seonghwa only gulps. it's as if he knows he did something that is bothering you. behind the playful smirk you are giving him, he sees the mischievous glint in your eyes. he knows he fucked up big time.

"having trouble with your floatie?"

"well, yeah, kinda. i got water in my ear and eyes."

"aw, you poor thing. let me see."

you cup his cheeks, swiping your thumbs over his closed eyes. the girls are scoffing, murmuring, and you would've felt very self conscious before. but this trip and seonghwa have fueled your confidence, and you are not scared of a pair of younger girls that know nothing more than to act dumb in front of him.

"feeling better?"

"yeah, real better. excellent in fact." he is a blubbering mess, looking between you and the girls.

"wanna get on the floatie with me?"

"yes."

"come on, then. say bye to your friends."

you swim off into deep water with the floatie, slow enough so he can catch up to you. you turn the floatie so that the backrest is turned towards the shore, and you are looking into the islands far away.

"go on, get on it."

"uh, i couldn't get on it in the shallow water. what makes you think-"

"seonghwa. get on the floatie."

he struggles again, wet hands slipping against the surface, now worse because you are right there, watching him. he finally climbs up, throwing his head back and exhaling.

"god, this was worse than the runs i do in the mornings back home."

he sits silent, eyes closed and sun bathing. when he hears nothing from you, he opens one eye, silently questioning why you aren't joining him. i mean, you came for that, didn't you?

"your headache still bothering you?"

"your massage helped, i did doze off for a while. until you started pulling my hair. which, by the way, what was that about?"

"it's going to sound stupid, but you seemed a bit too calm. i don't know. i fear those things."

"what, you thought i was dead?" he laughs.

"shut up, paranoia isn't that fun, you know? i'm currently in deep water, actually dying from fear that a shark will appear and feast on my legs."

"then get up here with me," he offers, patting the space next to him.

"oh, i'm fine right here." you place your hands on his knees, putting your body between his thighs.

"wh-what are you-"

"i'm gonna need you to be quiet."

"for what?"

"hush."

"noona-"

"hush i said." you pinch his thigh, earning a whimper. "now, be a good boy and hold my hair up so i don't make a mess. yet."

he looks at you wide eyed, finally realizing what your intention is. he gulps, feeling his swim shorts become tight. there's just something about your long nails grazing his skin and you giving him your best siren eyes from between his legs that is making his blood boil.

"hwa, baby, you have to stop being so stiff."

he melts in your hands at the nickname, and melts even more when you slip your hands in his shorts and gently pull him out. he is hard, and warm, and you can't wait to get your tongue on him. his hand finally reaches for your hair, pulling it in a messy ponytail and subconsciously guiding your head towards his cock.

"so impatient. again."

"sorry," he stops his movements.

you tease him, slowly running your thumb around his tip, not yet giving him the friction he needs. he squirms in your hands, unable to relax. he isn't used to risky situations like this. hell, he isn't used to a situation like this anywhere.

"hey," you call, seeing his panicked expression. when he looks at you, you can't help but smile fondly at him, and reach to move his long strands of hair out of his eyes. "i'll let you know if things get risky, like if anyone starts approaching. trust me. alright?"

"alright," he gulps.

"good."

wasting no time, you stick out your tongue, licking a stripe from the base up to his leaking tip, and pull him between your lips. his breath hitches, and his grip in your hair tightens. seonghwa throws his head back, letting his eyes roll and small sighs leave his lips.

using the chance when he's not looking, you pull your bikini top aside, letting your breasts fall free. you take his other hand, placing it gently on your now bare breast. he squeezes it subconsciously, making you hum around his cock. he tastes warm and salty, and you enjoy taking in every inch he has to give and explore it with your tongue. you just can't wait to sit on it. hopefully soon.

"i'm gonna cum- i think-"

you pull him out, making sure to make a popping noise on purpose.

"already?" you tease, still gently stroking him.

"sorry..." he looks down at you, blush creeping up his cheeks.

"it's okay, bun. just relax this time. we'll have plenty of chances to practice your patience."

"we will?" he asks, eyes full of hope as he looks into yours full of mischief.

"honestly..." you drag off, teasing him further, "...seeing you so confused and stiff, i'm starting to think you don't even want it."

"what? no! i- i do, really. you just- have me in a rather uncomfortable place."

flashing him a smile, you cup his face with your palms and bring his face close to yours. "kiss me."

"uh-"

"seonghwa."

"yes."

"kiss. me." your face morphs from the fun expression to a serious and lustful one. "now."

and like the good boy he is, he obeys. he leans in, lips softly pressing into yours. he is still stiff in your hands, and his lips are almost trembling. as much as you think it is cute, it is starting to drive you crazy. why can't he just rip your panties off and plunge his fingers inside you right there underwater?

switching the places of the impatient one, you pull him off the floatie and into the water, hands wrapping around his neck and lips desperately chasing his. he tastes like a fruit salad, which you watched him steal from yunho before they joined you in sun bathing. the fusion of watermelon, kiwi and pineapples is melting on your tongue, and you just can't help but feel up his body and grind yourself on him like an animal in heat. he isn't too different from you, hands reaching for anything he can grab; from your waist, to your neck and face. you notice that he isn't touching any areas that you really need to be touched.

you groan, pulling away from him.

"seonghwa, you're pissing me off."

"what? why?" he pulls away, but still rests his hands on your waist, afraid that you're going to run away from him if he lets go.

"it feels like i'm forcing you to do this. you don't seem to enjoy it, at all. not the way you're supposed to. if you want me to stop, you have to tell me that. you're giving me mixed signals here, all inviting and teasing from afar, and when i finally approach you, you're so stiff and nervous. like you're waiting for me to get over with it and leave."

the young man stays silent. that isn't the case. you have no idea how it is not that case at all. seonghwa is crazy about you, from your personality, to your body. you're a full package, but you are older, more experienced. and him? he's just a young man who doesn't know a thing about pleasing a woman, other than rubbing her until eventually she cums, whether it is a minute or thirty minutes later. fun, right?

"look, here's the deal. i will leave you alone, okay?" you reach to remove his long bangs out of his face, revealing his pretty eyes staring at you with mixed emotions. "if you decide to prove me wrong, don't do it with words. come search for me, show me what you want and how you want it, and we'll go from there. sounds good?"

"but i really want you, i just-"

"no more words i said, hwa. words are nothing at this point. you want me? you're gonna have to do something about it. before somebody else does. and i really need some relief these days, i might really cave into wooyoung."

god, not wooyoung. he can't lose you to wooyoung. not because he dislikes him or something, but because he dislikes the idea of seeing you with someone else. at least seeing you, well, relieved with someone else. he's not sure what view he has on you. it is clear you only want something physical, and something limited. something tied to this vacation spot and time. does he have the heart for that? he will fall for you, he knows it. if he hasn't already.

were your eyes always this pretty in the sun? was your hair always that satisfying to touch? and was your voice always this satisfying to his ears?

days pass fast when you're having fun. you're sadly looking over at the last packed bikini, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

"oh, cheer up! your birthday is in like two hours!"

"oh, my bad. yay! i'm getting older!" you grab the bottled cocktail off the nightstand, sipping it.

"what has gotten up your asshole these days?" your friend is persistent.

"nothing, why would you think that?"

you hear a scoff, and you just have to roll your eyes. she stays silent for a few moments, looking at you through the mirror while she is getting ready for your birthday party. you had agreed on going for a group night swim after the countdown, but you are not feeling it. you always get sad on trips, knowing that they'll end soon and that you'll have to go back to your ordinary life. if only you could live here. with seonghwa.

what?

think straight. you cannot want something like that with him. he is so young, he should find someone his age. someone who doesn't make him sad, confused and stiff all the time. the opposite of you. it hurts your heart a little, but you remind yourself that this is only a crush that will fade, a summer fling that will pass. nothing to get yourself worked up for.

"you're so fucking depressed today, jesus. it's making me feel like shit too."

"i'm just a little homesick, that's all."

"lies. but okay, suit yourself."

you finally slip on the pink sequin dress you have bought specifically for this night. the faux feathers are tickling your skin, and you just can't wait to take it off. why are the prettiest things the most uncomfortable ones?

"wow, those heels make your legs look so hot! you're so bringing a guy here tonight."

with a glance at your pink glitter heels, you sigh. you want one guy. and it doesn't even have to be for the reason she thinks. you could just lay there, talk about old times and new times. with each second passing, it is becoming more difficult to keep your thoughts away from seonghwa. why is he so damn addicting?

"right, let's go."

the club is loud and busy, you have trouble finding the group. but when you do, you are glad. you are starting to feel more comfortable with them, and not being around them makes you feel a bit empty and bored. seeing them occupy the couch again puts a smile on your face, but when you notice one face missing, your face drops.

"where's seonghwa?" you ask before thinking.

"he left to get a drink, i think. strange, it's been fifteen minutes now. the bar isn't that busy."

glancing at the bar, you realize that san is telling the truth. the bar is almost empty, and seonghwa is nowhere to be seen. wooyoung takes his chance, expanding his hand for you to take. when you do, he gently pulls you so that you fall into his lap, and you can't help but laugh.

"rude."

"come on, is there a better seat here?"

you notice mingi taking secret glances at you friend, probably thinking whether or not he should make a similar move on her.

"so, want to play a classic?" yunho offers.

"games? come on, yunnie, we came to drink!"

yunho rolls his eyes at your friend, and brings the bottle of vodka to his lips. it is almost empty, and he downs it with no problem. he sets it in the middle of the table, giving it a spin. "who says there won't be drinking?"

wooyoung's hands are suddenly loose around you, and before you can look at him and ask what's wrong, a familiar figure joins the table. he looks absolutely ravishing.

his hair is a wavy mess, his linen white shirt half unbuttoned, and pants loosely hanging on his hips, exposing his v-line. fuck, you need him. you need him so bad that you almost start grinding on wooyoung for any friction.

"what are we doing?"

"playing some old truth or dare. spin?"

"sure."

he sits next to yunho, and spins the bottle. the bottom lands on san, the tip on your friend. he smirks, and you see that he is fighting the urge to look at mingi.

"truth or-"

"dare."

"ah, should've known already.  i dare you to sit on mingi's lap."

mingi blushes furiously, glaring at san. your friend only rolls her eyes, much like yunho at her, and sits on mingi. "childish ass dare. do better, i'm already bored."

"oh, we're just getting started."

the game lasts half an hour, and so far, you have: kissed yeosang's cheek, because everyone likes to see him shy, drank five consecutive shots of tequila, told them some of your kinks, and accidentally rubbed your ass on wooyoung's crotch. he snickers, hands coming to your hips to keep you steady. you are feeling tipsy, but you still know what you're doing. right now, the tip of the bottle is pointing at you, while jongho is taking his sweet time thinking of a dare to give you.

"oh, oh! i got one for you!" hongjoong exclaims.

the older man whispers something into the younger one's ear, and the smirk that appears on his face makes you a little nervous.

"well?" you ask, voice a bit shaky with a nervous smile.

"i dare you to..."

why did you choose dare? why couldn't it be truth? you wanted to be fun. there you have it.

"spit it out, jongho. she's shaking." wooyoung says, annoyed.

"i dare you to drink that cocktail and kiss seonghwa with it. you know, make him drink it from your mouth."

time seems to stop for you. your eyes widen, scanning over the group. you are ready to spill out excuses and explanations, but when you see them cheer, your eyebrows scrunch. nobody is seeing anything suspicious about this? well, nobody except three people. you glance at seonghwa, who is frozen in his seat. his whiskey glass rests in his hand halfway up to his mouth. 

he sets it back on the table, mentally preparing himself for what is about to happen. you will probably decline, say you see him as a childhood friend, and pick someone else to do it with instead. but when he sees you down the glass of piña colada and get up from your seat, he feels sweat wash over his body. you'll really do it. in front of his sister. in front of wooyoung. in front of everyone.

he thinks you look cute with your lips unintentionally pouting as you hold the liquid in your mouth. a fond smile creeps on his lips just before you sit on his lap, hands wrapping around his neck and lips finally pressing into his. he takes every single drop you give him, drinking it up along with the taste of your lips and tongue. already swaying a bit from alcohol, he forgets where he is for a moment. his tongue swipes your bottom lip, collecting the remains of the drinks and biting it along the way. you give in, tongue pushing past his lips and finding his.

"woah, woah! okay!"

"guys, that's enough."

but you don't stop. not when his hands are finally touching you how you want it. how you need it. his slender fingers find their spot in the back of your head, gently pulling your hair as he desperately kisses you. you whine in his mouth, pleasant pain spreading in your body. his other hand lands on your waist, pulling you closer into him so that you can only feel his scent and his warmth. only him in a room full of people. 

"shit, live porn. how about that?" wooyoung snickers, downing another tequila.

"alright, guys!"

seonghwa is the first one to pull away, hazy eyes staring deep into yours. it only takes one look from you to show him that you know what he wants, and that you want it too.

"damn. my brother and my best friend making out. didn't think i'd see that in... well, ever."

"why are you complaining? you're making out with your brother's best friend."

"yeah, but seonghwa doesn't mind, do you?"

seonghwa hates that he has to remove his gaze from you to look at his sister. "why? you mind me kissing your best friend?"

"no, no. not at all. carry on. SOMEWHERE ELSE! disgusting."

seonghwa helps you stand, not letting go of your waist.

"i'll be borrowing this." you reach for the bottle of champagne that was meant to be opened on your birthday countdown. but you found a better use of it. "see you!"

you rush out of the club, pulling seonghwa by his wrist all the way to the shore. you push him into the ocean, cold water caressing your bodies as you keep walking deeper until it reaches your chest. seonghwa is quick to continue the makeout session he has started, and you don't complain. his lips are starved of your touch, kissing you like it's his first and last.

"wait, wait."

"what?"

you give him the bottle, offering a sip. he takes a long one, not once breaking eye contact with you. when he hands it back to you, you can't help the mischievous grin that appears on your face. he looks at you with amused eyes. you pour the champagne on your neck and chest in a slow stream, not caring about pollution or wasting at this point. seonghwa takes the signal, and grabs your waist so that he can pull you closer. his tongue licks up the champagne from your neck, chest and collarbones. you are a moaning mess in his hands.

"if i would've known that all you needed was a few shots and a high schooler game, i would've done it the first day." you admit.

the wet dress sticks to your body, making it difficult to move in the water. you gasp when you feel his fingers dip between your thighs, resting on the pink bikini you've put on. with a silent approval from you, he moves the bottoms under your dress aside, middle finger slipping past your folds and thumb circling your clit. you shake under his touch, feelings too overwhelming.

"let me make love to you."

he says it so romantically, as if he isn't knuckles deep inside of you right now.

"let me show you a different way. my way."

and you give yourself to him. dragging him back to the shore, lips not once leaving his. not caring if anyone around you is watching. your dress comes off with a few difficulties, but now that you're out of it, you feel like you can breathe freely. your bikini top soon joins the dress in the sand next to you, but the chain, heels and panties stay. seonghwa spills more champagne over your exposed chest, and proceeds to lick it all up like a starved man.

"should i take off my-"

"no, please. i want to fuck you with your heels on."

"oh? that a fetish of yours?"

he blushes a little, looking down at the sparkly heels shining in the distant club lights.

"i like glitter." he simply says.

his fingers are in a rush to take your panties off, but before he can discard them along with the rest of his and your clothes, you speak. "a little warning."

"yes?"

"i can be loud."

"how loud?"

"very."

the young man looks around for a moment, as if thinking about something important. then, he simply shrugs. "okay."

before you can react, he shoves the panties in your mouth, catching you by surprise. he strokes himself a few times, too impatient for any foreplay. there was enough teasing all these days, he knows you can't take it either.

his warm cock slides between your folds with ease, your walls hugging it tightly. he groans, and you moan around the panties. his hands grip your waist, but not the rough grip. the strong, yet gentle grip. he moves his hips sensually, like waves rather than thrusts. he raises your hips a little, angling them so that he can reach better. your eyebrows scrunch with pleasure, eyes looking up at him as a plea for more.

"i know, i know. feels good, doesn't it?"

you nod, rolling your hips to match his rhythm. sand sticks to your skin, the smell of his perfume and champagne is making you feel dizzy, and the grip on your hips is only getting stronger. you haven't felt such pleasure in a long time.

the tip of his cock rubs the sensitive spot inside of you, making you whine and moan through the wet fabric.

"oh, you were just made for me, weren't you? look how good you're taking me. all of it."

your eyes roll at his dirty talk, and you promise yourself there that this won't be the last time you're hearing it.

"fuuuck..." he trails, plunging his hips into yours and touching your cervix along the way. he continues the hard but slow pumps, getting lost in the warm feeling of you. "fuck, you're so pretty for me. look at you, you fit in my hands like a perfect doll."

is that size kink coming from him? if yes, you are having so much fun finding out about him in a situation like this.

you whimper, feeling your orgasm approaching. he doesn't notice, instead, he is so lost in his own pleasure that he barely feels you clawing at his back as you cum hard on his cock.

"huh? what's that? you want more?"

tears drop down your cheeks, overwhelming pleasure washing over your body. you can't take it, but seonghwa doesn't ask. he only holds you in place, slowing his pace and giving you time to relax and regain composure.

but what's the use, when as soon as you calm from your high, he starts snapping his hips into yours again? you now shamelessly tug at his hair, not sure if it's from pain or pleasure. but both is good to you.

"fuck, can i cum in you?"

you nod, and if you could, you'd beg him to do so. seonghwa gets down, burying his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in circles. you desperately groan into his ear, moving your hips with his movements. seonghwa's moves gradually become sloppy, losing the collected sensual waves and instead opting for harsh thrusts, tip of his cock touching your cervix and leaving your body shaking in his arms.

fireworks paint the sky, just like seonghwa paints your walls with his seed. your orgasm washes over you once again, and you feel yourself get slippery down there. he doesn't stop, helping both of you ride it out as fireworks keep going off above you.

seonghwa is the first to gain his consciousness, carefully removing the panties from your mouth. while you are still catching your breath, he kisses your tears away.

"hey?"

you hum, looking up at the colorful explosions.

"did i hurt you?"

"in normal circumstances, i would've said i wish. but this? you just made me never wish for rough sex again."

he only chuckles, then takes his discarded shirt from the small pile. he helps you sit up, then covers you with his shirt.

"thank you, hwa."

he puts his pants back on, sitting next to you. he grabs the bottle of leftover champagne, taking a sip before offering you one too. you take it, resting your head on his shoulder.

"happy birthday, noona."

"oh, you seriously have to stop that."

as you both laugh and stare at the reflection of the moon on the ocean surface, you can't help but feed the small hope you almost killed today. maybe seonghwa doesn't have to be a faded crush or a summer fling.

"say, when we get back, do you want to go out someti-" he starts, as if he read your thoughts.

"yes." you interrupt, planting a kiss on his cheek.

🐬feedback greatly appreciated! 💙

[jnnul]

ready for love

PAIRING ▸ lee jeno x fem!reader (ft. tbz's juyeon)

GENRES ▸ fluff, non!idol au, college au, slice of life, friends to lovers but also...it’s complicated?

WARNINGS ▸ uhh swearing, drinking (but legally), mentions of infidelity, there was supposed to be so much more but it just turned into a fluff piece sooo..., y/n is indecisive and jeno is stupid, they're a match made in heaven 🫶🏽, jeno is the loverboy of the century towards the end, they make out and a few allusions to sex but no graphics, is it just me or is that header really blurry

SUMMARY ▸ a boy who has never taken a relationship seriously. a girl who is seriously over relationships. when they end up finding each other, will they let their ideas of what a relationship should be like ruin their relationship before it even starts?

PLAYLIST ▸ ready for love - blackpink, lovin’ me - fifty fifty, siren - taeyeon, island - youha, hate that - key & taeyeon

WORD COUNT ▸ 19.5k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ oh hey it's that one fic i've been writing since july! which reminds me - if that ending looks familiar, it's because technically, this was supposed to come out right after that timestamp did oops.

as always, feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

far too easy. a couple of lingering stares. a coincidental request on social media. a few well-placed messages. one date later and...done. he was in. hook, line, and sinker.

it was almost getting predictable. at first, lee jeno just wanted to have a little fun. it was never anything serious - and it definitely wasn't always about sex. truly. as distrustful as men had made themselves out to be within the past few thousands of years, jeno truly wasn't thinking with his dick when he got into relationships.

it was just about having fun. he just wanted to get to know people, do sohing romantic just for the experience, and maybe, get to know their body if the relationship felt so inclined.

there was never any delusion about what a relationship with jeno was like. it was two months, if you lasted that long, and every second of it made you feel alive like you never had before. but the honeymoon stage would pass and jeno would lose interest and soon, there would be a heartbroken girl left behind, even though she knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

and it wasn't as though they could really get mad at him. he was a sweetheart through and through and he would continue to say hi if they ever saw each other around and he had definitely saved a couple exes from some ugly encounters. jeno never meant to hurt anyone; it just happened soimes because he was such a good guy.

at least, that’s what you understood of your best friend. from his nights of drunken confessions and the few encounters you’d had with his ‘girlfriends’, you had surmised that jeno lee was just meant to be a serial casual dater.

you, quite frankly, were on the opposite end of the spectrum. after a few too many boyfriends who had turned out to be grade a douchebags, you had effectively sworn off men.

dating was just far too hard. the 'did he notice me?' stage where you dress up a little prettier than normal. and then the internal panic when they request you on instagram. the casual talking stage where you've already accidentally planned out the wedding. the date where you choose to move past all of the blatant red flags you see. and then the relationship, when the red flags become red banners the size of antarctica because goddamnit, how did you miss the fact that this man was a literal freudian case study.

so whenever jeno would introduce his newest girlfriend or go on about his many adventures (including the details about the not-so-family-friendly aspects), you couldn't help but feel a little pang of jealousy because where the hell was jeno finding such amazing relationships? and why the hell isn't he taking them seriously?

you're sure you couldn't even count the number of sweet girls you knew would've been perfect to take home to his mother you had been introduced to before they were gone the next week.

"and that's why i think you're an insufferable brat," you grumble, pointing a stick of celery at him threateningly. jeno snorts slightly, redirecting your celery to the hummus sitting next to where you were perched on his kitchen counter.

"you've been saying that for as long as we've been friends," he says, pouring a spoonful of soy sauce into the rice for the fried rice he was preparing for dinner.

"three years too many," you say, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. "how have we actually stayed friends for three years when you're so...wishy-washy?"

jeno's roommate, na jaemin, rubs his eyes as he stumbles into the kitchen, saluting you sarcastically as he reaches into the fridge to grab an entire bowl of strawberries.

"what a burn, y/n. wishy-washy. yeah, i'll bet that really did a number on him, didn't it, jeno my boy?" jaemin snorts, pouting when he quite nearly drops the bowl of strawberries on his foot.

he also very nearly escapes decapitation by celery stick, ducking from your brutal aim.

"at least i don't have a mommy kink," you snide, salvaging what was left of your celery snack.

jaemin jabs a strawberry in your general direction with a look of indignant betrayal on his face.

"i thought we agreed to never speak of what was revealed during balkan night," jaemin hissed. "you promised, y/n!"

"i was crossing my fingers," you shrug, placating your best friend with an olive branch of a silly smile when he swears vengence by strawberry assault a second time.

"whatever," jaemin grumbles as he slinks back to the darkness of his room. jeno just shakes his head fondly, tossing in the vegetables the two of you had just chopped up into the fried rice.

"why do you always feel the need to rag on him like that?" jeno says, mixing the vegetables into the rice.

"why do you always feel the need to avoid taking a relationship seriously?" you counter, hopping down from your perch to throw out the now empty hummus container.

"you know, anyone hearing this conversation right now would think that you were the one not taking relationships not seriously instead of me," he says calmly, taking a spoonful of rice. he blows on it before reaching out to you, letting you taste-test the fried rice. you hum, sifting through the ingredients in the fridge as you analyze what the missing ingredient was. your eyes land on a small plastic container with finely chopped garlic inside, the realization clicking in your head.

"just because i'm a little youthful and you have the personality of a grandpa doesn't mean that you have to be the one who takes relationships too seriously," you say, sprinkling the garlic into the fried rice. jeno hands you the wooden spatula and lets you take over the cooking process as he finds three bowls for the three of you.

"whatever helps you sleep at night," jeno says with a soft chuckle.

"speaking of relationships though, i'm not going to be leeching off of you for dinner tonight," you say casually, offering a spoonful to jeno this time to let him taste your shared creation.

he flashes you a happy eye smile, retreating into the hallway to call jaemin out of his room for lunch.

"date?" jeno says, a strange look in his eye as he hands you your spoon (you had a preference for only eating with the singular small spoon in the entire apartment for some reason) with a knowing smile.

"somewhat? it's a double date but i'm only going for jimin because she really really likes the guy and she's afraid she's going to fuck it up if it's just the two of them," you explain, giving him a thumbs up for the successful food collaboration.

"do you know who it's with?" jaemin pipes up, seemingly refreshed after consuming an inhumane amount of strawberries.

you furrow your eyebrows, trying to recollect the name of the guy jimin mentioned that jaehyun was bringing before shaking your head.

"i think his name was jayeon? yeonju? juyeon? i don't know, i don't really remember. all i know is that jaehyun better be head over fucking heels for jimin by the end of the night," you say in between bites.

"juyeon? lee juyeon?" jaemin says suddenly, his spoon clattering as he drops it in his bowl. jeno and jaemin exchange a look that you don't miss and you definitely don't like.

"am i missing sohing here? do you guys know him?" you ask, the worry lines on your forehead having become near permanent. jeno shrugs, pushing his food around in an uncharacteristically hesitant manner.

"i mean i just heard that he was a bit of a heartbreaker when he was in college but i don't really think that it was that big of a deal," jaemin says finally. you roll your eyes, puffing out your chest sarcastically.

"i'm a big girl guys, don't worry. i can handle myself," you say, patting jeno's shoulder comfortingly as you move to wash your bowl. "and besides, i'm not actually going there to find the love of my life; i'm just going there to support jimin."

"just be careful, y/n." jeno gives you a quick little side-hug before disappearing into the living room to turn on some tv. you turn to jaemin but your question dies on your tongue when you see that jaemin is already staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"what's up with him?" you ask, when jaemin sighs, getting up to wash his dishes.

"jeno's worried for you," he says. you huff, watching jaemin put his washed bowl into the dishwasher.

"i get that, dipshit. what i don't get is why!" you exclaim, wincing when you realize that you're much louder than you had intended.

"because juyeon's just like jeno."

it's all jaemin says but it's all he needs to say because now, you finally understand.

+++

"now remember, i'm only coming with you for you, okay? if you ever want to just be with jaehyun by yourself, let me know and i'll be more than happy to head on my way out," you whisper to jimin as you flash a bright smile at jaehyun, who approaches the both of you with a dimpled smile as he tucks his car keys into his pocket.

"y/n! it's so good to see you after so long," jaehyun says, pulling you in for a friendly side hug.

"i know," you say, squeezing quickly before letting go. "can you believe it's already been a month since renjun's party?"

jaehyun furrows his eyebrows, shuffling so that he was standing next to jimin. "no, really? has it already been a month?"

he doesn't wait for you to answer, turning to jimin almost immediately. "it's been a month since i met you? why does it feel like i've known you my entire life?"

it takes all you have to turn to the side before fake gagging, unable to help the cringe that runs through your body from the cheesiness, jimin fighting back a giggle, but you can see that her cheeks are bright red.

"jae, for your sake and the beautiful ladies', i'm gonna have to pretend like you never said that," a deep voice says from behind you. the man steps into the light and you're sure that your eyes are about to fall out of their socket.

juyeon is one of the most attractive men you've ever seen. long, long legs that lead up to broad shoulders, beautiful eyes and lips that would make kylie jenner jealous. his dark hair is slicked back and he holds himself with a humble, quiet confidence that makes you ready to fall to your knees instantly. he turns to you and his cool demeanor is instantly broken when he smiles, his face glowing in the faint lights of the restaurant.

"hi, i'm juyeon," he says, sticking his hand out for you to shake. you stare at it for a moment before taking it.

"y/n. it's nice to meet you," you say dreamily, before coming to your senses and retracting your hand. you were here for jimin and jimin only. juyeon and his beautiful face would have to stay in the friend zone - especially if what jaemin had warned you about was true.

but just because you couldn't purchase doesn't mean you couldn't window shop.

"y/n," juyeon drawls, letting your name roll off of his tongue. "a pretty name for a pretty girl."

jimin can barely stifle a giggle at your dazed expression, elbowing you in the rib cage. you shake your head slightly, composing yourself once more. how in hell were you supposed to confine this man to the friend zone if everything he said threatened your very sanity?

"well, they say that you should never keep a pretty woman waiting," you say with coy smile, gesturing towards the restaurant. "shall we head inside?"

juyeon mock-bows while jaehyun opens the door and says, "ladies first."

you blow juyeon a kiss with a teasing smile, linking arms with jimin and sauntering into the restaurant. juvenile? perhaps. but where was the fun in being adult all the time?

the four of you make your way to where there's a receptionist standing behind a booth, jaehyun stating his name for the reservation.

"right this way, ladies and gentlemen," the receptionist says, gathering a handful of menus and leading you to your table.

"so jaehyun tells me you are a business major," juyeon says, falling in step beside you. you hum, shaking your head slightly.

"i was a business major; i double majored in finance and economics, but i graduated two months ago," you explain, thanking the waiter as you take your seat at the table. juyeon takes the seat next to you and jimin takes the seat on the other side so that you were sat directly across from jaehyun.

you're about to turn to jimin and say something only to find her enraptured by some fascinating conversation that her and jaehyun seemed to be having, turning back with a knowing smile.

"i'm sorry, i was under the impression that you were still in school since it's only march," juyeon says, handing you one of the menus the waiter had left on the table.

"i graduated early because of the overlap between my majors. i was required to keep up my grades for my scholarship anyway so i was able to build up credits fairly quickly," you explain, trying to ignore the spark of electricity that you feel when juyeon's fingers linger on yours.

"oh, so you were quite the academic," he says, running a hand through his hair. you determinedly stare at the menu, forcing down the hot flash that runs through your body when juyeon catches you watching.

"you could say so," you nod, scanning the menu. "how about you? what did you major in when you were in school?"

"i was your direct senior," juyeon begins, smiling when he sees the confusion on your face. "i was a finance major in college."

"no way! that's so interesting. where do you work now?" you ask once you put down the menu to meet his eyes. maybe jaemin and jeno were just being overprotective? it wouldn't be the first time they steered you away from heartbreak but juyeon seemed like such a sweet and genuine guy.

because juyeon's just like jeno.

that statement is enough to bring you back to your senses as you focus on what juyeon is saying, jimin and jaehyun still debating the difference between computer engineering and computer science (their respective majors) and which one was better.

nerds.

"i was at amazon up until last summer but i recently switched to a new company. it's a pretty small company but they specialize in cleaning the ocean of plastic and recycling the plastic for 3D printing. it's very niche but i didn't want to just be another finance bro that just worked for the sake of money, you know? i wanted to work with a good consciousness."

maybe curving juyeon from claiming a place in your already fragile heart would be a little more difficult than you expected. kind, environmentally aware and a chose ethical work? juyeon was already better than approximately 90% of your exes.

"how about you? have you started working yet? the market is pretty brutal for freshly graduated f&e people, from what my friends tell me." you nod, internally composing yourself and steeling yourself a little bit more to keep from falling into juyeon's charms.

just like jeno. the reminder is harsh, but it works like magic as you feel the butterflies in your stomach beginning to dissapate.

"it certainly is a lot more competitive than i think a lot of people anticipated. thankfully, i was able to connect to a sponsor during one of the scholarship banquets and was offered a position for right after school," you explained and juyeon's eyes turn from mild and observing to full of respect as he nods, almost approvingly.

"which company?" he asks, taking a sip of his water.

"i actually am working in the finance department at patagonia..."

+++

the night progresses almost too smoothly. once the food had come out, jaehyun and jimin finally seemed to come out of the bubble they were in and the conversation flowed so well, it was almost as though the four of you had known each other for years.

it was clear that jaehyun and juyeon were close, having met each other at work and instantly clicking. the easy back and forth between them allowed you and jimin relax a little more, allowing the conversation to turn to less formal subjects.

you find out that juyeon has a dog, much to your dismay.

"y/n loves dogs!" jimin exclaims, and you can feel your heart's walls crack a little further. there were many things you could handle - a cute boy with a dog? that was a little out of the realm of control.

"really? oh you'd love ray then - he's a big dog but he's got a lot of love. sort of a gentle giant," juyeon says, his eyes twinkling as he pulls out his phone to show you his wallpaper. it's a picture of him and ray curled up next to each other, sleeping in bed, both of them in the same exact position as they snored away.

"i swear, him and ray are the same soul in two different bodies. i've seen this guy have full on conversations with his dog. which would be weird but it kinda just works for them somehow. i kinda think that ray genuinely does understand juyeon," jaehyun snorts, nodding at juyeon's wallpaper. "that was when ray was still a puppy and he would copy every single thing that juyeon did."

juyeon shrugs, smiling as he tucks his phone back into his pocket. "not much has changed there, if i'm being honest."

you're about to say something about meeting ray when your phone rings abruptly, rudely interrupting the conversation. you frown as you flip your phone open, looking at the contact profile on the screen. jeno?

"hello?" you say as you answer the phone, pointing to the restroom as you excuse yourself from the table. from the corner of your eye, you can see the waiter coming with the bill for your table and you vaguely register the fact that only two cards are being put on the table (jaehyun's and juyeon's) as you make your way somewhere a little more private.

"hellooo? y/nnnn-ie? you stilllll at your, huh, date?" jeno slurs into your phone and you hear someone in the background, presumably jaemin, trying to convince jeno to stop himself from saying or doing something stupid.

"yes, jeno, i'm still at my date. that you interrupted, by the way," you say with a frustrated sigh. you check your watch and realize that it's only 9:30 PM and jeno does not sound like he's been taking it easy on the alcohol. "why are you drinking jen?"

"whattttt, so now i'm a shitty lover and i can't, heh, drink?" jeno grumbles into the phone and it's clear from the sudden silence in the background that jaemin has completely giving up on wrestling jeno's phone out of his hand. you had firsthand experience with drunk jeno - he turned into the hulk.

"jen, if you called me in the middle of my date to go off the rails about how you're a lonely fucker, i'm going to kill you," you hiss, smiling at the lady who comes into the restroom as you weren't threatening your best friend with murder.

"I'M NOT A LONELY FUCKER!"

oh, so this part jeno could say without hiccuping or slurring his words. fantastic. you sigh, switching your phone to the other ear as you wash your hands, getting ready to leave the restroom. there's a pregnant pause where no one says anything but you can hear the top gun theme song in the background so you know jeno's on the line.

"if - if i change, will you not go out with juyeon?" jeno mutters finally, just as you're leaving the restroom. "if i finally start getting serious about relationships, will you not go out with him? will you come home?"

you pause at that. jeno's always been the protective type. for all of his own playboy (even if technically he wasn't trying to be a playboy) charm, jeno genuinely wasn't very happy when you dated people. he wouldn't be rude to them and he certainly would never force you to break up with them but every time he would run into them, regardless of how long you had dated them, he always had something to say.

he looks like he jerks off to weird porn. definitely something about shampoo, a hot girl, and way too much viagra.

he has a small dick.

he makes his girlfriends lose weight even though he has a beer belly.

i'm not even gonna lie to you - i just hate the fact that he's balding.

most of the reasons that jeno gave you were kinda stupid. but ultimately, he was usually right about which people to avoid and even if he said it was because they were ugly and balding, it was usually because he knew that they weren't kind people on the inside.

it was because you just didn't have a great self-image, jeno used to say. if you saw yourself the way the rest of us - the way i see you, you'd never even give some of these assholes a chance, y/n. think of it as playboy experience about how to find the people actually worth your time.

but he had never said anything like this before. for all of the hazy comments and strange strength jeno developed when he was drunk, he had never said anything like this to you before. mostly because jaemin was really good at protecting his roommate from making stupid decisions but it was clear that even jaemin couldn't stop this.

"jen, you sound crazy right now," you say, rubbing your forehead. you step out of the restroom to see juyeon waiting at the table alone, as jimin and jaehyun seemingly already left together. "i don't really know what you're trying to say and quite frankly, i have no clue why you're acting like this. ask jaemin to make sure you're drinking a lot more water and we'll talk about this in the morning, alright?"

jeno doesn't say anything but from the shuffling in the background, you realize that jaemin has finally rose from his slump and was signaling something to jeno. good. maybe jaemin would be able to understand why the fuck jeno was acting like this.

there's an exchange of words, mostly jaemin berating jeno to hand over the phone as you hear a loud thump in the background before jaemin is speaking.

"hey, y/n it's me," jaemin says. it's clear that he's been drinking too but jaemin isn't too much of a drinker so he still sounds pretty levelheaded as he speaks.

"what's up with jeno, jaemin? why is he acting like that?" you ask, making your way over to the table slowly. you realize that juyeon is holding onto your coat and suddenly, you're not really sure about what to do. you don't know what it is about the simple fact that juyeon is holding your coat but the entire thing seems a little domestic. like the two of you actually were on a date.

"y/n, i'm gonna be so honest with you, i think it's best if you have some distance from jeno for a while. i think he's just getting in his head about stuff he shouldn't be and really, i think the only way he's gonna get over it or figure out how to talk to you about it if he has some distance."

how perfect. you sigh, running your hand through your hair as you smile at juyeon, who helps you put your coat over your shoulders, the scent of his cologne filling up your lungs. you decide that if it was distance that jeno wanted, it was distance jeno was going to get. quite frankly, this wasn't the first time jeno had randomly pulled away from you, even if it was the first time he had finally come close to clueing you into why.

it was clear that jeno didn't like you dating people - especially not juyeon. maybe even to the extent of jeno changing his own playboy ways to convince you otherwise of interacting with juyeon.

you had considered the fact that jeno might be interested in you romantically or that maybe he was jealous for your affections. but every time you thought that, jeno would come back from his faraway space with a new girl and a genuine twinkle in his eye and suddenly, everything was back to normal.

jeno simply was an overprotective person, you decided. and he would do whatever he thought was right to make sure that the people around him didn't get hurt.

it really did check out, honestly.

jeno was equally overprotective of everyone in his life because getting that close to him in the first place was a feat within itself. once you made it past that original barrier, however, he would be willing to give his life if he thought it would help even the slightest.

but...even so. this was weird.

either way, juyeon was opening the passenger door to his car and you were aimlessly climbing into it so any and all thoughts about jeno would have to wait until you made it down this slippery slope first. the last thing you needed in the morning was the honest to god gripping panic of doing the walk of shame.

juyeon doesn't seem like the type to expect a lady to put out because he bought her dinner but you can never be too careful. he seems to notice your apprehension because he asks you for your address upfront, raising three fingers in an oath.

"i promise to conduct no funny business and i will take you home safe and sound, y/n," he says solemnly, and the way his eyes sparkle in the light of the moon is enough to make your resolve melt a little bit as you laugh softly.

"alright juyeon. since you promised no funny business," you quip lightly, entering your address on the navigation screen next to the steering wheel.

juyeon squints at your address, which is fifteen minutes away, before looking at you strangely. "are you sure this is the right address? my building is right next door! i would've seen you at some point, and trust me, i'd never forget a face like yours."

"uh, yeah, this is my address. i'm usually never home though, since i'm always either with jimin or my friends jaemin and jeno," you say, watching as juyeon sets the car in reverse to pull out of the parking spot. his arm lifts, as though he were going to put it behind the headrest of your seat to do the classic flirting move to reverse. he sets it back down when he sees you staring at the screen (which had a rearview camera feed on it), realizing that it would be dumb to try and make a move in such a cliché way.

"jeno? jeno lee?" juyeon asks as you guys pull out of the parking spot. you glance at him sideways, wondering if he were going to offer the same cautionary tale that jaemin and jeno had presented to you.

"yeah. he's one of my best friends. do you know him?" you ask, already presuming the answer.

juyeon is silent, as though he's weighing options in his mind. should he be honest with you? should he preserve your feelings?

"i know of him. i don't know him all that well," juyeon says finally, and you know that juyeon has decided to take the third option. neutrality. and while you're tempted on asking him to expand, you really don't know him well enough to do that.

so you just leave the topic aside and wait for him to start a different conversation.

he does soon enough, but you know that his heart isn't in it anymore. you engage in polite smalltalk until he pulls up to your apartment complex. you thank him for driving you and are about to step out of the car when juyeon suddenly touches your wrist gently, afraid to make rude or rough gestures.

you pause, half out of the car as you turn to him with a quizzical smile.

"i had a good time getting to know you today, y/n. and i know that it was just an excuse for those two to go on a date without making it weird but i really did have a good time getting to know you. i hope that i didn't make a bad impression at the end." his eyes are shining under the dim lighting of the few rooms that are still lit up in your apartment complex.

you smile at him gently, shaking your head to assure him. "you didn't make a bad impression. i had a good time getting to know you too."

you're ready to step out of the car once more when juyeon's fingers on your wrist wrap around them, this time a little bit more firm on claiming your attention.

"i - i want to see you again. i've honestly never connected this well with someone before. would you be open to that?" juyeon asks. you pause for a moment before giving in. how could you say no to him when he was looking at you with such big, brown eyes with so much hope hidden in them?

but even as you give juyeon your number, you can practically hear the bright red warning signs in your mind - and for some reason, jeno was the one screaming every single one of those signs.

"good night y/n," juyeon says, his smile every inch as heartbreakingly charming as the moment you knew he'd be bad for you.

you offer a tight, cautious smile in return. "good night juyeon."

+++

for someone who was fiercely overprotective of his friends, jeno had a strange tendency of self-sabotaging his relationships with them. not all of them - mostly just you. he didn't know what it was about you but somehow, he always just seemed to be saying the wrong things at the wrong time.

jaemin seems to think that it's because jeno has feelings for you (which he most definitely does not) (at all) (for real).

it wasn't as though jeno didn't like when you went on dates. in fact, he liked to think that he was rather supportive. it was just that you had a tendency to pick out all of the shittiest men in seoul to date and quite frankly, jeno hated it.

and you knew that. you'd been dealing with jeno's strange tendencies for three years now. he knew that you knew that he'd call you by next week and everything would be back to normal. that's usually how it went when you went on a particularly serious date on any level. strange set of coincidences that jeno only seemed to fuck up the worst right before or after a date you were raving about.

huh.

"i'm telling you jeno, you have got to tell her the way you feel about her," jaemin says, tossing a water bottle at jeno. they're sitting on the floor in front of the tv, watching money heist halfheartedly. terrible show to be their 'let's talk about our feelings' show but jaemin and jeno never could have a conversation like that without some level of violent scheming occurring in the background.

"i don't feel any way about y/n, jaemin. honestly, it's getting really fucking annoying that you keep saying that i do," jeno says, digging his chopsticks into his chinese takeout food. jaemin rolls his eyes, sitting down next to jeno with his own box of takeout.

"i swear to god. why did you call her then? why did you call her on her date last night?" jaemin asks. jeno shrugs, setting his food down before sighing.

"i don't know, okay? i just...you know what happened with juyeon. i just can't imagine her going through something like that," jeno says softly. jaemin looks at him before clearing his throat, forcing jeno to look at him square in the eyes.

"look, i know that you and juyeon don't have the greatest past but you have got to let her find her person. who knows! maybe juyeon's changed in the last three years. you literally don't know him anymore. and besides, this isn't about juyeon and you know it. you did this when she got with daniel, and then sunghoon, and then even doyoung." jaemin shakes his head, trying to get jeno to understand his own feelings. "you're blind to it but every time she actually feels good about someone, you somehow need to take a break from her. why?"

jeno doesn't actually have the answer to that question. why, indeed, is the question of the night.

later that night, when jaemin has turned in (or rather, announced that he was going to sleep, only to sit in bed and occupy their shared netflix account for hours), jeno pulls out his phone and searches up three words.

we need space.

he searches in his messages and cringes when he sees the number of outgoing texts that have space (as in the number of times he's broken up with someone over text) in them. he filters all of the other people out except for you and it pisses him off that jaemin is right.

may 2020. the first time jeno had asked you for some space, when you'd asked daniel to be your boyfriend.

august 2021. the second time you guys had taken some space, when you'd gone on your first date with sunghoon.

september 2022. the third time that you had had to take a break from each other. when jeno had introduced you to doyoung with his own hands.

realistically, jeno knew that jaemin was right. and with the evidence staring at him so incriminatingly, there was no way to refute the accusations.

but as much as jeno had dated around, he still didn't know what or who he was looking for. sure he was attracted to you as a person and your, uh, physicality - but that didn't mean that you were the one for him. and if jeno were to pursue something with you that made him realize that you truly weren't what he was looking for after all, not only would he be losing you as a partner but he'd be losing you as a best friend too.

so he continues in the toxic cycle of taking a break from you every time he feels as though his feelings are getting too high in his chest for him to contain them and never giving you or jaemin an explanation of why.

jeno knew it was wrong. he knew that his life would be so much easier if he just came clean and you fell one way or another on the scale of 'already dated' and 'haven't dated yet' like most of the girls on campus. but it was different with you.

it'd always been different with you.

so jeno rolls over, and goes to bed, dreaming of you and juyeon holding hands on your first date alone. he's never had such a restless night of sleep in his life.

+++

you know that you're being a bad friend to jimin when she's pouting at you swirling your straw in your macchiato instead of listening to her rambles.

"come on, y/n. it's been three days. you know that jeno gets like this - it's not like this is new right?" jimin says, covering your hand with both of hers, blinking at you curiously.

you smile and shake your head. "yeah. i'm sorry. this is supposed to be about you and i'm just getting in my head about this shit."

jimin tuts, eyebrows furrowing in mock anger. "that's not what i mean and you know it. i'll talk about jaehyun whether you're listening or not and you and i both know that. i just - i guess i'm not sure why you're always so hung up over jeno doing this when you know that he's gonna do it."

"you're right. it's not new. and i'm sorry that it keeps coming up when i really hate that he does this but i just wish he would talk to me instead of shutting me out every time that something like this happens. it's just him and jaemin cooped up and talking to each other for a week before they go back to being normal. and i get it. they're guys. they need a break and they need to do guy things and take a break from girls or whatever the fuck straight boys do. but this is getting out of hand and ridiculous."

but you catch yourself, shaking your head once more as you focus on jimin. "thank you for letting me get that out of my system. now tell me what you were saying about jaehyun. i feel like i've lost my best friend to some random guy for the past three days!"

jimin eyes you for a moment longer (and you know that she's not going to let this go) but decides to take mercy on you.

"well, jaehyun and i have been doing really well, honestly! we've seen each other every single day for the last three days - which isn't that hard considering that we've been having sex all day in every square inch of his apartment." jimin sees the scandalized look on your face before laughing. "don't worry, he lives alone and we've actually been going on non-sexual dates too. we connect in more ways than one if you get what i mean."

you slap jimin's arm incredulously, looking around the cute little café that you were sitting in to make sure that no one was listening. no one was, of course, given that it was 11:30 am on a monday but that was besides the point.

"oh my god. so are you guys going to make it official or what?" you ask, leaning forward on your steepled fingers. jimin shrugs, leaning back in her chair languidly.

"i don't know. i mean, i really like our chemistry and i like where this is going but i'm not going to label it. i'm definitely not going to be the one to pop the 'what are we' question - that's gotta be him," jimin says. "even though i am so incredibly head over heels for him. so i would like to be his girlfriend. for realsies."

she adds on the last part almost as an afterthought when she sees your unbelieving face.

"i mean it! i really want to be more than just a situationship but i really can't be the one to initiate that. i'm tired of always having to express interest in others. i attract; i don't chase," jimin says with a catty smile and you can't help but grin at that.

maybe jeno was really onto something. girl time was amazing. maybe that's why jeno needed some space from you.

"i agree. and you know what, i don't want to knock it but that honestly doesn't seem all that strange, considering that your location has consistently been showing that you're at jaehyun's place for the past 72 hours," you say, laughing at her mischievously when she returns the favor with a slap to your arm.

"i don't know. yeah. anyway. speaking of jaehyun, or not really him, but his friend - not the point! jaehyun mentioned that you gave juyeon your number? and that you've been kinda talking?" jimin says, and now it's your turn to blush.

"no - i mean, yes. i did give him my number but it's honestly not like that. he seems great and all but jeno and jaemin seemed really spooked when i mentioned him. i trust them when it comes to boys. especially with my shitty taste in them," you say thoughtfully and jimin can't help but agree with that.

she checks her phone and groans, starting to shuffle her things together as she prepares to leave. "this has been so good but i have to get to class and you know how much of a pain in the ass professor joo is."

you also start to gather your belongings, slurping down the leftovers of your macchiato. "yeah. i think that my early lunch break is coming to an end anyway. i've got a meeting at 6 pm but we're still on for dinner and drinks this friday, right?"

jimin nods distractedly as she checks her phone to see if jaehyun had texted her. he hadn't. in the past four hours. she clicks her phone shut and looks at you with a determined look in her eyes.

"yes. for sure. you and i have a date this friday and i don't want you to cancel, you hear me? and do not let those investors keep my baby from me like they did last time," jimin says, wagging her pointer finger at you threateningly. you roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to her cheek as the two of you make your way out of the café.

"i hear you. no more investors past 7 pm on a friday," you say, raising your hands in surrender when jimin squints her eyes at you. she side hugs you before checking the time once more (therefore realizing that professor joo wasn't above calling her out in the middle of class) and scurrying off to snu, a block down from the café you were previously in.

you sigh, shaking your head fondly as you turn in the opposite direction to head to work.

+++

turns out, friday seems to be a very popular night. not only do you have back to back meetings from 4 pm to 7 pm, but juyeon and jimin have texted you multiple times to confirm or (try) to make plans for friday night.

and honestly you didn't really want to go out. in between the radio silence between you, jeno, jaemin (who only really communicated in really stupid tiktoks back and forth), juyeon's suave maneuvering you into agreeing to a raincheck to saturday for the date, and jimin lamenting the fact that jaehyun hadn't brought up the 'what are we' conversation, there was so much going on.

all you needed were your friends, chinese takeout, and a little bit of jane the virgin. or other soapy dramas to take your mind off of everything.

but you had promised jimin and you'd be damned if you were going to bail on your friend when she was already not feeling well.

and besides, you refused to be a corporate slave who canceled on her friends because she was married to her job. that's not why you had chosen this job. and that's definitely why you had decided to reject pre-med as a sophomore in college.

so you find yourself taking shots with jimin in her kitchen and...jaehyun and juyeon.

when you had walked into jimin's apartment with nachos and shooters of pink whitney to pregame, you really weren't expecting to be face to face with juyeon - or jaehyun, honestly, given that jimin had been so heartbroken over the fact that jaehyun hadn't initiated the conversation yet.

not to mention the fact that she had made sure that the two of you were going out in the first place because of the whole jaehyun fiasco. so when you come face to face with the last person on the planet who should be in jimin's apartment, you're more than a little confused.

"oh, hey y/n. long time no see," jaehyun says with an easy smile, dimples showing that he had no clue that you knew that your best friend was waiting on a kind of serious conversation with him. you manage a tight smile before pulling shooters out of your purse, putting all four of them down on the counter in front of you.

"yeah. i thought it'd be a little longer though. jimin, i thought we were having a girls night?" you ask, eyes flashing at her when you turn out of view from jaehyun and juyeon. jimin just shrugs helplessly as juyeon steps in.

"don't blame her. i was the one who asked if we could tag along for the night. i promise we won't cause any trouble," juyeon says, and you turn to look at him, only to see him looking straight at jaehyun. his eyes dart between jaehyun and jimin before finally landing on you and you take the hint.

"oh. no worries. yeah, no worries at all, actually. hey, you know what i actually wanted to confirm something about tomorrow's plans with you if i could steal you for a couple seconds?" you say, leaving no room for denial as you wrap your arm in his and walk the both of you to the balcony, closing the door behind you.

"thank you for understanding - jaehyun wants to talk to jimin today about making things official but he's been so nervous about it that he's been putting it off. i figured that it would be better for me to come with him to make sure he doesn't chicken out. and catch you guys before you leave so that he doesn't sit and ferment in his feelings any longer," juyeon explains slowly, sure to refrain from turning around to see how things were going inside.

you lean over the metal bars of the balcony, the cold sinking into your skin in a refreshing way, the april air finally warming up enough to go out without needing a literal winter jacket.

"ahh. good idea. don't tell her i told you this but she was worried that he really wasn't into her," you say. juyeon snorts, a sound that's almost unbecoming from a man so handsome.

"isn't into her? he's head over heels for her. i don't think it's taken him more than thirty minutes to get into a relationship with someone if he wanted to. the fact that he took over a week to figure out his feelings means that he's serious. more serious than i've ever seen him." juyeon seems thoughtful as he trails off, letting his words sit on his tongue in a way that almost feels like he can truly feel the weight of the words.

"hm. or is just unsure of how he feels," you say, and juyeon looks at you strangely, turning so that he was leaning on the railing, his gaze fixated on you.

"are you really that cynical about men?" he asks chidingly, and you shrug.

"yeah. i mean. i don't know. i'm best friends with two of them so i know first hand how fucked up men can be. trust me, i pray to god every day for more patience before i fuck jeno or jaemin up for good," you say, and you can feel juyeon's presence grow cold at the mention of your best friends.

when you look at him though, he has nothing but warmth in his eyes and he smiles at you. "i will admit that there are a lot of messed up things that guys have done but it's not fair to categorize all men due to the faults of a few."

"uh-huh. and when men turn into heartbreakers after getting fucked over by one girl...it's okay?" you say, raising an eyebrow and you can feel juyeon trying to physically retract his statement.

"no. no. it's definitely not okay to hurt other people because you've been hurt. but give us some credit, okay? some of us are trying our best," juyeon says, and you watch as his eyes fall to your lips before dragging them upwards again.

"some of us are just trying to find our other half."

you're silent for a moment, and the moment is all you need to push off of the railings and turn to juyeon with a sad smile. "look juyeon, you're a great guy and i hate to nip things in the bud - especially with someone i get along so well with. but my friends are the most important people in my life. so i don't know what happened between you, jeno, or jaemin but i know that if it really came down to it, they take precedence."

juyeon nods, like he'd been expecting you to say as much. how, you don't understand, given that your reasoning had come out of pretty much left field. and for no real reason too. but men are predictable, easy to read, and all it takes is one moment to understand their intentions.

"yeah. i know. i figured you'd pick them. not that i'm trying to guilt you for that or that i expect you to pick me or anything but i still tried my best, you know," juyeon says casually, giving you a thinly suppressed heartbroken smile. you melt slightly as you turn to him, giving him a half shrug.

"i'm sorry. i'm sure your other half would be so lucky to have you," you say gently. you look at your phone, where jimin has texted you saying that she's going to have to bail on girls night as her and jaehyun had decided to stay in for the night. juyeon seemingly gets a similar text because when you look back inside to the apartment, jaehyun is holding hands with jimin, who uses her free hand to wave sheepishly at you as they recede backwards where the bedroom was.

"i guess we've overstayed our welcome," juyeon says with a laugh, opening the balcony door as the two of you make your way back inside to grab any personal belongings and leave before you witnessed something that would end up scarring you forever.

you eye the shooters and then exchange a look with juyeon.

“i know we’re not - whatever but honestly, i think that you’re good company and this kind of night doesn’t deserve go wasted,” you say, grabbing the shooters and juyeon’s hand and dragging him out of jimin’s apartment when you hear the very telltale sign of a bedroom door shutting down the hall.

juyeon takes one look at the shooters in your hand and the glint in your eyes before taking the two of the little bottles you offer to him.

“i can’t believe i’m doing this right now,” juyeon mutters under his breath, but his smile is lighthearted.

“what, grown men can’t drink pink whitney?” you ask, throwing a shooter back and immediately regretting the fact that you don’t have chasers with you. you may not be an amateur on the night scene but alcohol still always needed a chaser.

“no,” juyeon says, knocking back both of them a little too smoothly. “i meant taking shots with the girl who rejected me in front of her best friend’s apartment where her best friend and my best friend are fucking.”

you look at him, searching for any sense of genuine discontentedness but the way that juyeon’s eyes curve into teasing crescents convince you otherwise.

it would be so easy to choose him. so incredibly easy. but jeno’s face flashes through your mind and you find yourself taking a step back, shaking your head when juyeon looks at you questioningly.

“to the club!”

+++

there are two things that you learn about juyeon by the time you’re another two shots deep: a) he is an absolute gentleman - not just to you, but to the other people around the two of you as well. b) he is a very flirtatious drunk.

in fact, he manages the very big, very linebacker looking bouncer to let him into the club even though his name wasn’t on the list with nothing but a charming smile and an absolute inability to keep from flirting with everything and anything in sight.

which is funny to watch, especially from the other side of the bouncer, because every time juyeon says something particularly risqué, you can see the bouncer’s ears go bright red before he finally relents and lets juyeon in.

but it’s somehow less funny when he’s using those lines on you. it somehow makes your head dizzy and it makes you forget why you turned him down in the first place. you’re half-convinced that this had been juyeon’s plan all along. to turn on the charm to the max so that when you’re under the lights (that honestly might invoke epilepsy; why the fuck were they flying around the place like that), you forget all about jeno.

it’s a bad decision, you repeat to yourself as you watch juyeon make his way through the crowd to where you’re standing in an isolated, somewhat calmer corner. jeno and jaemin warned you against him for a reason. protect your peace, y/n.

and even while you repeat that to yourself over and over again, when juyeon’s hand holds yours precariously as he pulls you into the growing mess of bodies, you find it harder and harder to convince yourself that that was the truth. god, he looks good.

his hair has fallen messily across his forehead, contrasting the way it had been carefully gelled back before. he’s rolled up the sleeves of his button up to reveal his forearms, and you feel no matter than a man as your eyes trail the depths that planes of his chest promise from where they peek out of his half unbuttoned shirt.

you’re vaguely aware that there are various people waiting for you to either make a move or to push him away once and for all. it felt like every single person in the club was fixated upon the two of you - do you want him or not? because you’re holding up the fucking line. for you and your friend.

and so you take the plunge.

you move his hand from where it was innocently resting on your wrist and place it on the small of your back, smiling when juyeon takes the hint and draws you closer to him so that your chest is pressed against his.

“hey beautiful,” juyeon breathes as he looks down at you, almost in disbelief. “what are you doing here?”

you know, even tipsy, that he’s looking for a real answer. and you don’t want to play him - you don’t want to add to the list of heartbreak.

“i’m looking for someone to keep me company tonight,” you say and look up at him through your lashes, a coy smile playing on your lips when juyeon’s breath falters as you do so. “just for the night though. you know anyone who might interested?”

juyeon pulls you impossibly closer and you register the copious amounts of men (for you) and women (for him) that are turning away from the two of you, more than a little disappointed.

“yeah, i might know someone.” 

and with that, he spins you so that your back is pressed against his front, his arms caging you in protectively when he sees that a man is looking at you like he genuinely wants to eat you up.

you can feel your self-control slipping further and further away from you as the two of you just let the music fill you up, forgetting about your inhibitions as long as you had this music and him.

it’s too perfect though, and you realize as much when you make eye contact with jeno fucking lee across the club. right before he dips his head to whisper in some girl’s ear.

jaemin is right next to him, his arm laying casually on another girl and you can see the sheer panic in his eyes when he sees you, and then the confusion when he realizes just who you’re pressed up against. you watch as he leans over to whisper (yell; you’re sure that no one can whisper in an establishment threatening to break the sound barrier) something in jeno’s ear but he’s firmly shut down when jeno waves him off.

you scoff at that, turning around the pair of you around so that juyeon’s back was to the two idiots that you call your friends, now facing the dj booth.

the song switches to a much more upbeat song that you don’t recognize and you take it as your cue to push any and all thoughts of your friends out of your mind. you choose to give no apologies for the way that you spend your time - especially if your friends chose to give you no explanation for their behavior.

if they didn’t need to explain themselves, neither do you.

and it works for a while. for a while, all you can think of is the warmth that fills your body. from the alcohol, the heat of juyeon’s body pressed against yours, or even the excitement of the atmosphere; all if it is just so intoxicating.

you forget all about the fact act jeno and jaemin are just a few feet away, actively avoiding you (and doing a poor job of doing so) until juyeon spins you around, looking deep into your eyes in a way that makes you feel, heat rising to your cheeks as you watch his lips move.

“i know that you don’t want - honestly, whatever it is that you don’t want - but jeno and jaemin are here and you haven’t pushed me off of you. so i’m going to shoot my shot for one last time, y/n. and if you reject me this time, i think that we should go our separate ways,” juyeon says, his voice soft and gentle and yet somehow, you can hear every word he says with perfect clarity. 

you honestly don’t know what to say. juyeon had caught you in a bad moment with jeno and jaemin. more specifically, jeno. you didn’t want that to cloud your judgement though. you had known juyeon for a total of maybe a week. you had known jeno and jaemin for years and for those years, their opinions on the men in your life had very rarely been wrong. 

and yet, the boy that they had warned you against was pressed up against you and those two were on the other side of the club, arms wrapped around girls you knew they would forget about by the morning.

you sigh, stepping back from juyeon, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation making you sober up more than you want to. you hear the beat drop to ‘kiss me better’ by rihanna in the background building up and it seems like everything in the universe is just pushing you to give juyeon a chance.

but juyeon understand what you mean when you step away from him and he gives you one last, longing look before smiling, gently tugging you forward so that the two of you can make your way to a less crowded area.

“you wanna go home?” juyeon asks. you know that he’s asking for his own sake, almost as though he was asking for permission to get with someone else to nurse him through his rejection if you wouldn’t. but he’s a gentleman and he wouldn’t leave you for the wolves and so he asks you if you want to go home instead.

“yeah. i want to go home.”

juyeon nods, already pulling out his phone. “let me call you an uber. and y/n? i’m not upset. i’m just glad that i know i did everything i could. jeno’s a lucky guy for you to care this much about what he says and thinks.”

you want to disagree with him. he’s my friend. of course his opinions matter. sorry. it’s not personal. i actually liked spending time with you.

but even as these thoughts battle in your mind, you find yourself unable to say any of the words out loud. 

jimin was your friend but that stopped you very rarely from doing whatever you wanted to do in the end. jaemin would often yell at you for your terrible affinity for working yourself to the bone and you brushed his concern to the side every time. but it was different with jeno. it had always been different with jeno.

you’re too drunk to think about the implications of any of that though so you just smile once again, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to juyeon’s cheek.

“you’re so good, juyeon. regardless of what anyone says.”

and with that, you step into the uber that has reached the club in record time and head home.

+++

you’re not surprised by the text you get from jimin in the morning. or the one from jaemin. in fact, there are only two texts that surprise you when you manage to finally look at your phone with clear enough eyes.

jiminy cricket: OMG i’m so sorry abt last night love!! heard you went out w juyeon tho ;) we need to debrief fr

jaejaeminna: sorry i didn’t get a chance to say hi before you left

juyeon lee: did you get home safe?

ur mom (jeno): can we talk?

you respond to jimin with a quick for sure, girlie! before stepping into the shower, electing to ignore the rest of the messages in your phone. your roommate, jessica, a girl that you barely interacted with, given that she was usually at her boyfriend’s place or you were at jeno’s or jimin’s had kindly left extra pancakes that she had clearly made before she dashed out of the house.

you munch on them slowly, sending her a message of profound gratitude as you try to digest the events of last night (as well as the delicious pancakes), making sure to tousle your hair every so often to get it to dry faster.

first, jimin and jaehyun had clearly made things somewhat official (or at least were on the same page) which meant that you probably wouldn’t have to try and help jimin decipher what that entire situation was. a win, really. second, you and juyeon had gone clubbing together and had shared more than one or two intimate moments. third, you shot him down once and for all. fourth, he still called you an uber and made sure you made it home safe. fifth, you saw jeno and jaemin at the club and neither of them said anything to you.

this was officially the longest that you had gone without speaking to jeno - or even jaemin. 

even the stupid tiktok’s had faded away to nothingness by the end of last week from jaemin, which meant that something was so incredibly wrong, it wasn’t even funny.

also, jeno never said can we talk. 

it was usually a much more casual wanna get chinese? or even a bring your stupid ass over here cause jaemin misses you. that was more his speed in his form of apology or trying to make it clear to you that the two of you were back to normal now. he’d never acknowledge the two or three days of radio silence, electing to just pretend that they never happened in the first place.

so going from not talking at all to suddenly such a loaded question was new and kind of surreal for you. not to mention that jaemin’s last text to you was also indicative that something was seriously off between the three of you. the text before that had been a tiktok of a man sitting in a car yelling, “it’s the way you act!” and now it was that he didn’t say hi at the club.

you sigh, debating all of your options carefully. 

you were obviously going to have to talk to jeno about the situation at some point. and honestly, you were going to have to have a serious conversation about the fact that he would do this every so often because it’s getting way too much for you to handle. it wasn’t as though you were doing something wrong - jaemin would call you out on your behavior, even if jeno didn’t. 

you were left to decipher what exactly it was that had jeno in such a pissy mood and you would have to try and figure out what it is on your own because he’s a grown man that doesn’t know what communication meant. for someone who always warned you against the toxicity of men, he was doing a pretty great job of showing you exactly why to avoid them. 

pushing all thoughts of jeno and everything else to the side, you decide to take the day as a self-care day for yourself. lord knows that with everything you had going on, self-care was the one thing you desperately needed. of many things, really, but taking a walk and soul food was going to have to do.

you’re just putting on a face mask (one of the korean ones that you had had to sell your left foot to pay the shipping for) when your doorbell rings and you hate the way that you already know who’s at the door even before you step to the entryway, where the monitor is to see who is buzzing for you.

you’re greeted by jeno’s face, alone, looking worse for the wear as he ruffles his hair, shifting from foot to foot as he waits for you to either let him in or at least press the intercom to speak with him. you’re trying to make a decision and you know that decision, as trivial as it seems, would be what would set up your friendship with him in the future.

were you really going to give him another chance? even as he continued to mess up this hard?

you don’t say anything in the intercom but the faint buzzing noise that echoes in the monitor is response enough as jeno opens the door that has opened once you pressed the button, effectively solidifying your decision.

he was jeno. your jeno. you couldn’t just not listen to what he had to say.

the time that jeno takes to make it to the fourth floor where your apartment was seemed to have stretched on for eternity. you weren’t sure the last time that jeno had been in here (last weekend) but suddenly everything in the apartment was just too messy.

you panic and rush to clean everything in sight before you pause awkwardly. this is just jeno. the same boy who had come over and thrown up on your birthday after drinking too much at your party. the same boy who would be sitting in his room screaming into his headset as he played video games, having no regard for you and jaemin spending quality quiet time together. 

and he was also the boy who asked for space when you needed him the most.

so you put down your weapon of choice (a swiffer mop) and wait for the eventual knock at the door that finally comes about a half second later. you take a deep breath before opening the door, coming face to face with your ‘best friend’ of the past three years. 

the little monitor had done the damage little justice. the eyeballs under jeno’s eyes were deep and purple, with his cheekbones protruding a little more than you remember them to, and his gaze deep and sorrowful. 

but somehow, you could look past all of that because your gaze is caught by something else - the purple and very telling hickey on his neck. he’s clearly made an attempt to cover it up with what you assume is whatever foundation you might have left at their place on the nights that you’re too lazy to come home before work. the attempt isn’t all that successful, given that your foundation is about three hundred shades too dark for his skin (which is as pale as a ghost around this time of year) but you appreciate the effort.

not really.

jeno looks uncharacteristically shy as he stands in the living room, having switched out his shoes for his slippers that he bought specifically for your apartment once him and jaemin started coming over more often. they usually fought over ‘jeno’s’ slippers (they had peaches on them while ‘jaemin’s’ had ducks) but jaemin usually conceded to jeno.

usually, he’d be sprawled out on the sofa with little more than a half-hearted ‘hey’ and bags of chinese takeout on the kitchen counter but you see none of that now. now, he looked like a lost puppy, shuffling awkwardly to stand next to the couch.

it would almost be funny if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you haven’t spoken in a week. or the hickey.

“has it ever occurred to you that we might act like more than friends?” 

the question is sudden, breaking your nostalgia and bringing your train of thought to a screeching halt.

“excuse me?” your voice is calmer than you thought it would be in your head as you spin on your heel to look at jeno in the eye. he licks his lips, a nervous habit that he’d picked up from you, but his eyes don’t shift from yours, decidedly steady. he’s thought this for a while, you realize belatedly. it was just a question of how long and what that really meant.

“i mean you leave your foundation at my place and i buy slippers for yours. i can’t stand olives but when we get pizza, i get olives anyway so that you can pick them off of my slices and eat them. you don’t know your left from right but you still drive forty-five minutes down and back to the bakery to get iced lemon poundcake every time i’m upset.

“i can’t stand it when you meet a decent guy for once in your life and i go off the radar but we - i can’t spend more than a few days away from you. so, i’m always showing up at your apartment with chinese food when the last thing i want to do is hear about you raving about your new date who has a job at amazon and wears real rolex watches while i’m still eating instant ramen and trying to get a grip on life.

“the worst part is that i think i’ve always known. even last night, i was falling into my old pattern of using people to get over you, y/n. in between trying to figure out why i couldn’t click with anyone else besides you and trying to figure out why i feel so empty every time i feel like you’re slipping away from me, i think i figured it out. sure, i hate juyeon because of who he is and what he’s done in the past but i hate him even more because he used to be just like me. and now he’s changed so much and become such a good person. the fact that he’s the bigger, better, older, stronger version of me with his life together freaks me out so much because what if you replace me with him? and then i lose the one person i think i’ve ever properly fallen for and one of my best friends all in one go? and it’s all so selfish but when i have ever tried to hide myself from you, y/n?”

your mind is spinning. jeno is heaving by the end of his rambling. you can’t seem to find your grip on reality. everything is just wrong. it’s all wrong. everything is wrong. what?

jeno lee. playboy extraordinaire. mr. couldn’t be tied down. the boy who came home with a new broken heart in his jar of hearts that he hid deep inside his mind so he wouldn’t have to think of the unintentional consequences of having an unavailable pool of love.

and here he was, standing next to the couch in the living room, looking at you with so much anger, confusion, and sheer love in his eyes that you’re almost upset with yourself that you hadn’t seen it sooner. had he always looked at you like that?

you don’t know what to say though. you can’t even tell if he’s still talking, by the way that the blood is rushing in your head like an unforgiving tsunami has broken loose. you can’t hear anything, much too preoccupied with your own thoughts to even think of listening to his. 

you vaguely register the fact that you and jeno are somehow sitting on opposite ends of the couch, a good entire seat away from each other. that was good, at least. you’re sure that your legs would’ve given out on you at some point if you had remained standing.

“why do you hate juyeon so much?”

the question doesn’t seem to faze him as much as you wished it would. what was it with men and not being stunned by the most random questions or thoughts you can come up with? it somewhat frustrated you that you couldn’t stun them with the same shock factor that they seemed to utilize on you.

jeno sighs, raking a hand through his messy hair as he struggles to come up with the right words to say. or honestly, any non-stupid words.

“juyeon was actually one of the reasons why i came to snu in the first place. he was kind of like my mentor - a guy that i looked up to a lot in high school. he was one of my older friend’s roommate so when i came to check out snu, he toured me around and showed me his entire lifestyle. i was a senior in high school back then and he was just a sophomore but i swear, i’d never clicked with someone that fast before.

“he’s always been super smart and incredibly charming. and back when i met him, as a stupid senior in high school, i thought that everything that he had was what i wanted. he had a new girl at his apartment any time he wanted and always seemed like he had the entire college wrapped around his finger.” jeno gets up, looking frustrated as he starts pacing back and forth between the walls of the living room of the apartment.

“long story short, i caught him making out with my girlfriend at the time over the summer between high school and college. and it all came crashing down. in hindsight, maybe i shouldn’t have hated him nearly as much as i did but the fact that i couldn’t see that he had no qualms of getting with anyone who wanted to get with him hurt me. everything i had idolized came crashing down when i saw the two of them.” 

jeno stops pacing, looking down at his hands, rough and raw from the biting winds outside. “it just - it just hurt y/n. and it made it so incredibly easy to just not believe in love anymore. and then i met you and you came into college looking for the one and it was just so hard not to believe in love. when you said you were going out with juyeon, it took me back to the darkest parts of my past mentally. ridiculous? weak? yeah. i know. but i couldn’t help it.”

“it’s not weak or ridiculous, jeno,” you say gently, finding your voice once more. “i’m just hurt that you didn’t tell me before. i mean, i thought i was your best friend!”

jeno laughs drily, a grating sound that tugs at your heart strings. “but he’s gone clean, y/n. he’s everything that i couldn’t be and so much more. he’s near perfect. i couldn’t stop you from finding ‘the one’ that you’ve been dreaming about since i’ve known you. even if that meant that i finally had to let the past go. even if it meant that i had to give up on being able to love you.”

you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “jeno…”

jeno shakes his head, looking at you with watery eyes, dragging his red hands across them roughly. “stop. i don’t need pity. i just…i just wanted clarity. have you always thought of me as a friend? was i making up everything in my head? did - did i imagine that we could’ve had something this whole time?”

you’re at a loss for words. jeno wasn’t wrong. you’d gone to the ends of the earth to make jeno happy. any time he was upset, you’d drop everything to go get that goddamn lemon cake. you couldn’t go more than a week without him. even if the entire world went to shit, you’d always thought that you and jeno would go down together, fighting side by side. if it really came down to choosing between your friends, some part of you knew that you’d always choose jeno before jaemin or jimin.

and some part of you wonders if you’d always had that much affection for him.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. jeno’s face falls, and an awkward silence falls between the two of you, with his feet pointed to the door and muscles tensed to move. you know that if you don’t come up with the words to say something that’ll convince him to stay, you’ll have given him no reason to. you know he’s going to leave.

no matter what, you cannot lose jeno, you realize. he’s the one part of your life that cannot leave. he’s the person that buys slippers for your house. he’s the boy who can’t stand when he has to compete for your attention. he’s the man who’s shoulder you cry on when your heart suffers even the smallest scratch. 

he’s your jeno.

“i don’t know,” you begin, rushing to continue when you see jeno’s crestfallen expression. “but it’s all so sudden, jeno. you’ve been thinking about your feelings for a long while. i’ve honestly never considered the possibility of - of us being more than friends. of being together. maybe i’ve had feelings for you this whole time without knowing. maybe my ‘one’ has been you this whole time. maybe we’re better off as friends! i don’t know anything.”

jeno’s breath catches as he realizes what the hidden implication in your words is.

“but i’m willing to find out if you are.”

+++

after the enlightening conversation that you’d had with jeno that morning, you’d made plans with him to go on a proper date on wednesday, a day that you had nothing but boring meetings and jeno only had two classes. the two of you had decided to first go on the date and then try to figure out how you felt about each other from there. 

you’d also taken it upon yourself to curve juyeon once and for all. he was a great guy and you were sure that he’d be a great person to whoever he’s meant to be with but after reminding him that you were distinctly uninterested (and apologizing if you’d insinuated that you wanted to see him as an anything after that night), you’d deleted his number and all thoughts of him from your mind.

jaemin had been equally easy to make up with. you understood - after all, jaemin was jeno’s friend first and foremost. even if he didn’t necessarily agree with jeno and his tendencies, being his friend first meant that he had to prioritize jeno and his feelings. he was relieved to hear that jeno had finally grown the balls (verbatim) to confess the painstaking secret that he had been holding onto for the past three years.

“three years? he’s liked me since he met me? and you never said anything, jaemin?” you say incredulously, thanking the barista with a quick smile before grabbing your coffee, rushing to beat the morning sidewalk traffic as you walk to office.

jaemin’s face on your screen is mostly covered by his covers - a sign that he’s either skipping a class (ancient world history) or avoiding some work that he has to do. it was both, but he would concede neither to you.

“it wasn’t my place to say anything,” jaemin says finally, and you finally look at him properly through the little facetime box, watching him drag his hand over his face. he looks as though he’s aged about ten years in the time that you haven’t seen him - which was only a few days ago, technically. 

“and besides, you saw us at the club. did it look like jeno was exercising any type of common sense? clearly not. he wasn’t ready to listen to the truth, no matter who was delivering it. so there was no point in trying to make him to his senses,” jaemin continues, wrapping his blanket around himself a little tighter. “it didn’t help that his coping mechanism thus far has been to just run away from his issues, forget they exist, and then use a distraction to pretend that he was never affected by it in the first place.”

you sigh. this much was obvious to you as well. the day that jeno had come over, that had been one of the first things that you had confronted him about. he had presented a similar explanation then as jaemin was now but even if he didn’t say anything, you knew that was the truth.

“that reminds me - jimin texted me this morning asking if you were okay. have you talked to her since friday night?” jaemin asks and you groan. in all of this mess, you had completely neglected to debrief jimin and fill her in on everything that was happening.

“oh shit, i completely forgot to call her,” you say, swiping into the company building, smiling as you pass a familiar face. “i’ll talk to her tonight.”

“yeah. she seemed kinda worried. apparently juyeon told jaehyun that you two had cut it off for good and told him about you seeing jeno and i at the club. i guess jaehyun went and told jimin,” he says sullenly. you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

“just because you’re the only one getting no action doesn’t mean that you have to be jealous of jimin,” you say.

“no - what? no! it’s not that. i’m single by choice, thank you very much. i could have a hundred girls lining up for me if i wanted,” he says, clearly miffed. you stifle a laugh; it was so easy to rile men up. “but it’s like a violation of bro code. jaehyun knows that jeno doesn’t fuck with juyeon and he also knows that jimin is one of your best friends. like what did he think? that jimin wouldn’t tell jeno and i or that she wouldn’t talk to you about it?”

you blink, completely lost. “i swear to god, i think guys have more complex interpersonal links than girls do. i followed like maybe 20% of what you said.”

jaemin sticks his tongue out at you childishly. “whatever. don’t you have a job to do?”

“don’t you have a class that you’re paying thousands of dollars to take to go to?”

“touché.”

with that, jaemin ends the call but even as you finally sit down in your little glass office, you know that he’s absolutely not going to go to that class. it didn’t help that you’d taken the class last semester and had handed him your notes. at this point, he basically only went to take the tests - after studying your notes for maybe 10 minutes right before.

you’re about to call jaemin again to make sure that he actually gets up to go to class when there’s a knock on the glass of your office.

“y/n? someone’s ordered breakfast for you,” haerin, an underpaid and quite frankly undervalued intern at your office, says. she’s holding a little pastry box and a straw without any coffee. “the person who dropped it off said that he figured you’d already have coffee but you probably forgot the straw.”

you don’t even need to hear the name of your mystery courier boy because you already know who it is.

jeno.

+++

“he brought you breakfast? to your office?” jimin asks incredulously. you had called her soon after haerin had handed you the breakfast (with your favorite pastry inside the box). you seriously needed to hear a girl’s perspective on all of this, even if it was coming from the most romantic person you knew.

“yeah. i mean he’s done it before - like during my first couple of weeks of working, remember how stressed i was? he bought me lunch and dropped it off at the office, back when i was just an intern running around and didn’t have time to go and get it myself.” you blink, looking at jimin worriedly. “that’s not weird, is it?”

jimin ponders for a moment before shaking her head. “i mean you guys were best friends. i’d do it for you. but i don’t know. i feel like guys and girls who are just friends are more like siblings and i feel like girls who are really close are basically like a married couple.”

“why do you and jaemin always say weird shit that confuses me?”

“no - it’s like…like with a truly platonic set of girl and guy friends, they’re always doing sibling-like things. for example, i think i’ve seen you nearly give jaemin a black eye for taking a bite out of your pizza. but if i wanted a bite of your pizza, you’d probably honestly give me the whole slice. i don’t know, but it’s a dynamic that i’ve seen with all of my female friends compared to my guy friends. but you and jeno have never been like that.”

“i have most definitely tried to fight jeno over pizza. i’m sure i’ve fought him over much less, to be honest,” you say and jimin shrugs.

“i’m not here to make you feel one way or another about him. your feelings are yours to figure out. but as an outsider looking in, even if you were to fight him about something stupid like that, it was because that’s how you guys talked to each other. it’s not like you’re actually going to rip that pizza away from him. in the end, if he really wanted it, you’d concede to him. you don’t really do that for siblings. it’s charged in a different way.

“i’d give up my life for my older sister. but if she even looks at me the wrong way, i’m ready to pull out her hair. or my younger brother? he genuinely gets pleasure out of making me have to redo my entire skincare routine because he switched around all of the labels. would he send me breakfast to my office just because? fuck no. would he give me his kidney in a heartbeat? hell yeah.”

jimin looks down before looking up at you once more. “and even if none of that was true, you don’t look at jeno like you look at jaemin.”

this startles you out of your own attempts of running parallels between what jimin was describing and how you and jaemin were or how you and jeno were.

“what do you mean? how do i look at jeno?” you say, your voice coming out shockingly soft and confused.

“you know how you were kicking yourself about not realizing how jeno looks at you? yeah. that’s how i feel looking at you looking at jeno. i didn’t want to say anything to you about it. honestly, mostly because i hated seeing you get down every time he would just disappear from your life. i don’t know that as your friend, i should be encouraging you at all. but he makes you more happy than i’ve seen anyone else make you,” jimin says. “and that’s reason enough for me to be happy for you. to tell you what you don’t realize yourself. even when you dated other people, you always looked at them differently than you looked at jeno.”

“how do i look at jeno, jimin.” it’s not a question and both you and jimin know that you know the answer to what you’re truly asking.

“you look at him like you’re finally ready to love. like you’re realizing again that maybe jeno was the one you’d been waiting for every time.”

+++

your first date with jeno had been a full course of a dumpster fire with a side of natural disaster.

after your (jimin induced) realization that maybe you’d actually had feelings for jeno longer you’d thought, you find yourself going through the day as if you were on autopilot. jeno sends you breakfast on tuesday and wednesday morning as well, although he doesn’t mention a word of it when the two of you are texting.

at least nothing had changed there, thus far. he still sent you those stupid reaction memes that he found on pinterest and never failed to make fun of your typos in the group chat with you, jaemin, jeno, and now jimin. 

you hadn’t seen him since friday night but by the time wednesday rolls around, you wish that you had a little bit more time. you’re still reeling from your newfound enlightenment and some childish, hidden romantic side of you wants to bask in the uncertainty and the almost juvenile way that your heart beats a little faster whenever you think of the date tonight.

the two of you had decided that you were going to try and approach it as a truly romantic date, rather than the quick food runs that you were used to with him. which meant you were going to have to clean up and put on a dress - a sight that you’re sure jeno was truly not used to seeing after so long of you lounging around his apartment in sweats all day.

since this was the first proper date you were going on (you insisted that the date with juyeon didn’t count, since you had only gone with the intention of being a good friend to jimin.) in a good while, you’d called in the big guns for reinforcement. the only reinforcements you had, but that was besides the point.

“i still don’t get why you’re curling your hair. it looks so pretty naturally,” jimin laments, setting down the section of hair that she was working as she moves onto the next.

“i know. it’s kinda silly but i wanna feel cute - like i wanna look feminine and feel cute when i see jeno. it’s stupid and i swear it goes against everything feminism has taught me but i just want to feel and look like my inner girly-girl has been begging me to,” you explain, pouting when you catch jimin laughing through the reflection of the vanity mirror where you were sitting.

“baby, that’s not silly at all. and it doesn’t go against feminism to want to dress up and look cute! reminder: feminism is about empowering other women and helping everyone have the freedom to choose what they want for themselves. whether that’s dressing up cute or being a stay-at-home mom or being a working woman or some combination of all of the above and then some,” jimin says and then there’s a wicked glint in her eyes. “it’s also very feminist to get men to do your bidding, i think. and hey, if you have to put on a little black dress to do that, then i’m all for it.”

“you sound absolutely ridiculous,” you scoff, but a little smile tugs at the corner of your lips anyway. 

“speaking of little black dresses, you’re wearing a matching set underneath, right?” jimin teases. you swat at her with your free hand that wasn’t applying glitter to your inner eye. “i’m holding a hot iron, you psycho!”

“jimin! i’m not going to have sex on the first date. not that i’m above it but jeno is different,” you say and jimin unfortunately catches the underlying longing tone in your words.

“oh he’s different, is he? girl, where having you been hiding all these feelings for so long?” she says and you find yourself not being able to come up with a rebuttal. honestly, you didn’t know how either of you had been so blind to your feelings for each other. and suddenly, a cold rush of fear runs down your spine.

you twist in your chair, ignoring jimin’s protest that she was almost done with your hair. “wait. you don’t think that this is a mistake, right? like what if he thinks that he has feelings for me but it’s been the chase this whole time. or what if we just don’t click like we think we will? what if i lose my friend and the person that i think i’ve liked for longer than i’d like to admit in one go.”

jimin’s expression turns serious at that. “y/n, you’ve only had a week to figure out your feelings. it’s okay if you want to raincheck and then go on the date when you’re more sure of how you feel, if that’s what you want.”

“that’s not what i want. i think that i actually have liked him for longer than i think. it’s just been so hard to realize that because he’s always been with someone and i’ve always been waiting for the one. it just scares me to think that maybe the one that i’ve been looking for is someone who actually doesn’t think that i’m the one, you know? i don’t know if i could live with losing him.” you blink furiously, willing yourself to not let a single tear fall and ruin all of your hard work for the past couple of hours.

“trust me, y/n, if you’re sure about your feelings and if he really is the one, then everything will work out. have a little faith in the universe.” no sooner does jimin say this, the buzzer rings and you and jimin look at each other in panic.

“it’s still 5:50! he said he was coming at 6:00!” you exclaim and jimin rushes to finish your hair. “you have to distract him! i still have to put my dress on!”

“oh my good lord, i forgot about that. okay, you focus on getting ready, i’m running!” jimin says, cursing when she trips over the cord to the curling iron as she’s running to open the door for jeno.

you shimmy out of your pajamas in hurried movements as you hear jimin say that jeno could come up but that the elevator was broken so he’d have to come up by stairs.

“there’s no sign that says the elevator is broken though,” you hear jeno say as you’re caught in one of the legs of your pajamas, shaking it off wildly as jimin tries to come up with a random explanation on why exactly the elevator had no sign.

“yeah, it actually just broke. like right now. like it was so recent that they didn’t have a chance to put a sign up yet. in fact, i bet that we’re in a space-time pocket and time just moves faster for you and slower for people inside. maybe this building is narnia or something,” jimin says. the room is silent for a moment before you hear the sound of the elevator dinging and you wince, your movements no doubt mirrored by jimin.

you can already see jeno’s amused smirk as jimin says that the elevators must’ve been repaired by the aliens in the space-time pocket. but they were living in a speed that was faster than human senses.

you’d seriously have to buy her a drink when this date was over, you think to yourself as you struggle to zip up the back of the dress. you don’t think that you’ve heard jimin pull out that much utter bullshit in one breath before.

you have heard jaemin say something similar before though, so it made sense that jeno was neither fazed nor taking her seriously. not that anyone could take that seriously, anyway. 

you’ve finally managed to contort your body in the right position to zip up the dress when you hear the door open and jeno saying something to jimin.

“i know i’m early. and i know she’s definitely not ready. but i found these earrings in my apartment and i figured that she’d want to wear these. if i know her at all, she’s wearing black and she always says that she loves to wear these earrings with her black outfits.”

you open the door just slightly for jimin to slip into your bedroom and deposit the earrings in your hands. 

“how do i look?” you whisper, waiting for jimin’s reaction with bated breath.

jimin smiles at you and wraps you up in a tight hug, careful not to wrinkle the silky fabric of your dress. 

“like a dream.”

that works for you and you take a deep breath before opening to door to see jeno. it’s just jeno, you remind yourself. and although it’s not just jeno because you don’t know if he’s ever been just jeno to you, the words serve as a good reminder.

he’s jeno. your jeno. not someone to be afraid of. someone who’s seen every side of you and still wants to see more sides.

you walk into the living room, where jeno is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone (tiktok, as you can tell by sounds of football highlights). there’s a bouquet of flowers, gardenias, laying across his lap and he’s clearly cleaned himself well. he’s wearing a black button down and rolled up the sleeves to reveal the tattoo that he’d gotten halfway through freshman year.

it’s a tattoo of jeno’s favorite quote from his favorite movie, chappie. you are made for good.

he introduced you to the movie early into your friendship, and had been thrilled when he realized that you liked as much as he did. in fact, the same quote that he had gotten tattooed on his forearm was the one that you had custom-made for your phone case. huh.

how long had you and jeno been doing things like this? since the very beginning, you balk.

“you look beautiful.” jeno’s voice is low, softer than you remember and your instinct is to counter him and say that you always look beautiful but he looks a little too sweet under the light of skylights for you to find it in yourself to do so. 

“thank you.” you lean closer, eyes crinkling into a smile when you recognize the cologne that jeno was wearing. “is that the cologne i got you in sophomore year?”

jeno nods and smiles with you. “jaemin said that my normal one was too…fuckboy.”

“the sauvage one? hell yeah, it is. i think that most girls have a trauma response to that cologne at this point,” you say, and suddenly everything is so simple again. it’s your jeno, after all.

“it’s a good thing i listened to jaemin, then.”

you cock your head and you’re vaguely sure that he means more than just his cologne choices.

“yeah, i guess it was.”

+++

pretty much everything from there went completely wrong. for one, jeno’s car (which was infamous for coming up with the most random issues at the worst times) had decided to blare with just about every warning known to man almost as soon as the two of you sit in the car. 

by the time that jaemin arrives to where the two of you had pulled over to take the car to the car dealership, jimin offering her car instead, the two of you were already about thirty minutes late to your reservation. 

it had taken a lot of persuasion on jeno’s end to convince the restaurant to let the two of you sit and eat anyway, although you were past half an hour late for your reservation. as if that weren’t enough, the restaurant refused to accommodate for your dietary restrictions (even though they promised that they did on their website!), causing you to only be able to order an overpriced caesar salad with maybe three vegetables and too much vinegar.

then, as you were leaving, you found out that the valet had parked pretty much on the other side of the country. and it was pouring rain. to the extent that your phone had gone off about three times with warnings that there was a flood watch in seoul.

which meant that jeno had had to book it to run to get the car and pull it up to the front of the restaurant, where you were waiting, shivering even with jeno’s jacket around your shoulders. and due to the layout of the restaurant’s front, you were forced to run in the run in the rain anyway to dive into the passenger seat of jimin’s car. 

and yet, even with all of this, you couldn’t help but laugh. the date was perfect. every time something occurred, jeno handled it with ease, allowing you to just turn off your brain and let him take care of everything for you. he would always turn to you with a silly smile and another story of how the two of you always seemed to find yourselves in the most unbelievable situations.

through all of this, you finally understand what you had been thinking that you wanted this whole time in your wait for the one. not someone who made sure that everything was perfect and that the date was always planned out to the t.

no, it was someone who made you feel like you were having a good time, even when everything was going to shit. 

you look at jeno, recounting some story about how jaemin and him had snuck into a wedding once to eat food after days of cooking instant ramen in their dorm in freshman year, laughing so hard that you could barely hear the pelting rain outside. and seeing him smile like that, feeling yourself smile like that, just because you knew that he was smiling, your heart finally felt at ease.

definitely not a platonic type of love, you decide.

“hey, you okay?” jeno asks, eyes trained on the road in front of him as he navigates to your apartment. “you seem kind of checked out.”

you smile, shaking your head. “yeah. i’m all good. i was…i was just thinking about how stupid i’d been to think that i’d been looking everywhere but right in front of me for ‘the one’ when i didn’t even know what i wanted.”

“yeah? what do you want?” jeno says, his grip on the steering wheel growing tighter as he waits nervously for your answer. you look at him and jeno has to fight himself to keep looking at the road when he wants nothing but to look at you and commit this vision of you to memory.

your glinting earrings and your twinkling eyes under the seoul night sky. your drenched dress and jeno’s jacket across your lap. your wet hair that still somehow looked sexy as you flipped it over your shoulder. your soft smile and seeing you finally look at him the way that he’d been looking at you this whole time. he wants to capture it all within his mind and never forget the way you were looking at him now.

“i want someone to make me feel like that even the stupidest situations were easy to overcome when i’m with them,” you say softly. 

jeno pauses at that, heart beating a little too fast to be good for him. a smile tugs at his lips, no matter how stoic he tries to look. “oh? does this mean you think this date was a success?”

“i think this date was an utter flop,” you say drily and jeno rolls his eyes at that. “but i think my date was pretty great. i’m not going to lie, i’m still a little hungry though.”

“i still can’t believe that they gave you a bowl of lettuce and charged like $30 for that,” jeno says, shaking his fist dramatically. “i’m going to write a scathing yelp review.”

“i mean i didn’t have to pay so that yelp review’s all yours,” you say before turning to him with a sly smirk. “aren’t you going to ask what i’m hungry for though?”

“what do you mean? what are you hungry for?” he asks, turning onto your street. 

“ramen. wanna eat ramen and go?”

jeno has to use all of his self-will to keep from hydroplaning as he pulls into your apartment complex. “y/n. you want me to eat ramen and go?”

“yeah. i meant that literally though. you wanna eat ramen and then maybe ramen?” you ask, batting your eyelashes innocently at him as he parks jimin’s car in your designated parking spot.

“uh, isn’t jimin at your place?” jeno asks, feeling his heart skip a beat when you shake your head no. 

“jaehyun’s apartment is like two complexes down so she just walked over. why? you don’t want to eat ramen with me?” you say, faking a sullen pout. jeno rushes to correct himself, resting his hand on your thigh gently.

“look, y/n, i think that you’re incredibly attractive and i really like you. but that’s - that’s my issue. i like you so much that i don’t want to make you feel like i was trying to get in your pants and then do something that you or i regret. and i know that you’re probably just saying that to get a rise out of me but hear me when i say that i want to take things slow. for your sake, not mine.

“i’ve been thinking about my feelings for so long and i’ve been thinking about how in love with you i am for longer than you might think. to me, sex would kinda just be the next step in taking our relationship to the next level. but i know you. you’ve really only been thinking about this about us for the past week or so. i don’t want to make you feel like you’re obligated to like me if we sleep together. i know that sex isn’t just sex for girls; or maybe it is but isn’t for you, no matter how much you tell me otherwise. and i honestly don’t know where i’m going with any of this but y/n, my feelings for you are true.

“i want to take things slow because if we take that next step, i want it to be when you’re sure. when you’re sure of how you feel for me. maybe i’m not the one for you, y/n. and as much it kills me to say that, it’s a very real possibility. you deserve someone who’d bring down the moon and gift it to you if that’s what you wanted. and i know that i would do that for you. but i need you to believe that too. wholeheartedly. i’ll wait for you for as long as you need. you’re my person, y/n. i’ve waited three years - granted, three very controversial years - for you. i’ll wait three more if that’s what you need.”

you’d said the ramen thing very jokingly, only half-serious about your proposition. but hearing jeno now, you’re happy that you had. you’re not sure that jeno would’ve told you how felt about you and just how deep his feelings ran for you if you hadn’t. he was right, of course. he knew you better than anyone else, after all.

so you kiss him on the cheek good night and open the passenger side door.

you’re about to close the door behind you, ready to bid him goodbye for the night when you lean down to say something to him.

“thank you for waiting for me, jeno.”

+++

turns out, romantic jeno is just like just friends jeno. mostly because you don’t think that you’ve ever truly been just friends. he’s quiet, teases you at any given moment, and listens to you recount even the most boring stories about work.

you went on a couple more dates with all of the formalities before slowly growing more casual with each other once more. neither of you had brought up the topic of physical touch after that night but lately, it was getting harder and harder to find places on jeno’s face to kiss besides his lips.

not to mention that you’d caught jeno’s lingering gaze on your lips (among other things) more and more often. so, just like everything else in your relationship, your first kiss was completely unexpected.

jeno had come over with chinese takeout, since the two of you (honestly, you had made the decision and jeno was just along for the ride) had decided to start the indiana jones franchise together. 

you didn’t know what it was. the tousled hair? the way his arm was casually tugging you into to his side, covering your entire side as you cuddled closer into him? the way he was only a breath away from you? the look in eyes when he tears his eyes away from to look at you with the sweetest gaze?

everything. all of the above. you lean up to peck him swiftly on the lips. 

jeno freezes, eyes going round as his entire face turns bright red. it was hard to think that just two months ago, jeno had been walking around with a girl on either side of him at a frat party, the promise of a good night hidden in his smile when he looks like a deer caught in headlights at the slightest sign of physical touch.

“did - did you just kiss me?” he stutters, and you shrug playfully, looking back the movie in front of you. he shifts you so that you’re facing him, unable to look away as he turns to face you.

“i thought we’re taking it slow?” he asks and you smile coyly.

“a month and a half of dating wasn’t enough to convince you that i actually like you the way that you like me, jeno?”

that’s all jeno needs to hear because no sooner do you say this does jeno dip his head to press his lips to yours, gentle and undemanding. he’s soft and careful, almost as if he were afraid that you were going to disappear if he chased after you too hard.

but you’d been waiting long enough and this was jeno so you pull away from him, a horde of butterflies settling in your stomach when he chases after your lips, eyes still closed, as if he couldn’t bear to part from them.

“jeno, i’m going to do something and you have got to tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” you whisper against his lips softly and jeno nods, opening his eyes so that you can see the look of absolute love and trust in them.

you get up and hook your leg over both of his so that you were effectively sitting on his lap, poised dangerously so that you could part from him at the slightest sign of discomfort. it never comes, though because as soon as you do this, jeno pulls you in closer so that his chest was pressed flush against yours.

“are you sure?” he says, confirming for the last time as you see the last strings of his resolve snap.

“god, jeno, i love you. now please just kiss me.”

his lips are pressed against yours the second the words leave your mouth, a little rougher and more insistent than last time. his arms are wrapped around your back and waist, eyes closed and you lose yourself in the feeling of being so close to him.

needless to say, that night had been a long night.

+++

“i look like an idiot,” your boyfriend complains, checking himself out in the mirror of your vanity anyway. you giggle, pressing a kiss to his temple so that you don’t mess up his make-up, carefully dodging the stray glare that he offers you.

“you look beautiful, jeno. and besides, this is for a good cause, remember?” you remind him as you make sure that your costume looks good as well.

“i don’t remember what me dressing up as a spandex wearing animated character has to do with changing the world, but alright,” jeno grumbles, shifting uncomfortably as his ‘uniform’ seems to cling to all the wrong places.

“you say that now but you and i both know that the moment you see those kids at the hospital, you’re a sucker. tell me you aren’t going to practice your mr. incredible in the car,” you say cheekily, and jeno is unable to refute that. ever since you and him have been dating, you have often dragged him to events such as these.

at first, they were rather simple things, almost as if you were testing the waters with jeno. for example, when the two of you went on a date to a zoo in the beginning of your relationship, you casually mentioned that many zoos that didn’t treat their animals with love and respect.

then, soon after, you asked him to sign a ‘take down unethical zoo practices!’ petition. and then from there, jeno found himself at a protest to rally for the rights of beluga whales. 

not that jeno had anything against whales (he actually came to be quite passionate about the mistreatment of them the more he went to these events), but the fact that you took the world’s issues to be your issues was simultaneously your biggest character flaw and strength.

and he loved you all the more for it.

“you know who you are?” jeno says, swiveling around in the chair to mean mug you. “you’re woo young woo from that one kdrama. and i’m that poor unsuspecting boyfriend who wants to spend time with his girlfriend but ends up at a whale protest anyway. that’s what cute girls like you and her do; you get our attention, make us fall in love, and then ba-bam! you use us as a bodyguard and backpack carrier at protests and rallies!”

you roll your eyes, leaning down so that you were now eye level with jeno, the both of you lovingly aware that the banter between the two of you was not a symbol of actual annoyance but rather, mutual appreciation. you, for having so much empathy. jeno, for being so patient.

your heart swells when jeno looks at you with such loving eyes, trust and admiration swimming behind his façade of annoyance. you lean forward, pressing your lips to his, involuntarily smiling when you feel jeno’s lips curve upwards as well.

he hums softly, pulling you close so that you’re practically sitting on his lap. gentle and strong. a little callous, but only so that the butterflies in your stomach seem to be rebelling against the confines of your stomach, as if they too want to be showered in the love of your kindhearted and wonderful boyfriend.

you want to melt into his embrace, as you usually do whenever you’re near jeno, but your phone buzzes and you sigh, pulling away from your boyfriend reluctantly.

“that’s jaemin. he’s asking, and i quote, ‘what the fuck are you guys doing i’ll whoop your ass if you don’t come soon i hate this fucking gru costume and the kids keep asking where you are’. you think we should get going maybe?” you say, raising your eyebrows at the series (of rather graphic) of emojis that depict you and jeno conveniently being pushed off a cliff.

jeno snorts at his best friend’s antics, his touch lingering on your waist as he leaves to go start the car. he waits for you to finish responding (with a threatening message of your own) before extending his arm without even looking, waiting for the comforting weight of you clinging to his arm as the two of you leave your shared home, walking into the buttery evening.

it truly couldn’t get much better than this.

[sankttealeaf]

painted skies

part one | part two || AO3

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; you cross paths again with Arthur and decide to follow up on an offer he gave you the last time you met.

warnings ; gun violence, injuries, blood, nightmares

other info ; here is part three <3 reader and arthur go on a little adventure together! i'm so out of my depth writing anything romantic, i'm an angst girlie at heart - but this year is abt doing new things!!! also thanks for all the love on this series, it rly warms my heart and i love seeing everyone's reactions to it! this is double the length of the previous two chapters, not sure what happened there. hope u enjoy!! <3 (i've also included the AO3 link if that's more your thing!)

word count: 19.5k (it's a long one!)

After your very successful exhibition a few weeks back, things had been going well for you. The money from your paintings came in and you made sure to keep most of it aside for the future - the last thing you wanted to do was to spend it all on pointless things and fall back to square one again.

You had a few new clients lined up ready to discuss purchasing some of your work from you, which only added to your feeling of success. It was nice to have a steady source of income, especially after so long of nothing. You put most of the success down to Arthur and his help at the exhibition - there was no way you would be in this position if it weren't for him. It must've been fate for your paths to have crossed, though you tried not to believe too much in fate and destiny. The last thing you wanted was to get caught up in dissecting the meaning of everything, wondering if it was actually fate or just a simple coincidence. There was no time for that. Yours and Arthur's paths had crossed at the right time, and that was that. No hidden meaning, no divine intervention, nothing. 

Just two ships passing in the night.

You had noticed that since your last meeting with Arthur that the man made an appearance in your mind more often than you cared to admit. Sometimes you would find yourself sitting at your table, glancing over to where he once sat, wondering what he could be up to. There was still a large aura of mystery around him and you wanted to dig deeper, to break through his walls and find out what lay underneath. But you couldn't exactly do that when he wasn't here. So, you waited. You made excuses to go outside more in the hopes that you walked into him. Your heartbeat would race every time you heard a knock at your door, and then drop when it was just a friend or a neighbour asking for something.

It had gotten to the point where your friends would comment about how your face would fall every time you opened the door to them, and you were quick to brush it off. It wasn't like you wanted him to be behind every knock, you just… missed his company. Yes, that was it. You missed his company. That's what you kept telling yourself. 

The days following your last encounter with him you kept replaying every moment in your mind, especially everything that led up to you kissing his cheek. Where that sudden burst of confidence came from you had no idea, but something about it stuck in your mind and now every time he crossed your thoughts you couldn't help but blush and feel very nervous. 

The idea that maybe you had more than friendly feelings towards him came after a night out with your friends - you were celebrating one of your friends engagement, and after a few too many drinks you had started to spill the beans to them about Arthur - the mysterious man who you thought about a lot, the person who helped you out with your work, who was the reason you had a lot of extra cash on you these days. Your friends teased you, poking fun at you and telling you that you obviously had a crush, and you were quick to dismiss their claims. It wasn't like that, you said, and they laughed and the conversation moved on. Lucky for you, the night ended with everyone far too drunk to remember what happened that evening. 

You remembered it though, and it left you stuck thinking about what they said on loop, trying to convince yourself that it wasn't true. Two ships. Friends. Nothing more.

Today was your day of doing things. You had errands to run, mostly for food, but you wanted to drop by Wiedemann & Carter to pick up some more materials. Your stock of canvases has started to run low, and you preferred to have a few extra around just in case of an emergency. Rumours had also started to circulate through your friend group that there were new jams in stock over at Perrault Preserves, and you really wanted to indulge yourself in something nice. Art supplies, jams and actual food. Just the things people need to survive.

The day was proving to be a hot one, the air thick as you walked through the streets. It was late spring at this point, and you were already dreading the hot summer that would follow. Saint Denis was great until the heat got too much to bear and you felt like you were melting in your apartment. It could always get worse, you told yourself as you tried to stick to the shade as much as possible, wanting to make the most of the cooler air.

The docks felt a little cooler, partly due to the open space and partly due to the soft breeze that came from the water. Still stuffy, though. Still too warm.

You were quick to make your way to the general store, going over the list of things you needed in your head. There were some items you’d prefer to get at the market, but at this time of day it was usually busy and the thought of being surrounded by a crowd in this heat was less than ideal. 

You gave a small smile and a nod towards the shopkeep, and began to search the shelves for the things you needed. Some biscuits, some ground coffee, and maybe some candy to treat yourself. You considered the canned goods, but decided against it. They tasted better fresh, which meant that you would need to visit the market for them. Maybe tomorrow morning, that way you could beat the rush. You made idle conversation with the shopkeeper as he rang up your goods, and you paid. With a warm smile, you left. Easy. Next stop, the art supplies store.

You stepped out onto the street, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a horse with a very familiar pattern, hitched outside. You couldn’t help but smile, immediately making your way over to her.

"Hey there, bud," you cooed softly. "You're lookin' as pretty as ever. Here-" You rummaged through your bag quickly, pulling out a peppermint that you had just bought. "Want a treat?"

She happily nosed against your hand, quick to eat the treat. With a gentle bump against your arm, you took a step back, not wanting her to try and eat the rest of your groceries. 

"Sorry, girl. That's all I've got for you. I need the rest of these for myself," you said apologetically, though you were sure she didn't mind. It was then you realised you never found out her name from Arthur. You looked around you, trying to see if you could spot him.

“Where did he get to, huh?” You said, giving her a gentle scratch on her forehead. There was no sign of him anywhere, and you couldn't help but feel saddened at the thought that maybe you had missed him this time. You couldn't wait by his horse forever - there were more errands you needed to run today. As heavy as your heart was, you gave a final pat on her neck, mumbling a small goodbye to her before setting off on your way. 

You walked down the road, putting your bag of groceries carefully into your other bag as you pushed down any disappointment you had about not seeing Arthur. It was fine, you told yourself. There would be plenty of other opportunities to say hello and to catch up. Life happens, and that was okay. You pushed your thoughts to other things as you walked, taking your mind off of Arthur, until you heard your name being called out from in front of you. Looking up, you first noticed the familiar hat that he wore, before you caught him moving past people to approach you. Arthur was wearing a similar outfit to the one you first saw him in, though this time his sleeves were rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. You pulled your eyes away from his arms and chest, giving him a warm smile.

"Arthur!"

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, matching the smile on your face.

"I live here!" You replied, wishing you had thought of something better to say than the obvious. "I mean, I'm running errands. Getting food, buying supplies. Today is my day of doing things I’ve been putting off."

"Guess we're both doin' the same thing today." He held up his hand, which you now saw had a few letters in it. That made sense; he came from the direction of the post office.

“Someone’s popular.”

“They ain’t all for me. Most are for…” He paused, and you could see him think over his words before speaking again. “For others.”

“Are you stealing mail now?”

“No, no. Not yet, anyway. I may have to reconsider my life if I ever get to the point of stealin’ mail from others.” He laughed at that, continuing to walk down the road in the direction of where his horse was hitched. That was something you could scratch from the list of possible occupations Arthur had now that you knew he didn't steal mail. Though, it still left you with too many other options. He stopped a few feet from you, looking to see if you were following. You then fell into step next to him, giving him a quick smile. 

“You’re one tricky person to stumble across, you know,” he said after a few moments of walking in silence, and you gave him an odd look.

“Have you been looking out for me?” It was funny to think that both of you were simply waiting for the other to turn up out of nowhere. “You know where I live. You could’ve dropped by whenever.”

“Thought it would be weird if I did that.” He shrugged halfheartedly, as he made his way over to his horse, opening up a saddle bag and stowing the letters away.

“Well,” you started, approaching his horse again and giving her a gentle scratch on her forehead. “I can’t say I wasn’t waiting for you to show up at some point…”

He paused, looking at you. “You were?”

“Did you not hear when I said to drop by whenever you visited the city?” You let out a small laugh, as his horse nudged your shoulder, demanding more affection.

“I didn't realise you meant it. Just… thought it was out of politeness,” he replied, as you shook your head. All this time you were sitting there, waiting for Arthur to drop by and he was doing the same exact thing, wandering the city in hopes of bumping into you.

“How many times have you stopped by here since we last saw each other?” you asked out of curiosity, watching as his cheeks turned a faint shade of red.

“Only a few. Been runnin’ errands for the rest of us back at camp,” he said, and you were quick to note that down, gaining more insight on Arthur and who he was.

You nodded, eyeing him carefully. “So you’re located somewhere nearby, huh?”

“A little ride away. And that’s all you’re gettin’. There’s no point keeping low if I start tellin’ everyone where we are hiding.”

“I didn't know you were laying low, either. I’m learning so much about you, Arthur Morgan.” You grinned, moving around his horse to stand closer. “Mysterious man shows up with a pretty horse, helps me sell my artwork for more than it’s worth, and claims he does ‘nothing good’. I don’t even know the name of your horse that helped me to make all that money! But now? Now I know you’re hiding from something. What are you runnin’ from, Mister Morgan?”

He looked down at you, his face unwavering. You tried to search for something, anything to give you a hint as to who he really was, but you couldn’t find anything. He gestured his head to his horse, and smiled. “Artemis.”

You blinked. “You’re running from the god?”

He laughed, shaking his head as you realised what question he was answering. Artemis was his horse’s name. That made more sense.

“Artemis… Suits her,” you said, watching as he walked around you, giving her a pat on her neck.

“Were you on your way back home?” he asked, searching through his bag and pulling out an oatcake for Artemis.

“Oh, I have a few more errands to run. What about you?” You were hoping that you could spend a few more moments with him.

“I gotta visit the gunsmith, somethin’s up with one of my revolvers and I can’t seem to work out what’s up with it at this point,” he said, and you nodded, your eyes automatically dropping to his hips where two of his guns were holstered. Your mind had managed to forget that part of him every time you recalled the time spent together, and now you felt a little silly for doing so.

“Ah.” You looked back up at him. “Well, if you want some company over there, I’m happy to walk with you.”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” He gave you a smile. “You doin’ alright since we last talked?”

You caught him up with what had been going on since the exhibition - explaining how the other paintings sold as well, and how you had a few clients lined up who were eager to get their hands on some of your work. It was refreshing to have a steady stream of work to do, and you were excited to get started. You threw the question back to Arthur, who kept his answer brief. He had been busy, though with what you still weren’t too sure, and told you that he had met some other interesting people while in Saint Denis. The city had a habit of attracting the strange and curious, and you had lost count of how many odd people you came across.

The streets were busy as you walked up the road towards the gunsmiths, and you stopped outside of it, looking in the windows at the guns on display. It was an area of life you were very far from, and in a way you were lucky that you didn't need to rely on a gun to stay safe out there. Though learning how to use one couldn’t hurt…

“You comin’ in, too?” Arthur asked, pushing open the door as he looked at you.

Out of the many stores in the city, you weren’t sure if you had even stepped foot in the gunsmith’s. It wasn’t a place you needed to visit, but your curiosity got the better of you as you nodded, wanting to see what was inside. Guns, probably, you thought. Arthur held the door open for you as you stepped in, immediately feeling very out of place here.

The shopkeeper gave you both a smile and a nod, as Arthur went straight towards him, leaving you standing awkwardly by the door. Guns and bullets and other weapons were displayed in cabinets behind barred doors. You thought it was a smart idea to keep them locked away, especially in a city like this. One thing that felt a little out of place to you was the large amount of dead animals that either were taxidermied or were their bones that lined the walls. The alligator that stood in the middle of the room caught your eye, and you gave it a curious look, half expecting it to shut its mouth and start moving. What an odd thing to have in a gunshop, you thought.

The shopkeep and Arthur began talking, and you decided to take a look around at the wares and make the most of your time here - you were pretty sure you wouldn't need to step foot in here again. You picked up a small box of bullets, gently turning it around in your hand as you listened to Arthur’s conversation, keeping your back to the both of them. He was explaining an issue with his revolver, how sometimes it would get jammed for no reason - no amount of cleaning or messing around with it helped. You heard footsteps walk off, and turned to look over your shoulder. The shopkeeper was gone, and Arthur was leaning against the counter, tapping his fingers against it as he waited. You set the box of bullets down, and walked over to him.

“Sure is a lot of stuff here,” you said, your eyes scanning the weapons on the wall behind the counter.

“A lot of it’s overpriced, too,” he said quietly, leaning towards you as he spoke. “I wouldn't buy anythin’ here, go further from the city and it gets a lot cheaper.”

"I'll keep that in mind," you replied, picking up a box of revolver cartridges that were on the counter, popping the lid open to look inside. "I never really wrapped my head around guns."

"They aren't too complicated once you understand 'em," he said, taking the box from you. He examined the bullets for a moment, before closing it up and swiftly dropping the box into his satchel.

Your eyes widened at the movement, at how easily he slipped them into his bag. Arthur grinned down at you, and held a finger up to his lips. With a wink, he faced away as footsteps were heard entering the room. The shopkeep returned, holding Arthur's revolver in his hand.

"This should work now," he said, placing the gun on the counter for Arthur to take. You spotted a small engraving on the handle of the gun - a small stag. He took his gun before you could get a proper look, flipping it over in his hand.

“It definitely feels better,” he said, checking and double checking areas that he thought were the issue. It looked the same to you, but guns aren't your forte. He seemed satisfied enough though, and slipped the shopkeeper some money and holstered the gun.

He took the money from the counter, and then turned to face you. “And anything for you?”

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t…” You gestured vaguely to the weapons around you that were behind glass, “I don’t use this sort of stuff.”

“Not even a knife?” Arthur asked in disbelief. “You walk around weaponless in a city like this?”

“Nothin’ bad has happened so far. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” There had been a few times where someone tried to rob you, but that was when you had nothing much of value on your person, and most of the time the robbery ended up dissolving as you ran away quickly, utilising your knowledge of the backstreets and alleyways to try and lose the thief.

Arthur didn't seem impressed with your answer, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s your knife collection like here?” he asked the shopkeeper, who walked out from behind the counter, moving to grab a few from the display.

“It’s really not a big deal,” you muttered, glancing up at Arthur quickly.

He leaned down, and spoke softly. “Even if you don’t use it to look after yourself, you can use it to open your fancy boxes of paint or somethin’.”

A small selection of knives were laid out on the counter, and you weren’t too certain on what the difference was in any of them. The handles all looked different, and some of them were smaller than the others, but they were still sharpened metal. Arthur gently nudged your arm, pointing to the one on the far left.

“That’s probably your safest bet,” he said, and you trusted his opinion. You didn't trust yourself to use it properly.

“My safest bet is being quick enough to run away, actually,” you replied.

“What if they throw a knife at you?”

“Hope they’ll miss me?” You picked up the knife to feel the weight of it in your hand. It was heavier than a bread knife, which was one of the few knives you had experience in using. You looked at Arthur, unimpressed by it all.

“Don’t look too excited by it,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you. You felt a little ridiculous, so you put the knife down with an apologetic smile to the shopkeeper - he wasn’t going to get a sale from you today.

“Maybe some other time. I don’t think I’m quite ready to be a knife owner yet.” You gave him a nod, taking a step away from the counter and towards the door. Arthur noticed you leaving and said a quick thanks to the shopkeep for fixing the issue with his gun. He followed you to the door, leaning over to open it for you.

The contrast in brightness caught you off guard as you stepped outside, waiting for your eyes to adjust from the dimly lit gunshop to the early afternoon sun. It was times like these where you considered investing in a hat, as you looked up to see Arthur mostly unbothered by it.

“Have you been into Wiedemann and Carter yet?” you asked, remembering that you still needed to visit it. The store was up the road, so it only made sense to see if Arthur had dropped by yet. It was the best place for an artist to go to. If he hadn't - you were more than happy to show him.

“Can’t say that I have. I ain’t really seen much of the place, if I’m honest.” He adjusted his hat to block the sunlight more. “Had some kids start to show me around, then the bastards robbed me.”

You let out a laugh at that, the image of Arthur getting robbed was something you didn't expect to imagine today. “You? Getting robbed by a bunch of kids? I’d pay good money to see that happen again. Did they hold you at knifepoint? Asking for your money or your life?”

“Cut my bag, actually. I had to chase the little shit halfway across the city for it.”

“Yeah, the street kids are slippery bastards. Word of advice: don’t even look in their direction, ever.” You had heard stories from other people about how quick the kids of Saint Denis can rob you blind, and you always made sure to pass on useful advice to anyone visiting - simply do not look at them.

Arthur nodded. “Noted.”

You walked the short distance up the road to Wiedemann and Carter, the coral coloured exterior helping it stand out against the surrounding buildings. It was one place you could pinpoint on a map if someone asked you to.

The sound of a bell chiming to signal someone had entered was heard, and you immediately felt at home. Various artistic materials lined the shelves, with new stock rotating in weekly. You made it your goal to visit as often as you could, just to see what was new, to the point where you were on a first name basis with one of the shop owners, a German fella named Bruno. He gave you a smile as you walked inside, Arthur following behind you. 

“It didn't cross my mind to think this place would be an art supply store,” he said quietly, eyes darting around the room at the various paints and pencils and paper types.

You gave him a smile, before walking up to the counter, greeting Bruno with a nod. Quick conversation was made, as he then left the room to go and grab the order you had placed last week. There was a small bowl of hard candies on the counter, and you grabbed one, putting it in your bag for later.

“Who’s stealing now, hm?” Arthur called out, and you turned to face him quickly.

“No… it’s not stealing! They’re free. I’m not the thief here.” You gave him a frown, still not quite believing that he stole something right in front of you just minutes ago. He didn't even seem phased by the act, which only proved to you that he had done it before.

“I’ve always been taught that if it’s not locked down, it’s free to a good home,” he said with a shrug, holding a small palette of watercolour paints in his hand. Your frown deepened when he began to move it towards his bag.

“Arthur, don’t you dare.”

His other hand hovered over the clasps of his bag, and you shook your head in disappointment, turning away so you couldn’t see him steal something… again.

“I’m just messin’ with you,” he said, and you heard the sound of it being placed back on the shelf. “If it bothers you, I can put the bullets back.”

It was an offer you hadn’t expected to hear from him, and you tried your best to conceal your confusion. “I think it might look a bit suspicious if you did that.” You gently tapped your fingers against the countertop, wondering what was taking Bruno so long. If it bothers you… petty thieves usually didn't care what others thought about when they stole. But the phrase kept repeating in your mind as you waited.

“Y'know, there’s some pretty good stuff in here,” Arthur said, moving to stand next to you, leaning up against the counter. "Might have to get something." You felt him bump his shoulder against yours. 

“If there is anything you like, buy it now. Bruno usually gives me things at a discount,” you replied, ignoring the contact. “And I’d be happy to let you borrow my discount, just this once. If it means you won’t steal anything.”

“I ain’t stealin’ anything here. I respect the arts. Don’t respect people who charge more for things than what they’re worth.” He grabbed a handful of the candies in the bowl, shoving them into his pocket for later. You wanted to comment on the irony of that, and how Arthur helped to upsell your artwork for you but you held your tongue as Bruno walked back, holding a small bag. 

"Your canvases have yet to arrive, but when they do I will let you know," he said, pushing the bag towards you. His eye caught Arthur's, and Bruno grinned. "Ah, and who is this? Oh! Oh, is this your muse you speak so highly of? The handsome stranger who saved your ass a few weeks ago?"

Your face turned bright red at that, having told Bruno that in total confidence and secrecy. "No, it's not- I mean, yes, but it was his horse that helped me," you sputtered out quickly, trying to avoid looking at Arthur. You heard him laugh softly, which didn't help the redness in your cheeks or the fumbling over your words. 

Bruno laughed, waving your flustered comments off, and then turned to Arthur. "I have heard many things about you. And have seen a few drawings of you, too.”

"That so?" Arthur replied with a sly smile, seeming to enjoy the torture that you were being put through.

"Yes! Oh, the things that I have heard! It would make a grown man blush!" Bruno said dramatically, and now you knew he was making things up. The things you had said to him were completely normal. He was trying to get a rise out of you, and you refused to let him.

"You're ridiculous," you mumbled, quickly taking out the money you owed him, placing it on the counter and grabbing the bag. You made your way to the door quickly before you could hear him say anything else. 

The chime of the bell echoed behind you as you stood out onto the street, cursing the day for being so warm that it didn't help cool you off after that encounter. There goes confiding in Bruno anytime you have a problem…

The bell chimed again as Arthur walked out of the store, the smile still on his face from before. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole, and refused to meet his gaze.

"Handsome, huh?" Arthur gently nudged you with his arm, and you pushed his elbow away lightly.

"Shut it," you grumbled, taking a breath to compose yourself. "I was obviously talking about your horse."

"Ah, of course!” He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and grinning. “Of all the things you could call her, handsome was the most fittin'?" 

Arthur was extremely close to you now, and you silently cursed him for causing your heartbeat to quicken again. "She can be handsome…" 

"I ain't denying it. Just a curious word to use… for a horse." He had leaned in closer when he said that, and you hoped your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

He was right, it wasn’t the best excuse to use, but what else could you do? Admit that you found him handsome and had spoken highly about him in passing to others? Never. You would rather die with that confession than tell him. Pushing that thought back down in your mind, you recalled something from a previous conversation.

With his arm still around you, you looked up at him. “You said something about not seeing much of the city earlier,” you started, as he looked at you in confusion, trying to piece where that had come from out of nowhere.

“Not since those kids robbed me,” he replied. “Why? You offerin’ tours now?”

“For a small price.” You thought you were holding yourself well, until he tilted his head towards you, a smile tugging at the end of his lips.

“Oh yeah? What kind?” His voice was low, and you caught yourself glancing down at his lips as he spoke. Maybe if you were feeling bolder, you would’ve tested the waters out to see where he stood with you. But now was not the time for that, and you cleared your throat quickly, making direct eye contact with him.

“Have lunch with me. You said that drinks were on you back at the exhibition, but you never specified what drinks. So… tea and cake?”

Arthur blinked, not expecting that at all. “Tea and cake?”

You nodded. “There’s a few really good tearooms here. Le Lion D’Or is my favourite, and they’re reasonably priced, too.”

He considered your offer for a moment, moving his arm from your shoulder. “The kids asked me for five dollars, y’know.”

“I accept tips if you really want to part with more of your money,” you said with a laugh.

He held out his arm for you to take. “Better make this your best tour ever, then.”

And you did. You dragged him down each street, pointing out places and buildings and bringing up the odd historical fact you knew about the city you loved. You gave him an in depth lesson on the trolley system, pointing out each stop and where each one took you to, as well as whispering gossip as you passed faces you recognized in passing. Arthur was happy to indulge you when he noticed how excited you got speaking about something, asking questions and listening with great intent and a wide smile on his face. He seemed to enjoy this as much as you. It felt comfortable walking arm in arm with him, like this was something that was supposed to happen no matter how many times you told yourself that it was just a fleeting moment of happiness with someone.

You paused when you arrived at the wealthier part of the city, gesturing vaguely to the large houses that stood before you. “Can you guess who lives down these parts?”

“Easily robbable people, I reckon,” Arthur replied, taking note of the house you stood in front of, giving a nod to the gardener who was tending to the flowers.

“The mayor lives right down there. Can’t miss his place,” you said, pointing down the road. “His annual gala is at the end of the week. Lots of rich people will be there, but the best part is the fireworks. You can see them from anywhere in the city!”

“Fireworks?” He raised an eyebrow at that, as you both continued walking.

“Yes! Last year they had a whole display, it went on for ages!” You smiled at the memory - you and your friends camped up on a rooftop of one of their apartments, watching the fireworks from afar. It was like you were there at the party.

“You’ll have to show me where the best place to see them is,” he said, and you were uncertain if he was simply asking for a recommendation or wanted to watch them with you. You kept your gaze ahead of you, knowing by now that your cheeks were flushed red.

“Do you want to know now or on the evening of the gala?” You could feel him looking at you, and you caught his eye for a moment, wanting confirmation of his suggestion.

“Show me on the night.” He gave you a grin, and you were blushing at the idea of watching the fireworks with him. There was something so romantic about it, and you wished deep down that he saw it the same.

You made sure to end the tour by Le Lion D’Or, and made a grand statement that they served the best cake you have ever eaten, which was another reason why you suggested this place. Only the best was to be seen and eaten on this tour.

There was a free table outside that you told Arthur to wait at, while you went inside and ordered some food for you both. You had no idea what Arthur’s tea preference was, so you made a guess based on what you knew of him. With everything ordered, you let the server know you were sitting outside, and returned back to Arthur with a smile. He was leaning back in his seat, arms folded over his chest and hat on the table.

“So… How was the tour?” you asked, sliding into the seat next to him. “Would you recommend me to a friend?”

He hummed softly, looking at you and pretending to consider his answer for longer than needed. "You were pretty good. And you didn't try 'n rob me, either."

"There's always next time. Though, I'll admit that my sleight of hand skills are not the best. You could probably catch me quite quickly," you said, making a note to look him up and down to pinpoint where he could be hiding items on himself. There were candies in his pocket - you saw him put them there, and his guns were easily reachable but not the smartest thing to pretend to steal.

"If you can take somethin' from me without me knowing, I'll be real impressed," he said, and you took that as a challenge. Not now, he would be expecting it, but soon. You would take something from him and not have him catch you doing so. 

The server you spoke to earlier came out with a tray holding a rather ornate tea set, setting it down on the table for you both. A platter of small cakes soon followed, and you gave Arthur a grin once the server left.

"Best cakes ever, I promise you." You began to pour yourself some tea, as Arthur took one of the little cakes, eyeing it closely.

"Are they made this small on purpose?" he asked.

"It's the whole point of afternoon tea, I think. Small cakes, small sandwiches, small everything." You weren't entirely certain that was true, but it made sense in your mind. Afternoon tea was more about socialising, anyway. 

He still didn't look convinced that this was worth it, so you gestured for him to try the cake. You watched, taking a small sip of your tea as he took a bite.

"Guess you were right about this bein' good cake," he said, as you smiled at him. You knew you would be right, having spent a lot of money here whenever you needed a pick-me-up. They even did a takeout box of cake that you would indulge in whenever you had a reason to celebrate. You thought back to the last time you had them - after your exhibition, and then remembered the offer Arthur gave to you there. It had been on the back of your mind since you last spoke, and you thought that now was the best time to bring it up to him.

"I've been thinking about your offer," you started, taking a sip of tea to calm your nerves. "About travelling. Seeing the world." Arthur raised an eyebrow curiously. You took that as a sign to carry on. "And… if you aren't too busy, I'd like to cash it in... If that's alright?" You studied his face closely, trying to work out if he had actually meant what he said all those weeks ago or if he had simply said it out of politeness. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded over his chest. The question still lingered in the air and you were about to take it back when he spoke up.

"You got a place in mind you want to visit?" he asked, putting in a sugar cube into his tea.

"I heard Strawberry was nice. It's surrounded by trees, and it looks pretty from what I've read."

Arthur let out a small scoff, shaking his head. "Strawberry ain't much…"

You sank a little in your seat, crossing it out on the list in your mind.

"Folk, uh, they don't like me much up there, anyway," he quickly added, noticing your expression change.

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at his teacup, gently pushing it aside as he leaned forward. You copied him. "Got into a fight up there. Whole town got involved, real big thing. Reckon if I show up there again they might try 'n hang me." 

Your eyes widened as he sat back, picking up one of the little cakes and examining it casually, like what he had just said was something normal.

"That's… sure something." Everything you heard about the town sounded so nice and calm. Nothing like what Arthur was saying. Your mind recalled one of the articles you had read in the papers about a jailbreak that took place in Strawberry a while back. That couldn’t be the same thing Arthur was talking about, right?

He shrugged. "I think anyone would want to kill you if you shoot them first."

"You started it?"

"Well, not really. Sort of. It's a long story."

It seemed to never end with learning new things about him. You went down the list of nearby towns you had considered, and one by one Arthur told you that he wasn't welcome back there for similar reasons.

Rhodes? Got into a fight with the whole town, people don't like him. Valentine? Got into a fight with the town, people don't like him there either. All places you had read about in the papers, all that had issues with either gangs or feuds between families. There was a pattern, and you decided to aim a bit further away.

"What about Blackwater? I'm not sure if it's still on lockdown, though, so it might be off the table because of that…" You said, remembering reading about the incident that took place there in the newspaper. It came as a shock, especially because of how much progress it had been making in terms of finding its place in the world. People were calling it a massacre, which only painted the worst image in your mind.

Arthur was quiet, watching you as you waited for a response, taking a small sip of your tea. When he didn't say anything, you frowned. With the previous conversation about how unwelcome he was in other places, you couldn't help but piece together that maybe he wasn't welcome in Blackwater, too. It was a large leap to assume he was also involved in the big shootout that took place there a while back, but it didn't seem too unlikely, given what you now knew about him.

"You weren't…" You let the rest of the sentence trail off, though it was clear what you were implying.

Arthur looked away, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to take note of who was around. You saw him tense up, his jaw was set and he frowned, the conversation not being one he wanted to take part in. A silence fell over you both, and you started to think about how ridiculous the current situation was. Here you were, sitting opposite an outlaw who currently had a pretty big bounty on his head, at least you assumed so from what the newspaper said about the Blackwater incident. There were plenty of opportunities where he could have robbed you or killed you, but he didn't. Instead, you were having tea with him.

You couldn't help but laugh.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at you. "What?"

"Sorry," you said, covering your mouth to try and stifle your laughter. "You're a wanted criminal… and I'm sitting opposite you and we're having tea and cake together."

He blinked, and you caught the glimpse of a smile across his face. "I guess it is pretty funny. Damn good cake, too."

"What did I tell you?" You beamed at him, as he picked up a little slice of carrot cake and ate it.

The smart thing to do would be to go and inform the law, let them know that there was a criminal here that needed to face justice. But so far, no one had recognized Arthur from what you could tell, and he had been very nice to you. You didn't know how much the bounty was on his head, but the money wasn't something that you cared about. If you did, then maybe you would consider turning him in. But you liked his company… and his horse.

"I'm not going to say anything," you said quietly, leaning across the table to keep unwanted ears from listening. "About… you know…"

Arthur nodded. "That's good to know, especially because I wasn't even there."

"Where?" You feigned ignorance.

"Good." 

You could hear the comments from your friends, calling you foolish for being around a known criminal, but you pushed them out of your mind. There were better things to concern yourself about than Arthur's criminal history. If anything, it just made him more interesting. It gave him a certain charm you couldn’t find in Saint Denis. How strange it was for an outlaw to befriend someone like you…

"If you're still interested in travellin', I do have a spot in mind I could take you to?" Arthur said after a few moments of quiet, bringing you back to the whole reason you were having this conversation.

"Where are you thinking?" 

"Might keep it a surprise. It's whether you trust me or not?"

You gave him a grin. "You've yet to kill me so far. I trust you."

Arthur nodded, finishing his tea and setting the cup down. "Alright. I have t' go and deliver some things back to…” He paused, even though it was clear you at least knew the group he ran with, “people… so how about we meet somewhere after?" 

"The Bastille Saloon?" You suggested, knowing that it was a pretty central place and usually busy enough that if, for some reason Arthur did have bad intentions, enough people would probably recall you were there if you did go missing. Not that you thought Arthur would murder you, but you couldn't be too careful now.

"I'll meet you there." With a tip of his hat he stood up, putting some money on the table for you to use to pay with, keeping his promise. You watched him walk down the street back towards the docks.

What were you getting yourself into?

You finished up your drink after Arthur had left, and made a beeline straight back home. There was no point wasting time trying to be organised, so you grabbed a small bag, shoving in anything you could think of that you may need for a trip out. Arthur had kept the information about where you were going a secret, so you were unsure if you needed to prepare for a night away or not. To be on the safe side, you packed an extra change of clothes and shoved in a bedroll you had used a handful of times before. You got a separate bag for any art supplies, putting in your sketchbook, some pencils and a small watercolour set you had bought recently. It was a good occasion to try it out. 

As you rushed around your home, grabbing some food for the journey, you forced yourself to stop to think about the situation. You were travelling to somewhere unknown with a man you had met only twice before. This sounded like the start of a bad headline in the news, or a horror novel. And with what you now knew about Arthur if it ever came down to trying to fight him, you were certain that you would lose.

You let out a small laugh. "If I die, at least it's by the hands of a handsome man."

With that, you picked up your bags, grabbed a light jacket just in case, and left.

La Bastille Saloon was busy, the lunch rush taking up most of the tables inside while a group of men sat around the poker table, in the middle of what looked to be a pretty high stakes game. You had hoped that you could sit inside and wait for Arthur, but there weren’t any seats left and you didn't fancy waiting at the bar for him. Turning on your heel, you left as quick as you entered, standing a little away from the door and the group of men who were gathered by it, smoking and talking. You caught glimpses of their conversation, but it wasn’t anything exciting and you drowned out their voices, instead going over what you had packed in your head to make sure you didn't forget anything.

It didn't take long to hear a familiar voice call your name, and you saw Arthur coming down the street, giving you a wave from atop Artemis. You waved back, as Artemis stopped in front of you.

“You ready to go?” Arthur asked, holding a hand out for you to take.

“I’m as ready as I can be.” You grabbed his hand as he helped you up onto Artemis, and with a small click from Arthur you both set off down the street. The sudden movement was something you weren’t expecting yet and you grabbed onto Arthur’s waist to steady yourself, still not completely used to being on horseback. He let out a small laugh, and you felt his hand gently pat one of yours, resting it there.

“D’you need a moment to sort yourself out?” He turned, looking over his shoulder at you.

You shook your head at him, feeling his hand move away from yours. “I think I’m good now.” 

"You let me know if you need to stop, alright?"

"Alright."

It was different to pass by places on horseback rather than walking, and in a way you were grateful that you weren’t having to walk somewhere - you didn't think you had it in you to hike while also carrying plenty of art supplies and other belongings.

Artemis walked slowly through the city, being careful not to run into anyone. It was slow going, having to stop and wait for a trolley or person to cross the street before you could continue, but eventually Arthur pushed Artemis into a trot as you reached the edge of the city, crossing the bridge to get into the swampy roads of Bayou Nwa. 

It was nice to see greenery everywhere you looked, but you weren’t entirely comfortable with the increase of gators sitting by the side of the road, half in the swamp and half out. You eyed them cautiously as you passed, waiting for them to suddenly move to try and attack you. But they didn't, happy to idly lay there, basking in the sun. Artemis had the same thought as you, and there were a few times you felt her slow down, letting out worried noises, only to be calmed by Arthur’s gentle voice, shushing her and telling her it was okay. Even after everything you knew about him, the tenderness he had around his horse was something that kept taking you by surprise. He leaned back into you, taking out a treat for her from his bag. If this was how nice he was, you didn't want to consider how he could be angry. And if what you had read about the Blackwater Massacre was true, you didn't want to know what Arthur could be like, preferring him like this and not looking at the barrel of his gun.

The scenery passed by in flashes of green, turning from thick swamps and willow trees to open fields and rolling hills. As you rode out further from the bayou, into the heart of Scarlett Meadows, you took note of every small difference. The roads became more dusty as you approached closer to Rhodes, though Arthur made sure to steer clear from the town, just in case. There was not enough time in the world to allow you to stop and sketch every small thing you saw that intrigued you, and you didn't want to ask Arthur to pull to the side of the road each time you spotted a flower or plant you wanted to get a closer look at. So you tried to memorise everything, hoping that it would stay in your mind until you were able to draw them down.

The air felt cooler the further away from the bayou you got, and it was nice to not feel as if the sun and heat were trying to suffocate you all the time. Maybe you could avoid the heat this summer and travel?

You weren't sure how long you had been riding for, and you were starting to feel stiff from sitting in one position for this long. Stifling back a yawn, you leaned your head against Arthur’s back for a moment. You felt him tense at the sudden contact, and then relaxed. His hand found yours again, giving it a soft squeeze in response.

"Ain't long left. You good back there?" Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly to catch your eye.

You nodded, moving around to try and find a more comfortable position. "I'm good. I have no idea how you can do this all the time, I’m already aching from sitting like this."

“You want to stop for a bit? We can pull to the side of the road and take a moment to rest up,” he said, and it was sweet to hear him suggest that.

“I’m fine. We can keep going,” you replied. With a nod, Artemis continued down the road and you noticed that he had yet to move his hand away from yours.

Time passed on, and the ride was mostly quiet, Arthur focusing on the road while you took in your surroundings. You didn't mind the silence at all, finding it calming to listen to the repetitive sound of hoofbeats against the dirt road and birdsong from the trees; it was a nice change of pace to the city. The air grew cooler as you rode through Scarlett Meadows, keeping to a road that was near a body of water. Flat Iron Lake was the closest open body of water that wasn’t the swamps or the Lannahechee River, so you assumed it was that. You kept your eyes on it, enjoying the ride.

When you crossed over the state into New Hanover, you sat up a little straighter, wondering if you were getting close to where Arthur was taking you. You had little experience in New Hanover, having only read things about it in books and the newspapers, but it was big and vast and you were intrigued on what you would see. From what you could remember from looking at maps, you were in the outskirts of the Heartlands, which had more open space than somewhere like Roanoke Ridge, or even in places in Lemoyne. Flat Iron Lake was still to your left, the train tracks you had been following for a while on your right. Arthur clicked for Artemis to walk off the path and you were now fully alert, watching as she weaved through the trees, heading towards the shore.

“Here we are,” Arthur spoke after a little while as Artemis walked onto the sand. “Flat Iron Lake.” He gestured to the large lake in front of you, and you sat up a little taller to take it in.

It was beautiful. The water rippled against the sand, the reeds swaying gently in the cool breeze - a welcome change from the warmth that lingered in Lemoyne. Deer drank at the water's edge, and you watched as a small group of coyotes ran around, yipping and barking as they went. It was so peaceful and you wanted to savour every moment you had here. You had yet to even dismount from Artemis and you were already saddened at the thought of leaving this place. It was so calm and serene and such a welcome change from the busy city life.

"This is beautiful…" You said in awe, keeping your voice low in fear of breaking the serenity of the place. 

"Beats the city any day," Arthur replied, giving you a smile. “No noise, no people runnin’ in front of you.”

"Sure does…" You replied. Arthur kept Artemis walking for a little longer as you made your way around the shoreline. Off in the distance you spotted a few boats on the water, up against the mountains that almost blended in with the sky. What you assumed was Blackwater seemed so close yet so far away across the water, the sun illuminating the small town. He slowed Artemis to a stop as you reached your destination, far enough away from the road now that you wouldn't be disturbed. You were quick to dismount, walking up to where the water met the sandy shore to take in the serene scene in front of you. Birdsong could be heard in the distance, and you paused for a moment to listen to the lack of trolley noise and general chatter that would be found in the city. It was beautiful. You spotted an old log that had been washed ashore, and walked towards it, deciding it would be a good place to lean up against while you draw.

“The Dakota’s up there if you want more of a river than a lake,” Arthur said, now standing beside you, pointing behind him towards the west. “And just over there is Bard’s Crossing, lotta deer over that part, too.”

“Here is good. We could always explore more later? Or even tomorrow?” you replied, shrugging off your bag and setting it down on the sand. You took a seat down beside it, rummaging through to pull out your sketchbook and a pencil. Why waste time, right? Arthur sat down next to you with a nod as you opened up to a blank page, ready to draw the scenery in front of you. 

You lost yourself in drawing, making smaller sketches to work out the best composition to then turn into a bigger painting later. Quick sketches of ducks and other waterfowl were made in the sidelines of the pages, catching them before they flew off into the afternoon. At some point you noticed Arthur had started drawing as well, the both of you sitting in a comfortable silence, pencils scratching against paper. 

You took out the small watercolour set you wanted to test out, opening up the wooden box to reveal the small compartment full of the paints. There was a little glass jar that you had filled with water the first time you used them, so you were glad you didn't need to move to refill it. You took out the small plastic plate used for mixing, and picked up one of the bigger brushes. Watercolours were a lot different to what you were used to using, and putting the first drop of colour down felt daunting. You unscrewed the lid to the water jar, dipped the brush in and hesitated over the colours. Where to start?

You wanted to paint the lake, mainly to have a reference of the colours for later - you could already picture the beautiful work in oils in your mind, but in watercolours? Something was holding you back. Oil paint could be added to weeks after you made the mark, you can alter it and change even after you thought it was finished. Watercolours didn't give you that freedom - once the paint was down, you couldn’t change it unless you painted over it to remove the mark. No matter how quickly you tried to remove the paint with tissue, the colour would still be faded on the page. You had to think about this, about where each colour needed to go and how to build up the depth. There was also a limited option of colours in this set, meaning you’d have to spend more time mixing and layering up the colours than painting. You could name all the oil paints you would need to paint this.

“Somethin’ wrong with the paints?” Arthur asked, breaking you from your internal dilemma.

You blinked, giving him a look. “What?”

“You’ve been holding the brush over the blue for a few minutes. Is it… part of your process?” He leaned to get a better look at the small box that held the paints, picking up one of the other brushes.

“No, not usually.” You watched him examine the brush, before placing it back down. “I’ve not done many watercolour paintings, so I suppose I’m feeling a little out of my depths.”

“Ain’t it just like normal painting? You put the colour on the brush and then onto the paper?” He frowned, as you shrugged.

“Yes… but, I don’t know, it feels different,” you said. “Once I start, I know I’ll be fine, but it’s the initial jump to start it that’s off-putting, you know?”

“Paint is paint. Pretend it’s what you’re used to,” he suggested, and you tried to imagine yourself back home, windows open and a palette full of oil paints in front of you. Paint is paint, you repeated in your mind, and nodded. Your brush made contact with the blue you had been hovering over and it was way too saturated to be useful to you as it was, but paint is paint - you could layer it up with other colours later. The brush glided over your drawing, giving a base wash of the blue. Now that some colour was on your page, tackling the rest of the painting felt less stressful.

“There you go. Weren’t so bad,” he said with a smile, returning to his own drawings.

Late afternoon came and went, the sun beginning to make its slow descent below the horizon. The sky began to fill with hues of pinks and reds and with the fading light you looked up from where you had been drawing. Arthur was still beside you, his journal now closed and placed on the sand between you both while he leaned against the fallen tree, his hat tilted forward to cover his face. You smiled softly, setting aside your own sketchbook by his. Was he asleep? The steady rise and fall of his chest seemed to confirm it. You tried to peek under his hat to see if his eyes were closed, but didn't have any luck. If he was asleep, you thought it was sweet that he felt comfortable enough to do so around you.

The sun was long behind you now, so you weren’t able to watch it go down without moving to a different spot, but the colours that were painted across the sky were still mesmerising. Many sunsets were often blocked by the buildings in the city, so it was nice to watch the sky uninterrupted. A flock of birds flew across the sky in a V formation, while some deer further down the shore approached the water to drink. Everything was so nice.

There was movement coming from next to you, as Arthur pulled back his hat, running a hand down his face.

"Have a good nap?" You smiled at him when he heard your voice.

"I wasn't sleepin'," he mumbled quickly, sitting upright with a roll of his shoulders. "Just… restin' my eyes."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" you teased, laughing when he waved you off.

"It's been a long day." He nudged his arm against you as he stood up, dusting off the sand from his legs. "You hungry?"

"I think I grabbed some food when I packed," you said, grabbing your bag and searching through it. Arthur watched you take out various things from your bag, pencils and folded sheets of paper until you took out some canned strawberries.

"Ah. I thought this was something else…" You said quietly. “I did pack in a bit of a rush.”

"You're surrounded by nature and you want to eat from a can?" He raised an eyebrow at you, holding his hand out to help you up. "There's plenty of food out here, waitin' to be caught."

"Like… fish?" You took a hold of his hand and pulled yourself up, still holding your can of strawberries.

"Rabbit. Deer. Hell, coyotes taste fine if you're starvin'," he explained, gesturing over to Artemis with his chin. "Got a rifle. And a fishing rod, too."

"You want to hunt for food?" 

"You ain't ever done that before?” His hands rested on his gun belt, an eyebrow raised at you and your lack of survival skills.

"Never needed to,” you said, your cosy life in the city meant that you had everything a short walk away. At the mention of his rifle, you gave a quick look down to his guns. “Never fired a gun before, either."

Arthur's eyes widened at that confession, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he came up with an idea. “Give me ten minutes.” He grinned, turning on his heel to approach Artemis. You were a little confused about what he was doing, as he began to take some things out from one of the saddle bags. He emptied out the remains of a couple of glass bottles, moving to stack them on the log you were previously leaning against. Oh. He was setting up targets. There was an old rusty can that had washed up on the shore nearby, and that was the final target. Once everything was set up, he approached you, taking out the same gun he went to get fixed earlier that day, and held it out in your direction. You now got a clearer look at the small stag engraved on the handle, another feature that confused you. To you, it was strange to customise a weapon that could cause so much destruction. Did all outlaws engrave animals on the handles of their guns? You would have to ask him afterwards.

"You want to take a shot, or do you want me to show you how it's done first?" he asked. You looked between him, the gun, and the targets before taking a small step back.

"You go first. I want to see how it's done," you replied. With a nod, Arthur got into position. You took note of how he stood, how he aimed and what his overall demeanour was like, hoping to be able to copy it when it came to your turn.

Two shots were fired quickly, one directly after the other, and you heard the shattering of glass as two of the bottles broke, falling from the log. You were too slow to cover your ears, a loud ringing echoing for a few moments after the final shot ended.

"Easy as that," Arthur said with a grin, holding the gun back out for you. You gingerly took it in your hands, it feeling heavy and unfamiliar in them. The can and a bottle were left for you to shoot, and you were confident you could do it. Arthur moved to stand behind you, as you adjusted how you stood, copying what you saw him do. 

"This good?" You looked at him for his approval. He looked you up and down for a moment, gently placing a hand on your waist to tilt you ever so slightly. The touch caught you off guard, your face reddening as he gave you a nod in approval once he was happy. You then gripped the handle with one hand, keeping your arm straight as you tried to line up the first shot. 

"Hold it with two hands," Arthur said quickly, and you frowned at him.

"But you used one?" You adjusted your grip, now holding it with both hands.

"I've had practice." He moved closer behind you, arms now either side of you as he readjusted your grip, changing it so your other hand was wrapped for support and wasn't just there for the sake of it. Any nerves you had were increasing, especially now that Arthur was even closer to you. He was looking over your shoulder, and all you needed to do was turn your head and you would be face to face with him. This was a bad time to get nervous, you thought. Arthur's hands then moved down your arms, helping to lift them and keep them straight.

"Is this eye level to you?" he asked softly, and you nodded in response, words failing you. "Okay. Now pull the hammer back with your thumb." You did as he said, hearing a small 'click'.

"Now what?" You kept still, not wanting to move suddenly in case you caused it to go off. He moved his hands away from your arms, now pointing towards the can.

"Line up the sights to the can. You want to line up the front one first, then the rear," he explained, and you tried your best to do so. It didn't help at all when you felt one of his hands rest against your back, the other still pointing at your target. You focused, aiming up as best as you could.

"Now keep your eye on it, okay? You're going to want to think about pullin' the trigger next," he said, watching your finger move to touch it. "You're breathin' is real important, too. Breathe in, and then out, and you shoot once you've exhaled."

This was forcing you to focus on your breathing rather than the feeling of Arthur's hand against your back. You took a deep breath in, then out, and repeated until you felt calmer. You can do this.

"When you're ready, shoot." Arthur's voice was hardly above a whisper at this point, and you almost lost focus by thinking about him. Now wasn’t the time. You took a deep breath in.

In.

Out.

Shoot.

You felt yourself be pushed backwards slightly from the recoil of the gun and had to take a moment to regain your composure after the loudness of the shot. The can you were aiming for was still on the log, but it didn't matter too much - you had shot a gun! That was the important part. You looked at Arthur with a smile.

"I reckon you could knock it down with the next one," he said, matching your smile. "It grazed it. You were so close."

"Really?" You looked back at the can, and repositioned yourself. Arthur took a moment to adjust you where needed, still standing behind you, his hand on your back as you pulled the hammer back. You aimed, taking care to make sure they were both lined up perfectly this time. Breath in, out, and shoot.

The can wobbled slightly as the bullet grazed past it, but it still stood on the log like it was mocking you. You frowned, rolling your shoulders back as you lifted your arms again, ready to take aim.

"Try standing more to your right," Arthur said, his hand now moving to your waist as he moved you. "Really focus on the can. It helps to focus yourself from the ground up. Make sure you're standing strong, and work up from there."

You nodded, as he helped to position you in the right place and made sure your grip on the gun was tight. Each time he moved his hand to a different place you felt like your skin was on fire from the contact, and it wasn't helping your focus at all. Shoving any thoughts about him holding you like this to the back of your mind, you lined up the can with the sights, taking a moment to control your breathing.

"You've got this," Arthur said softly, and you believed him. You pulled the hammer back, ready to fire. With a deep breath in, you paused for a second before exhaling, and pulled the trigger.

It went wide.

You groaned loudly, taking a step away from Arthur as you tried to figure out how you missed again. It was lined up, there was no wind and no distractions, yet you still missed.

"I can't do this," you said defeated, holding the gun out for him to take. "I guess I should leave the shootin' to you."

"There's still two bullets left. I know you got it in you," he said, pushing your hand back. "C'mon, let's try again."

You had lost all hope by this point, but decided to have one last go. The can was going to go down, by bullet or by you kicking it over. You rolled your shoulders back as you stood by Arthur again, trying to relax yourself before getting into position.

"I have more bullets if you miss, so there's always room to try again," he told you, watching as you began to shift your weight and hold your arms out.

"If I miss this one, I'm throwing the can into the lake myself," you mumbled, lining your gaze up with the can. "Fuckin' can… ruining my day."

You heard Arthur laugh softly at your comments, and you tried to keep your focus at the task at hand, and not at how lovely his laugh was. This time he wasn't holding you anywhere, so you had nothing to blame if you missed again. You pulled the hammer back, letting out slow breaths in and out as you kept your sight on the can. In. Out. Shoot.

The gunshot went off, and you stood upright to assess the situation. The can had fallen backwards, a hole now pierced through the middle of it. Your eyes widened at the achievement, and you threw your hands in the air.

"It fell over!" you exclaimed, turning around to face Arthur with a wide smile. The joy you were feeling enveloped you, giving you a rush of confidence. You threw your arms around Arthur in a hug, feeling yourself getting lifted up as his arms went around your waist tightly, pulling you up and closer to him.

"Look at you go!" He was matching your excitement, which only fuelled your confidence. "We'll make a gunslinger out of you." He set you down, but you didn't move away from his arms, looking up at him with a grin. 

"Better watch out, I might just steal your spot in the outlaw world," you teased.

"Think you can handle it? It's a real dangerous way of living, you know," he replied, his voice soft as he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. It was now you realised how close you were to him. Your arms were still around him, one of his hands was placed on your waist while the other was against your cheek, and you were reminded of the last time you were in a similar position to this with him. But this time you weren't saying goodbye. This time you had all the time in the world, and you couldn't help but lean in a little closer, testing the waters. 

"This alright?" He asked quietly, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. 

You gave him a slight nod, leaning into the touches. "It is." 

That was all he needed to hear.  You closed your eyes, your heart fluttering when you felt your lips meet his. It was one thing to think about kissing him - which you hated to admit that you did a few times in between this meeting and the last, but actually doing it was unlike anything you could have ever imagined. 

You were suddenly reminded of the gun that was still in your hand when you felt it slip from your grip, and you broke away, taking a moment for what just happened to sink in. A dark blush spread across your cheeks, Arthur’s face a similar colour. You moved your arms away from around his neck, holding out his gun. The stag engraving was on full view, and you gently ran your finger along the carving. 

"You should probably take your gun back before I drop it," you said quietly, looking up at him.He watched you trace the stag, taking the gun from you when you held it to him. 

"I would hate for it to break again. I'd have to ride back out to the city to get it fixed," he replied, holstering it with a smile.

"What a shame.” Your eyes scanned his face, trying to memorise everything about him. A hand went to trace along his jaw, pausing when you noticed a small scar on his chin. It was the small things you wanted to keep locked in your mind, so that when you next wanted to draw him you would be able to capture his likeness even more. You wanted to paint every freckle and scar on him, putting them on canvas and immortalising him. The concept of a muse used to make you laugh, but now you understood what it meant. Inspiration flooded through your veins each time you looked at him and you would happily bleed on the canvas.

His eyes kept darting from your own to your lips, as his hands found their place back on your hips. Overcome with a sudden rush of confidence running through you, you pulled him into another kiss, this one a little more urgent. Your hands found their way to the collar of his shirt, holding them tightly. The hesitation of the first kiss was gone, replaced now with a need for more. You felt like you were on fire, and with each movement of his hands the feeling of excitement only grew, bubbling up inside. The warmth spread to your chest, your heart pounding against your ribs, and you felt as if it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

The moment shattered when a loud snort from where Artemis stood, causing you both to pull away from each other. She kept her gaze at you both and with a quick shake of her head, went back to grazing, almost acting proud that she had interrupted you both. You heard Arthur laugh softly, his gaze moving from Artemis back to you. The silence that followed felt heavy; neither of you moved. Light was starting to slip away, leaving room for the darkness that would soon take its place. 

Arthur was the one to break the quiet, pulling his hands away from you. “We should set up camp for the night,” he said, keeping his voice low as you let go of his shirt and took a step back.

“Yes. That would be a good idea,” you replied with a nod. Neither of you moved again, still staying in the moment that was now passing by at a rapid pace. You cleared your throat with an awkward blush, averting your gaze from him. He tipped his hat in your direction, just as flustered as you were feeling. With a deep breath, he moved. You watched him walk back to where Artemis was grazing, your eyes lingering longer than what they normally would. You had to push down your thoughts before they became too intense. He looked over his shoulder in your direction, caught your eye and gave you a smile. This was uncharted water you were sailing through right now, and you couldn’t even force yourself to feel nervous or scared - you were excited.

A small camp was eventually set up on the sand, a fire burning in front of you. The sky was clear and you were hoping that you would be able to camp out under the stars. Arthur pitched up a small tent, using it to store your belongings and keeping them out of sight from others who may pass by while Artemis grazed on a patch of grass nearby, her saddle in the tent to give her a break.

You poked at the fire with a stick to get it burning brighter as the sky turned darker, the sun now set and the evening rolling in. Stars began to light up the sky, and you were amazed at how many there were up there. Saint Denis' sky was never this full of stars, the street lights being too bright to allow the stars to shine. You looked across to the lake to see Arthur standing at the water’s edge, fishing. He told you that he refused to let you eat canned goods whilst out in nature, and all the gunshots had most likely scared away any wildlife that grazed around here. Fish was the next best thing. You had your sketchbook out, drawing quick studies of anything around you - the fire, the tent, Arthur, Artemis grazing, the sky, Arthur again. There was so much you wanted to remember, and you wrote down your thoughts next to each drawing. You avoided writing in your sketchbook, wanting to keep it to drawings only but sometimes you needed to put your thoughts to paper to keep them from clouding your mind.

“Usually more things bite around here.” You looked up to see Arthur approaching, holding a fish.

“Maybe they’re sleeping?” You frowned. “Fish sleep, right?”

He laughed, shrugging as he took a seat next to you. “Probably. Never been under water long enough to check.”

You turned back to your drawings as Arthur began to prepare and cook the fish over the fire, kneeling by it and gently turning the flesh in a small tin above the flames. The way he moved and added a few herbs to it gave you the impression that he had done this a lot. Another thing to add to the list of what you knew about Arthur - his cooking looked impressive. The real question was if it tasted good. After a little while, you felt him nudge your leg, getting your attention away from your drawing. He held out the tin for you to take, the fish now cooked and ready to be eaten. 

You both ate your half of the fish, and it was the best thing you had eaten in a long while. The fish stalls in the markets were nothing compared to fresh off the line fish. No time had been lost between catching it and preparing it for consumption; it tasted fresher than other fish you had bought before. It was a meal you would remember, especially because the company you shared it with was easy on the eyes. Arthur caught your gaze a few times, smiling to himself every time you looked away, cheeks red.

Once you had both finished eating, you spent a few moments watching the sky, counting every new star that you could see. Arthur poked at the fire with a stick, moving around the branches to keep the fire going.

“I’m going to get more wood to burn,” he said, and stood up. You gave him a wave as he walked off towards a small wooded area up the shore, soon leaving you alone with Aretmis now laying on the grassy patch by you. It was nice being here, in the middle of nature, no worries or hustle and bustle from the city. You were almost certain that when night fell you would be able to see more stars than you ever thought were in the sky. That thought alone was enough to make you want to spend more time away from the city. Perhaps you should consider relocating? Get a small cabin somewhere up in Cumberland Forest, surrounded by trees and birds and mountains. You could see the night sky and watch the sunrise each morning, and paint everything around you.

As the thought of you living deep in the countryside filled your mind, you were hastily drawn out from it by the gentle nudge of cool metal at the back of your head, and the familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back, a new shot clicking into place. You froze, having not seen Arthur loop around you to pull this strange joke. This wasn’t Arthur threatening you.

"You're gonna get up real slowly, and empty out your pockets, okay?" A man's voice spoke, and you nodded, slowly raising your hands up in surrender. Time in Saint Denis had taught you to throw any valuables away from the thief, to give you time to flee the scene unhurt. But there was nowhere to run and hide. Nowhere to go. No lawmen to report the crime to. It was just you and him and Arthur far away.

You rose to your feet, the gun never leaving the back of your head as you moved. There was a sound of rustling from behind - someone was going inside the tent, and another voice eventually spoke up.

"There ain't shit here!" He called out, and you heard the man behind you sigh, pressing the barrel of the gun a little harder against your skull.

"Get over there." He grabbed your shoulder, giving you a push away from the camp. A man stepped out from the tent, hands on his hips in disappointment before he noticed Artemis laying down behind them.

"Real nice horse here. Could go for a pretty penny to the right buyer," he said, walking over to her, watching as she rose to stand, rearing up when he got too close to her. There was a bad attempt at calming her down, and you knew that if you didn't say anything then they would try and take her. Or she would kick him. You hoped for the latter.

"She's got colic. Ain't gonna last much longer," you said quickly, guided by the other man towards the camp. "Took her out here to spend some time in nature, so she can go in peace."

The smaller of the two frowned, confusion on his face. "Colic?"

You silently thanked yourself for the time you spent around the stables - the man looked like he didn't have a clue what you were on about.

You nodded quickly. "Yes! It's a killer. If you try to sell her, no one is going to buy her. She'll be dead soon." It was horrible to talk about Artemis like this, but from the way the two men looked at each other, it looked to be working. You just needed to stall them a little longer. Their confidence that they were going to get a lot from you seemed to dwindle as the man with the gun adjusted his grip on it, keeping it level at your head.

"Well, we ain't leaving empty handed," he said, glancing nervously between you and his partner. He looked at the other man and gestured to the tent. "Search through there again."

With his attention away from you for a split second, you turned, using your elbow to smack his arm away from you. He yelped loudly, his arm knocked sideways as he lost his grip on his gun. It fell to the floor, and you rushed to grab it. The cool metal of the revolver was pulled out from under you, the man being a slight second quicker than you even after you disarmed him. He held the gun back up to you, a slight shake in his hands.

A shot rang out.

There was a searing burst of pain that ran through your upper arm, warmth spreading from the impact sight. You instinctively grabbed onto where you had been hit and were met with dampness. Blood covered your hand, and you felt the world sway under you at the sight. Shit.

You stumbled away from the man who was threatening you, his gun still aiming towards you as you moved.

"Stay still! I'll shoot again if you don't!" he called out, pulling back the hammer to load the next round. Part of you wanted to take the risk, to run and find somewhere to hide. His finger hovered over the trigger, and you had no choice but to stay still. The man in the tent came out at the sound of gunfire, a pistol in his hand as he looked around to see where the danger was, and you now had two guns pointing at you while your arm was bleeding and Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re makin’ this difficult for us,” the first man grumbled, and you could see his demeanour shift; he was growing more and more irritated the longer you refused to give him any valuables.

“You shot me! Sorry if I don’t feel like handing you over everything I own!” you exclaimed in disbelief. His eye twitched, and you almost wanted to dare him to shoot you again.

Something caught the bandits’ eyes, as they turned suddenly. You followed their gaze, and saw Arthur standing away from camp, his hat covering his face as he reached for his revolver, clicking back the hammer.

"You boys best put those things down and get on your way now, you hear me?" Arthur spoke low, the tone of his voice unfamiliar to you. He tilted his head up to get a look at the two, and you saw that his eyes were dark as he held out his revolver, pointing it towards the man with the gun at you. The other gun that was holstered had now been pulled out, and he was aiming it at the second man.

"I know your face," the first bandit said, glaring at Arthur and moving to point his gun at him. "It’s plastered all over the goddamn country. That’s easy money if we turn you in."

"And how are you goin' to do that, huh?" He tilted his head to the side, waiting for an answer. When the two didn't speak, he let out a low laugh. “Exactly. On your way, fellas. We don’t need to make this more bloody than it needs to be.”

"We'll shoot this one if you don't come with us," the second man said quickly, gesturing to you with his gun.

“Looks to me like you already have,” Arthur replied, giving you a quick glance, his expression unwavering. “You see a weapon anywhere? You’re real lowlifes for shootin’ an unarmed person.” His glare darkened at the two bandits, and you took this moment to slowly step away from the standoff. Blood was soaking through the sleeve of your shirt now, and you cursed the guy who shot you - you liked this shirt. There was a large rock a few feet away, and you were aiming to get behind there to avoid being shot at again. You just needed to time this right.

“We’re just trying to survive. We ain’t the ones shooting up entire towns like you and your gang,” the first man spat, and Arthur clenched his jaw at that. He turned to look at you. “You’d be safer with us than this criminal.”

You highly doubted that considering they were the ones that had shot you, and you took another small step closer to the rock. He seemed to notice you move this time, and waved his gun in your direction.

“Stay fuckin’ still, or the next bullet will be through your chest!” He was growing agitated, the other man watching on in confusion. You paused, raising a hand in the air in surrender while the other one kept pressure on your wound.

Arthur began to take a step forward towards the two, a look that bordered between anger and boredom on his face. “One last chance to get gone.” He gestured to where the road was, and the two bandits looked at each other.

“He’s wanted dead or alive,” the second man called out quickly. You frowned at the sudden mention of it, wondering what they were planning.

“Dead it is, then.” The first man released a shot in Arthur’s direction, narrowly missing his shoulder.

With gunfire echoing around you, you took the chance to dart towards the rock you were aiming to hide behind. Adrenaline rushed through you as you kept hearing gunshots, and you felt the sand kick up in front of you as one of the men turned fire towards you. You dived down behind the boulder, missing another bullet that was aimed for you, breathing erratically. All you could do now was wait and hope that it would end soon. Arthur was right - maybe you should invest in a weapon.

You took a moment to assess your wound, moving your bloody hand away from it. Your knowledge of gunshot wounds was limited, but from what you could tell the bullet grazed your skin. It was still bad, and would need to be looked at by a doctor when you got back into the city. You put your hand back over it, trying to calm your breathing down. There was nothing you could do right now. You needed to be calm.

Silence.

The air was heavy. Quiet. The gentle sound of water lapping against the shore was the only thing you could hear now. No movement. No breathing. Nothing. You tried to force yourself to move, to stand up to see what the damage was, but something was keeping you locked in place. Your eyes focused on the dark horizon ahead of you as you waited for a noise, a movement, anything.

A minute passed, and then another, and then you wondered what would happen if there were no survivors. If both the bandits and Arthur had injured each other to the point of death.

Oh god… What if Arthur is dead? 

He should've appeared by now. You should have seen or heard him. Was he dead? Were you going to stand up and see him lying there, motionless? You didn't know what you would do - how do you lay a body to rest in the middle of the wilderness? What if someone saw you and thought you were the killer? You couldn't remember the way home, and you had no idea what to do with Artemis. Stable fees could get expensive, and you didn't have time in your schedule to ride her. Arthur had friends elsewhere, too, and you had no idea how you would get word back to them that he was dead. How do you tell a wanted gang that one of theirs had died in a shootout with bandits?

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, rising and falling quickly as you tried to breathe normally. The horizon was blurring as tears formed, the frantic thud thud thud of your heart filled your ears. Were you dying now? Someone would stumble across four bodies and a lone horse and wonder what had happened here, what brutal act took place that resulted in all these deaths.

You heard your name, forcing yourself to turn your head in the direction of it. Standing a few steps away from you, hands and shirt bloodied, his hat nowhere to be seen, was Arthur. Alive.

"You… You aren't dead?" You spoke through deep breaths, looking over him with concern and caution and fear that this was an illusion.

"No, I'm-" He stopped, instead pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You relaxed into his arms, the rush of the fight and your anxiety slipping away. “I wasn't sure if they had hit you again,” he mumbled, a hand moving to the back of your head, smoothing out your hair.

“Are they-” You stopped yourself, not wanting to finish that sentence. Arthur nodded as you let out a sigh of relief, glad that it was over. That was more than enough violence for one day, and a wave of fatigue hit you.

“Come sit back by the fire. You need patchin’ up.” He loosened his arms around you, giving you a warm smile despite the conflict that just took place. The blood on him looked out of place now that the need to be threatening was gone, and you were glad to have met him on good grounds.

He led you back to the fire, an arm wrapped around your shoulder to keep you steady. The bandits' bodies were nowhere to be seen, and you assumed Arthur had taken care of them. 

You sat back down by the warmth of the fire, releasing the grip you had on your arm. Arthur handed you a small glass bottle, similar to one of the ones you shot earlier, as he sat down beside you, cloth and bandages in his other hands. You took the bottle, popping off the cork and smelling it.

"I wouldn't do that. It tastes worse than it smells," Arthur said as your face scrunched up in disgust.

"This is supposed to help me?" The last thing you wanted was to drink something that smelled like it came from the trash.

"It'll ease the pain." Arthur watched as you gave him a look, before drinking it down in one quick motion. The taste was bitter, and it didn't matter how fast you swallowed it you were left with an awful aftertaste that made you want to vomit.

"God… That's horrible," you mumbled, setting the bottle down in the sand beside you. "I'm never forgetting that taste."

"Can't say it gets any better the more you drink it," he said, taking note of your arm. You were, in a way, lucky that the bullet only grazed you, but it was still bleeding and needed to be patched up quickly. It stung like hell, and with each movement of your arm the pain only increased. 

His hands pulled at the fabric of your sleeve, moving it away from the wound. He then paused, a blush making its way across his cheeks.

“Could you… uh… I need to get to your arm, but…” He gave a small gesture to your sleeve, and you nodded, understanding what he was asking for. Your hands moved to unbutton your shirt, glad to be wearing something else underneath it. You pulled your arm out, letting the fabric fall behind you as Arthur moved forward, gently holding your arm. He was slow as he began to clean up the now drying blood, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. The light from the fire covered everything in hues of amber and orange, and Arthur looked like someone out of a painting you once saw. His brows furrowed in concentration, taking care not to hurt you. It was a stark contrast to see him this gentle when his clothes were stained with blood of the men he killed moments before. The crimson streaks across his shirt painted him as a ruthless killer, but the soft apologies he mumbled each time you let out a small hiss in pain made him look like a saint. What a walking contradiction he was, and you couldn't get enough of him. You didn't care how much blood he had on his hands as long as they were holding yours.

The strands of his hair that could never quite reach behind his ear fell in front of his face, and you pushed them back, your hand running through his hair as he worked. He let out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch. Even after everything you knew about him, you still wanted to know more. Not about who he was on wanted posters or newspaper articles, but who he actually was. Two ships passing by were allowed to understand each other on a deeper level, you were sure of it.

Something had changed, and the air around you both felt heavy. There was so much you wanted to say and ask him but the words could never leave your lips. Too much was at stake if you allowed yourself another moment with him like you did after you shot the can down. Maybe you were a contradiction too - an up and coming artist who yearns for the attention of an outlaw instead of the calm and quaint life they had. There were definitely novels written about that, and you knew how they ended. Your cheeks burned up at the thought of this playing out like a silly romance novel, and you let your hand rest against the side of his face, trying to catch his eye.

"You tryin' to distract me?" he asked softly, looking up for the first time at you.

"Consider it payback for when you were helping me shoot," you replied, moving your hand to rest on his shoulder now. "I blame you for makin' me miss."

He laughed, unwinding the bandage to begin to wrap up the wound. "You did pretty good, though. First time I picked up a gun I almost shot myself by accident."

"That's something I have trouble believing," you said, keeping your arm elevated so he could move the bandage around it easier. 

He was quiet for a moment, before speaking up. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he apologised, as he secured the end of the bandage. "The hold up. Usually this place is pretty quiet, 'cept for a few grumpy fellas who like their space."

"I'm just lucky you were around. They would've left with all our stuff if you hadn't showed up when you did." You gave him a smile. "I've had my fair share of hold ups in the city. It's fine."

"You sure you don't want to consider getting somethin' to defend yourself with?" he asked, his hand lingering on your lower arm, having moved down once everything was patched up.

"I was taught to throw the thing they're after away from you, that way you can flee and avoid getting hurt," you explained. The look on his face made it sound like you had explained a concept he had never heard of before. Maybe he hadn't ever needed to flee from a robbery. You didn't have the luxury of guns and protection from others and an intimidating build to threaten people away from you. All you had were your wits and a good knowledge of where to run to.

"We can make a detour to Rhodes. Again, I ain't too welcome there, but it'll be cheaper to get you a knife or somethin' in there than in the city." He gave your arm a soft squeeze.

You quickly shook your head. "No, I don't think I need anything. I've survived this far without a weapon. I know the places to avoid, and I'm smart about what I bring out with me."

He sat back, keeping his hand on your arm. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"Worried? About me?"

"Yeah… I'd hate to see somethin' bad happen to you," he said with a mischievous smile. "Who else is going to paint my handsome horse?"

You gently hit his arm, holding back a laugh. "You and your damn horse."

"She has real good hearing, you know. Best mind what you say about her." 

You looked over to Artemis, who was happily grazing on a small grassy patch a few metres from you both, not a care in the world.

"They were considering taking her," you told him as he followed your gaze to her.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's stolen her," he replied. You wanted to further question him, but he stood up, giving you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

You rose to your feet, giving him a mock salute with a laugh. "Yes, sir." A dark blush spread across his cheeks. He mumbled something about going to grab his hat, turning away from you quickly. It was nice to know that you weren't the only one getting flustered over the small things.

You pulled out a bedroll and a blanket you had managed to shove into the depths of your bag, spreading them out on the floor by the fire. While Arthur was away, you quickly shrugged off the rest of your shirt, glad that you had bought a spare. It made sense to leave the freshly bandaged wound alone for a while, so you chose to not change into a clean shirt, keeping your undershirt on and throwing the blanket over you.

The night sky looked pretty from where you now lay, the moon rising above the mountains in the distance. Warmth from the fire next to you was enough to help with the drowsiness, and the gentle crackle of the wood burning was a nice background noise. 

Sleep came easy, you were exhausted over being wounded and wanted nothing more than to be whisk away into some dream, away from the lake and away from the pain that lingered in your arm.

You found yourself in a small cabin, surrounded by woodlands. Birdsong was heard around you, and small critters ran to and from the bushes. The day was drawing to a close, and you could smell soup being prepared over in the kitchen. You followed the smell, your stomach rumbling as dinner time approached. Were you alone here? There was no sign of another person, but deep down you felt an ache for someone who had recently left. Space was left on the coat hooks for another person's belongings, and you wondered who you were sharing this place with.

The sound of hoofbeats drew your attention to the window that overlooked the front garden of your home, and arriving on the back of the oh so familiar horse was Arthur. He noticed you through the window, and gave you a warm smile and a wave.

You were in a cabin you called home, in the woods, with Arthur. It seemed too good to be true.

You walked out of the door to greet him as he dismounted from Artemis, eager to embrace you in a tight hug, his lips meeting yours in a quick kiss. He then began to press soft kisses over your face, keeping you close to him as you let slip a laugh. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing away from him only to get a better look at his face, lit up by the afternoon sun, freckles dusting his cheeks. 

A warmth spread underneath your hands, and you frowned, pulling them away from Arthur. They were painted a deep crimson, the blood heavy on your hands as you tried to wipe them on your shirt to clean them. The more you tried, the harder it became to fully feel clean. You looked at Arthur, feeling him slip away from you as the dream shifted into night, leaving you alone. 

You stood in the forest, clothes bloodied. There was no way you were getting the stains out from them, no matter how hard you tried. It would linger on you forever, a faded reminder of what you saw and what you could have prevented. Did they deserve to die? Were they trying to make a living? They claimed they were trying to survive, that they weren’t the bad guys - no, that was Arthur. An outlaw, a murderer, a cold blooded killer according to the newspaper, according to everyone. What made you different? Were you certain that your name wouldn't end up on the front page of the news, another victim claimed by the gang Arthur ran with? You called out for him, but there was no response. Why would there be?

You were alone. Just like you were before. The ship Arthur sailed had passed you, and you were left back at square one with nothing but the crimson on your hands.

You should've given them what they wanted. No blood would've needed to have been spilled, and everyone would be alive.

This was your fault.

The muffled sound of your name was heard, and you turned quickly to try and place where it was coming from. It got louder and louder until it was echoing in your mind, and you realised who was calling for you.

With a start, you sat up, breathing heavily and slightly damp - from sweat or the sudden feeling of rain, you weren't sure. You wiped your forehead as you tried to focus on waking up, blinking back sleep. The rain was gentle, but you knew it wouldn't be long before it got heavier and fire flickered out with each droplet. You searched the darkness for a sign of Arthur. There was light in the tent coming from a lantern, and you moved to stand, grabbing your bedroll. The tent flap opened, and Arthur stuck his head out, surprised to see you standing there.

"I was goin' to come and wake you. There's enough room in here for the both of us," he said, holding open the tent for you. "Just easier than tryin' to put another one up in the dark."

You nodded, ducking under Arthur's arm as you entered, dropping down your bedroll in the space next to his. It was a little cramped, the space not usually big enough for two people, but Arthur was doing his best to make it work. He gave you a smile as you sat down, still shaking from the dream.

Arthur seemed fine, like nothing had happened. How many deaths did you need to witness before you could fall asleep easily at night like he did? You didn't want to think about the number that Arthur may have faced. How easy it was for him to pull the trigger, to remove those people from life… The thought terrified you. No longer was he just the handsome stranger who let you paint his horse - you knew now that he was an outlaw, a dangerous man. There was a gentle nudge against your arm, as Arthur pulled you away from your thoughts, noticing your face frowning up.

"You doin' alright?" he asked quietly, and you had to strain to hear him over the sound of the rain against the canvas of the tent.

You shrugged in response. "Just thinking about those guys from earlier…"

"That's a rickety line you're travelling down," he said, shifting slightly to face you. "If it weren't them, it would've been us."

"I know…"

He gently took a hold of your hand, causing you to look up at him. How many lives has his hands taken?

"Maybe… Maybe we could've tried to defuse the situation. Maybe we could've gotten out of there with everyone alive. But there ain't no use thinkin' about what could have been. It'll eat you up before you've even realised," he said. "If I started doubtin' every time I did something, nothing would get done."

You nodded, wanting to question him further but the call for you to go back to sleep entered your mind. There would be time to properly process this in the morning. For now, you laid back down on the ground beside Arthur. He moved to turn the lantern off, leaving you both in darkness, the rain growing heavier as it battered against the tent. You made sure to leave enough space between the both of you as you closed your eyes, wishing for lighter dreams. 

The rest of the night was uneventful. Your mind allowed you to sleep through it without plaguing you with more nightmares, giving you the rest you needed. The morning chorus of birdsong awoke you, soft sunlight breaking through the small gap in the canvas.

You noticed three things very quickly in your post-sleep daze.

One: the rain had stopped.

Two: you were close to something that was very warm, and you instinctively moved towards it.

Three: the feeling of Arthur's hand laying gently on your waist.

You were fully awake now, face to face with Arthur's chest as he slept, your own arms wrapped around him, your legs tangled together. It was so domestic the way you fit against each other, like this was meant to be. You laid there, unmoving and unsure of what to do with yourself. Arthur's eyes were closed, and you could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful like this, with his face relaxed and there being no need to put up an intimidating front. You almost didn't want to move away from him. If he woke up now, you were almost certain you would become a flustered mess, so it was better to wait outside for him to wake up.

Moving slowly, you began to pull yourself from him, careful not to wake him up. Your heart ached when you left the tent, leaving him behind, but the cool morning air was welcomed by you instead.

The world felt still as the sun rose, warm yellows covering the sky. The fire had long died out, leaving behind the charred remains of the wood once burned. A flock of birds flew above you and a couple of deer were drinking in front of you. They walked around each other, looking up every time they heard a small sound. You had never been this close to deer before, and you were keeping still to not accidentally spook them. Artemis laid in the grass, looking at you as if to ask for a treat. You waved at her, and she turned away, letting out a small huff. 

A small breeze blew past, catching you off guard at the wave of cold air. It would be a smart idea to change into something that was a little more modest than your underclothing, so you turned back around. You pushed open the flaps of the tent, kneeling down and grabbing the bag that had your spare clothes in. It was still early and you were trying to be as quiet as you could to not wake Arthur up. You stood behind the tent and changed into a fresh set of clothes. Your arm felt better than what it did and you told yourself that you would visit the doctor as soon as you got back home. It was sad to think you would need to leave this small patch of peace so soon, wanting nothing more than to stay here a little longer, away from civilization and away from all the things you needed to do at home. 

As you walked back to where the remains of the fire were, you bumped into Arthur, who was now leaving the tent. He had the smart idea to change inside the tent, and you felt a little silly for dressing out in the open.

"Morning!" you said quickly, holding your bag close to you, stepping aside for him.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, running a hand down his face to wake himself up more. "Sleep well?"

"I did." You noticed he couldn't hold your gaze for long. "Did you?" 

He nodded, eyes focused on the horizon. "Good."

"Is everything okay?" you asked, approaching him slowly. Another nod. "You're just… quiet."

"I'm fine." He smiled at you, but was quick to avert his eyes away again. "We should head back soon." He pointed to your arm. "Get that checked out as soon as you can."

"It's on my list of things to do today," you replied, already trying to work out how you were going to tell the doctor what happened. You had tried to not think too much about the slope you were sliding down last night, the idea of death and killing people not something you found enjoyment out of. It was too soon to process all that, your feelings were still too raw.

Arthur moved past you quickly, and began to dismantle the tent, doing so in a way that seemed like he had done it many times before and had perfected it. Within minutes, and before you could offer to help, the tent was packed away, leaving your belongings out in the open ready to be picked up. He called for Artemis who stood up quickly, nuzzling her head against his shoulder for scratches. Something still felt weird, as you watched him saddle up Artemis, checking and double checking to make sure everything was secure.

"Look, about last night," he started, his cheeks flushed and his hands gesturing wildly though no words followed.

"It's fine!" you quickly replied, swallowing down the nerves that were threatening to rise up out of you. "I mean, if you're fine with what happened, and I'm fine with it, then… it's fine… Right?"

"Right. Yes. Just wanted to make it clear that it's all good. Between us, that is."

"Of course. We're good." 

He let out a sigh of relief at that, his shoulders relaxing as the confirmation that what happened was something you had both wanted to do was said out loud. The air felt lighter after that, and you were glad that nothing felt wrong between you both. You quite liked kissing him.

"You got everythin'?" he asked, and you nodded. As he mounted Artemis, he held his arm out for you again, helping you up as you began the journey back home.

The ride back was quiet, your head against Arthur's back and one of his hands on yours, fitting together like a puzzle that you had been missing pieces from. Trees and hills and wildlife passed you by, the air getting thicker the closer you got towards Bayou Nwa, and you were already yearning for the cool air of the lake again.

Saint Denis welcomed you home as Artemis slowed to a walk, Arthur directing her down the street to where he remembered you lived. You willed an excuse for him to stay longer to appear in your mind, but nothing formed. There were things you had to do today, and Arthur most likely had his own plans as well. You'd see each other again soon, you told yourself as your apartment building appeared in your line of sight. Goodbyes aren't forever, not yet at least.

Artemis stopped, as you dismounted. Arthur followed suit, wanting to walk you to your door. You were both quiet as you made your way to your building, stopping once you were outside the door.

"Thank you. This has been really fun," you said with a smile, taking a hold of his hand. "Minus the getting shot part."

"Next time, there will be less injuries, I promise," he replied.

You raised an eyebrow. "Next time?"

"The fireworks."

"Right!" How could you forget? "The fireworks. End of the week. I expect to see you here."

"I wouldn't miss it." He smiled at you, and you quickly looked around to see who was walking by. When the coast was clear, you pulled him down for a quick kiss, his arms moving around you instinctively.

"Don't cause too much trouble," you mumbled playfully, flicking his hat up as you moved away.

"I can't promise anythin'. You take care of yourself now. Go to the doctors." He stepped back with a small wave, and you wanted to call out for him to stay. But you said nothing, watching him leave again. With a soft sigh, you entered your building alone.

A letter was on the floor as you opened the door, and you frowned, picking it up. The handwriting was unfamiliar, elegant swirls and loops that you hadn't seen before. You took a seat at your dining table, opening it carefully.

Addressed to you, from one of your recent clients, was an invitation to paint at the mayor's gala at the end of the week. The writer, a man you had had a few interactions with before - he had wanted you to paint his dog - expressed his concern that it was a late invite, but hoped to see you there. He wanted this gala to be immortalised as it was an important date for him, and hoped you would do the honours of painting the celebration for him. 

You couldn't quite believe it. 

[thecouchsofa]

📚NaNovember Stats 2024 (Month in Review)🌻

Total words written: ❗52,470 words ❗

No. of days written on: ❗22/30 days❗

No. of days used for editing: 1/30 days

Most productive week: November 1-7, with 15,201 words written

Most productive day: Sunday the 24th - 6,428 words written

Fics worked on: 7, including:

TTPD server gift fic (completed, ready for editing)

AAF/Something in the Orange (Drarry, currently stands at 40k total and est. 60% complete)

Dronarry fest (yee haw 🤠)

Bottomianos PWP (Capri, completed and ready for editing)

Hand and finger kink PWP parts 1, 2, and 3 (Drarry, parts 1 & 2 completed and ready for editing, part 3 in progress)

Favourite fic written this month: SiTO 🧡

Longest Fic written this month: SiTO - 19.5k of my monthly word count was towards that fic

Fics posted this month: 1:

Give/Take (Will/James - Dark Rise) (2k, E)

Thoughts: NaNo done, dusted, and fucking obliterated - I completed my 50k goal a week early and cruised to another few k's of additions. My progress was very consistent throughout the month (see graph below); my smallest writing week was still 11k! I got stuck into a WiP that I've been adding to on and off for the better part of a year and I'm getting pumped to finish it. Hopefully I'll send it to the editing basket next month, but who knows - my estimates of fic word counts are so far off that they're never in the same ballpark as the end total. If this fic goes over 80k someone needs to come to my house and throw water on me.

December's new name is Editcember; a cursed moniker for a cursed month. Aside from editing the five things I completed during NaNo, hopefully I'll finish writing the fic mentioned above. The plan is also to get stuck into my Seer Laurent WiP but I'm banning myself from that doc until SiTO is done (mainly because I'll need to do a reread of Capri for worldbuilding purposes and I refuse to let the Drarry fixation shift until this fucking fic is done. It's been sitting there for too long and it's taking up brain space)

December goal: 40,000 words - summer is here baby ☀️🌻🌇

⭐ Total word count for 2024 so far: 364,682 words ⭐

[novelconcepts]

the other side of someday

When the Yellowjackets' plane crashes in the Wilderness, they aren't the first. Another team has already been here. Other girls have already died here.

As Taissa discovers when she awakens with a long-dead goalie sharing her body, dead doesn't mean gone.

chapter 1/4 - head

chapter 2/4 - hands

T (for now); 19.5k words

Less than three days. That’s how long it takes the rescue team to swoop in. Not even half a goddamn week. Van’s not bitter. There’s really no point in being bitter, like there was no point decorating her room growing up. Some paths only ever lead to heartbreak—like knowing any treasure you tack to your walls is one more target for Mom’s drunken destruction. Like knowing, too, any thought of what should have been, how unfair it all is, can break what’s left of you. Van’s not bitter. She’s relieved on behalf of these people she’s been watching for a few days from behind Taissa Turner’s eyes. They’re like a weirdly realistic television show, a movie in which she can’t help rooting for every character. Weirdos, one and all—but, for the most part, the good kind of weirdos. She likes the way they interact. A team. She can see, even so far from a field, how they might have become champions.

[sunriseinorbit]

do you like third semester shuake? do you like psychological horror (but not really because i'm a coward)? are you a connoisseur of the porn with feelings tag?

i've been too lazy to post it on tumblr until now but i'm writing a post-royal sleep ending longfic! it's called smoke signals and chapter 3 is out now at a total of 19.5k words so far!

please note this fic is rated e for egad there is smut here! read the author's notes of chapter 2 and 3 for what to expect in that department, and if you're not at least 18, kindly move along.

[spnhunter4life]

Nearly 5,000 words today, bringing it to a total of 19.5k words so far. Still a long way to go, but it's really coming along! I'm only just getting started, but I really can't wait until this is done and I can share it with you guys! Fingers crossed that I can keep up a steady pace.

(Also, side note: I think it might be fun for me to do these little updates once and a while and then go back through them once it's finally done. It'll be fun for me, anyway. I realize it's probably a pretty boring update for everyone else.)

I'm feeling so good about this new story I'm working on! I managed to write down just under 4,500 words today. I don't know about other writers, but for me that's really good!

I don't think I've ever managed to get more than 3,000 in a day before. I have a very long way to go still, but I'm having so much fun with it so far. I'm very excited for this one.

Here's hoping the rest of the story comes to me as easily as it has so far and that it turns out as well as I want it to. I really think this could easily be my best story if I do it right!

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

���Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[titan-fodder]

Pyroclastic (Mike Zacharias x Reader)

Summary: Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

Rating: E (explicit)

Word Count: ~19.5K

Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Eruri, implied Mobuhan, spelling Miche ‘Mike’, swearing, fighting, lots of nerdy shit, explicit sexual content, breeding kink

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile’s Apocalypse collab. I urge everyone to check out all the pieces on the masterlist. A big thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for being about as excited about this as I was, to @shadowworks​ for always encouraging me when I take on projects too big for my own good, and to @mindninjax​ who volunteered her husband’s expertise on this. I’m pretty proud of this piece and had a blast writing and researching for it. This is by no means scientifically accurate, but I did my best to make it realistic (as in I watched Supervolcano again and spent a lot of time on the USGS website). Also, I have been to Yellowstone exactly one (1) time in my life and was terrified the entire time which is where my fixation with it comes from. 

Enjoy~

GLOSSARY

Caldera - large basin-shaped volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*

Pyroclastic flow - A hot (typically >800 °C), chaotic mixture of rock fragments, gas, and ash that travels rapidly (tens of meters per second) away from a volcanic vent or collapsing flow front.*

Tephra -  pieces of all fragments of rock ejected into the air by an erupting volcano.

VEI - The Volcanic Explosivity Index (VEI) is a relative measure of the explosiveness of volcanic eruptions.*

*definitions taken from USGS website

4  Y E A R S  B E F O R E 

Levi looks pissed when he’s on screen. He looks pissed all the time, but he looks especially pissed when he’s made to stand in front of pointed cameras and outstretched microphones. 

You can’t blame him; it’s not actually his job to deal with the press, but some years ago, Erwin had twisted his arm this way and that and convinced Levi to take over conferences.

“They understand you better,” he’d said. “You enunciate better than me. We can’t have people misunderstanding me and panicking, can we?” The blond had purposely spoken with an accent thicker than usual, and Levi had called him every name under the sun, but in the end, he’d relented, and now…

“Dr. Ackermann! Dr. Ackermann! Is it true that this has been the largest earthquake in Yellowstone since Hebgen Lake?” 

Levi squints, actually cringes at the question, then waves one of his small, bony hands. “Hebgen Lake was a major quake—7.2 on the Richter scale. This was only a 5.3, and yeah, it’s been a while since the park has had a quake larger than a three, but that doesn’t mean—”

“So, should we be worried about a supereruption?” Another reporter asks, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing as the light leaves your colleague’s eyes. 

Levi’s jaw slides, and he pauses, no doubt to think about how to answer because this is a delicate question, one that the general public always reads extremely far into. He’s good at keeping his expression blank, at least, probably another reason Erwin requested he take over interviews. 

“Listen,” he starts off, slate eyes locking onto the largest camera in front of him. “Yellowstone is a hub of seismic energy. It wouldn’t be the park we know and love today if it wasn’t shaking and letting off steam like it usually does, right?” This gains a few relieved chuckles from the crowd of journalists. 

“Was this earthquake bigger than the ones we’re used to? Yes. Are we monitoring each and every tremor that we pick up? Also, yes. So, don’t make yourself sick worryin’ about sh—stuff you can’t control. We’ll let you know if it’s time to worry.” He sucks his teeth for a second, waiting for his advice to wash over everyone, then adds, “Keep a bug-out bag packed, though. Not because of the volcano or anything. Just because… The world is crazy and so are people, and it’s always good to be prepared.”

They take it as a joke, laugh a little louder as Levi steps down from the podium, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know he had made the comment with serious intent. It’s a lot easier to fly out of town at a moment’s notice when you already have the necessities packed, and though he won't tell them all the facts this early on, there’s a chance that they will eventually have to evacuate, yes. 

“I fucking hate that big, blond bastard,” is the first thing Levi tells you when he’s within earshot, much less well-spoken in casual situations than when his face is being broadcasted. “Voht iff they dunt understahnd me, Lebi?” He mimics your boss badly then pantomimes an uppercut with a dramatic grunt. 

“Why’d you make him sound Russian?”

“I was trying to make him sound stupid ‘cause that’s what he is.”

“I have four doctorates,” Erwin states as he falls into step with both of you, finally moving from his little hiding place behind one of the news trucks. “I’m not stupid. And, I do not sound like that.”

“That’s what you think,” Levi grumbles, doing his best to shrug away from the larger man when Erwin slings an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t work, and Levi ends up stumbling to keep up with Erwin’s longer strides, which only serves to irritate him further. 

“You looked good up there. I mean, you sounded good. Sounded sure, comforting…” 

You shake your head at Erwin’s obvious struggle to just not be the big weirdo that he is, but it sure is painful to watch sometimes. 

Governor Zachary takes over the conference, leaving the three of you to make your way inside the lodge that the emergency broadcast was set up outside of. Levi and Erwin bicker through the lobby then through the back doors that lead you to the jeep that you all swing yourselves into. 

The sky is still a little dusty with shaken sediment, and some of the park rangers are setting up barricades at the mouths of a couple hiking trails leading to what is now a moderately large crevasse that’s opened up in the Biscuit Basin. 

Other than that, the park doesn’t feel much different as you ride through it on your way back to the lab. The Summer sun brings with it your favorite 70 degree days, and if it weren’t for Erwin’s questionable driving, you’d be tempted to hang half your body out the window just to feel the warmth better. The faint smell of sulfur in the air is soothing at this point—the smell of activity, the smell of science, the smell of home. Geysers are still shooting boiling water to the skies. The mud pots are still bubbling like ominous cauldrons. That earthquake couldn’t have shaken too much out of place if all the geothermal spots are still behaving as they normally do.

The tires kick up rocks and dust as Erwin brakes dramatically outside of the base, right behind another familiar jeep that makes Levi roll his eyes. 

“Great. The boy scout’s here.” 

“Oh, be nice, you little grump,” Erwin chastises him. “Mike’s been nothing but kind to us since he started working here.”

“Yeah, except for the time he misjudged the depth of that puddle and—”

“Splashed you with mud, yeah, yeah, we know, Levi,” you finish for him as you slide out of the vehicle. “You bring it up every time you see the guy. We know.”

“And, didn’t he apologize afterward?” Erwin prompts.

Levi doesn’t answer, but you respond for him: “Profusely. Drove him back to the lab, offered him his spare change of clothes—”

“Useless,” Levi hisses. “The dude’s a giant.”

“Not his fault he’s…” You try not to sound too giddy when you step through the door and see the man in question. “Enormous.” 

You don’t know Mike very well, one of the newer park rangers but with a background in geology which leads him to your neck of the woods very often. The few conversations you have had with him have all been pleasant. He’s soft-spoken but obviously intelligent with good instincts about both the park’s weather and wildlife. 

He’s also the only ranger you’ve seen actually pull off the dorky park uniform, but that could just be because the different shades of green look good against his tan skin and bring out his light eyes. Even taller than Erwin and a little broader too, M. Zacharias (as his little, metal name tag reads) is a slab of a man, and yet, when he grins, it’s almost boyish. 

“Hey, Mike, what’s up?” You greet.

He turns his head to look at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, then offers one of the soft smiles you were hoping for. “Just came to drop off some samples for Hange.”

“Disgusting,” Levi mutters just for you to hear as he passes, and you shove him hard enough to make him stumble and flip you off. 

“How’d the press conference go?” Hange asks, tossing a small, corked flask of mud from hand to hand—what you assume to be the sample—while twirling in their computer chair. The last member of your team, Moblit Berner, glances away from the holographic model he’s studying to hear the answer. 

“I think it went well,” Erwin says. “Levi handled it like a champion, as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, old man,” the brunet bites out, joining Moblit next to the expensive projection table in the middle of the lab. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

“I’m just running the numbers from today’s quake. The possible effects it had underground.”

“And?”

Moblit is quiet for a beat too long.

“Mobs, what is it?” 

You, Erwin, and Hange make your way over to the table, staring at the laser-lit park model and the chamber underneath it. 

“Well, in most of the scenarios, it’s fine,” Moblit tries. “Nothing to worry about.”

“And, in the others?” 

He looks to Erwin, as everyone does in times of concern. Thick eyebrows pinched together, your boss motions to the hologram. “Show us.”

Moblit punches a few things in on the app he uses to control the model, then takes a deep breath and lets it play out for everyone to see, including Mike who slowly makes his way over, curiosity apparently getting the best of him. 

At first, nothing looks to change, just a living, breathing reenactment of what you were seeing today—every geyser, every fumarole, every little rumble, every minute rise and fall of the ground sped up to be detected with the human eye. 

And then, it stops. 

“Why did it…”

“Just watch,” Moblit shushes you. 

The outline of the ground fractures in several different places, statistics for different earthquakes blinking above. The known vents of the park—every geyser, mudpot, and fumarole—are rendered inactive, and under it all, that massive chamber everyone is always so worried about begins to bulge upward and outward, growing larger and larger until…

The map shorts out, flickering then disappearing entirely, leaving the six of you staring at the space where it was shining just seconds ago. 

“Was that…” 

Erwin inhales deeply through his nose before exhaling the word that will eventually bring the nation to its knees.

"Supereruption."

3  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

Even through the thick headset, the whir of the helicopter blades is loud, a rhythm pulsing through the air strong enough to be felt in your chest right alongside your beating heart. 

Thankfully, Mike’s deep voice is loud and clear when he speaks, nodding his head to the right, “Look down at about two o’clock.”

You follow his command, tilting your head and peering down at an empty field. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.

The microphone hanging in front of his mouth picks up his chuckle, and the sound of it echoes in your ears, making you grin albeit a little confused. 

“Exactly. That’s a big spot for bison this time of year.”

“Then why aren’t they here?”

Mike lets the chopper hover for a while, both hands still on their respective control levers. 

“Ground’s been moving too much,” he says after a few seconds of silent staring. You’d known the answer already but hearing the wildlife expert confirm it fills you with a little more dread than you’d originally harbored. “They feel things we don’t, the tiny quakes, the tremors. Stuff you only think the seismograph picks up—they feel all of it.”

“They know what’s coming,” you say more to yourself than to him. 

Mike offers you one of those charming, close-lipped smiles. “When in doubt, trust the animals.” 

A line you’ve heard him say a few times now. Mike loves everything that lives in the park, from all the common lake trout and sand cranes to the endangered grizzly bears and gray wolves. 

Trust the animals, he says. Because he trusts them. Because he loves them. 

“You wanna fly over the Grand Prismatic?” Mike asks, pulling you from your thoughts, and when you look over, you find your reflection in his mirrored aviators as he stares at you. 

His mouth quirks up at the corners, causing yours to do the same, and you nod. “Yeah, always.”

It’s your favorite view in the park, the colorful spring from up above. Mike had learned that a few months ago, and now whenever you ride in the chopper with him, he makes sure to pass over the beautiful attraction just for you.

Nearly 200° Fahrenheit with a pH of 8.7, the pool, while still dangerous due to its temperature, is one of the more moderate dangers of the national park, tame in comparison to the Norris Geyser Basin with temperatures up to 459° (a thousand meters below the surface, anyway) and a pH of about two. It’s dissolved bones—human bones. And, would claim even more if given the chance. 

You suppose that’s expected for a basin that’s sitting over a chamber of 1,500° molten magma. 

The Grand Prismatic is just as stunning today as it is every other. Its outer orange and yellow rings darken to greens and blues the further inward you look, thick steam rising from all over but more condensed over the middle. 

It was one of the park's biggest attractions, tourists flocking to the spring with their cameras, too stricken by the vivid chromaticism to listen or read about the temperatures and microbials that are responsible for the colors in the first place. 

As you hover above now, just to the side of the steam, your heart aches. There are no ignorant tourists to take pictures of the pool, the boardwalks and trails to these hot spots now blocked off once it became apparent that the earthquake that took place last year was not the last of its kind. Your team as well as the park rangers went to the park board as a unit and suggested that tourists needed to be kept away from as many geothermal features as possible, all of you with the same fear in mind: someone (or many someones) falling in. 

It's always been a risk, but now, with weekly rumblings, that risk has multiplied exponentially. All it takes is someone losing their footing on the boardwalk over the Norris Geyser Basin for serene sightseeing to turn into tragedy, and that's on a good day. Throw a 5.7 earthquake into the mix, and the park could lose an entire tour group to the heat and acid. 

It's just not a risk any of you are willing to take anymore. 

Most of the park remains open. Old Faithful continues to draw people in by the thousands. They sit and watch boiling water shoot into the sky every hour or so, clapping happily at the sight, unaware of the way you and your team hold your breath in wait, hoping for the geyser to go off on its usual schedule. 

One day it will stop. One day they'll all stop. And, then… 

"I can't believe it's all gonna be gone one day," you muse, blinking down at the prismatic pool for as long as Mike will let you. 

"Nah," the man disagrees. "Not gone. Buried, yeah, but not gone."

You snort, turn back to him with a grin and roll your eyes. "Yeah, no big deal. Just miles of pyroclast and ash, probably snow when we get thrust into another ice age 'cause of the crazy climate swing..."

"Alright, alright, I get it. The sun dimeth and the land sinketh."

"Gusheth forth steam and gutting fire," you continue grimly.

Mike turns the helicopter back toward the landing zone, saying nothing else and leaving you to take in the sights below. You're grateful for the silence; it's good for processing, for preparation. 

And, you're grateful for Mike, one of your best friends at this point—soft and kind despite his intimidating stature, smart as a whip, and just as stunning, if not more so, than the Grand Prismatic. 

"Any idea what you'll do afterward?" He asks, holding a hand out to you to help you from your seat in the chopper. 

"Not really. Survive, I guess." 

You land just a little too close to him, your face nearly coming in direct contact with his broad chest, but Mike steps back just in time, making you extend your arm, still connected at the fingers, before he drops your hand. 

"A feat all on its own," he says flatly, but he perks up as you both begin walking to the park ranger base. "Maybe you'll find another team to work on."

"I don't want to find another team," you tell him honestly. "This is my team. This is my home."

Mike hums, an understanding little sound, body warm when he gently bumps into you on the gravel pathway to the lodge. "Yeah, I know."

A geophysics major at UCLA with a specific interest in volcanology, getting to intern with the Erwin Smith at the Yellowstone supervolcano had been a dream come true. You'd expected to gain knowledge and experience—nothing more and nothing less. You'd lived out here for one summer during your graduate program, clocking the field experience you needed to get your degree and taking in everything you could. 

Back then, it felt like all you did was ask questions and get in the way. By the end of that summer, you knew every variation of Levi Ackermann's irritated sighs, every different pitch of Hange Zoe's shouts and how they correlated with their experiments. Moblit had been the newest permanent addition and was even more nervous than he is now, trying and failing to keep up with Hange (which he's much better at doing these days). 

They were all fantastic, but it had been the lead researcher who'd reeled you in. You'd never met anyone as passionate as Dr. Erwin Smith, captivated by the monster underneath the park and thrilled to share his brain with anyone willing to hold their hands out for it. Hell, he'd even helped you with your Master's thesis—hydrothermally altered mineralized systems and their seismic reflections. 

When you graduated, the Yellowstone team was the first you reached out to and the first you heard back from. Erwin said you'd been a perfect fit even as a student (which you hadn't exactly believed but definitely blushed at anyway). Mobs, Hange, and even Levi seemed happy to have you back. It was like you were meant to be here. In this park. With all of them. 

Studying the volcano and all of its properties has always been like breathing to you—natural and necessary. You move when it moves, every shake and tremor a heartbeat in your own chest, every shooting geyser like blood in your veins. The mudpots are your bubbling emotions, the fumaroles, your sense of building pressure and release.

You feel at home in the park because you trust it. Because you love it. 

You don't have room for another team in your heart, but as you walk inside the lodge next to Mike, watching as he takes off his sunglasses and grins at one of the other rangers, you think you at least have room for one more person. 

2  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

The lab has two extra bodies in it—two extra unwelcome bodies who keep getting in your way and touching things as they ask questions that no one has the answers to yet.

“When did you say this was going to happen?” The rotund state governor, Dhalis Zachary, asks for the second time since arriving, picking up a sample test tube that Moblit immediately plucks from his hand with a nervous smile.

“As I said before, it’s difficult to place a concrete timeline on an event like this,” Erwin tells the white-haired man. “We don’t exactly have in depth records of the last three eruptions, so all we have to go off of is the earth itself and our simulations.”

At the edge of the projection table, Nile Dok, FEMA director, cautiously waves a hand through the holographic model displayed in front of him. He obviously doesn’t think anyone is watching him because the slender man jumps in surprise when you snort at your desk, and his angular cheekbones take on a pink tint of embarrassment from having been caught.

He clears his throat, straightens the knot that sits over it, then turns to face Erwin and prompts, “Three eruptions before. One was a lot bigger than the others, though, right?”

Erwin nods. “Huckleberry Ridge. Over two million years ago.”

“We’re hoping—if a supereruption is to occur—it’ll be closer to the size of Mesa Falls,” you pipe up.

“Which one was that?” Zachary asks.

“One-point-three million years ago, two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers of erupted materials…” Levi lists off as he makes his way over to the table with a sanitary wipe in hand. He doesn’t like people in his space, doesn’t like strangers in the lab, even (especially) government officials (“They leave fingerprints, and they breathe on everything, and they waste our fucking time.”).

“Two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers… That’s the best-case scenario?” Zachary looks to Erwin, eyebrows raised high over his wire glasses.

Erwin stares at him for a moment, contemplating the best and easiest way to explain this to someone who has no real experience in the field. Eventually, he settles on, “Moblit, can you run some simulations for me?”

“Of course, sir,” the mousy scientist agrees, phone in hand and pulling up the app before the boss can even finish speaking.

Everyone gathers around the table except for Levi who steps away from it, grumbling under his breath about coming back to clean it later. He at least hits the lights, making the model easier to see as Erwin starts listing off numbers and scenarios.

“The best case, actually, is only one vent opening, maybe two. It would be something comparable to Mount St. Helen’s, though probably a bit bigger, say point-five cubic kilometers of material. It would be necessary to evacuate the park and this region of the state at the very least.”

Zachary hums, “And, how likely is that?”

Erwin shrugs. “Hard to say right now. As the earthquakes increase, though, the likelihood of a small eruption like that, uh, dwindles.”

“Small,” Nile scoffs.

Zachary makes a similar noise, slightly louder, a little more offended, then rattles off, “Mount St. Helen’s killed almost sixty people. The blast, the ash, the lahars—” as if you don’t all already know.

“No one’s discounting the damage of the eruption,” Levi cuts him off. “But, if you’re sweatin’ at those numbers, all due respect, Governor, I don’t know if you’re ready to stomach the rest of this little light show.”

The older man cuts his eyes at Levi who squints right back at him, only turn and shuffle over to his desk when Erwin waves him further away, a silent way of saying ‘keep your smart mouth away from the authority figures’.

“Moving on,” you cough, twirling a finger to get both Erwin and Mobs to continue.

“Yes,” Erwin nods. “So, any eruption is dependent on how much magma in the chamber is eruptible magma. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it will come out.”

Moblit punches in a few numbers to show what a small-scale eruption would look like, first with one vent then with two.

“With just that amount, even with two vents, it isn’t enough to completely destabilize the chamber.”

“And, destabilizing it would be… bad…” Nile states more than asks, brown eyes lit up by the model in front of him.

“No shit,” everyone hears Levi grumble from his desk, and Erwin huffs and looks at you, expression a little exasperated as he jerks a thumb back toward the grumpy man in yet another one of his silent motions— a plea in this case—'go take care of him’ which you do.

Levi is slumped in his computer chair, arms crossed over his chest as he peers over his desktop at the four men gathered around the hologram.

“Should’a just gone with Hange and the boy scout to collect samples when I had the chance,” he mutters.

“You hate collecting samples, especially sulfur samples. Which is what they’re getting now.”

“Yeah, well I hate these guys even more.” He says it quietly enough so that they won’t be able to hear, and even if they could, both Governor Zachary and Nile are too invested in the information that the scientists are giving them to pay attention to anything else.

“What’d they ever do to you?” You push, curious now because sure, Levi has always been the surliest of the team, but it’s rare that he’s surly and loud about it.

“Nothing. They have done nothing because they don’t belong here. They have no idea—no fucking idea—what’s about to happen.” You can hear his frustration even through his whispers. “Best case scenarios? Why are we even going over those? We know damn well that we’re not looking at one or two vents. And, we’re not lookin’ at Mesa Falls either.”

Letting out a long breath, you lean against Levi’s desk, ignoring the way he grunts in protest.

“I know. I’m sure Erwin and Moblit will prep them for the worst case.”

“There’s no prepping for it,” Levi hisses, gray eyes flashing. “We’re talking about—"

“…A nationwide cataclysmic event.” Both of you register Erwin’s voice at the same time and glance at the other group to find them staring at the lit-up simulation of the Huckleberry Ridge eruption.

“Which would pretty quickly turn into a worldwide problem,” Moblit adds quietly.

“Worldwide?” You hear Nile question in a low but very alarmed tone. “Because of the ash?”

“Well, yes, but, it’s not just ash,” Erwin clarifies, diving into his explanation of tephra and how dangerous it is. He reminds the men how far it traveled after the Mount St. Helen’s eruption since they’ve apparently latched onto that one, then challenges, “Now imagine an eruption about… six hundred times that size.”

“Six…” Nile swallows, turning his entire, slender frame toward Erwin and repeating, “Six hundred times bigger? That’s what we’re expecting?”

In his little rolling chair, Levi’s chest puffs a bit, finally satisfied that the gravity of the situation is beginning to set in. “Maybe they aren’t as dumb as they look.”

Erwin is about to say something, right hand lifted with his index finger extended in a very matter-of-fact way, but before he can manage to get anything out, the door to the lab swings open and Hange walks in, Mike just behind them carrying all the collected samples in what almost looks like a lunchbox.

“We’re back—” Hange stops, taking in their surroundings, the lack of lights, the bright projection, the grim energy, then shouts, “Hey, get some Pink Floyd playing! Like a planetarium in here! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…”

“Dr. Zoe,” Moblit clears his throat. “We were just going over the utter devastation a supereruption could wreak on the country.”

“Oh, were you?” Hange pauses, brow rising, lips puckering into a sour expression. “My bad.”

Raising a hand to your forehead, you laugh to yourself for a few seconds before shaking the untimely amusement off and making your way over to Mike to take the sample kit from him.

“Careful,” he warns jokingly as he passes it off. “Got some very fragile gas and mud in there.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “So, I shouldn’t, like, shake it or anything?”

“Definitely should not shake it. Here, here, just—” He takes it back, grinning broadly as he tells you, “I think it’s best if you let a professional handle such dangerous compounds.”

All the doom-and-gloom you had been feeling mere seconds ago evaporates entirely, and you let out a frankly embarrassing giggle as you watch Mike very carefully set the samples down on Hange’s lab table, making a show of securing them and whispering a final, “Stay,” so that you clamp a hand over your mouth.

Levi groans in disgust, and, at the same time, Erwin mutters an apology to Zachary and Nile for, “… employing a team of children.”

Your face heats in embarrassment, but it doesn’t keep you from smiling at Mike when he saunters back over, looking rather sheepish himself.

“Lunchtime soon, right?”

“Yeah, in a bit—”

“Please go now, for the love of God,” Erwin sighs. “And, take Levi and Hange with you.”

None of you need telling twice, quickly grabbing wallets and home-packed meals before rushing from the lab before your boss decides to murder one or all of you.

Levi steers Hange toward his car, leaving you alone with Mike which you don’t mind in the slightest. You take most of your lunches with him anyway, some of your breakfasts and dinners too, so this is simply part of your daily routine.

“I’ve got some sandwiches packed already. Wanna hit Mount Haynes?” He suggests, sliding into the driver’s seat of his jeep.

You point a fingergun at him and nod. “I like the way you think, sir.”

He takes a very specific route, avoiding any damaged areas, having to veer off of the actual road at a certain point to take a safer path he and other rangers have made. You watch the mountains of the park grow closer and closer, what you know to be the ridge of Yellowstone’s caldera looming nearer.

Mike parks at the base of your intended destination then reaches into the backseat to grab the aforementioned lunch. You have no intentions of actually hiking to the top of the mountain—don’t have the time or the will, honestly—but as soon as the two of you have worked up a sweat and are at a decent enough elevation to look out on the park underneath, you drop to the dusty ground and take it all in.

Even from this distance, you can see some of the gases and steam in the air. That’s the only movement there is, though, save for the occasional ranger vehicle zipping along. The land seems almost barren at this point. The grass is still green. The sun is still bright as it is every Summer.

But, there are no animals, no tourists, no real life. Instead, it’s been replaced with cracks and crevasses, with barricades and warning signs.

Trail Closed

Road Closed

Danger: Keep Out

It’s been almost six months since the park decided to shut down to the public, and if you’re being honest, it should have closed its doors long before. It took people dying to bring the board to their senses, an earthquake that shook the ground for minutes, the crust of the earth splitting right under the historical lodge that so many loved.

Fourteen casualties. Twenty-nine injured.

That’s what it took.

You barely recognize the park now, feel like the last endangered species left within its boundaries. It’s just the research team, some of the rangers, and the occasional outside visitor (board members, government officials, or press that gets waved away).

Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

“You look tired.” Mike’s voice may as well be carried by the breeze, light and low, refreshing as it passes over you, and you flash him a smile while nodding.

“Exhausted.”

He grabs a sandwich from the lunchbox, and you fish hand sanitizer from one of the many pockets on your pants, squirting it into your hand first then holding it out to the man beside you.

“Seems like you spend more time here than at your apartment.”

“Oh, most definitely.” You unwrap what looks to be turkey and pepper-jack and try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the fact that it’s your favorite simple-sandwich-combo and that Mike remembered. “Lot to do in the lab. Obviously.” You take a bite—no mustard, only mayo—and feel some of the tension between your shoulder blades begin to unwind.

“Figure you wouldn’t want it any other way, though,” Mike comments before chomping into his own sandwich.

“Right you are. I mean, end of the world, potentially. Scary stuff, but also…” You swallow, lick your lips and stare out at the landscape in front of you as you grapple with words. “It’s like… I’m terrified, but I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. Like…”

This is how I’m supposed to go out, you almost say, but you’re smart to keep it to yourself. That’s a thought for you and you alone, one you haven’t shared with anyone because nobody else would understand except maybe Erwin.

“This is what you’re meant to do,” Mike supplies, and you look over at him. “This is what you love. I get that.”

And, he’s right. But, the park and volcanology—those aren’t the only things you love.

Mike sits there, legs crossed like an overgrown kindergartener, shaggy hair blowing in the wind, light green eyes so, incredibly warm and bright, and it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, like your lungs and throat are already full of ash that hasn’t fallen yet, tight with dying declarations you can’t bring yourself to make.

“Have you ever heard of Katia and Maurice Krafft?” You ask, and yes, your voice does feel somewhat strangled, the space behind your eyes burning just a little hotter than usual.

Mike shakes his head, takes another bite, and gives you his undivided attention.

“They were these French volcanologists who got really famous for the pictures and footage they took of erupting volcanoes. The recordings they got for the community were—I mean, they were pioneers. They changed the game. There’s photos and videos of them just—” you gesture nebulously with both your hands, nearly flinging your sandwich off the side of the mountain and making Mike reach out and catch your wrist before you can.

“Please, no feeding the park’s wildlife, ma’am,” he jokes easily, and you have to shove the sandwich into your mouth to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Mike shows the smallest of satisfied smiles, completely unaware of his own charm, and it’s maddening and intoxicating, and it’s all you can do to keep talking about the brave scientists.

“Anyway,” you continue. “Katia would get, like, within feet of lava flows. Just walkin’ right beside ‘em in her special heat suit. And, they’d wear protective helmets because of, you know—”

“Explosions. Falling rocks.”

 “Yeah, exactly. They were just there, documenting it all happening, nerves of fucking steel. Katia was usually the one gathering samples and stuff while Maurice recorded, but he was right in the thick of it too. This badass couple learning and adventuring together.”

Mike eventually questions, “What happened to them?” but you’re sure he knows the answer when you deflate a bit.

“Mount Unzen eruption—got caught in the pyroclastic flow. Died instantly.”

“At least they were doing what they loved,” he says, and you nod.

You’re silent for a while, neither of you eating but both of you staring. You think about the Kraffts often, especially now with Yellowstone’s imminent eruption. Doing what they loved… They died for their research, and though you never got the chance to meet them or even speak with anyone who has met them, you have a feeling they wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way.

“Just so you know,” Mike gets your attention, and when you look over at him, your heart swells.

The sun is reflected in his eyes, making light green glow with more than just warmth and sincerity, and god, you’re so in love with him, you can feel it in your bone marrow. You ache for him, you pine for him, and you want to live for him, but how…

“I’d film you walking next to a lava flow,” he tells you. Despite the little smile playing at his lips, you know he isn’t kidding.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to look away before any actually fall, but your sniffle definitely gives you away. You swear internally, berating yourself for getting emotional in front of Mike, though you can’t say you’re too surprised. Your stress levels have been through the roof, working non-stop for months now, the government breathing down your neck. People have died and the park is literally fracturing before your eyes, and you’re not ready to see it end—to see everything as you know it come to an end.

“Pretty dusty up here,” Mike comments while nudging you. You find him holding out a handkerchief, letting you take it then turning his gaze forward again to allow you a little privacy to dab at your eyes.

Mike has senses beyond the normal human spectrum. He has a sense for weather unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before, from thunderstorms and tornadoes to record snowfall and, on a few occasions, earthquakes. You can still vividly remember being in the lab the day of the fatal quake that damaged the hotel, seeing Mike suddenly look at the seismogram seconds before it started picking up the first tremors. Levi had called it “freakish”, but you had called him “incredible”.

It’s not just the weather, though. Mike has a way with people and animals too, like he can gauge their emotions and act appropriately. It’s how he knows what days he can push Levi’s buttons and get away with it, how he knows when Hange is too busy and overwhelmed to gather samples themself, so he gathers some for them.

And, it’s how he knows exactly when he needs to pull you into a hug, like when the team realized the chances of a small to moderate eruption were next to nothing, like when he had told you how many of those hotel guests had gotten hurt and died and you’d stared at him with wide, watery eyes, and like right now, as you think about Katia and Maurice Krafft, the fate they met and how yours might not be any different.

Will you die doing what you love? Will you be able to welcome it as bravely as they did?

You rest your head on Mike’s shoulder, letting yourself melt into his side, his arm sturdy and grounding where it wraps around you, and as you look out over the sunlit grounds, one last question plagues your mind:

Does a pyroclastic flow burn as hot as the molten feelings inside of you?

You can’t imagine anything does.

1  Y E A R  B E F O R E

The message is broadcasted straight from the state capitol, Levi's expression grim as he reads off the paper hidden on the podium. 

"I know all of this sounds apocalyptic—the ash and blackouts and probable climate change, and it is scary, but we still have some time, so there's no reason to panic. We just urge that if you haven't already started preparing, now's the time. Please."

A couple steps behind him and a little to the right is Erwin, standing tall and nodding at everything Levi says as if he's providing some kind of credibility. 

"Considering we're looking at a VEI eight, the team of volcanologists at Yellowstone have recommended that all of Wyoming and its neighboring states evacuate, but I'll let Homeland Security go over all that."

As he turns to step back, the crowd of reporters and journalists begin shouting out questions, and Levi grimaces as he moves to stand next to Erwin who places a hand in his shoulder. 

You can't hear everything being asked from where you're watching at the lab, but you can't imagine it's anything good judging by the way Levi's frown just keeps growing. 

Fortunately, the vaguely familiar secretary of Homeland Security, Dot Pixis, takes the stand quickly, holding up wrinkled hands in an attempt to calm the crowd. 

"We have some more very important information to cover in this address, so if you'll allow me…" He clears his throat and straightens a stack of papers on the podium, no doubt a huge list of protocols that the public will only half listen to. 

You swivel back and forth in your chair as you watch the thin man on screen, his voice scratchy but strangely soothing as he outlines rationing, supply storage, and evacuation routes. 

"We're also negotiating with our neighboring countries about opening borders. Now, anyone seeking refuge would still be required to fill out an application for a temporary visa, but—"

"God, you know they gotta love that," you mumble to yourself. 

Hange, tinkering somewhere behind you, laughs and agrees, "Yeah, after decades of treating immigrants like trash, and now we're just knocking on their doors, asking for help. Ridiculous."

"Embarrassing, is what it is." 

It was for whichever government official had to make that call, anyway. You're positive that had been a hard pill to swallow. 

As far as you've heard, the foreign affairs part of this mess is actually going quite well. You'd accompanied Erwin to the big meeting with Canadian officials and watched him and Pixis plead a case for America, emphasizing just how bad the eruption will be "at home", then switched tactics at whiplash speed to go into how countries needed to work together since this wouldn't just be the US's problem in the long run. 

It turned into a rather inspiring speech, if you're being honest, prompted you to text Levi a short, how is E so damn charming all the time? to which he'd responded, Believe me, you're asking the wrong fuckin guy. 

With multiple government agencies now backing the states and setting plans in motion, the impending eruption seems even more real. You thought your stress levels were high before, that your sleep pattern left little to be desired, but oh, you had been wrong. 

Case in point being Mike walking into the lab with a brown paper bag and slightly unpleasant expression as he asks, "Have you eaten today?" 

Your glare has no real meaning as you grumble, "Had a granola bar this morning."

"It's nearly six," he groans, pushing you, chair and all, up to your desk and setting the bag in front of you. "Please eat something before you pass out."

"Okay, okay, Christ. You're more attentive than my mother."

"I met your mom last year, and you and I both know she would be hysterical if she knew how you've been treating yourself lately."

He has a point. In fact, you're glad Mike is naturally quiet and didn't bond too strongly with her, otherwise you have a feeling he would have called her by now to complain. 

The chicken salad sandwich you bite into must be imbued with some kind of magic, because you let out an honest to god moan when you swallow the first bite. 

"Oh my god, what did you put in this?" You ask as you blink up at your best friend. 

Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. "Uh, actual nutrients maybe? Weird how your body needs those."

Hands too busy shoving more food into your mouth, you headbutt him right at the hip, just hard enough to make him grunt and sway. He steadies himself, glances down at you like he's annoyed but ends up breaking into a grin when he catches what you assume to be a piece of chicken salad dotting the corner of your mouth. 

"What am I gonna do with you," he mumbles, wiping it with a gentle thumb. 

Your body warms with both embarrassment and affection, but you can't quite find a response even as your head clears for the first time in about two days. You really do need to start taking better care of yourself. 

The undeniable feeling of being watched makes your neck prickle, and you break Mike's gaze to find Hange staring at both of you, a not-so-subtle smile making their mouth curl mischievously. You have a pretty good idea of what they're thinking, and you're heart starts beating a little faster at the thought of them possibly speaking it out loud, but before they get a chance, Mike's phone rings. 

You catch a glimpse of the name displayed before he picks it up—Gelgar—recognize it and tease, "One of the doomsday preppers, right?" 

Because no matter how much Mike denies it, just like he does now— "They're not doomsday preppers—" you know that his friends are a little odd. Extremely well prepared, but odd. 

"Hey man, what's up?" He answers, stepping away from you. "Isn't it almost two there?" 

You don't try to listen in, just look back to Hange and shake your head when their smile grows. 

"Stop."

"What?" They giggle. "I'm not even doing anything!" 

"You're thinking things, though."

"Well yeah, I'm always thinking things. How else would I have gotten this smart?" They flip their ponytail for emphasis and toss a wink your way, but Hange's voice gets oddly sincere when they tell you, "Seriously, though. You guys should get while the getting's good. I don't know why you haven't jumped each other's bones yet."

You splutter, look around frantically to make sure Mike isn't within earshot, and thank god, he's in the next room over. 

"Hange!" 

"I'm just saying! It's like watching Erwin and Levi from a few years ago. God, that was a nightmare."

"How dare you. I am nothing like—"

"Yeah, yeah. When do they get back in anyway?" 

You both look to the TV that's still playing the live address, easily spotting your missing team members behind Secretary Pixis. 

"Probably not 'til later tonight. Levi's gonna try to talk Erwin into getting a hotel, I bet, but he's gonna wanna come back to the lab and check everything before he goes to bed."

"How do you know he wants to come back?" 

You show a sheepish grin, fishing the chips out of the paper sack Mike brought, then answer, "'Cause that’s what I’d wanna do."

*

It's late. Far too late to be at work, but being at home never feels right these days. It's too quiet, too still, too not the lab. The only time you genuinely enjoy being there is when friends are over for a movie or meal over the weekend. Other than that, you're not at all attached. 

Not the way you are here.

Almost midnight, you move from table to table, working, organizing, just keeping busy. You're very awake, still jittery from the quake that shook the park at around three that day. It lasted for almost three minutes, splitting the ground dangerously close to Old Faithful, and the geyser hasn't gone off since which is troubling. If too many of the geothermal spots stop releasing pressure, the eruption will take place sooner than anticipated. 

It's why you're here so late, pouring over the data, studying the numbers and possible effects. 

You're not alone, though. Erwin is also shuffling around the lab, but he's focused on something else, a project of sorts. 

"Can you come take a look at this?" He calls from the projection table, and you drop what you're doing to join him. 

The model isn't lit up as a hologram, surprisingly. Instead, Erwin has paper blueprints laid, curling at the edges from being rolled up. It takes you a second to realize what you're looking at, but when it comes together, you inhale sharply. 

It's a simple design, a square floorplan with a couple entrances. The only exit looks to lead upward, though, and it's easy to tell that means Erwin wants this to be underground. There are notes scribbled in the blank spaces, 4 meters down, bomb proof top, ventilation, generators, gasoline?, rations < 5yrs, medicine, vitamins, guns. The list goes on, handwriting sloppier and sloppier the more thoughts Erwin had at the time. 

"You think this would be ready in a year?"

Erwin shrugs. "With the right construction team, yes. That one bunker designer…" Erwin snaps, trying to think of the name, but it doesn't come to him. "Whoever—He built ten shelters in two years." 

You stick your hands in your back pockets as you lean over to look closer. It could just be your overworked brain, but it looks like a good design, something someone actually has a chance of surviving in. 

Hearing your name makes you look up again. Erwin has you pinned with one of his serious blue gazes. "No one else will understand, so please keep this plan to yourself."

You nod but venture to ask, "You haven't told Levi?" 

"No," he answers, mouth pulling downward. "It's… Going to be a fight."

"Understandably so. You're basically married to the volcano, though, Erwin."

"So are you."

His eyes are shining as your lips twist into a grimace. He's gotten to know you well over the years. You've always shared a certain bond over Yellowstone, one the other team members just don't have. To them, it's just a job, just science. 

To you and Erwin, though, it's a religion. You're in love with the park, all its secrets and eccentricities. It's your home; it's where you belong. 

"Assuming this does get built," Erwin starts, lifting a thick eyebrow in curiosity. "You would want to stay, right?" 

"You mean, ride out a supereruption? Be the first to see the zone-one damage?" 

Erwin doesn't answer, but he does smile, excitement dancing just below the surface of his stare. 

You feel it too, the urge to throw caution to the wind, to take a chance that could very possibly get you both killed. The Kraffts flash through your mind again, their failed attempt at escape.

A breathless, "Fuck yeah," tumbles from your mouth before you can dwell on the consequences for too long. 

It's time to either live it up or go down in ash and flames. 

6  M O N T H S  B E F O R E 

Yellowstone is unrecognizable. The ground is mostly made up of large crevasses and smaller cracks, debris from fallen buildings left in piles with no one to clean them up. 

The geysers are all inactive at this point, but steam is still rising from the springs, and the mudpots are still bubbling. It's the only thing that's keeping the volcano from erupting. 

The ground shakes multiple times a day, the lab seismographs constantly picking up activity. The little ones don't faze you anymore. You and Mike secure the glass samples to make sure they don't break while Erwin and Levi basically hug their computers. Yours was damaged in the quake that prompted Hange and Moblit to leave—a 6.7 that caused Hange to fall into their desk, breaking their collarbone in the process. After getting Hange pain meds and a sling, the two of them were on a plane to D.C. that same night. 

Every day is another risk taken. Now, it's just you, Erwin, Levi, and Mike. 

The latter two spend most of their days dropping hints about leaving soon as well. Mike has already made plans to fly to Norway and join his not-doomsday prepper friends and brings it up often.

"You should come. See the tulip fields while they're still around."

"Gel and Nana have done a great job setting up the ranch. They wanna let as many people stay as they can." 

"You'd really like them. They bicker like an old married couple, but they're good people."

Levi takes a different approach with Erwin, appeals to the other man's desire to help and protect. 

"We really should head to the homeland security office. They don't know what they're dealing with."

"Dok is an idiot. They need a bigger brain over there for guidance or whatever."

"Your long-term plan will be better than anything those government fucks will come up with anyway."

Every time, you and Erwin gently wave them off with promises of "soon" and "just a little longer." Neither of you breathe a word about staying. Despite the fact that construction on the bunker has not started and you're running out of time, both of you are dead set on the plan: go down with the park. 

You're found out before it can come to fruition, however. 

The remaining team is sitting in the lab, busy with their own little projects, when Mike looks up suddenly, takes a deep breath, then says, "Earthquake," just as the seismogram starts going wild. 

He pulls you from your chair quickly, dropping to the ground and bringing you with him to crawl under your desk. On your knees, your body curls in on itself and you lock your hands over the back of your neck as the floor beneath you starts to rumble violently. 

You can hear Levi cursing from somewhere as the sound of glass shattering rings throughout the lab. You think another computer falls, models and books flying from shelves. 

Mike huddles over you, one hand gripping the leg of the desk while the other protects your ribs. You want to tell him to shield himself, but you know there's no use. Besides, the weight and warmth is comforting even in the face of danger—his chest hot against your back, the epitome of a knight in shining armor. 

It lasts for several minutes. The power cuts off, windows crack, doors swing open only to slam shut again. You know the lab is going to be an absolute wreck when it's over. 

When the shaking finally settles, everyone crawls out of their hiding places. Levi warns, "Be ready for aftershocks," as if you don't know, and Erwin fumbles in his desk until he finds a flashlight. 

The ray of light illuminates the damage. Just as you suspected, the place looks like a tornado blew through. Glass litters the floor along with the far-flung books and park models. Both Levi and Erwin's computers fell and disconnected, and your stomach drops as you think about all the potentially lost information. 

"You okay?" Mike asks, pulling you up to your knees so he can look at your face. 

"I'm fine," you tell him, his hands on your cheeks making you flush, so you distract yourself. "E, Levi, you guys okay?" 

"Yes," Erwin answers first. 

Levi shows his face, a deep frown making his brow furrow, as he looks at his desktop. "I'm pissed but uninjured."

The four of you spend the next couple of hours cleaning up what you can, pausing and taking cover when the aftershocks hit, then starting over as the lab sustains more and more damage. 

Mike sweeps up the glass. Erwin focuses on getting the computers back on the desks safely then goes and checks the projection table. You and Levi collect the bigger items, setting books back on shelves. 

You don't think about the mistake before it's too late, when Levi is already pulling out the blueprints that were hidden behind the stack of encyclopedias. 

As he stills completely, you turn to look at him and find him staring down at the large, uncurled papers. Your instinct is to snatch them from his hands, but it's no use. He's already seen enough. 

"What the fuck is this?" His voice comes out like poison as he immediately looks at Erwin. 

The larger man glances at Levi, eyes trailing to what he's holding, then pales. 

"Levi..."

"Is this a god damn bunker? Are you planning on staying in this hellscape?" 

Erwin strides over to him and reaches for the prints, but Levi tugs them out of reach. 

"Answer me," he spits. "Is that your plan?"

"I—" Erwin swallows thickly before answering, "Yes."

It's silent for a long time, and the more it drags on, the tighter Levi's lips get, gray eyes shiny with quiet rage. 

This is what Erwin was trying to avoid, why he insisted on keeping the bunker a secret. 

But while Levi is glaring at Erwin, you feel another gaze on you. Skin crawling, you chance a glance up at Mike, stomach churning when he looks away quickly and bites his lips. He knows. Somehow without anyone saying anything, Mike knows you’re planning to stay too.

Heavy breathing and the distant sound of rumbling earth is all that can be heard, followed by backup generators roaring to life and restoring the overhead lights. 

"You too?" Mike finally speaks. “You wanna stay too?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unable to answer. He sounds so disappointed—defeated—and it makes you feel sick. 

"Do you guys know," Levi growls, "How fucking insane that is? This is the dumbest, most reckless, selfish fucking thing you could do! And, I know it's all your thinking!" He drops the blueprints in favor of shoving Erwin roughly, making him stumble back. 

"Hey," you step toward him, but the small man just turns to you and accuses, "And, you egged him on, yeah? Did you even think of us? How we would feel? Staying here is suicide!"

"I have a plan, Levi," Erwin says, raising both hands to his head and effectively disheveling his own hair. "If you just look at the plans. I know what we need to survive. I've done the math, I've studied the—"

"Jesus Christ, we're talking about an eight hundred degree pyroclastic flow! Tephra that will suffocate you. You really think being a few meters down during the eruption will be enough?" Levi is screaming now, his voice cracking, and you think you see tears at his waterline. 

It makes the spaces behind your eyes burn, but it’s only partly out of guilt. The other emotion that’s welling up in you is anger, a betrayal you can barely wrap your head around, but it comes tumbling out anyway.

“Do you even know us? You think we can actually leave the park behind?” Your voice rises to match Levi’s, gains his acidic attention once again. “I don’t even understand how you can run away, after everything you’ve put into this place! How can you just—” You let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry as you raise your hands to your face and shove your palms to your eyes. “I get Mike because he doesn’t have anything fucking left here. He’s just been helping out—”

“You think I don’t have anything left here?” He asks quietly from beside you, and when you look at him with a watery stare, you find him wounded. His jaw slides forward as he sucks on his teeth, and fuck, his eyes are getting glossy too. 

“See, this is exactly what I mean,” Levi gestures wildly at the two of you. “Mike and I have stayed because you guys won’t fucking leave, and now it comes out that you were never planning to. When were you gonna tell us? Would you have even given us enough time to get out?”

“Of course!” Erwin takes him by the shoulders, and Levi snarls up at him. “I was working up to it. I wasn’t ready to—to deal with this.”

“I can’t believe this. You really think a whole team of workers is gonna come out here to help build this? You wanna put their lives in jeopardy too?”

“We—”

“You haven’t even thought this through all the way! When did you come up with this? When you hadn’t slept or eaten in forty-eight hours? When your brain wasn’t fucking functioning at full capacity?”

Erwin stays quiet, and so do you because Levi has a point. Taking care of yourselves physically has not been high on either of your lists of priorities, and you’re sure your mental state has suffered for it. All the nights spent at the projection table, mapping out ideas, growing giddy over the idea of staying for the eruption. Was that just two people high off passion, becoming more and more unhinged with each passing day?

Quite possibly. 

You expect the fury to be enough to push Levi away, that he’ll simply give up, drag Mike out with him, and leave you and Erwin to hunker down like you’d planned.

But, that is not the case. 

Instead, he shoves a thin finger into Erwin’s chest, gritting out, “Pack your fucking bags so we can go to D.C. where they need you.”

Erwin takes a breath then slumps in defeat. Now, when faced with the obstacle that is his boyfriend, you figure he’s weighed the pros and cons and made a decision. Between his love for the park and his love for Levi, he’d rather salvage the latter. 

Mike shifts next to you, grumbles out a low, “You too,” that makes the tears finally fall from your eyes. “I’ll take you on one last ride to the springs, but then we’re leaving.”

He stays true to his word, and you cry the entire time you’re in the chopper, headset smushed against one ear as you rest your head on the window and look down at the Grand Prismatic, the steam rising from it. It’s beginning to grow discolored with all the activity, but it’s more stunning now than it’s ever been. 

Soon, it’ll be completely covered. All of it will. And, you could have been too, stuck underground for a couple of years only to be the first to step out into the pure destruction. 

That’s not an option anymore, though, not with Mike looking as grave as he does, not with the way he shadows you in your apartment as you gather the necessities, like he thinks you’re going to bolt and run back to the lab, not when the two of you meet back up with a still-fuming Levi and a despondent Erwin to head to the airport.

The tickets are outrageously priced at such short notice, but that doesn’t stop Levi and Mike from passing their credit cards over.

“Two for Washington D.C.”

“And, two for Bergen, Norway.”

Boarding passes in hand, the four of you walk through the bustling airport together for as long as you can before you have to inevitably split up. Levi glares at you but still pulls you into a tight hug, grunts into your ear, “You’re so stupid,” before letting go and turning to Mike. “Keep her safe, boy scout. I’m trusting you.”

Mike nods, and both of them clasp hands as you turn to look at Erwin. Tears and pathetic sniffles return when you walk into his open arms, clinging to him and mumbling, “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry. I would’ve followed you.”

“I know.” He rubs your back and heaves a sigh. “I know you would have.”

He eventually disentangles you to hold you at arm’s length, wipes the moisture from your face with his thumbs, then shows a sad smile. “See you in a few years, yes?”

“Yeah.”

One more squeeze, and everyone turns away to walk to their respective gate. Mike’s hand splays across your back, warm, guiding you in the right direction, keeping you steady. He’s always kept your feet planted firmly on the ground. You figure, if there’s one person you’d like to experience the downfall of society with—above ground—it’s him. 

S I X  W E E K S  B E F O R E

Norway is kind of incredible. It has a natural beauty that takes your breath away just like Yellowstone used to, but it’s vastly different. Everything is green, including the lights in the sky at night. You’re surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, and you just know it’ll be beautiful under thick layers of snow. 

The once rustic ranch, now restored, is made up of several small houses and a farm full of cows and goats. It’s sad to think about the fate they will eventually meet (slaughter then stomachs), but you know it’s necessary to prepare for the coming years.

And, the owners have definitely prepared. 

Gelgar and Nanaba are everything Mike described and more. Between taking care of the farm and setting up energy sources, they do their best to make you and the other arrivals feel at home. They’ve designed the ranch to house up to about thirty people, a commune of sorts (minus any cult-like vibes). Naturally, everyone pitches in and helps around the place. You find yourself cleaning a lot, but you don’t mind. It’s a nice, mindless task that keeps you from thinking too hard about everything you’ve left behind. 

You also like to join Nana outside, help with the animals and enjoy the sunshine while you still can. Of course, this subjects you to endless teasing especially today when she catches you staring into the distance at Mike who's helping Gelgar fix a solar panel. 

His shirt is starting to stick to his back from sweating, muscles straining under the damp cloth, and good lord, when did he get that broad? Sure, he's always been tall and fit, but working on the homestead has definitely made him more built. That along with the fact that his hair has gotten long enough to tie up in a bun has your mouth going a little dry. 

"Like what you see?" Nanaba asks, accent thick, voice full of amusement. 

You shoot her a look, face all scrunched up when you mumble, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" She sticks her tongue out. "Don't be coy. I see the way you both look at each other."

"Tch." 

"And, how both of you volunteer to cook with the other when it's your turn to. You move around each other like you know exactly where the other is. Two halves of a whole."

You roll your eyes. "We've just worked together for a while. We make a good team."

She's not wrong, though. Since coming to Norway, you and Mike have grown even closer. There was a period of time when you could hardly look at him, too guilty for trying to stay at the park, guilty for hurting him, but eventually the two of you fell back into your normal dynamic—joking, laughing, touching just a little too much, smiling when you think no one's looking. You even spent an afternoon together in a nearby field of flowers, just like he'd promised. With a picnic basket full of food, and a blanket to lay on, you'd admired the clouds overhead while enjoying the rustling grass surrounding you. 

It's been your favorite day since coming here, had reminded you of the lunches you used to share on the mountain. 

You're not brave enough to make any sort of move, though. Mike is just so good. There's a chance his affections are simply based in friendship, and that's something you're scared to ruin. He means too much to you. 

"How long did you work together?"

"Like, four years, give or take a few months."

"And, you're still acting like nothing is there?" Nanaba tsks. "Ridiculous."

"How long did it take you and Gel to get together?" You ask, then quickly backtrack, "Not that that's what I want with Mike necessarily."

"Mhm," she smirks. "Gel and I did it backwards. Got pissed at a bar and fell into bed together. Then we started to get to know each other and found out we just worked."

Sounds about right, you think. The couple has an interesting back-and-forth, half bickering, half innuendo. You can always, always see the love in their eyes, though. That's what you want in life. That’s what you want with Mike. Even if you won't admit it out loud. 

You turn your gaze back to the roof he and Gelgar are on just in time to see him making his way down the ladder. Once on the ground, he and the other man start striding over to you. Mike's face is red, sweat beading at his hairline, and Gelgar's pompadour is beginning to fall. 

"Think we got it fixed up," Mike announces, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. 

You stare at his toned stomach for just a little too long, the lines of his hip bones leading into the waistband of his jeans. 

Nanaba's words ring in your head again—fell into bed, fell into bed, fell into bed—and you fixate on the idea of you and Mike doing the same. To have him hovering over you, or maybe you over him, thighs on either side of those hips as his hands trail up your body—

You shake the thought from your head, letting your glazed eyes refocus on the men in front of you. 

"Alright, I'm gonna grab a shower before dinner. Who's cooking tonight?"

“I believe it's Lynne and Henning," Nana answers. 

Mike nods then heads toward the little house he's been living in, right next to yours, of course. He reaches out to let his hand brush yours as he passes, and it takes conscious effort not to grip onto one or two of his large fingers and follow him. 

"God, that's painful to watch," Gelgar snorts. 

Nana laughs and agrees, "I was just telling her the same thing."

"Oh, shut up. Ya' couple of meddlers."

*

A line forms every evening outside of the main house, the one Gelgar and Nanaba share. You and Mike stand together at the back, watching everyone in front of you. Some are families, some are couples, some are here alone. You figure, no matter their status, the ranch is a nice place to be—peaceful, home-y despite its size. So far, everyone gets along. 

Only the kids complain about chores, about seven of them constantly running around together, but that’s to be expected, and honestly, you don’t mind picking up their slack. Life is about to get very difficult for them. They should get to be children for a little while longer. 

Potato soup is poured into your bowl with a ladle, topped with shredded beef and green onions, then you and Mike retire back to your little cottage home to eat and watch TV. It stays on the same channel, world news, and there’s always a long segment that covers Yellowstone and what it’s doing. 

It is not uncommon at all to look up from your food and see Erwin or Levi’s face on screen, speaking with experts, sometimes in interview-like settings.

Tonight, they’re covering a problem that’s been going on for some time, but everyone figured would resolve itself: some people will not leave the most dangerous zones, and it’s because they simply do not believe an eruption will take place. 

Even with the evidence, the science backing it—even with actual federal authorities knocking on their doors and telling them to leave—there are many people who just want to stay put. It’s insane to you, makes your blood boil. Children have been taken from their homes to be placed in safer areas, which only causes the disbelievers to get angrier. They want to say “I told you so”, but that’s not going to happen. 

What’s going to happen is getting burned alive in the flow that pours from the volcano. They will die a painful death, get buried under meters of fallout, ash, snow. There’ll be nothing to recover except for petrified, charred corpses. 

Of course, the irony is not lost on you; you and Erwin were both willing to chance similar fates, but you still think the two of you would have been more prepared than these regular-Joes who think their front door is enough to stop a volcanic eruption. 

“In the end, there’s no reasoning with people like this,” Erwin says on camera, a soft, sad smile playing at his lips. “When a person is so, uh… Dead set on staying, it will take an unstoppable force to move them.”

In your case, that unstoppable force had been Levi screaming at you while holding back tears. 

“Unfortunately for them, this force is the eruption, and they won’t be able to leave when that occurs.”

“Because they’ll be dead,” the reporter states more than asks.

Erwin nods and answers with a grim, “Yes. Yes, they will be.”

They’re not trying to be subtle, obviously hoping that this will get through to the stubborn masses, but you doubt it will. They’re living on borrowed time at this point. Any day could be their last.

Mike is quieter than usual as he eats, barely even looking at the television screen, and you have a feeling he’s thinking about how close you were to staying alongside those stupid assholes. It’s still a touchy subject, one both of you do your best to avoid. You’re mostly happy to be in Europe, spending your days with Mike and his friends and everyone else running around here. 

But, there’s also a part of you, deep down inside, that aches, that misses the park, that still wants to be right in the middle of the destruction. Watching it blow from so far away is going to hurt. This massive monster you’ve fallen in love with over the years will never be the same, and your last good look at it was that tearful helicopter ride. 

You’re not resentful toward Mike or Levi for dragging you out of the lab that day, but you are grieving in a sense. 

The program ends with Erwin giving one last warning— “If you insist on staying, I’d advise bomb-proofing your home, stocking up on several years-worth of rations, and installing one hell of a ventilation system. Good luck.”

Mike clears his throat and stands, grabbing his empty bowl as well as yours, then heads into the kitchen to rinse them off. 

Sighing, you follow him, lean against the counter a couple feet away as you think of something to say that won’t sound too forced.

“Hey,” you start.

Mike gives a low, “Hm?” as he holds the dishes under hot water, finally glancing over when you gently nudge him in the side.

“Thanks for…” You take a deep breath, pinned by light green eyes, then try again. “Thanks for bringing me here.” He blinks but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “It’s really nice. And, I’ve bonded or whatever with Nana.”

“But, you miss the park,” he says.

You shrug. “I mean, yeah. That park was my life, but… Probably dying in it was not one of my brighter ideas.”

He snorts, shuts off the water, then turns to you. Craning your neck, you take in his face—really take it in—the few strands of hair that hang freely past his jawline, the way his beard, no longer stubble but not exactly thick, forms around his mouth and connects with his sideburns, his strong, slightly curved nose, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s so painfully handsome, especially all shaggy and rugged, and it makes your heart beat too hard and too fast in your chest. 

Mike dries his hands on a dish towel, looking down at them when he tells you, “I’m glad we were able to get you out of there. It’s not something I’ll ever feel bad about. Even if you hate me for it.”

“I don’t hate you,” you scoff. “Never could. You’re my best friend, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, then think of Nanaba earlier that day and laugh quietly. 

“What?”

You wave a hand, shake your head. “Nothing, nothing, just… Nana has… Ideas, or something.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Mike understands what you’re trying to say. He inhales then breathes out it out in a chuckle as he posts up against the counter next to you. “Yeah, Gelgar does too.”

“Guess they don’t know us very well.”

A silence hangs between the two of you, one that would normally be comfortable but is now a little thick given the subject matter of your conversation.

You and Mike. Just earlier that day you had been thinking about how scared you are to ruin the friendship, but the more you imagine, the more you get lost in the fantasy…

“Or maybe…” You glance over to see Mike nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the ground as he continues, “Maybe they know us better than we know ourselves.”

He raises his head, gaze locking with yours, and you stop breathing. Because that stare is so hesitant, searching for something inside of you as if you have the answer, but you’re just as scared and confused as he is. Over four years of friendship—of good, meaningful friendship—is that worth risking just because you’re both curious? 

Or has it all been leading to this since the start? Since those first, short conversations, since the meals shared with one another, the affectionate gestures. Mike has always kept your head on straight, looked after you with even more care than he had with the park’s wildlife. 

You thought it’d all been one-sided pining, that he was just glad to have someone who understood him a little better than everyone else because you do. You understand his passion for the planet, you understand all his little fixations. You appreciate every eccentricity like he appreciates all your neuroses. 

“Maybe so…” 

Two very large hands are on your face, tilting upward, and your lungs begin to burn as Mike strokes just under your eyes with the pads of his thumbs. He has to lean down quite a bit, pauses just over your lips to let out a tiny huff of surprise, disbelief, awe maybe, then closes the rest of the miniscule distance. 

He is very warm and very firm against you—feels good, all the comfort of someone familiar but still so new. Your lips fit together perfectly, and at last, you’re able to breathe again, mouths moving in an experimental back and forth, feeling each other out until he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Gripping strong shoulders, you let the kiss deepen, opening your mouth for him, and Mike groans when he’s finally able to taste you. 

Hands fall from your face, moving down, down, down, brushing your ribs, settling at your hips, but his fingers are long enough to curl and dig into the meat of your ass, making you gasp and press harder against him.

Rolling his pelvis into yours, you very quickly find yourself pinned between Mike’s body and the counter. Your grasp travels to the back of his neck, pulling him closer—you just need him closer—and he must feel it too because he hoists you up and sets you on the countertop, making room for himself between your legs.

You feel too hot and too desperate, but it’s good, a release that’s needed to happen for far too long. All manner of geothermal metaphors swim through your mind, spurting geysers and boiling mudpots, and it makes you giggle against him, biting down on his bottom lip and smiling around the flesh as he lets out another one of those rumbling, satisfied noises. 

“What’re you laughin’ at?” Mike mumbles, and for some reason, it’s strange to hear his voice so close, so quiet, as you’re pressed together, breathing each other’s air. It’s intimate and different, but it’s right. 

“I’m just…” Another little laugh, “Thinking about the volcano.”

“When are you not thinking about the volcano?” You have a feeling he’s rolling his eyes, but he still grins and kisses you again.

“It’s all dirty things if that helps.”

Mike nods slowly, lips trailing from your mouth toward your neck. “Helps some.”

You tilt your head to give him better access and let out a little whine when you feel him bite down on a patch of skin just beneath the notch of your jaw, wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to rock into him because good god, you want him. 

Fingers tangling under his loosening bun, you tug him back to your mouth, slotting your lips against his and sliding your tongue between his teeth. He presses you closer with a hand on the small of your back, squeezing the air from your lungs so all you can breathe is him. 

“Mm, Mike, Mike,” you pant, barely breaking away only for him to chase after. You laugh, push his chest at the same time you gently tug at his hair, and he backs away just enough for you to get a good look at his half-lidded eyes and spit-slicked lips. 

Honestly, staring at him now, you can’t believe you made so long without ever making a pass at him. He’s gorgeous, built like a roman statue only larger, with sun-kissed skin and a startlingly light gaze that threatens to leave you boneless. 

“D’you wanna, maybe…” You swallow and blink up at him, too many questions suddenly invading your mind—is it too early for sex? Will he think you’re easy? What if it doesn’t actually work out? But, you bite the bullet anyway and finish, “Go to the bedroom?” 

Mike is silent for a few beats, leaving you to second guess yourself and brace for disappointment and embarrassment, but then he clicks his tongue and answers, “Uh, yeah. Yes, let’s do that,” in a voice a little higher than usual, and scoops you from the counter.

Every little house on the ranch is laid out the same, so it does not take him long to find your room. He sets you down at the threshold, and from there, it’s a flurry of discarded clothing and stumbling to the bed.

“How have we never done this before?” He huffs, crawling over you, leaving wet kisses in his wake. 

You’ve still got an arm covering your bare chest, but Mike doesn’t seem self-conscious in the slightest which comes as a surprise considering how reserved he typically is. Not that he has anything worth hiding—not the thin layer of hair that dances over his barrel chest, not the ridiculously cut abdominals or sharp ‘V’ of his hips, and definitely not the thick cock bobbing against his stomach as he moves. You would be intimidated if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but you’re sure that he’ll be gentle with you. Mike may be many things, but careless is not one of them.

He reaches your mouth, kisses you so deeply it makes you dizzy, and as he does, he very slowly pulls your arm from your chest, leaving you vulnerable—free for the taking. 

His touch is soft enough to tickle as he brushes over one of your nipples, making you exhale against him and arch your back like a silent plea for more. He traces around the bud, makes it pebble before carefully rolling it between two fingers.

Warmth spills into your gut, makes you squirm on the bed, and a moan makes its way from your throat as Mike gently tugs at the sensitive flesh. He lowers his head again, lavishing the same kind of attention on your other nipple with his mouth. He nibbles and licks and sucks, and you wriggle and whimper beneath him, one hand trailing down his body until you’re able to close your fingers around the head of his cock. 

Mike grunts, thrusts into your hand a couple times, enough to make precum drool from his tip, but before he can get too carried away, he says just above a whisper, “Let me get you ready,” then moves to lay between your spread legs.

Sliding his arms under your thighs, he locks them into place, and you release a shaky breath, feeling his eyes taking you in for several seconds before licking up your slit once then pushing deeper.

“Oh, fu—”

Both your hands shoot downward, one gripping the messy bun at the back of his head as you shudder at the sensation of his beard against your pussy. You’re wet in seconds, core pulsing as Mike uses his tongue to slowly open you up, then pulls back to flick over your clit. 

“Mike—Mike—”

He hums into you, shaking his head slowly back and forth, no doubt making a mess of his face and you. You don’t have anything to say, just feel your throat tightening like there are unspoken words that need to come out, but you can’t think straight, not when he’s doing what he’s doing, not when you feel the tips of his fingers reaching out to spread your lips. 

He is thorough bordering on methodical, makes sure you’re at the point of full body shakes before he gives you a break, and then, when your breathing returns to a normal rate, he starts all over again. There is a tightness in your gut that builds and builds then dissipates every time he stops, and he must know because when you whine in frustration, Mike just grins and kisses the inside of your thighs. 

The same pattern is repeated with his fingers, just one at first, massaging your walls perfectly, then a second that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He rubs over the swelling tissue inside of you, seems to enjoy every little gasp and noise you make, including the unsatisfied one you let out when he pulls his fingers from you. 

You can feel how damp the bedspread is underneath you, can see the evidence of your arousal on Mike’s face, and it makes you flush but doesn’t stop you from tugging him down for another messy kiss. 

“You ready?” He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel, and you nod furiously, bending your knees and planting your feet on the mattress so that you can lift your hips to his. 

Mike chuckles, reaches down between the two of you to take hold of his length and taps your clit with his cockhead a couple times—simultaneously the most infuriating and most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Slowly, he lines himself up, just barely pushing forward, and when you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, Mike tells you to, “Breathe, baby, open up for me.”

He already sounds wrecked, like he’s fighting the urge to just sheathe himself entirely, but he waits, giving you one inch at a time with periods of adjustment in between. You always sort of figured he was big, but this burning stretch is something you hadn’t imagined even in your lewdest of fantasies. You’re incredibly full, feel him in your gut and throat and everywhere, but it isn’t bad; it’s just a lot. 

“Okay,” you stroke the forearm next to your head and nod. “Okay, you can start moving more.”

Mike’s brow creases. “You’re sure?”

“About as sure as I can be with a monster cock inside m-me—” Your laugh turns to a moan as Mike begins to pull out, eyes trained on your face for any sign of real discomfort, but your mouth just drops open, your own eyebrows raising at the feeling of his length hitting every one of your most sensitive spots. 

“Holy…”

He pushes back in quickly, still mindful of what your body can take, and when all you do is cry his name and scratch down his back, Mike starts up a steady rhythm that has you seeing god. 

That tightness is back, hotter than before, threatening to burn you up entirely as your cunt flutters and spasms and leaks around Mike’s length. 

The sound of a hoarse groan makes you open your eyes, and you follow Mike’s line of vision to where you’re connected, see his cock sliding in and out of you, dripping slick and ringed in white cream toward the base. The sight makes you clench around him, and Mike swears under his breath then leans forward to gather you in his arms. Your head lolls back as he lifts you, sitting on his knees for just a second before falling onto his back and letting you drop onto him. 

You choke, and Mike pants, but his hands are tight at your hips, moving you up and down his length like a sleeve. His pupils are blown wide when you look down at him, hair nearly entirely out of its tie, bottom row of teeth exposed as his jaw slides almost primally. 

He looks completely lost in you, possessed as he fucks up into your pussy rougher than before. You bounce in his lap, whimpering his name with every thrust, growing in volume when you feel a finger press against your clit. 

“You gonna come for me?” Mike grits out, rubbing a circle over the swollen bundle as his eyes flick from your chest to your face. 

You nod, ignoring the burning in your thighs in favor of the sensation between your hips. “Yeah, I—I—Fuck, Mike—”

“Come on, baby, come on—wanted to see this for years, come all over my cock…”

You snap, legs shaking as your climax crashes through you. Your cunt pulses around Mike, coating him in more of your juices and making him groan and fuck you through it. You whine at the stimulation, swollen walls so sensitive yet taking everything he has to give you.

Every thrust to your g-spot makes you gush a little more, come a little longer, until all you can do is fall onto his chest and let him use you as he needs to. You leave marks on his pecs, bites and scratches, and Mike grunts at every one of them until he sits up and flips you once again.

“Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere, I don’t care, I don’t care,” you babble.

Mike inhales sharply then lets out a long groan as he pulls out and shoots his load onto your stomach. It’s warm and thick, some pooling in your belly button as Mike makes a trail down to your clit where he smears the last few drops. You twitch at the contact, hole clenching around nothing now, but you can already feel soreness settling into your muscles. 

Mike gives you two little pecks on the mouth, then one last, longer kiss before rolling to lay on the mattress beside you, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

This silence doesn’t bother you. It gives you time to come back to your senses, to reflect, to remember everything that was said which leads you to ask, “You meant that—about wanting this for years?”

Mike turns his head and smiles so sincerely it almost brings tears to your eyes. 

“Well, yeah. Been in love with you pretty much since I started at the park.”

He says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, but it still makes your breath catch. 

“Seriously?” You turn to lay on your side, and Mike mimics the action, propping his head up with one hand while he lets the other settle on your waist. 

He lifts an eyebrow and questions, “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, I just… Thought it was one-sided on my end, I guess. Like, we were too good of friends.” Mike leans forward to gently headbutt you, and you snort to yourself, “Guess I was wrong.”

“We were both being stupid,” he mumbles. “But, we were also focused on other things, married to the job or whatever.”

Lifting your face makes him lift his, and you smile into another kiss, feeling happier and more balanced than you have in a very long time. 

Without much more discussion, you and Mike get up to rinse off, sharing more soft touches under the spray of the shower before crawling into bed together. Falling asleep feels like coming home.

You don’t even mind the smug grin on Nanaba’s face when she sees you and Mike leave your house together in the morning, nor the teasing jabs Gelgar throws your way over lunch. You don’t know if anything is capable of knocking you out of your perfect, peaceful little world on this perfect, peaceful little homestead.

Except maybe a supereruption, of course. 

E - D A Y 

It happens right in the middle of the morning news. You and Mike are sipping on coffee, expecting the same report you’ve gotten every day— “Nothing yet, closely monitoring, blah blah”—but as the English news anchor tries to introduce the meteorologist, he stops, holds a hand to the speaker in his ear, then looks at the camera with wide yes. 

“I’m—I’m getting news that the Yellowstone supervolcano has just begun to erupt, we’re cutting to the US address at Washington D.C. now—”

And just like that, Levi’s face is suddenly on screen, picking him up mid-sentence. 

“... One vent open at the present time, but more will open shortly. Stay indoors, ration your food. This is what we’ve been preparing for.” He looks tired, and when you do the math, you understand why: seven AM in Norway is one AM in D.C., meaning Levi was probably woken up to make the announcement. 

As always, you can make out Erwin’s figure behind him, hands clasped tight and shaking, and it isn’t until Mike puts a hand on your shoulder that you realize you are trembling right along with your old boss.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he reassures you. “We’re gonna be okay here.”

You nod and let him pull you closer to him as both of you look back to the screen and listen to what your old colleagues have to say.

The news stays on for the rest of the day. At around ten, the second vent opens up. Then another. Then another. Levi keeps track, expression never betraying the fear he must be feeling, even when he delivers the message that a full ring around the caldera has opened up. 

“Obviously, we can’t get in close enough to look, but we estimate at least two thousand four hundred and fifty cubic kilometers of eruptible magma will pour from the volcano. That’s the size of the eruption from around two million years ago, but it could be worse with the current number of vents…”

The journalists on site, usually so ready to ask questions and challenge Levi, are silent today, and you imagine they’re staring with eyes the size of saucers, not quite believing what they’re hearing because it’s happening. It’s finally happening. 

You eat a quiet, solemn lunch at Nanaba and Gelgar’s, no one knowing what to say. You feel nauseous, stunned, not unlike losing a loved one. You’re able to forget the absolute destruction taking place in the states for a few minutes at a time, but it always comes back to you, punching you in the gut with the same, brute force every time.

The park. The lab. The forests. The towns. Cities, states, homes, lives, all wiped off the map. 

Erwin takes Levi’s place as public speaker close to five, probably to let the other man get some sleep, and reports that the portable seismogram, still linked to the remaining seismographs located around the park, show that there are near continuous earthquakes taking place, “Which could either help should enough earth shift to block the magma chamber, or make things worse by disrupting it further.”

“E is not very good at keeping people’s hopes up,” you mutter, and Mike chuckles.

“Yeah, I see why he makes Levi do all the talking now.”

You both receive texts from the rest of the team, Levi’s coming at an appropriate time but the others reaching you at odd hours of the night when you’re nestled in Mike’s arms.

Neither of you sleep as reality sets in the rest of the way. That was it. The beginning of the end of everything you know. Everything is about to change.

You sniff, try to be as quiet as possible as the tears you’ve been holding back all day finally begin to fall, but Mike knows, feels your body stiffen as you curl into yourself. 

He hugs you close to him but doesn’t say anything, just rests his cheek against yours and holds your hand. 

There’s nothing anyone can say to make this better, no amount of optimism or determination that will make this any easier. Your home is covered in miles of pyroclastic flow, and as it hasn’t stopped yet, you know this is just the start. Soon, anything left alive will be suffocated by the tephra, people, animals, and vegetation alike. Though you won’t die where you are, everyone at the ranch will be feeling the effects soon enough.

Your mother calls from France where her and your dad decided to “vacation” for the next several years. She’s worked up about not being able to get through to you for almost an entire day, and even as you reassure her that you’re mostly fine, she hears the way your voice cracks and offers to fly to Norway.

“Mom, the airports are shut down by now,” you sigh. “We already talked about this. We can’t see each other for a while, but we’ll FaceTime until we can’t anymore.” Until the cell towers are knocked out, you don’t say.

“I just know my baby girl is hurting right now. I know how much you loved—”

“I know,” you cut her off, scared that hearing it from her mouth will just make you lose it again. “I know, but I’m okay here with Mike and everyone else.”

“You’re sure?” She sniffles, sounding a lot like you. “Cause your father and I will find a way to get to you if you need us.”

“I’m sure, Mom,” you tell her with a sad smile she can’t see. “Get some rest, okay?”

You share many calls like that, many ill-timed text messages until the eruption finally comes to an end six days later. The damage it’s done is incalculable—the entirety of the United states now covered in a cloud of ash that blocks out the sun. 

It doesn’t reach you for a few days, but every time you go outside, Mike sniffs the air and mumbles something like, “Smells like sulfur,” or “It’s getting closer”, but after another week, the entire globe is covered. 

1  M O N T H  A F T E R

Everything is an estimation. Everyone knows that a massive amount of magma erupted, but they don’t know how much. Everyone knows that a large number of people have died, but they don’t know how many. There are too many mysteries, and it’s nowhere near safe enough to send search crews out. 

Despite all the warnings, people are still trying to go outside—to see the ash, to review the damage, but even with cloth or medical grade masks, they’re breathing in the dangerous particles floating in the air, tiny minerals that turn to a cement-like substance in their lungs, and because of that, the death count is only rising. 

News reports cut in and out, as do phone calls. Some texts never get sent or received, so all you truly have is your little home and Mike. 

And, you cry, and you mourn, and you miss your friends and family—fuck, you don’t even know how you’ll survive so long without them—but you also revel in the fact that you’re safe. Not everyone can say that. The fact that you had almost willingly stayed in the most dangerous zone of the explosion is laughable now. There’s no way you and Erwin would have survived that, something he agrees with you on when you share a short phone call with him just to check how he and Levi are doing. 

They’ll be staying at the Homeland Security compound for the forseeable future, but he assures you they’re well-prepared to brave the years-long gray storm. 

Without any livestock to take care of, or mouths to feed other than yours and Mike’s, you find yourself with an abundance of free time. You still have power thanks to the solar panels and the couple of windmills set up around the ranch, but you don’t know how long that will last. 

You both read a lot, do puzzles together, fall into bed both out of desire and just because there’s not much better to do.

And, that part of your apocalyptic life is kind of great. Mike is great. He takes care of you both in and out of the bedroom, is gentle with you until you tell him not to be, and then he’s more than happy to succumb to your needs. He’d invested in a frankly absurd amount of condoms before the eruption so he wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out every time, but every once in a while you want him like you had him the first time—desperate and passionate and completely raw. 

That’s the feeling you’re experiencing tonight, staring at Mike from your place on the couch rather than at the book in your hands.

You see him smile before he actually looks at you, but when he does, he has a glint in his eyes you’ve gotten very familiar with over the last month. 

“Need something, baby?”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too bashfully and glance back down at the open pages on your lap. “Nuh uh.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Really?” Mike puts down the wildlife magazine he’s perusing and leans closer to you. “’Cause it looks like you might want something.”

You cross your legs, flip a page you haven’t even read, and shake your head. 

It’s a dumb game you’ve both started to play, who can hold out the longest. Of course, the longest record is one you both hold—four years and some odd months—but other than that, you usually make it two or three days at most.

But it’s hard with him walking around looking like he does, and for someone so quiet, Mike is mischievous and handsy, knowing just how to rile you up only to walk away and leave you to whatever you were doing before. He whispers in your ear, he grabs your ass, sometimes he’ll just stand right behind you in the kitchen and inhale, trace his nose up your neck so that you shiver and break out in goosebumps, then mumble a shameless, “You smell nice.”

He’s troublingly good at driving you crazy, and you realize this is why it took you so long to actually get together. You can’t imagine being this wound up and wanton in the lab with everyone there to see. 

“You know,” Mike speaks again. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as he leans back against the cushions and nonchalantly kicks an ankle over his thigh. “A lot of people are dying. Like, thousands. Millions.”

Frowning, you nod. “Uh, yeah. Worldwide disaster taking place.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” he adds. His lips twitch upward for a second before he purses them, waiting for another couple seconds then stating, “Should probably start thinking about… Efforts to repopulate.”

Eyes widening, you tilt your head to the side in disbelief, a short, incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mike Zacharias!” 

Reaching behind you, you grab a throw pillow and launch it at him. Mike shields himself easily, choking and chuckling as he tries to defend himself, “I’m just—saying! It’s something to keep in mind!”

“Trying to guilt me into sex—” You smack his forearms with the pillow again, “As if I’m not already easy for you—" smack, smack, “—by bringing up all the people dying out there. What is the matter with you?”

He gets a hold of the pillow and rips it from your hands then hugs it to his chest and stares at you with that uncharacteristically devious look. “Is it working?”

You scoff at him, gently kick at his thigh in one last act of defiance before responding, “I mean, kinda.”

And, that’s all he needs to hear before he’s throwing himself at you, pinning you to the couch even as you giggle and squirm, ridding you of the comfortable clothes you have on so that he can kiss and lick every part of you he can reach. He acts like he’s hungry for you, and you have to use all your strength to shove him off of you just so that you can work his pants off and return the favor. 

Mike is all grunts and curses as you work him over with your tongue, a hand on the back of your head heavy but not pressuring. He trembles as you take him deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding just a little further. 

It always hurts your jaw, leaves it sore for a full twenty-four hours at least, but the way his jaw drops and his hands ball into fists make it worth it. 

You use one hand to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, the other settling between your own thighs to get you to where you need to be, and only when Mike is panting and you’re dripping slick into your curled palm do you pull off of him.

He helps you into his lap, lets you take your time sliding down his length, because even after as much practice as you’ve had, it hasn’t exactly gotten easier. He’s still massive, and you still have to will yourself to relax around him, but once your muscles have loosened enough, you begin to rock your hips. 

Mike lets you use him like that for a few minutes, knows he’s at the perfect angle to rub over your g-spot, so he just watches and leans forward to place teasing kisses around your open mouth. 

“Feel good, baby?” His voice drips like honey as he grips onto you to aid in your movement. 

Nodding, you dig your nails into his shoulders, then shift to start moving up and down his length. Mike takes it as his cue to take over completely, strong enough to lift and drop you as he pleases, and you both fall into a frenzy of motion, desperate to get off, to get each other off, to share that euphoria. 

“Do you actually want to?” You ask in a daze.

Mike cracks his eyes open to ask, “What?” and slows down enough to give you enough breathing room to speak. “Do I wanna what?”

Making lazy air quotes with your fingers, you mimic his deep voice, “Repopulate,” then elaborate, “Have kids. Do you want that?” 

Everything stops. Your hips still, as do Mike’s, and he stares at you, the lusty haze of his gaze clearing as he processes what you’re asking. 

Feeling completely exposed, you try to rationalize, “I know, I know, we’ve only been doing this for, like, a month, and it’s kind of a terrible time to actually bring new life into the world, but if I’m gonna do it with anyone—”

Mike fists both hands in the hair at the back of your head, pulls you to him to smash your lips together. When he starts bouncing you again, your muffled moan is still loud in the small living room, and Mike’s voice comes out somewhere between desperate and destroyed when he tells you, “Yeah, I want kids. Want you to have my kids.”

“Okay,” you breathe, matching his rhythm, then again, “Okay.”

A switch seems to flip in Mike’s head. You watch and experience him devolve into someone—something—primal. He fucks you like he never has before, long hair hanging in his face, lip caught between his teeth as he groans around it, pistoning into you quick and rough.

“You want it?” He growls, pausing to suck a mark at the swell of your breast. “You want me to come in this pussy?”

Your heart stutters, jaw dropping slightly because Mike isn’t a vulgar man, never has been, but now, the way he’s looking up at you with wild eyes, you know all he needs is the right push, and he’ll lose it completely. 

“Yeah, fuck, want you to fill me up, please,” you whine.

Your world tilts as he tosses you long ways on the couch, sliding back into you with ease and demanding, “Touch yourself.”

You grin slyly, “What, don’t have the focus?”

“Not really,” he admits, flicking sweaty hair from his eyes. 

Two of your fingers find your clit, massaging it the way you always do when you’re desperate for an orgasm. It makes you clamp tighter around Mike, and you tell him again—beg for him— “Please, baby, want you so bad.”

He comes quicker than usual, shooting line after line deep inside of you until it starts dripping out around his cock. 

He can’t stay inside you for long, unable to take the way you keep clenching and twitching from your own ministrations, so Mike pulls out and shimmies down your body so that his face is just above your cunt. At first, he just stares (like always), admiring your swollen folds and how messy you are, but soon he pushes a finger into you, attaching his mouth to your clit shortly after.

It doesn’t take you long. The thought of him fingerfucking his cum further into you paired with the actual sensation of it sends you over the edge within a few minutes, and the two of you are left sweaty and panting, too drunk off each other to really think about the gravity of what you’ve just done but enjoying it all the same. 

The feeling eventually returns to your legs, some of the fog in your brain dissipating as you run your hand through Mike’s hair, and when you find that you can, you voice, “Can we even handle a kid? Or like… Can a kid handle the world as it is?”

“Kids are weirdly resilient,” Mike speaks, face pressed against your stomach so that you can feel the vibrations. “And, maybe there’ll eventually be a race of super babies or something—have enhanced lungs to deal with ash. Darkvision and shit.”

You snort and shake your head. “Dummy.”

He retaliates by blowing a raspberry just above your belly-button, grins lopsidedly when you squeal. 

“But really, our kids’ll be fine. Volcanologist for a mom and an Eagle Scout for a dad? Doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Oh my god, you were actually in Boy Scouts? Does Levi know?”

Mike makes a little ‘pft’ sound and shoots you an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Like, I’d ever let that tiny, tiny man be right about anything.”

Your laugh is so deep and genuine, it makes your whole body shake. Mike raises his head to keep it from bouncing so much, but you can feel him staring for the duration of your giggle fit. Even through squinted, teary eyes, you can see his gaze is full of adoration, and you figure having two parents who love each other as much as the two of you do will at least make the hard life ahead of you a little easier for a child. 

4  Y E A R S  A F T E R

Heavy snow falls outside, adding to the thick layers on the ground and clouding the window you’re staring out of. The carrier is nicely heated, ensuring you and its other two occupants stay toasty as you keep eye out for incoming headlights. 

“Think that’s them,” Mike says, and you swivel to look out his driver’s side window to see two dull beams of light growing brighter and brighter. 

“Don’t know who else it would be,” you joke. “No one else is dumb enough to come back to this place.”

The only sign of your husband raising his eyebrows is the way his hat shifts slightly. “You’re right about that.”

Cinching fur-lined hoods tighter, you both slide out of the tram, boots crunching on ice and snow when you land on the ground. Mike circles to your side, opens the back door, then unbuckles and collects what looks to be a bundle of jackets in his arms. Two light eyes peer out between a beanie and a face mask, gloved hands reaching out and grabbing for you. 

“You want Mama?” Mike coos before passing your son to you.

You settle him on your hip, rub his shielded nose with yours, hoping your body heat will help keep him warm out here.

It’s been winter for… Years, now, the ash from the eruption having behaved exactly as you thought it would, blocking out the sun, and sending the planet hurtling into another ice age. It was something not everyone was prepared for—the intense cold, the food and water shortage, the isolation, but you were lucky. You had everything you needed.

The other snow vehicle stops a ways off, lights left on as two figures jump out, recognizable even when completely covered up. One is nearly as tall as Mike, the other considerably smaller even up close. 

Pulling his mask down, Erwin shows a brilliant smile as he stops in front of you and Mike, and Levi immediately protests— “Oi, cover your mouth, old man! You need it for more than just talking shit.”

Mike laughs, but still reprimands the other man with a pointed, “Levi,” and a nod toward the little boy you’re holding. 

“Fuck—I mean…” Levi takes in a deep breath then apologizes over the whistling wind and falling snow, “Sorry, Huck.”

Bouncing him on your hip, you peer at your son and prompt, “Huckleberry, you remember Levi and Erwin from the computer?” 

Though your team has seen him many times on Zoom and FaceTime, this is first time Huck is meeting any of them in the flesh.

Your son looks between them for a while, quiet as he sizes up both of the men, then he reaches out for Levi the same way he had for you just moments before. Levi makes a dissatisfied noise but still takes him from you, and once Huck is passed off, you shuffle to Erwin and wrap your arms around him, breathing into his chest and warming your face. 

Your boss squeezes you tightly, mutters a low, “I know, I missed you too.”

It isn’t enough to drown out Levi’s sing-song baby voice, and both you and Erwin glance over to find him with his forehead pressed to Huck’s as he teases, “Can’t believe your parents named you after a volcanic eruption. That was pretty dumb, right?”

Mike glides over, places one hand on Huck’s head and the other on Levi’s, then sighs. “Please don’t criticize my wife’s terrible taste in nam—”

“Hey! You agreed to it,” you shout, taking the little boy back from Levi and glaring at both the smiling men. “Better shut up before you give him a complex. He can understand things, you know. He’s three.”

“Huckleberry Pine Zacharias,” Levi scoffs. “I cannot stand you guys.”

“I think it’s a great name,” Erwin interjects, lightly tapping Huck’s nose under his mask. 

“Well, you have shit taste, too.”

“Obviously, if I married a little gremlin like you,” Erwin drawls easily, leaning into the punch that Levi throws into his arm.

“Anyway, we’re here for a reason, right? Other than freezing our asses off?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, kicking at the snow on the ground like it’ll make a difference. 

All of you know that buried beneath all the white is dried pyroclast, but under that… 

Is what remains of Yellowstone.

“How do we even go about rebuilding?” Mike is the first to ask.

Erwin stares at his own feet, face scrunched up in thought for a while before looking back up and stating, “From the bottom. Everything starts with a good foundation.”

Levi just scoffs, but you and Mike lock eyes and share a hidden grin. 

You take Huck back from Levi, leaning in for a side hug as you do, then suggest to everyone, “Well, then, now that we’ve seen a little of what we’re working with, we should head back to the shelter and start making a plan.”

“Yeah,” Levi agrees. “Gotta start getting ready for the next eruption due in seven hundred thousand years, right?”

“Right.”

After splitting back up into the two separate carriers, Mike follows closely behind the other in order to make it to their newly built bunker without getting lost. It’s perpetually dark from the never ending snow and cloud coverage, hazardous even with the vehicle’s tracks, but you can’t find it in yourself to be scared. Not now, not when life finally feels to be returning to something close to normal. 

[viperbarnes]

The Long Last Summer

[B. Barnes] Oneshot

40s Post-War AU

Summary: With Steve off in America again, Bucky finds himself doing his own version of a USO tour through Italy, boosting morale and friendship, or so they tell him. However, a new stationing in the tiny town of Montecarra gives him more reason to want to stay, when he becomes quickly whisked away by wild, carefree and exuberant you.

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of the war, awful awful Italian probably. The reader has a name, but it's still written as a reader insert.

Note: The reader/character in this fic is a black woman. This fic was originally uploaded elsewhere, so if you're a part of the small audience who read it originally please don't panic, it isn't stolen lol. The story is almost entirely spoken in Italian, but doing italics for every conversation was annoying, so just assume that unless otherwise stated! Thank you for reading!

Words: 19.5k [This is very long.... Sorry...]

The hot Italian sun beats down on the town below, the occasional breeze carried overland from the nearby ocean to the west might have been a blessing if that too weren’t humid and warm. Bucky Barnes thinks it should be a sin for it to be so hot so early in the morning, but he’s long past complaining about it. Leaning against his car door, stopped on a hill overlooking the town of Montecarra, Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette before stomping it out. At least he hadn’t woken up in a filthy, sweltering trench, surrounded by hot bodies after another restless night of gunfire filled dreams. At least he was only required to wear his uniform during official ‘work’ hours.

Giving the town, his newest home, one last look, Bucky gets back in the car and makes his way down.

Being a core member of The Howling Commandos these past years, Bucky had earned himself a certain amount of celebrity, both in America and abroad. Especially in Italy. Given that Steve had returned to the States already, and Bucky had expressed some minor interest in staying in Europe a while longer, Colonel Phillips had happily assigned him as a ‘morale liaison’ while the US and other allies sorted out the peace treaties and demilitarisation of Europe.

It made as much sense to Bucky then as it did now. He had come to realise that ‘morale liaison’ was just jargon for ‘dancing, handshaking, smiling, posing monkey’, seeing as most of his time the past two years had been spent shaking hands while smiling and posing for various photos. Usually with politicians. Bucky hated politicians.

Luckily, his newest post, Montecarra, was far more what Bucky had thought he’d be doing when Phillips had given him his orders; helping people rebuild and reclaim their lives in a post-fascist Italy. As he drives through the small town, Bucky thinks briefly that the bulk of it seemed to be almost entirely untouched by the war, the classic Italian architecture and warm coloured buildings homey and welcoming, the cobbled stone streets and walkways looking every part the idyllic Tuscan town, but then he sees it.

Toward the edges of town, Bucky’s eyes catch on a shattered stone building, utterly destroyed. It’s a small ways from the town itself, a little field between it and the nearest houses, and he can’t help but already feel grateful for the fact it looked to be the only place that had been hit by the violence, though he doesn’t deny the unseen scars that no doubt linger on the people themselves.

He quickly looks away and continues on to his residence.

There was no army base or fortifications in Montecarra, the nearest being in Florence, but The people had kindly offered up a small, newly unowned cottage for the military to house any visiting soldiers in during their stay. When he finally gets to be shown around by the nearest neighbour, a friendly older woman, he’s glad that for the time being, he has it to himself.

He gets himself settled, partially unpacks his bags before getting bored and making his way out to the blooming garden, camera in hand. It had been a gift from Steve, sent for his birthday the previous year when the two had not been able to reunite, and although Bucky had much preferred putting pencil to paper before he’d owned his own camera, he’d found in recent months, as the cold receded and the sun came out, he’d picked up a knack for photography.

The fact that this model was an ‘instant’ model, making it so that after each photo he took, a little slip of paper would spit out and slowly develop the image, certainly aided his newfound love for the hobby. When he had been a kid, his Ma would take the family to have their pictures taken once a year, and the results always took days or weeks.

Lifting the camera to his eye, Bucky peeks through and aims it at a tall bushel of bougainvillea, the bright red against the butter-coloured walls of his cottage making him wish the photos weren’t just black and white.

He snaps a few more floral shots, wondering absently if he’ll be able to buy more photo paper in town. With the sun still high in the sky, he decides that he may as well take a short walk, if not to introduce himself to some of the locals, then to answer his question.

Honestly, the unendingly friendly reception he’d received everywhere he went never ceased to surprise him. Two years ago Italy had been the enemy or the soldiers and government at least. For the most part, the people caught in the crossfire had been weary and scared, but helpful where they could be to Allied soldiers. Still, the warmth they seemed to hold him, and other allied soldiers with was always a little startling at first.

By the time he makes it to the centre of town, he’d been kissed on his cheeks more times than he could count, but interestingly, the people of Montecarra weren’t as clingy as he’d found some other towns and cities… After greeting him, they’d happily left him alone, though with numerous and repeated offers to have him for dinner.

Once unable to stand doing nothing at all, and always on the go, the young man Bucky had once been, had evolved into a quieter, more solitary version of himself. He still liked to have fun, mind you, he’d learnt to take enjoyment and pleasure where he could in the army, but his sniper’s life had taught him contentedness with his own company. Bucky was fine being alone, without chatter or noise to distract him. He’d come to prefer it, actually.

Bucky finds that Montecarra’s central space was a large set of four courtyards, separated by various important municipal buildings and shops, and at the centre point, an old communal well that had been made into a fountain. Without thinking, Bucky lifts his camera to snap a shot of the fountain. He loved New York more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to return home, but damn if he hadn’t fallen hard for European architecture.

He’s still waving the little piece of photo paper back and forth to help it develop when loud laughter and the familiar noise of children playing reaches his ears. It startles him slightly, Montecarra wasn’t exactly sleepy, but it was quiet, and the residence all seemed to be of an older sort, he hadn’t seen many children yet, though a look at his watch tells him that might have been due to school.

A small gaggle of children of various ages come skipping into view across from the fountain, chatting loudly and seemingly unaware of the previous peace that had reigned in the town square. Unlike in New York, however, Bucky notices not a single patron of the nearby outdoor restaurant throws them dirty looks or hisses at them to quiet down, if anything, the people nearby pause to watch for a few seconds, not with disdain written on their faces, but soft, gentle smiles, before they return to their business.

A voice calling out from the back of the group, noticeable for its maturity in comparison to the children’s voices, catches Bucky’s attention and he lets his gaze skip over the scene until it lands on you, and suddenly, he’s breathless.

Bucky Barnes had seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, and had been lucky enough to know a number of them too, but you, you are something else entirely.

It’s your smile he notices first, plush rosy brown lips pulled wide in a joyful grin, so magnetising he finds himself unable to look away. Your hair is long, curly and dark, brushed into waves that the humidity and breeze seemed set on ruining, and with one hand you secure your wide brim sun hat as you chase the kids. Your white blouse is laced around the open collar and both it and the bright yellow of your skirt stand out against your syrupy brown skin, smooth and a little shiny from the sun.

“Here! Roberto, Norma, come sit here a moment! Look at the fountain!” You beckon the children, two strays in particular, over toward the fountain, and much like Bucky, the kids seem magnetised to you as well. You float right up to the water, sitting on the edge as the children all gather around, still chatting and playing loudly, though a little more orderly now.

Bucky watches you swipe a hand through the cool water, smiling and speaking animatedly with one of the children. He wonders if you were perhaps their teacher, but he’s snapped away from his thoughts a moment later.

“That man has a camera! Look!”

Bucky blinks, tearing his eyes from you, even as the children, and you, all now turn your attention to him in varying shades of wonderment. He’s still a small distance away, but it doesn’t matter as not even a second later, he’s being swamped by the pack of energetic youngsters.

“Are you a photographer?!”

“Can I see it?!”

“Will you take my picture!?”

The last request sets off a frenzy, the rest of the children all joining in to ask for their picture taken, and honestly, Bucky doesn’t even think he has enough paper for that.

“Hey! Mascalzoni! Leave the poor man alone!” You appear then, hands on your hips, not even two meters away and Bucky thinks he could faint.

“Oh, they’re—” He cuts himself off, switching to Italian.

“They’re fine, really… I just don’t think I have the photo paper for it…” He explains, trying his best to look you in the eye, but not quite making it. You cock your head in sympathy, and clap once, getting the children’s attention once more.

“Come on, stop it. Can’t you see you’ve scared him?!” You say playfully, though Bucky wants to correct that it isn’t them he’s scared of.

“How are we supposed to get more tourists to Montecarra if you’re all scaring them away, huh?!” You continue, crossing your arms and the kids seem to relent somewhat, whining a little as they back up from Bucky. You give him another, apologetic smile.

“Come along, you all better get home before your mothers’ tan your hides!” You say, making a shooing motion that makes Bucky second-guess his teacher theory. Before any of them can begin to move though, he takes half a step forward, holding up his camera.

“Wait, I can— I can take a photo of you all together…” He says, and watches as even your face lights up, though as the children all begin to excitedly gather in front of the fountain, you step away, to his side.

“You don’t want to be in it?” He asks, throwing you a sideways glance and yep, you’re still just as pretty as before. You smile and shake your head.

“No. Not this time.” he doesn’t know what you mean by that, but focuses back on the children, raising the camera and snapping a shot of the children, smiling brightly.

Chaos ensues once again when the paper pops out of the bottom, further exciting the group as Bucky attempts to hold the picture out of their reach while it develops, unable to stop himself from chuckling at how spirited they were. It had been a long time since he’d seen any kid so carefree. Perhaps that was why the townspeople were so unphased by their noise earlier.

After the picture is passed around for all to see, you clear your throat and jerk your head away again.

“Go on, clear out now.” Far more happily the children bid each other goodbye, a few moving in pairs or trios as they split off in separate directions.

Bucky is all too aware that you’re still standing near him, and he focuses on cleaning his camera lens with his sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say kindly, with a slight bow of your head, and he finds himself shrugging and shaking his head.

“It’s alright, really.” he pauses, and then;

“Are you their teacher?” He doesn’t expect the surprised laugh you let out, shaking your own head vigorously.

“Hell no. I don’t have the patience for that! We were just walking the same way.” Bucky blinks, not expecting your language, though he finds it endearing, a little more grounding. He laughs.

“I see.”

“You’re the soldier, yes? From America?” The subject change catches him out for a moment, but he’s nodding a moment later.

“Sergeant James Barnes, ma’am.” He almost salutes, doesn’t and then thinks better of it, giving you one anyway. You cock your head at him, an amused smile pulling at your lips.

“I thought soldiers wore uniforms?” You fold your hands in front of you, and Bucky blinks, down at his casual civilian clothes, and then back at you.

“Oh, I, well, I do, but only when I’m working, these days…” You laugh good-naturedly at his awkward delivery.

“I was only teasing. I’ve heard from Rome that soldiers spend just as much time out of their uniforms as in them.” You say it easily, with a playful chuckle, but the risque connotations don’t go over his head, his eyebrows lifting high in his surprise.

Were you… flirting…? Or was this just how you were?

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, it was lovely to meet you.” You’re stepping back, giving him another smile (were you always smiling? He wants to know, now), and a little wave before you begin to turn. Bucky flounders at your fast retreat and panics.

“Uh, wait!” You look back, and he swallows.

“What’s… what’s your name?” You chuckle and push your hair behind your shoulder.

“Cristina.” You tell him and he repeats it, trying to roll the ‘r’ like you do, which makes you laugh again.

“People usually just call me Nina.” You offer a moment later and Bucky nods, before giving you his own, more commonly used nickname.

“Bucky?” You repeat, almost unsure, but when he nods, mouth dry at hearing his name on your lips, you smile and nod.

“Bucky. I will see you around, Bucky.” And with that, he watches dumbly, awestruck in his place as you float out of the plaza.

—-

The warm breeze carries through the open windows of your house, sending the scents from the kitchen below wafting around the rooms. You’d already finished your work for the day, and the chores your mother assigned you, and with a slight pep in your step, you finish tying the scarf around your hair and grab your book.

“Mama? I’m going to read!” You call out, pausing for a moment to listen for her reply. You hear a faint humming above the radio and quickly take your leave, skipping down the front steps of your home and out of the walled front courtyard.

Montecarra is hot and warm, like it had been every other day this week, but you don’t mind. The streets you pass through on the way to your nook are quiet, with only the occasional Nonna in her garden, or returning from the markets. There had been more people here once, a long time ago, and in your childhood days you remember visitors, passing through and admiring your home on their way to other places. You missed that deeply, but push it from your mind, trying not to sour your day at the thought of your already sleepy town becoming sleepier.

You reach your normal place quickly, little plaza toward the outskirts of town, many of the houses here empty now. One of the homes, a double storied one like your own, has a tall garden wall that sits in the shade of the tall tree behind it. Midway through the wall, high enough to take some effort to climb, sit a series of three empty archways, glassless windows that give a view of the overgrown garden within, and from the other side of the little square beyond.

Nobody came to this part of town, not anymore, and in recent years, you’d found it the perfect place to sit unbothered. Tucking your book under your arm, you hitch your skirt up a little, and use one of the roots that climbs and decorates the wall with green ivy as a foothold. The archway isn’t high, but you certainly couldn’t get to it without a little help.

Once situated, you lean back against the pillar, bringing your feet up in front of you, and rest your book against your thighs and knees. You lose yourself quickly in the words, devouring the stories of far away places, detectives and mystery and murder. When the Nazi’s had been here, you hadn’t been allowed to freely enjoy such things. You’d been hidden away, scared everyday would be your last, but it had never come. They had left, and you had been safe again once more.

It was why you enjoyed sitting outside, in the sun and warm, basking in a world that was purely yours again.

Well, not just yours.

A quiet, but pointed cough makes you jump slightly, and you whip your head to find the source, shutting your book on instinct before your eyes find him, and you smile.

“Good Afternoon, Sergeant Barnes!” You greet, and the man returns your smile, lifting his hand briefly. You had known he was coming of course, your whole town did. He was helping the men rebuild the old schoolhouse, though he seemed to have finished that task for the day, as you had finished yours.

He was a handsome man, with dark hair and blue eyes, his pale skin lightly tanned on his face and arms from days in the Italian sun. He was young, though older than you, likely nearing his late twenties if you were correct. You hadn’t known who he was during the war, but afterwards, you’d had plenty of newspaper fodder to read. You think most of it must have been trash though, because the man the magazines and gossip columns had labelled as a charming, suave ladies man could not be the same one that stood before you now.

“Bucky. Bucky is fine, Senora Cristina.” He replies, his eyes dropping a little as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Well then you must call me Nina.” You reply, keeping up your smile for when he looks back at you. When he realises you haven’t looked away from him, he quickly averts his gaze again, but clears his throat and looks around the empty plaza, waving a hand.

“Quiet spot?” He asks, and you turn from where your back is pressed against the brick, swinging your legs over the side of the wall to face him properly. You nod.

“Yes. The people who lived in this part left. We don’t know if they’ll come back or…” You trail off, pursing your lips briefly, but shake your head. No. No time to dwell.

“It’s a good place to come to be alone.”

“Oh, I can— I can leave if you’d lik—” Bucky’s face falls into anxiety stricken concern as he gestures with his thumb toward the little road you think he must have come from, but you cut him off quickly, laughing.

“I was not attempting to chase you away!” You tell him, and he drops his hand back to his side. For a few seconds he just looks at you, like he’s unsure of what to say, and so you fill the silence the best you can.

“How do you like Montecarra?” Bucky nods quickly, his body language immediately relaxing somewhat. You wonder if you make him nervous because he’s unsure how to speak to women, or if it might be something else.

“It’s beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop looking, you know? We don’t have towns like this where I’m from.” You smile at his clear enthusiasm, and cock your head. You’d never been to America, you’d never even really been more than a few miles from your home, so you can’t imagine what towns must look like there.

“The people are friendly, I mean, everyone is friendly everywhere, but the people here are… they don’t seem to want to be around me twenty-four-seven.” He adds, and then clamps his mouth shut, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. You think maybe he hasn’t been around friends in a while. You shrug, and chortle.

“Oh, that’s just how we are. My Papa used to say that in the cities, nobody can leave each other alone because they don’t make real connections… but here and other small towns, we’re all we have, and after a while, you just get sick of each other.”

Bucky laughs, loudly and heartily, and you think it is a lovely sound. He says something in English, you think you hear ‘christ’, but he sobers, still smiling.

“I’d say that’s about right.”

“Though, you should be wary of signora Cavalli… she’s like a venus flytrap, you know?” You say seriously, but with a conspiratorial edge so that he knows you are only mostly joking. Bucky cocks his head in confusion, but chuckles.

“A what?!”

“A venus flytrap! You know! It’s a plant that looks all bright and colourful, but when bugs land on it it snaps shut!” You clap your hands together in demonstration.

“And then it eats them.”

“Are you… are you telling me signora Cavalli is going to eat me?” Bucky asks, eyebrows high and you take a moment to dramatically look him over.

“No. I don’t think you are her type. But she will start a conversation that will not end until either you or her dies, and trust me, she’s really old.” Bucky laughs again, hand on his belly this time, his head thrown back again, and you can’t help but break ‘character’ to laugh with him.

“Right. Avoid signora Cavalli. Gotcha.” He says as he calms, and again, he seems to have relaxed even more, the little pull that you had noticed between his brow yesterday, and earlier, even when he wasn’t frowning, had all but disappeared.

“Sounds like I need your guidance here. Clearly.” He continues, and you can’t help but feel excited by the prospect. You nod vigorously, and hop down from your ledge.

“Oh, definitely. I have lived here my whole life, I know all there is to know!” You tuck your book back under your arm and step nearer.

“I can show you around! There is more to Montecarra than there looks!” You pause and shrug.

“Well, a little more, at least.” Bucky appears torn for a moment, his face scrunching back into a polite concern as he holds his hands up.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, signora, I mean, Nina…” You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, signore, but there isn’t exactly anybody else my age around here… really you’d be doing me the favour…” He opens his mouth, but you quickly beckon him in a direction before he can argue, and you hear a faint sigh, and a few seconds later he’s matching your easy pace.

“I did notice that, actually…” He confirms, and you feel his gaze on the side of your face. His hands are back in his pockets, and he walks a respectable distance next to you.

“Well, there weren’t all that many to begin with but all the boys went off to fight, and the girls either got married and moved away, or left to study somewhere else.” You try to keep your voice light and airy, try not to betray your jealousy or sadness.

You had wanted to move to Paris and study, or London, anywhere, but the shadows of war had already begun, and it had been too uncertain. Looking back, you were reluctantly glad you had not been elsewhere. Your mother had needed you too much.

You come to another small courtyard, with a large tree at its center. It was one of the oldest in the town, and this part of the village had been built around it, as was obvious from the uneven and cracked stone ground, where the roots had grown large and disruptive.

You sling a hand around the trunk, slowly circling it in a careful swing, and Bucky oddly does the same, moving opposite you, so you are always on different sides. Oftentimes you were called childish or immature by others in Montecarra, though they never meant you harm by it. You were young at heart, and always would be. You know it was not proper for young women your age to be so restless, but you couldn’t sit still. Even just walking normally was a little boring after a while. You think it’s nice that this American man doesn’t ask you to stop or to stand still.

“You didn’t though?” Bucky asks, and then hurries to clarify.

“Get married or move away, I mean.” You chortle and lean a little further forward to see his face better as you both continually circle the tree.

“I was not good enough in school,” You lie.

“And no man would have me.” You laugh as you say it, not really meaning it. When there had been boys around Montecarra, you’d had no shortage of prospects, though how many of them would have actually married you was another question entirely.

Bucky scoffs, making an odd noise in his throat, and he fixes you with a look of disbelief.

“Well I know that can’t be right…” You smile, but look away at his kind words, before another thought hits you, and you stop moving, holding onto either side of the tree as you lean around it slightly.

“Montecarra must be exceptionally boring for you.”

Bucky stops moving too, and instead leans his side against the trunk, arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at you casually, eyebrow raised in question.

“To be in such a small town, with no women who aren’t married. Compared to Paris or Rome, I mean.”

You gasp suddenly then, and quickly switch sides, making Bucky have to turn too, and you can’t suppress your cheeky grin.

“Unless of course it’s married women who you’re after. No need to worry about commitment there.” You wiggle your eyebrows and Bucky’s face turns into a molten mess of amusement and bashfulness, sprinkled with pink cheeks.

He uncrosses his arms awkwardly and clears his throat uncomfortably, and you chortle, shaking your head. There was certainly part of him you could see being charming and suave, but for the most part, Sergeant James Barnes just seemed sweet. Eventually he just laughs too, also shaking his head, and he looks off for a moment, before he carefully turns to mirror your hold on the tree, leaning just slightly around it to look at you.

He still wears a coy look of meekness when he shrugs.

“You’re a woman who isn’t married, aren’t you?” He says softly, carefully, as if he’s not sure how you will respond, and does not wish to offend.

Offence is the last reaction in your mind though, instead you feel as if the world stops for a moment, and all that exists is you, this man, and the tree between you. Despite the carefulness of his words, his expression is a little harder, his gaze locked on yours more intense and you have to force yourself to look away, pulling back from the tree just to catch your breath and your rapidly beating heart.

Perhaps Sergeant James Barnes was sweet, but Bucky Barnes was a little more savoury than that. Suddenly, some of the things you’d read make more sense, and you find yourself reconsidering your interactions. Had he specifically sought you out? Or had he just been wandering and it was a happy coincidence. You lean toward the latter but perhaps he had hoped to see you again after your brief meeting yesterday?

You wipe these thoughts from your mind as Bucky too steps away from the tree, and fix him with an innocent smile and a shrug of your shoulder as you begin stepping backwards, ready to move along.

“I am.” You say simply, unsure of what else you even could say, but the moment seems to pass, and Bucky finally tears his eyes from you, watching his step as he makes to follow you again, down another narrow street.

You make light small talk with him as you move into busier parts of town, still a little shaken from his flirting (if that was what it was). He doesn’t seem to mind, and you realise you don’t need to fill the silence all of the time. He seems content to just look and watch, but when you do speak, to tell him something, or point out a particular shop, he listens carefully.

When you make it to one of the central courtyards of Montecarra, near the fountain where you had met him yesterday, you see that the afternoon sellers have set up at the market stalls where you’d been only this morning, helping sell. Jobs and money were hard to come by in your town, everything was so small and insular, and in the aftermath of the war, people had cared less about money to pay for goods and services, but rather taking care of each other in any way they could.

You were luckier than most towns, you’d been spared the massive damage of other places, but with resources still low, and many people still getting back on their feet, feeding each other had become a community job. Bakers would gladly accept trade for their bread, and doing chores or work for others had become a reliable way to not only give back but to earn too. The shops that had managed to remain open were supportive where they could be, and it made your heart swell several sizes to know that the war had not driven your people apart.

Bucky seems to take in the sights and smells of the markets with a dreamily like gaze, his eyes roaming over the leftover morning breads, some meats and vegetables that had not been bought or traded earlier in the week and where now for sale far cheaper.

Your stomach growls, reminding you that you have not yet eaten since your breakfast, and you groan. Usually you’d have set off home for lunch, or brought something with you, before returning to your nook, but being with Bucky had distracted you.

He looks down at you in response to your groan and you scrunch your nose.

“I would suggest we eat, but I left my purse at home.” You explain. Bucky blinks, and looks over at the food, then back at you.

“If you’re hungry, I can, I have my—” You tune him out accidentally as your mind conjures up a thought, and stop suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s arm in excitement. He stops speaking and stares down at you.

“I have a better idea…!” You say, grinning widely, and he cocks his head, looking slightly hesitant.

You release his arm only to grab the rolled sleeve of his shirt, pulling him along after you down a sidetreet.

“What— Where are we going…?” He asks, and then continues.

“And why do I feel like it’s going to be trouble?” You laugh loudly, and throw him a look over your shoulder, releasing his sleeve at last when you’ve led him through a maze of tiny alleys and narrow streets and out to the edge of town, near the main road he’d driven in on.

“Trust me.” You say, drawing out the words long and sing-songy.

“Give me reason to…” He mutters, but when you look over at him again, you can see he’s only playing the part of exasperated, his lips pulled up in the corners, and his eyes amused.

He follows you as you lead him up a long road, well away from town and towards where the fields and fields of orchards and vineyards begin. When you veer off the side of the road, toward one of the wooden fences, he stops.

“What are you doing?” He asks, a little more nervous than before, and you turn to face him fully.

“We’re going into the orchard to pick some fruit.” He fixes you with a squinted stare.

“Something tells me that we’re not supposed to do that…” You roll your eyes.

“Nobody will know. Besides, we’ll only take a few.” You bat your eyelashes the best you can manage and watch his resolve crumble. When he sighs, hanging his head while shaking it, you know you’ve got him, so you smile widely and quickly return to making your way up the fence.

Bucky at first seems concerned with you climb, moving quickly over to attempt to lend you a hand, but you hardly need it, lifting your skirt and easily scaling the posts before you land on the other side. Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, before planting his hands on the top piece of wood, and in one large jump, vaults the thing entirely.

You laugh at the sight, and cock your head.

“They teach you that in the army?” You tease, leading him away from where you might be spotted by the road, and into the thick rows of trees.

“Brooklyn, actually.” He tells you, and you spy him repeatedly looking over his shoulder and around, as if suspecting some kind of ambush. You pause, nearly causing him to walk into you, and put your hand on his arm again.

“Nobody is out here. It gets too hot in the afternoons, so they do all their daily harvesting in the mornings.” Bucky stares down at you, the little crease between his brows returning, but he nods at your words anyway.

Turning away from him, you once more gather up part of your skirt, lifting it well above a decent length, to use as a basket of sorts as you start inspecting some of the goods on ‘offer’.

“The peaches are especially good this time of year.” You say over your shoulder, reaching out to gently squeeze a few hanging from the nearest tree.

“I— What…?” Bucky asks, and when you look back at him, you see the vague pinkness back in his cheeks and refrain from rolling your eyes. Instead, you plaster on an innocent smile and hold up one of the fruits you’d plucked from the branch.

“The peaches. They’re very ripe right now. Montecarra always has the juiciest peaches. You can’t eat them without getting your fingers and mouth all sticky.” You look away then, placing the peach into your skirt and fight yourself to keep from laughing. Bucky remains quiet behind you, until you hear him let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Jesus fucking christ…” He mumbles in English, and you wipe the grin from your face before he can see it, as he finally steps closer to join you.

You end up with a nice collection of peaches, apples and some figs. You don’t take much, just a few, and by the time you’re walking the road back into town, your grumbling stomach is sated. You spent a few hours walking along the rows of trees, just talking and eating.

Before you properly enter Montecarra, Bucky tosses your peach pits, and you watch them fly through the air and disappear into some of the empty fields beyond. He looks down at you with a rather cute, proud and expectant smile, and you nod, clapping just slightly.

“Perhaps they will grow and we will have our own orchard.” You tell him, and he sniffs in amusement.

“Or we’ll have to explain where we got the seeds from in the first place.”

“Or that.” You laugh, nudging his side.

You notice he’d stopped keeping quite as large a distance between you when you walked, though you don’t know if it was conscious or not. The late afternoon sun bathes Montecarra in orange and red and shadows, and by the time you’ve walked across town to where you live, the sunset is well and truly in motion.

Sensing your time has come to an end, Bucky slows slightly, stopping when you turn back to him, and point to your house.

“I live here.” You tell him, and he shoves his hands in his pockets with a nod.

“My mama will expect me to help with dinner.” You explain further, though you aren’t sure why. You didn’t need a reason to part with him, it was early evening now and you’d spent the better half of five hours walking and talking and stealing fruit together.

You see Bucky’s eyes drift behind you, past the open archway of the wall that held your home behind it, and then back to you.

“Thanks for showing me around today. You didn’t have to.” He says and you smile, but shrug.

“Of course.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer before he nods, pulling a hand from his pocket to give you a parting wave.

“Goodnight.” He says softly, and turns, beginning to make his way back.

You step forward without thinking too much and call out, making him pause and look back at you.

“I— I work in the mornings, but you can always find me at the same place, where I was reading today. From about midday on. I’m always there… if you ever want to see me again.” You try to play it off cooler than you feel, shrugging a bit and giving him a nonchalant grin, but he only watches you.

Just as you start to feel discomfort creep in her shifts, dipping his chin slightly and cocking his head.

“I would like to see you again.” He says at last, and it’s just like earlier, around the tree. You feel a thick tension form between you, and even though he’s several meters away from you now, you feel like he may as well have been directly in front of you.

All you can manage is a nervous chuckle, dropping your eyes to the floor and anxiously tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Okay.” You say, and he must take that as your approval, because he smiles softly, and gives you one last parting nod before he walks away.

You watch him go for longer than you’d like to admit, right up until he disappears and you hear your mama call you from the front door.

—-

You see Bucky most days. After you had finished with your daily workload, you would return as normal to your little archway, only pretending to read until Bucky arrived. Sometimes he would bring his own book, and sit beside you in one of the opposite arches, but most days you spent walking aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing.

He would tell you about New York city, describing the streets and the buildings and the people in such detail you could see it in your mind. He’d show you pictures of places he’d been, other cities and towns in Italy and France and you’d been unable to keep from fawning dramatically over each.

You’d been warned by a few of the older local ladies, that American soldiers were notorious for the dalliances with girls, they’d have them and leave them, moving on to the next place as if it were nothing. But Bucky is different, you think. You weren’t so naive to think a man set on simply chasing what he wanted would change for just you, but Bucky never showed intention to chase. Not really.

He was kind, and sweet, and he never spoke to impress you like you’d seen with some boys before. He listened to you, asked for your opinions on subjects you spoke about and never assumed that you weren’t informed. You had revealed your love for reading to him, and he’d not complained once when you’d ranted for far too long about the plot of your newest book.

He never even tried to hold your hand, which was beginning to trouble you. You had given him plenty of opportunity, walking accidentally too close, and brushing your hand by his just slightly. He’d always apologised or ignored it, and you were becoming frustrated. It was not as if his flirting had stopped, when the opportunity arose he’d coyly spout sweet things that made your stomach churn something awful.

You look up from the page you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes without really seeing it, and blink. Perhaps you were wrong and he was just this way all of the time… but then you remember the moments of intense eye contact when he’d look at you and it felt like nothing else in the world existed at all.

No. no, you decide that perhaps you will have to give him a little push.

“Has d’Artagnan won the heart of Lady Constance yet? Or is love dead?” The voice, his voice, startles you so much you squeak, whipping around to find where Bucky has situated himself against the same wall your archway sits in, leaning on one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest.

Today he hadn’t changed from his morning’s work, and you have to simply give yourself a moment to take in his uniform. It wasn’t the dress greens you’d seen on men in the newspapers, instead he wears a greeny-brown colour, the material slightly thicker in appearance, rougher almost. In lieu of the long dress coat, he wears a jacket that ends just over where you imagine his belt might be, cinching in his form rather nicely. His shirt bears the same colour as his suit, but his tie is a familiar khaki. Pins and medals and ribbons adorn his chest and you want to inspect each one up close, but you refrain.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart.” He flashes a smile, letting you know he’d noticed your long, admiring stare. Sunglasses cover his own eyes, refusing you access to their cool colour, and you hope he takes them off. Your mouth feels dry but you force yourself to shift to face him, hanging your legs over the side of the wall once more.

“Startled is not scared.” You correct, and watch as he pushes off from the wall casually, making his way to where you sit. He’s tall enough that should he so wish, he could climb into your archway no problem, but he doesn’t, simply resting his folded arms on the ledge next to your legs, looking up at you. At this angle, you can see behind his glasses, to where his eyes fixate on your face.

“You didn’t answer my question?” He probes and you have to think back, unsure of what he’d even asked you.

“Has d’Artagnan won over Lady Constance yet?” He reminds you, reaching out to pluck your copy of The Three Musketeers from your lap and study the cover.

“No, I was going to read more last night but the power went out again and I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep with a candle burning.” You sigh, pushing some hair from your eyes. Bucky places the book gently back down and hums.

“Did you come straight from work?” You ask, switching the subject, and as if he doesn’t notice his clothing, he peeks down at himself briefly, before he cocks his head and gifts you another grin.

“What, can’t a guy wear his uniform around a gal to impress her?” He counters, clearly joking. You scoff anyway and lightly shove his arm.

“I think I’m sick of military uniforms…” You had meant it as a continuation of his joke, but you mean the words far too much to avoid the melancholy that seeps in.

You force yourself to look away, and take a few deep breaths.

Bucky had gotten around to asking you the obvious question of how you, with your brown skin and ‘ethnic’ features, had not suffered during the war. You told him the truth; that your neighbours had hidden you and your mother in attics and basements for nearly five years.

He’d been quiet and pensive on your answer, before telling you he understood why you spent so much time in the ridiculously hot sun. He’d made you laugh, something that you hadn’t ever thought you could do when speaking about your time during the war.

A hand gently, feather-light, curls over your own in your lap, and it takes everything in you not to jump. When you look back at him, his features are sad and serious and he gives your fingers a squeeze.

“Me too, darlin’.”

You want to say something, to maybe turn your hand over and feel his palm against yours, but before you can he removes it from yours, pushing back off the wall.

“I had an idea earlier, when we were clearing the rubble away.” He extends his arm to you, waiting patiently for you to make the short jump down from your perch. Linking your arm with his, he turns you to begin walking, but reaches out and plucks your book from you, tucking it into his jacket.

“An idea? I’m not helping with the mess…” You tease, and he gives you a sideways look.

“No. Riccardo said if I were truly suffering so much in the heat, I should go to the beach.” You perk immediately, gasping softly. You hadn’t been to the beach in so long.

“The beach!” You repeat, and Bucky grins, pride showing clearly through at his effort to delight you.

“I was thinking we could grab my camera, and head on down for the afternoon. I don’t think I have anything to swim in but even just dipping my toes…” You’re already nodding frantically, pulling away from his arm as you clap and do a little jump. You really couldn’t help it, you hadn’t been down to the water in many years.

“Yes! Though, did he tell you how long a walk it was? We should be careful of it getting too dark, my mama has already started—”

“—We can just drive.” Bucky shrugs, and you pause, blinking. Yes, you knew he had a car the army lent him, you’d seen it once or twice even but…

“I’ve…” You trail off and stop speaking entirely, shaking your head, and trying to plaster back on your previous excitement, but Bucky had already seen the slight fall to your face, and he frowns.

“What? What’s wrong?” He steps forward, toward you a little, his hand absently out as if to take your arm, though he drops it a moment later.

“It’s nothing. It’s silly.” You attempt to brush him off but he only moves closer still, right up to you now, and this time, the tension isn’t the same as it had been before.

His head bows down toward you, his frame nearly cocooning yours, if anybody were to be standing behind him, they likely would not be able to see you. His hand does touch your arm this time, comforting, concerned and all of it makes your heart flutter like a million happy butterflies.

“I… It’s just that… I’ve never been in a car before.” You admit, and it really is a silly thing to make such a fuss over. Bucky must breathe a sigh of relief that your dramatics hadn’t been about something more serious, but you don’t see his expression or body language change at all for a few seconds.

“... Ever…?” When he does speak, there’s no amusement in his voice, no awe at how backwards and small your growing up had been that you’d never been in a car. He just… asks.

You shrug.

“We don’t need them here…” His face does relax a little, and he must realise how much he’s been crowding you because he clears his throat and shuffles back slightly, letting his hand leave your arm.

“Well… I think you’ll like it. It’s fast.” He says, before frowning.

“Not— not too fast.” He adds, and you have to smile.

“Well… Why don’t I go put my book away, I’ll find some bread and fixings and you can go change, and I will meet you at your cottage?” You suggest. You didn’t want to go all the way down to the beach without some sort of food, even if he said the trip would be fast in his car. It would also give you a chance to change from your day dress into something that you wouldn’t mind getting a little wet or sandy.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Okay. You know where it is?” You roll your eyes.

“Of course.” He hangs his head a little, and lifts his hands in defeat.

“Small town, grew up here. Got it.” You laugh. He’d mentioned once how even though he’d spent his whole life in Brooklyn, knew the streets and the major locations like the back of his hand, there were still places he’d never know where to even start looking for.

You part ways then, and quickly hurry home, the excitement thrumming through your veins once again. Not only were you going to get to go to the beach, but you were going to ride in a car!

You toss your book onto your bed without a second thought, quickly undressing and slipping on a lighter, older dress. It’s faded pale blue told it’s age, but the fabric was thinner, meaning you would have no problem if it got wet. You decide not to bother with stockings, removing both them and your garter in favour of feeling the sand with your bare feet instead, and slip your shoes back on.

Before you leave your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and pause. Turning your face from side to side, you inspect your features carefully. You never bothered with makeup, it was expensive and you’d only end up sweating it off, but your eyes do linger on your lips for a moment.

Creeping upstairs, you sneak into your mother’s bedroom. She was out for coffee at one of your neighbours, still, you feel nervousness take hold when you find the small golden tube in her drawer. Taking a deep breath, you uncap the lipstick and lean forwards for a better view, before carefully swiping the deep red colour across your lower lip. You follow suit with the upper, fixing it here and there, and swiping to try and neaten it up, but when you stand back to inspect yourself, you groan in frustration.

You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, and your painted lips and bareface didn’t communicate that at all. Grabbing a tissue, you quickly work to remove the makeup, rubbing at your lips until the bulk of the colour is off. However, when you stop to check again, you find the red has somewhat stained your skin. It only really adds a subtle flushed red over your usually brown lips, but it's still noticeable, and you panic, grabbing another tissue and trying again to no avail.

Time ticks by and you check your watch, not wanting to make Bucky wait too long, and so you pocket the stained tissues and take a last look in the mirror. Your shoddy clean up job would have to do. At least the stains were on your lips and not around them.

In the kitchen you gather up a small selection of items in a basket, just some bread and butter and homemade jam, and tuck an old blanket over the top to secure it all, and so that you could sit on it later. Checking everything one last time, you slide the basket to the crook of your arm and close up your house behind you.

You have to stop yourself from skipping as you make your way through the streets, smiling and greeting those who pass you politely and not like a mad woman. By the time you make it to Bucky’s little cottage, you can already see him leaning back against the car, waiting. He straightens when he sees you, smiling as you slow down, feeling almost hesitant about approaching the car.

“Here, lemme take this…” You let him grab the basket from you and watch him open one of the back doors, placing it on the floor, behind a seat. When he shuts the door again with a click, he turns to look at you in a both expectant and patient manner.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the other side of the car, and you let him lead you around it, swallowing as he pulls open the front side door for you.

“There you go. You know, you’re lucky this is your first car ride. This is a nice car, apparently.” You let Bucky take your hand to help you in, and for the few seconds after he’s shut your door behind you, and you see him jog around to the driver’s seat, you feel an immense awkwardness settle over you.

When he’s climbed in beside you, he gestures to something above your head.

“Here, that’s your seat belt. I know a lotta people don’t bother with them, but… better safe than sorry, right?” You nod, and reach out to grab the little buckle, not realising that the sun had been baking the metal since it had come up.

You rip your fingers away from it with a hiss, cradling them to your chest. Bucky jerks and is immediately leaning over to help you.

“Shit! Sorry, I— I forgot to tell you to be careful of the— here, look, you gotta grab the plastic part…” Your slightly burnt fingers are all but forgotten when Bucky leans right over you, directly into your space as he pulls at the belt, drawing it down and across your body, to your hip.

You watch him click the buckle together and blink up at him when he leans back, face still pulled in a wince.

“You okay?”

“Yes… I just wasn’t expecting it… it didn’t really hurt that much…” He looks like he wants to say something more, his eyes darting down to where you lower your hand back to your lap, and your face, but he eventually settles with a nod.

“Okay. Okay.” He repeats, twisting to face frontwards in his seat again as he begins readying the car. You watch him fiddle with the keys, jumping slightly when the engine roars to life all around you, but you only chuckle at the look Bucky sends you. He lifts one hand from the wheel, to hold onto a tall gear stick in the center console, shifting it a few times before you feel the car begin to move.

Despite your nerves, you can’t help but feel the excitement in your bones, and as Bucky starts to slowly drive along the outer roads of the town, toward the western most side, you can’t stop yourself from staring out the window.

It wasn’t as if you’d never seen any of these places before, but it felt different now. You feel Bucky’s eyes flick over to you every so often, a low chuckle you can barely hear above the car reaching you, but you’re too enthralled to do more than return his smile briefly.

You settle down a bit as you hit the main road. It's still a very new experience to be moving so quickly down a road you’d only ever been along at a walk. Bucky seems content in the quiet, but about halfway through the trip, he changes his hand on the steering wheel, to reach down for something on the side of his door. You watch him fumble for a moment, before he behinds winding a little lever, and you turn your gaze to where the window now rolls down, filling the car with fresh air and the sound of light wind.

“You’ve got one too,” He briefly takes his eyes from the road to point your own window lever out to you, and excitedly, you rush to unwind it. You laugh then, like a child, and lean forward to get a better view, to feel the wind blow over your face. It doesn’t last long though, the second you feel your hair get thrown about, you yip, ducking away with another laugh, but attempting to smooth back your hair again.

Bucky grins over at you, and he shuffles, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, resting his elbow on the window frame casually. With his spare hand, he rests it on his thigh, fingers tapping.

“Lotta women wear a scarf, to keep their hair from getting wrecked…” He tells you, and you make a note for if you ever ride in the car again.

“You were right.” You tell him, finally sitting back in your seat and relaxing. Bucky cocks his head, briefly glancing at you, but mostly he keeps his eyes forward.

“Hmn?”

“I do like this.”

You arrive at the beach in no time at all, the lone western road leading right down to the water. Bucky brings the car to a stop away from the road, on a patch of grass that separates the rest of the land from the sand dunes. On your right, some ways away, the land lifts, creating a rocking cliffside that encloses this section of beach neatly. You knew from your childhood that there were some caves accessible, but you’d always been told to stay well away.

Bucky grabs the basket from the backseat, and you wait for him to catch up with you before you begin treading down onto the sand. The sand is hot and pale, and the smell of sea water calls you, but as much as you’d love to throw yourself toward it, you direct Bucky to a small cropping of rocks and boulders that rested near the dunes, far enough back that the incoming tide wouldn’t reach them, but near enough to the water to be sure your things would be kept safe.

Bucky follows your lead as you kick your shoes off, climbing to the top of the largest boulder easily, it's jagged surface perfect for climbing, as long as you didn’t step on a spike. The boulder stands almost up to Bucky’s chest, and was quite large from a top side view. You beckon him to give you your basket and he watches as you quickly lay out the blanket. When he can see you settling, he joins you, scaling the rock quickly, and taking a seat beside you, where you’ve now begun to pull the bread and spreads from the basket.

“This is a nice spot.” He says scanning the horizon critically. You see his gaze turn up towards the nearby cliffs, scrutinizing them thoroughly with slightly squinted eyes. His face is so intense, you can’t help but look too, wondering what it was he was seeing, but when you turn back to him, he snaps out of it, plastering an easy smile on his face.

You open your mouth to question what he’d been looking at when he grabs the jame, and turns it over in his hands.

“Homemade?” He asks, clearly excited by the prospect, and even though you still want to know what he’d just been thinking about, you let it go, recognising a subject change when you saw one.

“Yes. My mama is very good at cooking. She cooks a lot for other people.” You tell him, buttering a thick slice of bread before handing it to him.

“Do you?” He puts the jam down as he takes the bread and a butter knife from you, beginning to spread some of the sweet, jellied fruit. You scrunch your nose.

“I don’t cook a lot. Mama says I should do more.” You roll your eyes and Bucky snorts.

“Why?”

“So that when I get married my husband won’t be displayed… or something.” You bring one of your legs to a bent position, like you were crossing your legs but only chose to do one, and shift your center of balance to be more comfortable.

The blanket was a nice touch, but it didn’t make the rock you sat on any more homey.

“I don’t understand… why women have to do so much to keep a man. If they love you, shouldn’t they not care about how well you cook or how clean your house is?” You glance at him, genuinely asking. Bucky was, as you well knew, a man, he may have insight you did not. He frowns, mulling over his thoughts as he chews his mouthful.

“I think some guys want a housekeeper more than a partner. I don’t think a lot of mother’s help that, either.” It’s your turn to frown and you cock your head, gesturing he go on. He adjusts a little, and looks off as he speaks, only glancing back at you a few times as he explains.

“It’s a cycle, right? A lady gets married, she looks after her husband, they have kids, a boy and a girl,” He pauses, takes a small bite, chews, swallows and continues.

“Now, as the girl gets older, mother starts to prepare her for when she’ll get married, so she takes on some of the household chores. The son however, he gets looked after right up until he leaves the nest. His food is cooked for him, his room is cleaned, his clothes washed…” You start understanding what he means, and nod slowly.

“By the time he’s serious about looking for a girl, he thinks they should be how his ma and pa were. I’m sure there’s love and affection, but in his mind, if she’s not doing those same things he grew up with, then how much can she really love him?” He ends with a shrug, looking at you, and you have to admit you’re genuinely surprised by his honest point of view.

But he sits up a little straighter then, and points to himself with the bread still in his hand.

“My mother would never let me get away with that.” He tells you solemnly, and you chortle at his deeply serious, over the top expression.

“Oh?”

“No ma’am. When I was sixteen she showed me how to use the machines at the laundromat, and if my room wasn’t spick and span at the end of the week I’d get it.” You laugh at the thought of a woman with Bucky’s same eyes making him remake his bed.

“And cooking?” You press, and Bucky shrugs again.

“I grew up watching her cook, helping her in the kitchen… I ain’t sayin’g I’m good. But I wouldn’t starve.” You laugh again, his stories uplifting on your general view of how things were ‘Supposed To Be’.

“Anyway, the point is, the only thing that makes a good husband or wife is that you care about one another. Everything else is negotiable.” You grin, and nod, look out at the water as he words sink in, before you sharply side eye him.

“Everything except fidelity. I’d cut off my man’s—” You cut yourself off before you can say too much, but Bucky has already begun howling with laughter, leaning all the way back to rest on his elbows, he places a hand to his chest as he guffaws gleefully.

When he calms down, still snickering quietly he nods several times to himself and gives you a look.

“I don’t doubt you for a second, sweetheart.” Your chest flutters again at not just the pet name, he’d taken to using various ones, but the softness in his voice when he says it. It makes you nervous, it makes your stomach feel like the rolling waves of the ocean before you are happening simultaneously in there too.

“Right, well. Let's cool off, huh?”

Bucky rolls his pant legs up to just above his knees before he treads into the shallows, and you lift your skirt just a little as you join him. You wallow about in the water for some time, talking about nothing in particular. At one point, he realises he’d left his camera in the car, and races back up to get it, returning with a piece of photo paper already developing in his fingers.

“Took one from the dunes. It’s a nice view.” He explains as you lean over to peer at the little print. You can make out your figure, distant in the photo.

Bucky takes several more pictures, of the cliffs, of the long expanse of shoreline on the other side… You let him be for a while, moving back up to the rock and the blanket, perching yourself on the edge as you just take in the cool sea breeze and watch Bucky move about, deeply focused.

It was sweet really, though you don’t know how many of the shots look the same.

The warm sun and your general relaxed mood lull you to lie back, fixating your gaze on the blue skies and clouds above. Your skin grows warm and a little moist under such direct sunlight, but it feels nice. You aren’t sure how long you lie there for, you even doze off for a little bit, but some time later, you hear Bucky approaching.

“Can I take your picture?” He asks as you sit up, shielding your eyes for a moment as you do.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” You want to protest that he shouldn’t waste his photo paper on you, but he’s already stepping back and bringing the camera up to check if he’s too close or far.

“Wait, let me move.” You tell him, shifting to sit side on, with your feet on the rock and your knees bent up, like you would sit in your reading nook. Bucky waits for you like you ask, adjusting a little notch on his camera before he lifts it back to his eye, peering through. You expect him to take the photo right away but instead you see his lips part and his tongue swipe out to wet them as he swallows and draws the device away again.

“Uh, your— your skirt sweetheart, it's…” He trails off and gestures at his own thigh, prompting you to glance down at yourself.

Oh.

With your legs up like this, and perhaps with the help of a little sea breeze, your dress had shifted far up the length of your leg, far more than what was proper or should be photographed, and yet, your mind begins to whir.

You cock your head innocently, and hook your finger under the hem, drawing it back even further, until almost the whole side of your leg was on display. As you do, you pop your shoulder forward and rest your chin on it, grinning widely, invitingly.

Bucky just stares for several moments, and you see him swallow again. He seems to fumble with bringing the camera back to his face, and you see his mouth in what you’re certain is English cussing. It only makes your grin that much wider.

He takes the picture, lowering the camera immediately to catch the photo it spits out, though, he keeps glancing back up at you. You only flutter your eyelashes as best you can and make sure to fix your skirt somewhat. You sit forward again, and rest your hands either side of your legs, leaning toward where Bucky still stands.

“May I see?” You ask, and he jerks, starting toward you right away.

“Y--yeah. Of course…” You note with a quiet snicker how he stands at least two feet away from you when he holds out the photograph, and you take it from him, inspecting it.

“This is a good one.” You tell him.

“Yep. Yeah. It is.” He’s aware you’re teasing him now, and you give him a smile over the top of the picture.

“You won’t throw it away?”

“Why… why the hell would I throw it away?” You shrug and hold it out to give back.

“I don’t know…”

Bucky reaches out for it, but just before he can take it from you, you pull it back.

“On second thoughts, I don’t know if you can be trusted with this.” His face resembles a rain cloud, his frown confused and deep.

“What?”

“I think it might end up in the bottom of a box somewhere… I should keep it.” Your lip quirks, and he can see the cogs turning as he realises you’re only playing. He rolls his eyes and goes to grab it from you again, but you pull it away again.

Before he can corner you where you sit, you jump off the rock, ducking to the side as he lunges, making you squeal.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me have it…” You keep moving backwards, even as you turn to face him, the photo clutched to your chest. Bucky has turned to pursue you, though he’s only walking, hands on his hips.

“You’ll have to catch me!” You take off running, unable to keep from laughing as you do, Bucky’s own chortling reaching you as he gives chase.

You duck and weave out of his reach, and even though he’s far bigger and fitter than you, you were smaller, and the drag of the sand didn’t affect you as much. He almost gets you twice, his fingers grazing your dress, and when he does finally catch you, it’s with his arms around your middle, seizing you mid stride and pulling you back.

The momentum sends you both tumbling to the sand, your back hitting it lightly. Bucky falls over you, though he catches himself before he can crush you proper. All you can do is laugh, breathless from the chase and from the fall, and most certainly from the fact Bucky now lays atop you.

He’s laughing too, his face close and his breathe warm. He shifts to lift one hand and pluck the photo from your fingers, still held to your chest, trapped their by his own body. He’s still smiling when he makes a show of placing the photo in his top pocket, and buttoning it close, and then he drops his hand, resting it back in the sand by your head.

“I caught you.” He says simply, and all you can do is nod dumbly. His eyes fall to your mouth, and you suddenly remember the lipstick debacle. You’re about to make an excuse, or explain what had happened, when he leans in, dropping his lips to your own softly. You don’t mean to, but you gasp quietly, heat pooling in your face when you feel Bucky smile, and hear his light chuckle.

He doesn’t stop though, and you gladly return the kiss at last, lifting your chin so he could reach you easier or have more of you, you don’t know. Bucky shifts over you, his knee digging into the sand as he lifts some of his weight off of you, but before you can complain, he’s holding your face, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

When you part, reluctantly, you’re all too aware of how heavy you’re breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Bucky’s eyes drop to watch for a moment, and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin, but he looks away, moving to get off of you.

“Uhm… that okay?” He asks, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. You’re still just lying in the sand, watching him and trying to catch your breath.

He stands, and leans down to offer you a hand that you accept. You let him pull you to your feet, and by that time you’ve gotten at least a semblance of your sanity back. He’s looking at you cautiously, concerned maybe, but you intend to rectify that.

He hardly has time to catch you as you jump for him, legs wrapped around his middle, your arms around his neck, Bucky lets out a loud, hearty laugh as he makes to secure his hold on you. You lean in and kiss him again, heated at first, but then softer, until you’re only peppering little pecks to his lips.

“I’m gonna go with that being okay, then.” He confirms to himself. You giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and realise he’d been walking the whole time he’d been carrying you. He sets you down atop the rock, hands gliding under where he’d been holding your legs, before quickly removing them, like he didn’t want to overstep.

“You had better not lose that picture.” You warn, making him chuckle, and pat his pocket.

“Oh, trust me darlin’. It’s not going anywhere.”

The sun had already begun to set, and so you make quick work of packing up the small amount of belongings you brought. As you walk back to the car, Bucky carries the basket in one arm, and with the other, he reaches out to take your hand, firmly and securely, interlocking your fingers, and you feel your whole being ascend.

He doesn’t let go of your hand in the car either, reaching out to hold it there too, your intertwined hands resting on your thigh. It’s all too short however, and far too soon he’s parking the vehicle and helping you out.

“I’ll walk you back.” He tells you and you frown.

“What? No, you’re already home, I can—”

“—I’ll walk you back.” He says again, firmer, but with a playfulness that stops you from arguing further.

You wait for him to get your basket from the backseat, and when he does join you around at the rear of the car, his face lights up in realisation.

“Oh! Wait. Hold this for a sec…” He gently thrusts the basket into your hands and you blink, watching him jog into the cottage.

He reappears a few minutes later, carrying something long and cylindrical in his hand, and as he approaches you again, he flips it, catching it smoothly.

“Flashlight. For… for if your power goes out again…” He drops it in your basket before he takes it from you again, and you’re so genuinely touched by the gesture you’re frozen for a few seconds.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky frowns, cocking his head, but you snap out of it, leaning in to wrap your arms around his neck, only a hug this time. His free arms wraps around you instantly, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever get over how nice it feels to be held.

“Thank you. That’s very kind…” You say when you pull back. He just smiles at you, before offering you his arm, and walking you home.

—-

He takes you on a picnic.

It’s such a quaint idea that when he mentions it to you one afternoon, after kissing you goodbye on your doorstep, you can’t help but feel your eyes light up like two cartoonish hearts.

Bucky had assured you he would source the meal and perhaps some wine, but he’d need your basket once more, and the next day you find yourself lounging lazily under the shade of a tree, in the empty fields outside of town.

He’d brought bread, fruit and a bottle of red wine that you’d be very excited by right up until you’d had your first taste.

Bucky burst out in laughter at your expression, nose scrunched and brow furrowed, and he gracefully takes your glass from your hand.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it's an acquired taste…” He chortles, and you gladly let him pour what's left of your drink into his own, but you notice he doesn’t really touch it throughout lunch.

You talk for hours, clearing up the blanket so you can lie down next to one another and gaze at the cloudy blue sky. You ask Bucky to tell you once more about New York City, and as he speaks you gaze at him, gesturing wildly with his hands and smiling back at you every so often.

He was so pretty, for a boy, his eyes so blue, hair dark and lovely and smooth looking. Even his stubbly chin and cheeks, where you could clearly see he’d shaved just this morning look nice, and without really thinking, you reach out and brush the backs of your fingers over his jaw.

Bucky stops speaking, turning his head slightly to regard you softly, but you don’t stop. From the way he spoke about the war and missing his home, you think maybe it has been a while since he’d felt such gentle touches.

“See somethin’ you like, darlin’?” His smirk is barely a smirk, it's far too soft for that, but there’s still a hint of cheekiness in his gaze that draws you in. Laughing quietly, you rise to your elbow, leaning into his side where he’d previously been lying a respectable distance from you and press your lips to his jaw, then his cheek, and at last his lips.

Bucky kisses you back immediately, like he always did, lips moving softly against your own, carefully cupping the side of your face and pulling you down against him even further. Your heart races when he sits up without breaking apart from you, pushing you back so your positions are reversed. Out here you were practically alone, and even if somebody did come driving down the main road, with the tall grass nobody would be able to see you.

You wrap your hands up behind his head, tugging him down more, until he’s leaning against you fully, his forearms encasing either side of your head, a knee slipping between your own as your tongue slips between his lips. Your nearly come apart thena nd there when he moans, muffled by your kiss, but erotic all the same, and he seems to move more feverishly, kissing your quicker, bearing down against you harder.

You resist the urge to wrap a leg around him, but instead let your fingers scratch gently at the back of his neck, feeling yourself sink further and further into bliss with each tiny stroke of his tongue against yours, and each press of his clearly hardening length between your thighs.

You almost unhook your hands from his neck to lift your dress when he pulls back. At first he simply lays his forehead against your own, his eyes shut tight, and you watch him with rising disappointment and heavy breathing as he gently shifts his weight off of you, and dips his lips to kiss the tip of your nose, and then chastley at your lips.

“I uh… this probably isn’t a good idea…” You deflate, but push it aside. If he did not wish to go further, you wouldn’t pressure him. Still, the gentle ache between your thighs resists, begging for friction, for satisfaction. Bucky looks down at you, lips kissed raw and pupils dilated and it takes everything in you not to go for his pants then and there. He smooths down what he can of your hair, tucking some wilder pieces behind your ear before he kisses your nose again, and lays back down beside you.

On the walk back, the both of you are oddly silent, and although it isn’t uncomfortable, you still don’t like the awkwardness. You always felt like you could be truthful with Bucky, and you didn’t want to change that now, so tugging on his hand a little you slow your pace.

“I would have had sex with you, you know?” You squint at him and he blinks rapidly, face blushing quickly as he checks around to make sure there was nobody else present.

“Wha— I wasn’t—”

“—I’m not a virgin. I know what I’m doing.” You further assert, and he only continues to cough awkwardly, trying to reign in his clear embarrassment.

“Men aren’t the only ones who like sex. You always think us women are so eager to wait and ‘save ourselves’.” You roll your eyes then, and walk past him.

You don’t look back, but soon enough he’s hurrying to fall in beside you once more, taking your hand again even as he swallows.

“I never said you were, I just… I guess I’m not used to ladies talkin’ about it so… well, at all…” You side-eye him wryly and shrug.

“Look around, Bucky. In a town this small, there isn’t much else to do except each other. But all the boys have left now…” You shrug again, and this time Bucky laughs, letting out a slow puff of air.

“I guess.” He wears a look on his face like he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet. You slow down as you approach your home, and you’re about to ask when he stops just short of the steps leading into your front courtyard, and takes both your hands.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to take advantage. I’d want you to be sure.”

You purse your lips and roll your eyes again.

“I’m not a naive little girl.”

He laughs again and draws you near, quickly checking about to make sure no neighbour would spy the kiss he presses to your lips.

“And I’m not a boy.” The words send a thrill up your spine, and now more than ever you wish he hadn’t pulled away earlier. You swallow as he looks down at you, eyes intense and fiery and this time it’s your turn to swallow.

“I— I know…” You manage, and for a moment you can’t stop staring at one another.

Eventually, Bucky squeezes your hands and nods his head toward your home.

“You’d better—”

“—Oh! Yes… Goodnight…”

Bucky watches you as you make your way to your door and tips his hat when you look back at him before you close it.

“Goodnight.”

—-

Bucky can’t sleep.

It's late, he really should have been asleep hours ago, but he can’t stop thinking about you and what you’d said. As much as he curses himself for not seeking out the moment when he’d had you under him in the field, he’s also glad. You deserved more than a quick rut on a picnic blanket, and yet his mind wanders to Parisian nights, except all the women in his memories are replaced with you.

Would you be loud? Quiet? Would you say his name, drawn out and breathy? He decides he wants to find out.

It takes him no time at all to walk to your house, and when he’s climbed the side wall of the enclosed courtyard into the back garden, he sneaks on around to the open window on the first floor.

Surprisingly, you were either far from asleep yourself, or you had been suspecting his visit. You sit up in bed right away, but smile and hold a finger to your lips as you creep across to the window. Bucky leans against it comfortably, holding your hand when you half climb through to sit on the sill, legs dangling out beside him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, though your demeanour seems to be far more girlish, far more pleased-but-scandalised than you had been earlier, talking so frankly about sex. Bucky gives you his best smile and shrugs.

“Wanted to see you. What’re you doing awake?” He nods to your bed, the book and torch clearly lying amidst your sheets.

“I was reading.”

“I can go if you’d—”

“—No!” You whisper, socking him lightly in the shoulder, as if it were a ridiculous thought to even suggest he leave. In the moonlight he thinks you look lovelier than ever, and he scoots closer, until he’s resting his arms across your thighs and gazing up at you softly.

“We have to talk quietly though, my mother’s room is above mine and her window is also open…” You point, and Bucky looks, see’s the curtains billowing slightly out, and he nods.

“I’d let you in, but I think you might dissolve into a blush.” You tease him, and Bucky immediately perks, eyes lighting up at the challenge. He pulls his arms off of your lap and cocks his head.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” He asks slowly, letting a hand gently curve up your calf. Your nightdress covers you from the knee up, but he ignores it, reaching underneath to massage softly at your thigh.

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even when he lowers his gaze to carefully push your knees apart. If anything you seem to lean back on your palms, watching him intently. Bucky meets your eye again when he snakes his hand further, forgoing your leg entirely to press the pads of his fingers against your core, eliciting a sharp inhale from the both of you.

“You don’t wear underwear to bed?” He can’t help but ask, pants suddenly restrictively tight and you breathe out slowly, clearly trying to remain quiet as he lets his fingers simply glide through you slick.

“Only when I’m expecting company.” You tell him, and he chortles, stepping closer and pressing his lips to yours.

Your head angles back for him, letting him set the pace of the kiss and gently, Bucky presses one finger inside. You almost gasp, but he kisses you harder, pulling back again just slightly, so your lips brush when he speaks.

“Gotta be quiet, remember?” You nod vigorously, eyes not even opening to meet his, and Bucky leans back further, content to watch your head lull back and mouth part in the softest breathiest moans he’s ever heard as he slowly pumps his one finger in and out of you.

He’s laser focused on the task at hand, even despite his rock hard cock, and soon he’s adding another finger, slowly letting them sink deep into your velvety wet heat, his pride stoked when you further part your legs for him. He uses his free hand to push your nightdress up around your hips, and he nearly groans at the sight. Licking his lips he sets his eyes back on you, leaning in to nip and kiss at your neck, finally letting his thumb press down against your clit, massaging in circles as slow as his strokes, and he feels your muscles flutter.

A third finger joins the others and this time you seem to reactively grip his wrist, your other hand flying to slap over your mouth as your brow furrows deeply. Bucky knows he’s breathing hard, and after adjusting himself briefly in his pants, he pulls at the thin straps of your nightdress, getting it only half down one shoulder, but it’s enough.

He wraps his lips around your exposed nipple, swirling his tongue and nipping experimentally, feeling your hand wrap around the back of his head in approval. He stares up at you, desperately wanting to see your face when he finally pulls you apart and he’s rewarded only a few minutes later, his fingers fucking you far quicker, his thumb working faster.

When you finish, your cunt squeezes his digits relentlessly in waves of pleasure, and you make strained, soft little mewls as you attempt to remain quiet. Your hips shift and twitch and he doesn’t draw away from your breast until you’re blinking back down at him, gently pulling his hand away from your clit with bashful little laughs.

“At least… at least I won’t have to change any bedsheets…” You pant, and Bucky chuckles, leaning forward to kiss your lips properly, feeling your naked chest heave against his when he does. Your eyes seem dazed, and your face warm, but when he pulls away again you swallow and gesture to his own clearly bulging pants.

“I can—”

“—Not tonight…” And he means it.

“I just wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He says, and your gaze shifts from purely lustful to something softer, and you smile, dipping your eyes away for a second.

Bucky takes the moment to enjoy his view, your dress pulled up to your hips, your pussy still clearly on display, and your sleeves hanging well down to your elbows, breasts bare, nipples hardened and exquisite. He fights the urge to reach out and start all over again, maybe get his mouth on you this time…

“S’alright?” He rests his head in his palm and you chortle quietly, nodding.

“Yes. Yes, better than… than anything with other boys before…” He gets the feeling you aren’t just saying that to stroke his ego, the blissed out look on your face and the oddly bashful demeanour you’ve taken on requiring him to believe that he really had just properly blown your mind. He grins triumphantly, and leans in again, kissing your lower lip.

“I told you I wasn’t a boy.” He kisses you full again, loving the feel of your hand reaching up to hold the back of his head to you.

“I know.” You say when he forces himself back. You watch him as he carefully pulls up the sleeves of your shirt, covering you up again, and then fixes the skirt too, until you’re mostly modest.

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart.” He tells you, and you hum, reluctantly climbing back through your window and standing on the other side. He kisses the back of your hand, but when he goes to pull away, you don’t release your hold on him, tugging him back slightly, and he blinks at you curiously.

Your eyes have taken on that same lustful expression from before and you cock your head.

“Will you think of me?” You ask, and at first, it doesn’t quite click.

“When you wrap your hand around your cock when you get home, will you think of me?” Bucky nearly chokes, nearly climbs right through your window and ends all the tension there and then, but he manages to hold strong, realising you were still somewhat teasing him.

“Darlin’ I will think of nothing but you, soaking wet and waiting for me…” He squeezes your fingers slightly, noting the approval in your eyes even before you nod.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“It has been, yes.” You finally let him go, watching as he clambers quietly back over your side wall.

And Bucky does think of you when he gets home, he strokes himself to the thought of your mouth and your cunt, and your tits bouncing in his face while he has you on his lap. It’s honestly the filthiest his mind has been since Paris nights drowned in alcohol and women he didn’t bother to get the names of. He knows your name though, sighs it again and again as he thinks of you.

He falls asleep hard and wakes up in the morning the same way, unable to stop thinking about you.

—-

In the days following Bucky’s midnight visit, you feel a giddy sort of happiness thrum constantly through your veins. Even now, as you sit up in your archway, trying to focus your mind on the letter you write to your distant aunt (you think you’ve met her all of once, but she’d written to you and your mother regarding your health and wellbeing in the aftermath of the war, so you felt obliged to reply). You find yourself able to write only several lines before you’d look up, searching, hoping perhaps Bucky would show, but even you know it’s too early… he’d still be working.

Part of you debates going to watch, the idea of seeing him labouring away in the hot sun, hopefully with his shirt removed, leaving him in only a singlet top… your stomach stirs at the thought, but you shake your head, and concentrate harder on your letter.

You manage to succeed too, losing yourself in describing Montecarra to your relative who’d never once left England, as she’d explained. It isn’t until some time later that movement catches at the corner of your eye, and you barely refrain from looking up as Bucky finally ambles into the courtyard. He must sense your buys-ness, because he doesn’t greet you as he nears, he just stops for a moment, before he continues forward.

At first you think he may approach you to wait, but instead he swiftly climbs into the open archway behind you. You take the time to pause in your own actions to peek at what he’s doing, only to find him sitting in mirror of you, his back to the same pillar yours is. After he settles he twists back and nudges your arm.

“Got any spare paper, darlin’?”

You try to pretend you hadn’t been watching him, but his grin says you’ve been caught out. Gathering a few pages from under your small stack, you hand them back to him, his fingers over your far too suspect for you to think it is anything other than purposeful. Still, you can’t help but smile, even as you settle back to finish off your letter, hearing him uncap a pen.

You find yourself referring back to your aunt’s letter to answer and reply to all of her questions and queries, and once again you almost forgot Bucky is there, until tugging on your sleeve draws you out of your reverie. You turn to look, expecting to be greeted with his lovely face, but instead, all you see is his hand, holding a page folded into a little rectangle.

Your chest flutters at the thought he’d been sitting writing something for you, and so your letter is quickly abandoned in favour of taking the little note. Bucky seems to remain as if he were oblivious to his own actions, humming quietly to himself as you unfold the paper and gaze down at the words.

‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

Again, your heart stutters, and you can’t hide your smile as you put pen to paper, drawing up your response. You refold it and hand it back the same way he’d offered it to you; tugging on his sleeve and holding it out. The page is plucked from your fingers quickly, and you try to distract yourself by turning back to your true task, only to be pulled from this once more when his hand reaches back, searching. You watch for a moment before he wiggles his fingers expectantly and you snicker, adjusting your hold on your paper, so that you can place your hand in his own.

You sit there like that for the rest of the afternoon, Bucky humming happily, your hands interlocked at an almost awkward angle, and you try your hardest to finish writing your damned letter.

He picks you up from your home later that evening, finds you waiting for him out the front. You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, and so when his gait slows and his eyes roam over you as he approaches, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

You’d worn a simple red dress, but it was the nicest one you owned, the only one appropriate for dinner out. This time you’d committed to the lipstick, painted your lips red and done your best not to talk yourself out of it. You’d left your hair down, let it fall in loosely styled waves, and all together you felt part-movie star, part-fool.

Bucky whistles lowly, just quietly as he nears, and you have to scoff and roll your eyes, hiding your embarrassment as he draws you in, hugging you just quickly before he pulls back, hands on your waist still, to inspect you closer.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, voice soft and sweet and you know he isn’t pontificating, or trying to woo you.

“Thank you.” You reach out to smooth over his collar and finally force yourself to meet his eye.

“You look lovely, too.”

You feel lost in a slight high as you walk to the only real restaurant in town, in the main square. In the early evening the streets are quiet, only the occasional passerby, but the cafe remains open, seeing to a few quiet patrons, plus yourselves out on the terrace.

Bucky helps you with your chair and takes your order for you, pours you your drink… it's so normal and yet you’d never really experienced an evening like it. When your food is long gone, he scoots his chair around to sit closer to you and holds your hand softly in his while you talk aimlessly. You aren’t at all worried about being seen or judged, in fact the few moments in which you catch a passing couple take a look at you, you see kind eyes and sweet smiles, only making you feel dizzier.

“You enjoyed your meals, I see?” The owner, an older man named Matteo who you’d known to live in Montecarra for as long as you can remember, stops by to clear up your plates, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, we’ll have to come back.” Bucky says, squeezing your fingers as Matteo smiles widely and agrees.

“Maybe next time I will have figured out how to work this named record player, then you will have music as well!” You and Bucky both seem to perk as Matteo throws a thumb over his shoulder, and Bucky straightens in his chair slightly.

“I can give it a look, if you’d like?” He offers, eyes already glued to the record player sitting atop the counter only a few meters away. The older man gives him a shrug and a gesture that clearly reads as ‘go for it’, as he finishes collecting the plates and patters back off to the kitchen.

You watch Bucky move over to the counter, fiddling with the player, though you can’t really see what he does. You know he’s fixed it however, when he throws a grin back at you, and plucks a record from beside the machine, pulling it from it’s sleeve and carefully placing it down on the turntable.

Music immediately begins wafting through the air, an upbeat tune you think you’d heard on the radio before, and Bucky comes speeding back over to you, hands held out even as he pulls you from your seat.

“Dance with me?” He asks, though he’s already wrapping his arm around your waist, and you move yours to his shoulder and hand respectively. There isn’t much room between the tables on the sidewalk, and although the song is happy, it’s not a rousing jazz tune, so you find yourselves simply swaying in each others embrace as the French lyrics begin to join the band.

You end up close, so close you forget anything else exists around you, Bucky’s forehead pressed against your own, your chests similarly compressed, as if neither of you could exist apart.

You have to laugh, thoroughly intrigued and enthralled when he begins softly singing the words to the song. It’s so different to hear him speak in a language that wasn’t Italian or English and it makes your chest ache for a reason you don’t know.

“I wish I could speak French.” You say quietly, Bucky’s lips quirk up but you shake your head.

“You must be so amused by how quaint I am… never been in a car, never left my town… never learnt any languages…” You don’t mean to sound so melancholy, but it hits you then, the ache in your heart stems from just how wonderful Bucky is, and how plain you are in comparison. But he’s frowning as you finish, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on you, wrapping you up even further.

“Never. I think you’re worldy in other ways…”

Your purse your lips, but as he opens his mouth to continue you cut him off, changing the subject.

“Can you tell me about New York again?”

Bucky’s expression falters, then lifts into a sweet smile, and you know his mind has wafted away to distant city streets.

“Of course…” He talks for ages about all the shops and stores available, about all the tiny apartment buildings and the decor, and his home block in Brooklyn. He tells you about the parks and the weather, and a place called Coney Island.

“... I think you’d like it.” He finishes, and you hum, having closed your eyes now, head to his shoulder as you attempt to imagine all that he describes. You feel him open his mouth to say something, to continue, but he doesn’t, hesitating and then remaining quiet, though he holds you firmer again, and you relish in the warmth of it.

Eventually, you have to let Matteo close up, and you bid the old man thank you and goodbye as you walk away hand-in-hand. Before you can get too far however, you stop, tugging on Bucky’s hand so you have his attention, the warm Montecarran breeze blowing your hair about.

“My mama doesn’t expect me home until morning.” You tell him, seeing instantly how his eyes change.

“Why’s that?” He manages to ask, stepping close again and you smile, shrugging.

“I told her I was watching some children in town overnight.”

Bucky hums at your reply, frowns as if in thought.

“Sounds as if you may need somewhere to stay, in that case.”

Bucky takes you back to his cottage, all quiet laughs and lingering touches as he leads you inside, placing his coat and keys down on the table, but any pretence is lost as soon as you kiss him. Clothes scatter around the small space, a gingerbread trail leading to his bedroom where he lays you down and peels the last of your underwear off.

Oddly, you feel less nervous about him seeing you naked than you had in your dress, maybe because he’d already seen you mostly this way, or maybe because at least naked it was real and you couldn’t pretend or hide, it was more honest.

You itch to touch him, but you don’t get the chance right away, his kisses leaving your lips quickly to travel down and soon you’re gasping, hands clutched tightly in his hair as he buries his face between your thighs, hands holding your legs apart as his tongue and lips work quickly over you, bringing you over the edge faster than you even thought possible. By the time he’s kissing you again, your mind is a haze of filth and desire and you guide him into you quickly.

Bucky is an excellent lover, his pace and angle perfect, his weight above you welcome as he thrusts into your warmth, desperate and wanting. He isn’t boring either, doesn’t end the night quickly, instead nearing his pleasure and stopping each time, drawing it out. He instructs you in various positions, making your belly spark with his knowledge of the female body, nearly sending you into a fritz when he takes you from behind, leaves you scrambling to hold on to something as you cry out into his sheets, his cock relentless as he fucks you through your orgasm, finally finishing with you, his hands curled around to pinch at your nipples, making your cunt bear down on him even more as you fall into a sweaty, moaning and panting heap.

He fetches you water, helps you fix back your hair in your still slightly dazed state, and pulls you near again, skin to skin as you drift off to sleep, lips pressed to one another even as your mind begins to wander.

In the morning you wake him with your mouth around his length, swallow him back as much as you can as he’s drawn from slumber by the pleasure, his hand reaching down to messily clutch at your hair. You watch him come apart for you, eyes fixed on his tilted head, creased brow and open mouth as he jerks into the back of your throat, hot warmth spilling forth that you swallow with ease.

He swears and curses as he rubs his eyes and you crawl up to lay beside him once again, finding his eyes looking at you as if to make sure you were real.

“Good morning, Sargeant.” You tease, only to have him cuss more, his chest heavily quickly up and down. You chitter and brush the slightly damp hair back from his head, a kiss to his cheek as you withdraw from the bed.

“Where’re you goin’?” He asks, blinking himself properly awake and you throw him a glance as you hunt for all your belongings.

“I have to go home, my mother does expect me at some point…” You explain, and he rubs a hand over his face once more, seeming to deflate a little.

“Right. Of course.”

You’re fully dressed when he manages to pull himself to sit on the edge of the bed, still naked, still just as fine as the evening previous. He looks up at you as you step nearer, braiding back your hair before you place both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you.” You say simply, leaning down to peck his lips chastley. He hums against you, kissing you back and quickly you’re no longer pecking his lips, your hands roaming down over his shoulders appreciatively, his hands reach up the back of your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side and—

You gasp, giggling as you pull out of his reach, shaking your head and wagging a finger at him like a naughty child.

“No! No, I have to go home!” You tell him, even as he sighs, falling back to lie on the bed again. You can clearly see his hardening length and you fight yourself to just climb atop him once more.

“I will see you later!” You say pointedly, tossing a shirt onto his lap, to hide him from you, and you see him grin, chortling even as his hand travels lower, removing the shirt and wrapping around— you turn your back, flustered and tempted, but you leave his little cottage, determined to get home before your mama woke, so you could wash and change.

—-

Somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind, he knew it wouldn’t last forever, but the end comes sooner than he’d expected.

He stares at the small pile of pages in front of him, their words all making sense in his brain, he understands what they all say, what they’re telling him, but at the same time, he comprehends absolutely nothing after the words ‘The United States Armed Forces herby discharges you with honourable service records…’

He was going home. They were sending him home.

At last he’d be able to hug his mother, see his sister, Steve, all the other fellas… he’d get to go home and really start his life post-war. He’d been waiting on this letter for months, a year even, more perhaps. At one time, it had been all he’d wanted. And yet, all that fills him now is a sense of dread, muddled with a bit of guilt, because he knows he really does miss his family, but…

When he sees you later that afternoon, sitting up in your nook like always, he can hardly bring himself to return your smile, sparkling and bright as always, for him. You pick up on his mood immediately, even if you poke fun. He knows he can’t delay, they expected him on his flight home from Rome tomorrow. The army loved their damn punctuality.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, face falling a little when he only half-heartedly chuckles at your joke, his eyes downturned, afraid to meet your own. He swallows, and shoves his hands in his pockets, squints into the distance.

“They’re sending me home.”

A beat passes.

When he finally looks back at you, he catches the tail end of devastation leaving your features, replaced instead with a hopeful, sincere grin.

You grab his hand, pulling them from his trousers.

“Bucky! That’s wonderful news!” You say excitedly, but he can only purse his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that! You don’t want to spend your whole life here, do you!?” You snort a little as you knock him in the shoulder, and he smiles thinly.

No, he didn’t want to live the rest of his life in Tuscany, but he’d been getting used to having a little slice of it around lately.

Your over-excitement fades, and you lean in to him cupping his cheek.

“You’ll get to see your mother, and your city… I know you miss them all…” He can’t help but frown at a spot on your dress, avoiding your eyes like a pouting child.

“I’ll miss you, too, though.” He mumbles, and you smile, scrunch your nose and shake your head.

“In no time at all this will all be a happy memory.”

Bucky wants to protest, lifts his gaze to argue with you, but the sharp, almost panicked look you give him as you shake your head again stops him.

“No, Bucky… Don’t. Please don’t make this sad… you’ve made me…” Your voice is cut off as you sniff, the shininess to your eyes spilling over just slightly, even though you smile softly.

“You’ve made me very happy, for quite some time. Let us leave with that.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face away and Bucky sighs, pulling you closer too, and resting his head atop your own.

He glares, frowns aimlessly at a nearby wall, barely even seeing it, focusing all his energy on swaying gently with you.

“Alright.” He says, voice a little rough. You sniff into the collar of his shirt, and he smooths his hands down over your back.

“Alright.”

—-

“We rented out your room to a shoemaker. You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch until we can convince him to leave.” Becca says flatly, half her words muffled as she’s drawn into Bucky’s chest. He holds her there tightly for several seconds before pulling back.

“Oh yeah?” He rubs at his chin.

“Don’t think the shoemaker will sleep heads to toes with me?” He wonders, and Becca scrunches her nose, laughing at the image.

Winnie Barnes shakes her head and lightly taps her daughter.

“Becca don’t cause trouble. Bucky, we left everything exactly the way it was.” His mother tells him, before hugging him for the sixth time since he’d landed. He just grins, and hugs her back each time. He’d missed her. So much.

They eat dinner together, Steve and Peggy come too, and afterward, the blond makes Bucky pull out his camera. After quickly pulling some choice images out of the pile, he lets Becca and his mother rifle through, telling them about each photo as he remembers it, the act rather therapeutic. He really had been gone for so long.

“Oh… who's this?!” Becca coos, half reading, half awed, and Bucky absently leans over to get a look.

His heart stops for a moment when he lays eyes on you, your smile wide and full of glee, the wind blowing your hair wildly about, your hand lifted to hold your hat on your head. Maybe he takes too long staring, maybe it’s just something about a sisters’ intuition, but Becca whistles, then gasps as she plucks another photo from the pile now tipped on the floor.

“Here she is again! And here too!” Even his mother gives him a sideways glance, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bashful.

He clasps his hands under his knees where he sits on the carpet and hums.

“Nina. I met her in a little town called Montecarra.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” he confirms, as Becca continues to find photos with your face peppered throughout. He should be embarrassed about the amount of pictures he took of you, even ones where you aren’t doing anything but reading, but he really doesn’t.

“She your girlfriend?”

“Becca!” Winnie scolds, glaring at her daughter, but Bucky only laughs.

“I wasn’t lucky enough for that.” He shrugs, and his mother fusses.

“James Barnes, any woman worth her salt—”

“It’s not like that Ma… it’s just…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to say something to suggest he didn’t want to be here with them, because he desperately did. But he missed you.

“Well… I came home.” He shrugs, and his mother’s eyes fill with understanding. She purses her lips but frowns thinly, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

Becca frowns too, but she recovers quickly, pulling out a new photo and asking him about the features in it.

She pulls out the ones of your face, but she doesn’t mention them again.

Bucky settles in. He truly comes home. He stops feeling like he’s living out of a suitcase. He finds a job, granted it isn’t hard, with the SSR setting up an office in the city, he barely had to ask for a job. On Fridays he went dancing with Becca, acting more like a chaperone than a participant, and on Sunday’s he went to church with his mother, holding her hand through the service and making nice with the old ladies after.

He settles in. He’s home.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

It’s well after any kind of appropriate hours for visitors, but not late enough into the night that anybody was in bed. Winnie sits by the radio in the living room, listening to her stories while Becca scrawls out a letter. Bucky had been reading when the knock came, and he waves a hand towards the women when he stands.

“I’ll get it.”

“Who on earth calls at this time?” He hears his mother wonder aloud as he makes his way down the hall to the front door.

Swinging it open, Bucky feels ready to send off whoever it is, but he stops dead in his tracks. All sense leaves him, aside from sight. He’s only able to stare slack-mouthed as you blink back up at him.

He’s never seen you in so many layers before. It was winter in New York, but Montecarra seemed to be perpetually hot, so the most he’d seen you in was a light jacket… standing before him now, on his front steps, you have a coat, a scarf, gloves, a hat and he thinks those might even be earmuffs around your neck.

“I… Hello…” You begin, your voice heavily accented when you speak English, and even though Bucky shakes himself out of his stupor, he’s still dumbfounded.

“Hi…”

“I… I’m new to the city, and I thought perhaps you will… show me around?” You seem to be thinking hard about your words, speaking slowly to articulate them. You scrunch your nose when you finish, clearly unhappy with the outcome.

Bucky can’t even bring himself to respond. He’s down the two steps separating you in seconds, hands cupping both your cheeks as he kisses you, again and again, in quick succession until you’re laughing against his lips.

“What— how— what are you doing here?!” He stops and starts, but eventually gets some version of his thoughts out. He speaks to you in Italian, not wanting you to feel limited, and you shrug, gloved fingers splayed across his chest.

“My Aunt… the one from England… she offered for me to join her in America, for better opportunities…” You trail off, and Bucky decides you could tell him any reason and he’d have been satisfied.

“I’ve been learning English.” You say, and he nods, thumb stroking over your cheek. He can’t stop looking at you, he can’t believe you’re here.

“I can see that.” He replies, in English, and watches as you slowly understand.

“Buck? Who's at the door— oh! I- I’m sorry, I—” Winnie, with Becca just behind her, stops in her tracks at the door, cheeks tinged red at catching such an intimate moment, but Bucky can’t bring himself to pull away. He see’s Becca’s eyes flash with recognition, her face lighting up.

He forces himself to pull back slightly, guiding you forward.

“Mama, Becca, this is Nina… from Montecarra.”

——

“I thought you said you’d worked in all the kinks!?” You whine, only slightly impatiently, though Bucky can understand why.

“Worked out all the kinks, baby. ‘Out’.” You roll your eyes and mutter in Italian.

“I’m going to work you out in a moment…” You say louder, and Bucky relents, holding up his hands as he finishes fiddling at last.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming! Get ready!” He tells you, quickly rushing around from one side of the camera he’d set up on a pile of books, the little wired control he holds in his hand flashing red.

“Come bambino, please smile for Mr Camera!” You bounce the tiny baby boy on your lap, earning a bout of giggles, just as Bucky slides in next to you on the stairs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and placing his free hand on his son’s back.

“Ready?”

“Five minutes ago…”

“Say ‘Montecarra’!”

He presses the button, and the camera flashes.

Thank You Very Much For Reading!

[natigail]

Week 44 (2022) updates:

Wrote 4.1k on my phan Stardew AU (picking it up for the first time in a while) - Broke, Gay and New in Town

Wrote 4k on my 3racha prologue to my skz wolfpack AU

Wrote 3.7k on my svt mafia AU and posted the sixteenth chapter - 돈’t Lie (at least not to me)

Wrote 1.8k on my skz wolfpack AU - Rest in the Belly of the Wolf

Wrote 1.4 on my wwx journal fic and posted the fourteenth chapter - The Journal of Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriach and Wei Ying

Wrote a spilled thoughts post about my birthday and turning 28

And I journalled every single day

Total words: 19.5k

Would you look at that! So many damn words! So many damn fics too! Slightly worried I am overloading myself taking so much on, but oh well, all of the fics are fun so I’ll probably be fine? I hope so at least. It wouldn’t be the best to bite off more than I could chew. I’m still proud of what I managed this week and it’s been a whole lot of fun “doing” NaNoWriMo alongside my writer friends so far. Collectively we are a force to be reckoned with, I tell you.

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART ONE

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 19.5k (long boi)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | PART TWO

a/n: IT’S HERE!!!! Cicely and Harry dropped into my head and have lived in there rent free ever since. strap yourselves in for a ride, my friends! this story is hugely inspired by Peaky Blinders, and i willingly admit that characters and elements of the story resemble parts of PB, including Cicely’s appearance (Grace). thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner,  and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. The Magnificent Ambersons is an actual book that was a bestseller in 1918. you can read it here. 

without further adieu, here is part one of ROSE COLORED GLASSES - come talk to me about it in my asks! pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

The cool spring air swept around Cicely like a cloud, the hem of her skirt ruffling in the wind. She was miles from home, the landscape around her having turned to just rolling hills of green, just the way she liked it. Here, she could finally breathe. At home, all she could smell was fear and secrets, while here, out in the open, she was anyone and everyone. It was just her and Joseph, her beloved horse, on the empty road.

Father had told her it was going to rain when Cicely pushed her way out of the house, stomping away from him in anger at the news he had given to her, but she hadn’t given it a second thought. She loved rain, loved being caught in it and getting drenched, not minding the weight of the water on her skin. If anything, it made her finally feel something, even if it was cold. In hindsight, she probably should’ve thought twice about going out so far in the rain, Joseph being a bit skittish as he got older, but now here she was, having ridden over halfway between her estate and the city, and she could feel the droplets falling onto her blond coiffed hair that her maid, Polly, had done this morning.

She sighed and looked up at the sky—it was grey and angry, the wind swirling around her. It was going to be a downpour, she suspected. Joseph stopped when she pulled on the reins, and she considered whether she should turn for home or find somewhere to ride out the storm. It seemed to be coming soon, after all. She glanced around and there was just open space of hills and trees, but none large enough to provide any sort of suitable protection. Plus, she was closer to the city than home, anyways, so maybe it was better to just keep on going the direction she was heading. She could stay with friends in town if need be.

So she dug in her heels and Joseph continued, her urging him to go faster as the rain began to come down harder around her. It was like a curtain, the combination of the rain and the dark skies making it hard to see very far in front of her. The water licked down her face, and her chiffon blouse was sticking to her skin, the one her maid had made her promise not to get dirty, as it had just been mended for the second time. But she could make no promises—it was her favorite one, after all. And now, it would most definitely be ruined as dirt road beneath her turned to mud and it splattered Joseph and her clothes. She held fast though, wishing now more than ever that her father let her wear the new fashionable pants to let her ride more easily because side saddle was simply not cutting it at the speeds she was urging Joseph to achieve.

All of a sudden, a crack rang through the clouds, bolts of lightening littering the path far ahead. But the sound was enough for her to tense and Joseph to whinny, his front legs leaving the ground, her hold on the reins slipping as she was thrown from the saddle.

The last thing she remembered was the sight of Joseph taking off into the rain, saddle empty and reins flying around his body.

Harry could barely see in the storm, the downpour causing sheets of rain to fall on the windshield, his vision completely obscured. So he inched along as slowly as he could without endangering his ability to drive—or the car, since it was a gift from Josiah—and kept the headlights on full blast. He was exhausted after a weekend of fights in the town over, ones that left his body aching in ways he preferred to ignore. But he had a pocket full of earnings and he knew Josiah would be happy with that, so he paid it no mind.

He was running through the fights, thinking about the missteps and wrong moves he had made, spots for improvements, when he saw a girl lying down on her back in the mud a few feet in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes immediately. What the fuck was a girl doing out in a storm like this? When she didn’t move as he sat in the car, surveying the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed on a road, left there to be found by the next car.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the car, lifting his hand to shield the rain from his face. “Miss?” He called into the storm, eyes drifting over her body. She looked well to-do—her blouse seemed to be some type of lace material that the girls he knew were always fawning over, skirts bright and recently washed. What was she doing out here, alone and in the mud? And how had she gotten there?

He took a few paces closer to her, and she didn’t make a move when he brushed the hair away from her face. Hesitantly, he leaned down, an ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing—which she was, to his relief. She must be unconscious, although he could only begin to imagine how she had gotten that way. But Harry wasn’t the type to leave a young woman in need, alone on a dirt road in the middle of a storm. So he bent down, slid his aching arms under her body, and lifted her from the mud, cradling her against his chest as he walked back to the car.

She fit perfectly on his back seat when he tucked her knees in closer to her chest, blond hair draped over the seat. He grabbed his coat from the passenger side and draped it over her body, her skin cold to the touch from the rain. The thought crossed his mind of where he should take her—the police, perhaps? Or maybe a hospital? But Harry hated both of those establishments after years with Josiah. Plus, if she needed any protection, in town it was best if it came from Josiah anyway. The police were useless, a bunch of pompous assholes too big for their britches, Harry thought. And a hospital, Harry believed, was where people went to die not where they went to be healed. So he decided to take her to his flat, despite the fact that the prospect went against most principles he was raised on.

Although, everything Harry did went against his childhood principles.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t a wallpaper she recognized, and as she came to, looking around the room, she realized this was definitely not a place she had been before. Her heart seized as she inspected her surroundings. She was in a wire-frame double bed, a red duvet cover pulled around her shoulders, a soft light coming in the heavy curtains against a small window in the middle of the room. Clothes littered the floor—men’s clothes, from what she could tell—and a rug sat in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. An ashtray and the butts of cigarettes laid on the bedside table next to her, as well as a glass of water. Maybe it was a stupid choice, but her throat was raw and so she took the glass, gulping down the water without a second thought.

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a whistle. Tea, she realized. Someone was making tea.

Which meant she was not alone.

Her hands dove under the covers, inspecting the clothes on her body. Everything was still intact, her green skirt and the lace blouse she had put on,  every button done up exactly as she had left it. She didn’t have her shoes on, but on closer inspection, they laid on the ground next to the bed, but her stockings were still clipped to her garter at least. A sigh left her mouth at the prospect of some semblance of safety in this foreign place.

She tried to remember what had happened last—she had been riding through a storm after a fight with her father. Then, there was a bolt of lightning, she thought to herself, piecing together the memories in her fuzzy brain, and then remembered Joseph bucking her from the saddle. She couldn’t keep herself on, so she let go, knowing that was better than being dragged along. The last thing she remembered was Joseph riding away, her lying in what she believed to be mud.

Which would explain the brown marks all over her clothes.

Polly was going to kill her for the stains.

The whistle she had heard earlier suddenly stopped, and she heard the thud of something. Then, a soft hum of a song she recognized from the gramophone her father had in the sitting room. After a few beats, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood floors, the creak of the footsteps growing closer and closer. Someone was coming. She was going to finally discover who had picked her up off of the road and where she was—hopefully it was some nice old lady and she was in their son’s room.

But instead, a boy about her age stopped in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand, wide eyes at the sight of her sitting up in bed. His brown hair was tousled in soft curls across his forehead, and just trousers, a shirt, and suspenders adorned his body, his feet bare. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and she could see tattoos on his arms, something she had never seen in person before, just in photographs and magazines.

He was, she thought to herself as he stood there in shock, quite handsome.

“You’re awake,” he finally said, voice croaking in his throat. “I—uh, sorry, would you like a cuppa?”

Cicely considered the question for only a beat before nodding. He seemed nice enough, judging solely from his embarrassed reaction to the croaky sound of his voice. The boy disappeared and she waited patiently in the bed, flexing her toes to bring some feeling back into her limbs. She wondered how much time had passed—it seemed to be daylight out, so maybe not much time at all.

The boy returned, a second tea cup balanced in his other hand, his face more serious and put together than before. “Here you are,” he said, making his way over to her, his presence instantly changing the feeling of the room. Before, it was small, but not too small. Now, with his large frame and dark eyes, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.

“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the cup with cold hands. It was chilly in the room, probably from the draft coming in from the windows and her skirt which was still a bit damp in spots. The tea, though, was delicious on her tongue, plain, just how she liked it.

The boy grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the edge of the bed before sitting down, eyes darting between the tea cup and her face. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Cicely.” She took another sip of the tea before resting it on her lap. “Is this your flat?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyes glancing around the room. “My room too—sorry about that. It’s just me here, so I didn’t have anywhere else to put ya.”

So no wife or family then, Cicely thought, filing the information away for later. It was interesting, a boy of his age living alone. He must have moved away from home and made decent enough wages to get a place of his own, she decided, eyes fluttering around the room to see if she could pick up on any other clues about him. But she couldn’t find anything. “How did I get here?” She asked after leaving them in silence for a few moments, the curiosity getting the better of her.

Harry placed his teacup on the nightstand as he spoke, eyes avoiding hers. “Found ya in the road in the rain. Cold as ice and unconscious, all covered in mud. Didn’t want to leave ya out there, so I brought you here—thought I could take you home once you came to and all that. Call your husband.” He added the last sentence as an afterthought, and Cicely couldn’t help but smile internally at the thought of him thinking she was married.

Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet. And not for a while, if she had any choice in the matter. “No husband,” she informed him, thumbs brushing over the duvet. “How long have I been out for?”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and Cicely didn’t know if she had ever seen something so enticing. “Almost a day.”

A day? God, her father would have her head. He probably thought she was dead after she didn’t come home. Although it wouldn’t be the first time she had let him think that, her flair for escaping after an argument a reoccurring personality trait that her father despised. Which of course, was exactly why she did it. “I hope I wasn’t a bother,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry shook his head, and Cicely studied his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high rise of his cheekbones. He had a bit of scruff around his lips, which looked soft and pink and she tried not to think about what they would feel like. Cicely didn’t usually pay men all that much mind—sure she noticed them, but did she study every feature on their faces like she did Harry? No. She was intrigued by him, the rings on his fingers and the tattoos on his arms, the way he licked across his bottom lip. And perhaps that was why Cicely made no mention of needing to go, or that she should call her family.

“Are ya hungry?” Harry asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

At the concept of food, suddenly her stomach grumbled and she blushed, embarrassed at the sound, but Harry didn’t even react to it. “Yes, actually.”

He stood immediately, wiping his palms on his trousers as he did so. “I don’t have much here,” he said, taking their empty tea cups with him as she walked towards the door. “But I’ll put something together.” She watched him, unsure if he wanted her to follow. She was a bit curious as to what the rest of the flat looked like, she had to admit. “Ya comin’?”

Cicely scrambled to follow him, her stocking-clad feet nestling into the rug by his bed. Her skirt was crinkled from sleep and she straightened it as much as possible before sighing and exiting the room and into the hall. When he turned down a set of stairs, she realized that what she thought to be a flat was actually a little townhouse. When she reached the base of the stairs, she found that the rest of the home wasn’t much—dimly lit, only one other window in what seemed to be a small sitting room and a kitchen. A table was pushed to the side, two chairs tucked into it, a plate with crumbs on it sat on one side. The green wallpaper from the bedroom covered all of the walls of the home, and when she looked around, she saw a noticeable absence of most personal effects. He had only one photo up on the side table next to the couch, of what Cicely assumed was his family. Next to it laid another ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, an empty whiskey glass.

At the sound of a plate on the counter she turned to see Harry placing a slice of bread on a plate and tenderly spreading jam across it. Cicely tried to imagine her father even entering a kitchen and she had trouble with the idea, while here was Harry making her a slice of toast. The thought was actually quite endearing, despite the fact that Harry had not once smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said when he set the plate down on the table, grabbing the dirty one and taking it to the washbasin in the corner. Harry didn’t reply, so she took a bite. The jam wasn’t quite as good as what she was used to and the bread was a tad bit stale, but it was food all the same, and she didn’t mind all that much. As she ate, she watched Harry wash the plate, dry it with a dishrag, and place it back in a cabinet that held a few dishes.

He turned around when he was done, eyes trained on her with an intensity she was beginning to grow accustomed to from him. “I have work in a bit. Can I drop you someplace before that?”

Should he? Yes. Did she want him to? Not in the slightest. She pushed away the plate, and tried to figure out how to say this. “Would it be a bother if I stayed?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, his face finally changing from the usual intense stare that he gave her to one that was more curious in nature. “Is home not safe for ya?”

Cicely tried to decide whether or not she should lie to him. He seemed kind, generous, probably understanding, despite his inability to speak to her for very long periods of time without stretches of silence. Maybe he would understand that her desire not to go home wasn’t because home wasn’t safe, but because the life that was waiting for her was one she despised. So, she decided not to lie, but not to tell all of the truth. “No, it is. I’m just not eager to go back right now.”

“Oh.” Harry twisted a large gold H ring around one of his fingers, contemplating her words, before looking back up at her. “If ya want to stay, ya can. Know what it’s like to wanna hide for a bit.” Before she could request more information, he came towards her, snatching the plate and taking it back to the sink. He seemed to be awfully set on a clean kitchen, despite the messy state of his room. “You’ll have to come with me tonight, then.” He still had his back to her, so she couldn’t study his face as he said the words that piqued her interest.

Most girls would have probably requested to stay home, but Cicely wasn’t most girls. “Ok,” she replied, pushing back the chair. “Could I—uh—wash up somewhere?” The prospect of a bath sounded utterly delectable, although on second thought, she didn’t expect him to have a bath quite like the one she had at home.

Harry whirled around, eyes looking everywhere but her. “Yes. Um, there’s a basin in the washroom. Don’t have the water for a full bath right now, but…”

Cicely realized what he was so flustered about—he was embarrassed. Perhaps he had realized that her social station was a bit higher than his, that in her home they didn’t have to go fetch water somewhere, that she could have a bath relatively whenever she liked. And when she did it, someone else filled it for her. “That’s fine. I’ll manage.” She stood and made her way towards the washroom, following his directions, and shut herself inside. It was dark in there too—far less than she was used to. A silver bathtub was on one wall, and a smaller basin on a pedestal, a toilet in the corner. It was simple, bare bones, but she didn’t mind too much. Her father had put in running water when she was an infant, so she had never washed without it, but she decided it wasn’t too much of a change.

Quickly, she undressed, making sure the door was locked, and hung her clothing over the lip of the bath so it didn’t touch the floor. She took a rag and dipped it into the water, exhaling softly at the feeling of the cool water on her skin. There was some mud on her skin from when she had fallen, although she thought that perhaps Harry had washed some of it off—there wasn’t quite as much as she thought. A small mirror allowed her to wash the crust of mud from her forehead, and by the end of her washing she felt rejuvenated, even if it wasn’t a proper bath. Slowly, she slipped back on her clothes and considered for a moment the idea that she might need to purchase some more. Her clothes were stained from the mud, and she imagined she wouldn’t quite be able to get it out.

Although it would’ve been convenient, she didn’t imagine Harry had extra ladies clothes lying around for just this purpose.

She ruffled her hair slightly, the curls unfortunately having dropped for the most part, and sighed before letting herself out of the washroom. “Harry?” Cicely asked, turning the corner into the kitchen, where he stood, holding a glass of what she thought was a whiskey, a cigarette between his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of ladies’ clothes lying about, would you?”

Harry furrowed his brow before taking the cigarette from between his lips. “No—why?”

Cicely gestured at her stained clothes. “Mine are a bit dirty, and I wouldn’t want to wear them to your place of work like this.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips surprised Cicely in more ways than one. One, that he was laughing at all, for she didn’t find it to be a laughing matter. She didn’t want to make a bad impression to whoever his employer was, especially if she was going to have to be there. Second, his laugh was sweet, syrupy, one that rocked his shoulders, and made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to. “You wouldn’t want to wear your Sunday best to my place of work, love,” he told her, tapping his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “You’re fine the way ya are, but we can track down some clothes for ya tomorrow.”

Where would he work where her appearance would be adequate? But rather than question him, she just nodded. “Well, I’m ready,” she told him.

“Gimme a mo’,” he told her, tucking his cigarette back between his lips before heading out of the room. Cicely decided to check out the sitting room a bit more, investigate the people in the sole photograph in the whole home. She picked up the photograph and studied it, a man, woman, and young woman, probably a few years older than Harry, stood outside of a family home, a younger Harry nestled between them. It was curious to see him younger, his face less defined, an obvious softness to his facial features. But what stuck out to her the most was the uniform he wore.

He had been in the war. Of course. Her father had avoided it because of a years old injury to his leg, although she had secretly always throught he had gotten his doctor to make it seem more severe than it actually was. Many of the men her parents had set her up with, including the horrid one they were currently trying to force her to marry, were in the war, but when she asked them about it, they only talked about their medals, heroism, the beauty of France’s countryside. But she also knew most of them had been officers, their social ranks earning them a certain level of protection, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for Harry who had none of those privileges.

Footsteps came from behind her and she turned, dropping the photograph back to the table when she saw Harry in the hall watching her. He had changed while she was looking at the photo, a charcoal jacket over his shirt, a pin with a J on it buttoned to the lapel that she thought was a bit curious. He had a bag over his shoulder, and she wondered what was inside. “You were in the war,” she said, not acknowledging his appearance.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, his response a stark departure from how the men she knew would’ve replied. “Come on, we’re goin’ to be late.” She followed him out, wishing she had a hat or a small purse with her at the very least, but she had nothing but her dirty clothes and scuffed boots.

When they stepped onto the street, the sight of a wide and long street, row houses lining each side met her gaze. They were in working class Birmingham, she thought to herself as Harry locked the door behind him. Most men would’ve made to put their arm through hers, but not Harry—he just began walking, letting her catch up to him, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs. His bag swung at his side as they walked, and Cicely took in their surroundings, the silence stretching between them. It was dusk and women were calling their children inside, the games of football on the street breaking up. Two young children squabbled until their mothers separated them, tugging their little hands inside. Doors shut behind them and Cicely snuck a glance at Harry. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, most likely adjusted to their surroundings.

He didn’t want to talk, she understood from his body language, and she decided in a choice completely against her normal mannerisms, not to push him.

Cicely didn’t know what she expected from Harry’s place of work, but it was definitely not a boxing ring in an empty warehouse. She could hear the shouts and laughter of men from outside, and she had looked at Harry with confusion written all over her face when they approached the warehouse, but she followed him inside anyways. The smell of stale beer and sweat overwhelmed her immediately, and she had to squint in the darkness of the entryway. The ring had some lights rigged up around it, some chairs around it, but it was by no means someplace fancy.

So this was what Harry had meant by her not wanting to wear her Sunday best.

“You work…here?” She asked, turning to Harry, who stood beside her, watching her take in the surroundings. He nodded, offering no additional information. “And you box?” Another nod. “Is this legal?”

That’s when he gave another one of his chuckles, and then under his breath he said, “Doesn’t need to be, love. Josiah McClemmons runs it.”

Cicely may not live in Birmingham proper, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who Josiah McClemmons was. Everyone did. He basically ruled Birmingham, especially the working class neighborhoods, having built up his stronghold there. Her father complained about him at least once a week, about the violence and bloodshed in the city where his garment factories were. Although, Cicely had always thought to herself, her father probably shouldn’t complain too much because a dead husband meant a wife who had to work to feed her children, which meant a larger workforce for her father.

From the way Harry was greeted, Cicely assumed he was the reigning champion, the usual fighter here. Which meant that he was probably McClemmons’s payroll, if she had to extrapolate. “Do you work for McClemmons?” She asked when the few men who had come up to them walked away.

Harry adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and then nodded. “Could say that.” His eyes darted around the establishment, taking in the sight, before resting back on her. “C’mon, I’ve got to get changed and don’t want ya waitin’ out here.” He ushered her over to a man standing against a wall who wore a J pin on his lapel like Harry, which she now realized stood for Josiah’s name, a brand of who they worked for. “Tommy,” he said, the man’s gaze turning and settling on them. “This is Cicely. Keep an eye on her while I change?”

Tommy stood up straight immediately and when he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it, Cicely couldn’t help but smile. “Pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady,” Tommy said to her, a wink gracing across his face.

When she turned to speak to Harry, he was already gone, a few paces away towards a door. “Is he good?” She asked Tommy, turning back to her new acquaintance.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “The best,” he informed her before taking a sip from a mug of what she assumed was beer. “You’re in for a treat if you’ve never seen ‘im fight ‘fore.”

Cicely agreed, the prospect of a sweaty Harry in the ring a bit more enticing than she perhaps wanted to admit. She was able to get some information on Harry out of Tommy, the combination of a pretty girl and a mug of beer not a combination meant for secrecy. He fought with Josiah McClemmons’s youngest brother in the war, the experience making them nearly brothers, and came back to Birmingham with them. No one knew where Harry was from, but people had a number of guesses, everything from London to Liverpool. Apparently before the war he had been learning to fight, and the war sharpened his skills, so when they came back it seemed natural that Josiah would use the rings as a way to make money, using Harry as his prized fighter.

She couldn’t help but think it made Harry sound a bit like the Spanish bulls she had learned about in a magazine, a caged animal. But Tommy assured her Harry loved it when she asked, so she tried to put her mind at ease.

“Who is he fighting?” She asked Tommy after refusing his offer for a beer of her own.

“Peters—a local bloke,” Tommy replied. “Harry’s expected to win.”

Cicely gathered as much from the grumblings of his name that she could hear when the betting started, money flying in the air. It was fascinating to her, and she thought that she also fascinated the men—she was the only woman in the room and she tried not to squirm against the wall she leaned against.

But then, she heard a cry go up, and Harry’s opponent came out of a door, trailed by two men. “He’s massive,” she told Tommy as she watched the man walk to the ring.

Tommy grunted in response. “Harry’s fast, though.”

She hoped he was fast enough. Peters crested the ring, pushing himself between the ropes. One of his men handed him some gloves and Cicely watched as he pulled them on, his massive chest glistening under the gas lighting.

All of a sudden, a louder cry sounded, whoops and hollers of Harry’s name, and her gaze flickered to the door she had last seen him go into. There he was, walking towards the ring, a determined look set on his face. Tattoos littered his body and Cicely realized the few she had seen were a mere teasing of the real deal. And seeing Harry without a shirt on, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, tanned skin in the light, she couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive than she had thought.

A man helped Harry into the ring, and when he stood up, she caught sight of tape covering where his nipples should be. What in the world? She turned to Tommy and pointed at Harry. “What is the tape for?”

Tommy guffawed immediately, beer sloshing in his mug. “He’s got ‘em pierced.”

“What?”

She expected Tommy to tell her he was joking, but instead he nodded. “Got ‘em done durin’ the war, apparently. Some dare from his mates. Now he’s gotta have ‘em taped up or they’ll get ripped out.”

Cicely truly didn’t have the words for a response to that. She turned back to the ring, eyes set on the two pieces of tape over each of his nipples, entranced by the idea of them being pierced. She had heard rumors from her friends of ladies getting them done, but men? Why on earth would they want them done? She had never understood it on women, but the prospect of them on men completely confounded her imagination. Although, her best friend had told her it made them more sensitive, so perhaps that worked on men as well.

The thought was tantalizing at the very least.

“Sure ya don’t want a beer, love?” Tommy asked.

She had grown to quite like his company. He was a bit crude, but for some reason she liked that he didn’t treat her like she was made of glass like most of the men she knew. Her gaze darted between Harry, standing in the ring, and Tommy’s mug. “You know what? Sure.”

Tommy beamed. He was overjoyed at the idea, and Cicely was as well. She had never actually had beer before, just sips of champagne and wine here and there when she snuck it from her parents or during parties. But nothing as normal as beer—she didn’t even think her father drank it, to be honest. Perhaps that was why the idea was so exciting to her. Tommy left her on her own for a few minutes and she tried not to let the stares that still lingered on her bother her. Instead, she watched Harry, listened to the announcer, some chap in a jacket and askew flat cap, read out their names and weights. The part about Harry being the reigning champion stuck with her.

Cicely had never seen a boxing match before. Sure, she had heard of them, but actually been to one in person? Never. And much less one that was definitely illegal and held in a warehouse, a bunch of drunk men betting and still in their work uniforms. It made her heart race and she liked the feeling—usually she just got it when she rode Joseph, who she hoped had gone home to her estate.

“Here ya are.” Tommy had reappeared, a full mug of beer in his other hand for her. “Got ya somethin’ my sister likes.”

Cicely took the mug. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting. Would she even be able to drink it all? She stared at the murky brown liquid, the foam on top, and then up at Tommy who she could tell was stifling a laugh. Fuck it, she thought. And took a long sip. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Sour, sure, but it was also refreshing. A bit heavy, and considering she had only eaten some toast today, that wasn’t a negative thing. “It’s not bad,” she told Tommy, who gave her a grin in response.

She was about to say something else when she heard a bell sound—she had been so focused she had missed the start of the match. Whirling around, the first thing she saw was Peters’ arm fly through the air. The breath knocked from her chest at the possibility of Harry getting hit, but to her pleasant surprise he ducked it completely, feet helping him to move away from his attacker. The crowd cheered and Cicely took another sip, the action of having the drink in her hand helping calm her nerves as she watched Harry dance around Peters, ducking at every punch. She could see the frustration in Peters’ eyes, and the focus in Harry’s eyes making her scream out his name along with the men in the room.

She could feel Tommy’s eyes on her as she did it. She didn’t even need to look at him to know that surprise was written all over his face. If Cicely was going to be at a boxing match for the first time in her life, drinking her first beer, she was going to enjoy it. And watching Harry take a swing—and make contact—at Peters was exactly the excuse she needed to scream his name again.

The match passed quickly, and by the end of it Cicely had reached the end of her beer and her and Tommy were laughing at the fear in Peters’ eyes as Harry’s punches landed. He was winning by a long shot, and she had to admit, she was proud. During the whole match she had barely been able to take her eyes off of him, gaze trained on the sweat dripping down his cut body, his broad shoulders and tattooed skin glistening. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and for some reason she had the innate desire to twirl it off of his forehead and see what he did.

She also desperately wanted to see his nipples without the tape.

Desperately.

He was beautiful in the ring, his steps almost like choreography she had learned as a child to all of the dances she had to know for parties. Except Harry looked like a natural up there, his body moving before Peters made the move, as if he could read his opponent’s mind, his reflexes faster than anything she had ever seen before. She had a million questions for him the minute he stepped out of the ring, but the first thing she wanted to was clean the blood off of his body—blood which was a mixture of Harry’s and Peters’.

The end of the match happened so quickly that Cicely barely caught it. One minute, Harry was boxed into a corner, his arms up to protect his face, and the next, he was throwing a powerful punch to Peters’ face, the sound of bone crunching at Peters hit the ground so loud she could hear it over the men yelling in the ring. The announcer counted and she watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. Everyone else was staring at Peters, but her eyes were glued on Harry. And then, his lifted to her, their sight lines catching from across the room, and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile at her.

As much as she wanted to rush to the side of the ring as many people did, she waited where she was. She knew Harry would come find her eventually, since she was sleeping in his home, as weird as that sounded in her brain. So she turned to Tommy while she waited, her bones feeling light in her body. “He’s good,” she said, her words slightly slurring. Huh. That was weird.

“Told ya!” Tommy replied, taking her mug from her. “Forgot to ask you, love, how do you know our fighter?”

Her eyes trailed across the room to Harry, who she noticed was making his way towards them, a towel draped around his neck. “He saved me,” she said, watching his body flex as he moved. And her words were true, but in that moment she didn’t know quite how true they were. Only later, would she look back on the moment she met Harry and consider how he had changed her life by picking her lifeless body up on that dirt road in the middle of a storm.

Harry had fought the desire to look at Cecily throughout the match, and now that he was done he couldn’t stop. She looked so relaxed, leaned against the wall with Tommy laughing, her blond hair messy and her eyes bright. It was if his feet were carrying him towards her without a second thought, weaving through the crowd of sweaty drunk men in pursuit of the girl made of light. The closer he got, though, the more he noticed how she stumbled on her feet, how rosy her cheeks were, how loud she laughed.

Fuck.

Tommy had gone and gotten her drunk. Tommy might have been Harry’s friend, but that didn’t make him the smartest bloke in a room.

As he reached them, she took an uneasy step and Harry was there immediately. His hands fit around Cicely’s waist like it was the place he belonged, the lingering smell of perfume in his nostrils before he could clear the fog of his mind. “Ya okay, love?” The words slipped from his mouth, the pet name he had never called a single woman before just finding his way into his speech, as if his brain knew that she was special. He sure thought so.

Cicely turned her head, her gaze catching his and a smile broke across her face. “Harry! You were incredible!”

“Thank you,” he replied, gingerly removing his hands despite the fact that all he wanted was to hold onto her hips for the rest of time. “Tommy, did you give her beer?”

“He did,” Cicely answered instead, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She rushed to cover her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the sound. “It was quite tasty.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, giving Tommy a hard look that Tommy only shrugged at. “I’ve got to change and get you home,” he told her, processing the situation here. Although he trusted Tommy with his life, in this moment he didn’t trust him not to give Cicely more beer.

Before he could say anything though, Cicely was speaking, her fingers brushing across his arm. The feeling sent sparks up his spine, delicate compared the touches he was used to, the ones he had just experienced. Her fingers weren’t callused, but soft, as if she hadn’t seen a day of work in her life. Which she probably hadn’t. “Can I come with you?” She asked, eyes on his, a slight pout on her lips that drew his gaze in no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“While I change?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some questions about the match that I want to ask you.”

Harry glanced at Tommy who he could tell was barely holding back a laugh, a grin on his face that told Harry he would never hear the end of this exchange. “Fine,” Harry told her, the word coming out gruff. “Tommy, I’ll see you later.”

Cicely slipped her fingers around Harry’s wrist as he stepped away, and he tried to resist the immediate urge that came over him to rip them off, the touch something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The feeling of a woman’s hands on him was one of the things he had not indulged in when he came back from France, preferring drink and alcohol to drown the memories in. The prospect of one of them experiencing him at night, while he slept, was enough to make him frightened enough to avoid the concept.

So when Cicely touched Harry, even in the simplest of ways, it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Something that he hadn’t experienced since before his life changed, since before he saw men die in front of him, his friends lose limbs and call out for their mothers in their final moments. He had always thought that his ability to feel had died on the battlefields of France, but with Cicely’s fingers on his skin, perhaps he was wrong.

She didn’t remove them, either, as they moved through the throngs of men. When they reached the hallway that led to the room where he got dressed, though, he had no reason to let her continue touching his skin. So he wrenched his hand from her grip, as much as he wanted to let her touch every inch of his skin if she could continue to make him feel something again.

“I need to wash off,” he said when he shut the door behind them. “Wait over there.” He pointed to a couch in the corner of the room. Usually it was an office of some kind, but for Harry it was his dressing room. A basin of water sat on a table, cold and full, and he was itching to wash his sweat-coated skin. Surprisingly, Cicely followed his directions, and so he turned to the basin, using a rag to rinse off his skin, the feeling of the cold water like heaven on his pores.

“When did you learn to box?”

His head perked up at her voice. He could barely see her in the dimly lit room, but the outline of her was enough, her legs thrown over the arm of the couch in a complete unladylike way. “I was sixteen.” He surprised himself with his honesty, but in the room with just Cicely, for some reason he let a piece of his past slip through.

“Do you like it?”

The question had Harry pause. Did he like it? He cupped some water and ran it through his hair, the sound of the water dripping into the basin filling the silence between them. “It’s a job,” he told her simply. It was the best answer he had. He didn’t really have the luxury of considering whether or not he liked his job. It paid the bills and earned him a reputation that meant no one tried to talk to him, which was all he wanted. After France, all he wanted was to be left alone, save for a select few.

He was focused on his thoughts and the murky water in front of him that he didn’t see Cicely move from her position on the couch. Suddenly, she was there, her fingers dancing across his back that faced her. “Hand me the basin,” she said, voice firm in his ears.

Harry considered fighting her, but his body exposed him. His body craved her touch on his skin, and so he slid the basin to the side so she could reach it. The rag was wrung, and then she was brushing it over his back, reaching the places he couldn’t reach. He could smell her perfume, the faintest taste of beer on her tongue as she breathed lightly in his ear, the traces of jam on her breath from the food he had given her hours before. It made his fists clench against the table and he hoped she didn’t notice.

They stayed that way, Cicely brushing the rag across his skin, wiping away his sins from the night. Her fingers brushed a cut once or twice and he hissed, stopping her in her tracks. She halted her motions each time and wrung out the cloth with fresh water, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch he had never felt. She murmured how they needed alcohol when they got home, how she needed to properly clean the wound. It was something his mother would’ve told him, he thought to himself, a thought he quickly pushed aside as he clenched his jaw.

“Turn around,” she said, voice so quiet he barely heard it above their breathing.

And Harry did as she said. She had made him pliant under her touch, his desperation not to let her stop clouding his ability to speak. His bum pressed against the table and his eyes caught hers in the dim lighting, the gaze that passed between them making Harry stop breathing for a second. But when she brushed the cloth over a bruise, the wince that fell from his lips drew him from his fog.

The rag criss-crossed his body, covering the area he had already cleaned, but he didn’t stop her. It was only when her fingers brushed over the tape across his nipples that his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. But her eyes zeroed in on him, a determined look in her eyes that made him pause. “Let me see them.” Her words were gentle, but firm.

That made him release her hand, and he sucked in a breath and she pulled the tape from his nipples, the air on his sensitive skin making his stomach clench. He stood there under her gaze as she looked at him, the bars through each nipple that he had gotten on a dare. At first, he had been embarrassed of them, regretted them because they hurt like hell and scratched against his uniform. He considered getting them removed, or just ripping them out, but each time he paused. Paused just enough to let the thought pass, and his best friend’s voice entered his mind. “Who gives a fuck, anyways?” And that was the voice that made him keep them.

Now, it was too late to turn back. He was a boxer and the moment he stepped into the ring with taped nipples, it became something he was known for. The stories circled, tall tales that made Harry chuckle to himself, but he never told the truth. He liked the mystery around them. They became a sort of badge of honor, something that set him apart.

But he had never experienced a woman’s gaze on them, and he couldn’t help but fear her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Ridicule him?

Cicely, though, just looked at them, and then up at his face. “What do they feel like?” She asked tentatively.

It was a question he had never been asked before, actually. And one he didn’t quite know how to answer, because after two years with them they had become normal to him. “They heighten everything,” he replied honestly. It was about the only answer he could give.

This seemed to pique her interest. “Can I touch them?”

Fuck yes, his body screamed, desperate for her fingers on the most sensitive part of his body. His gaze zeroed in on hers, searching her eyes for a hint of a possibility she would ridicule him. But instead he found just genuine curiosity. And perhaps a hint of desire. So, he told her, “Yes.”

When her fingers grazed the bars, her warm touch on the cold metal that ran under his skin, he tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Her touch was like a lightning bolt through his body, setting every one of his nerves on fire. Holding in the desire to moan was one of the hardest things he had done, and as she touched the other, fingers curiously exploring his skin, it became more difficult. And then she whispered, “I like them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped from where her fingers touched his skin to her eyes, and he found her already looking at him. He watched her lick across her top lip, the flush to her cheeks and wide eyes that stared at him making his body boil. It was too much. He pulled away, desperate for space, for something to allow himself to calm down.

Cicely must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she immediately stepped back, the rag dropping into the basin of dirty water. Sweat, grime, and blood all mixed together and Harry thought as he looked at his reflection in the water that a mixture had never described him more.

“Let’s go, I need to eat,” Harry said, bending to grab the shirt from his bag on the floor.

Cicely didn’t reply with anything but a nod, and when he had laced his boots she followed him out of the room. The warehouse had emptied out, just some of Josiah’s boys around to help direct the cleanup. Harry knew he’d stop by the office tomorrow to get his cut of the winnings, so he didn’t bother to stick around. Instead, he pushed open the front doors and led Cicely out into the nighttime Birmingham breeze of coal and horse shit.

Cicely awoke to the sound of someone moaning and talking. Her eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness in Harry’s bedroom, her mind taking a second to gather her bearings and remember where she was. Then she heard the sound, something that resembled an injured animal, the edge of fear and pain that made her skin crawl. Last night Harry had given her one of his shirts to sleep in after she said she wanted to wash her clothes and leave them out for the night, and the cotton material bunched under her thighs and she swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused to see if she heard the sound again.

This time, a scream ripped through the house, and Cicely knew something was wrong. She pulled open Harry’s door and moved through the hall, eyes searching to see if she saw anyone, but it was empty. And then she heard it again, and this time without the barrier of a wall, she could tell who it was.

It was Harry.

Her feet didn’t bother to avoid the creaks on the stairs as she moved down the stairs to where he was asleep on the couch. The only light was the faintest bit from the moon, high in the sky, and it was just enough to make out the pained expression on Harry’s face and the thrashing of his body on the couch. He was talking to himself, something about the dark and the word No repeated over and over again, his voice cresting in panic.

It was a nightmare, she realized as she crouched next to him on the floor.

“No, please, it’s too dark, please—“

“Harry,” she said firmly, hands reaching out to grip his wrists to hold his arms to the couch cushions underneath him. “Harry, wake up.”

His eyes didn’t open though, and his body only trashed more under her. She didn’t know what to do, how to wake him up. The only thing she could think of was how when she was scared it helped when she felt safe. She didn’t know what made Harry feel safe, but for her, it was when her mother held her. So carefully, she lifted Harry’s shoulders, trying to avoid his arms trashing as she did so. Once she was seated on the couch she tugged him into her, letting her arms wrap around his chest and pin down his arms.

She murmured his name over and over again, softly in his ear to try and rouse him from the dream. “It’s Cicely,” she told him, “You’re safe, Harry, you can wake up. Wake up, Harry, you’re safe.” With their bodies this close she could feel his heartbeat, the way it raced in his chest. What was he experiencing? Where was he? She wanted to rouse him, pull him out of it and bring him back to her, but she was powerless.

After a few tries, she saw his eyes flutter open, his arms immediately trying to himself free from her grip.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”

“Cicely?” His voice was rough from the screaming and it broke her. It was raw in a way she hadn’t heard from him, honest and open. Nothing protecting him from her.

She could feel his heartbeat slowing already, and the thought put her at ease. “Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Cicely just ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to calm him as much as she could. His breath was ragged, big inhales of air and deep exhales, but it was becoming more normal as time passed. “I—I’m sorry,” he eventually said, voice small in the room.

But he had nothing to apologize for, Cicely thought to herself. The last thing he should do is apologize—it’s not his fault. “It’s okay,” she told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That made him pull away from her arms, her skin immediately missing his. Her arms fell to her side and Harry sat up, swiveled, and laid his face in his hands. “No,” is all he told her, not even lifting his head.

She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment, but she knew she would do anything. Somehow she had only known this boy for a day, and yet the sight of his pain made her heart break. “Do—do you want me to stay?” It was the only thing she could think of to help, and if it would work then she would do it.

But he shook his head. He didn’t want her there. And the last thing she would do is push him after what had just transpired, so she stood, the hem of his cotton shirt reaching an unladylike mid-thigh. When he finally looked at her, she saw that he noticed, his eyes falling to the place where the material ended and her skin began. She tugged at it, hoping he didn’t judge her—she didn’t exactly stop and think about getting dressed, she just moved. “I…”

“Looks good on ya,” he said, words reverberating in Cicely’s mind.

She stood there, as still as stone, trying to figure out what to say to him. No man had ever seen her like this, and she had always been taught that they shouldn’t. And yet, the idea of Harry seeing her exposed legs, her hair messy from sleep, her in his shirt, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. So she didn’t disguise the blush that she could feel in her cheeks, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Try and get some sleep,” she told him, and then she turned away, heading up the stairs and back to his room.

When she looked back from the third stair, Harry’s eyes were transfixed on her figure, gaze locked on her. For a moment, she held it, letting him watch her, but then she turned her head and went the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Harry behind in the darkness.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The prospect of having the dreams again (although he got them most nights) and Cicely waking up again was too frightening a thought for him to allow himself to go to sleep. Instead, he ended up having a glass or two of whiskey in the wee hours of the morning, smoking too many cigarettes on the doorstep, and thinking. His thoughts revolved around Cicely, weaving in and out of the snatches of moments they had spent together—of which there were few—and the bits he knew about her. Which was very little. He didn’t even know her last name, where she was from, or why on Earth she was out in the middle of a rainstorm, lying on her back in the mud. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or push her to talk, because he had this feeling that she was more than some spoiled rich girl.

The fact that she was rich was an assumption on his part, but one he felt was probably right. First, there were her clothes, which were nicer than any he had seen a girl around here wear, boots that looked like they were new, unscuffed.  Then there was the way she looked at his neighborhood—as if she had never seen something like it before. When she had walked out of his room and into the rest of the house, he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should be embarrassed, and at moments he was. But as they spent more time together, he began to get the feeling that even though Cicely may not be used to the way he lived, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

It intrigued him, the way she looked at his world. The way she had watched him during the match, the feeling of her eyes on his skin something he couldn’t shake, the way she had adapted to Tommy like a chameleon, blending in with ease. The way she had slid into the booth at the pub last night where they had eaten a late meal, complete disregard for the fight breaking out in the corner, her focus only on him and their meal. He kept expecting her to fit into the mold he had created for her, but she continued to slip away. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Or the fact that she seemed to want to stay. When she had asked him if she could stay, and she said she didn’t want to go home quite yet, he immediately jumped to the worst of conclusions. That her father hurt her, that something had happened, and she was running from a past as dark as his. But then he reminded himself that she had money, wealth, status. Problems like the ones he knew didn’t exist in their world. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to cast her in a mold of wealth and opulence he had read about and encountered on a handful of occasions, people who used people like him and tossed them aside when they had had their fill. But the world wasn’t fair.

He flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the sounds of horses and distant rumble of cars, clap of house doors as men left for work telling him that the day was beginning. It was time for him to see Josiah and pay a visit to Nellie, who he hoped wouldn’t slam a door in his face. Inside, Cicely was still asleep—he couldn’t hear any footsteps from upstairs—so he decided to dart out while she was still sleeping. With any luck, he’d be back before she awoke.

The walk to Josiah’s offices was a well-remembered one, the row houses, shipyards and factories he passed old friends. He waved to the children he passed on their way to work or school, and nodded to the men he knew from matches or Josiah. He lived deep in Josiah’s territory, a requirement for what he did, and as a result every man was on Josiah’s payroll in some way. They all knew when to turn their heads, when to lock their doors, and when to pull out their guns. It used to unnerve Harry, but with time it became as normal as the nightmare that plagued his sleep.

He knocked on the back door as he was trained, a nod to Cyril when the door opened. People congratulated him on the match last night, and he didn’t respond. They all knew he was quiet most of the time, knew not to expect lengthy replies. Before France, he used to not shut up. Now, he preferred to think rather than talk.

Josiah’s door was ajar, his ankles propped up on the desk, the telephone stand in one hand, the handset in the other. His eyes darted up as Harry opened the door wider, shutting it quickly behind him. Josiah never changed much—a mustache on his upper lip, hard brown eyes that only lightened if he had enough drink in him, lips that curved into a smile when someone made a very bad mistake. He wore exclusively charcoal suits, saying black was too common, and he wanted to stand out, and a dark blue tie every day, a silver pocket watch chain tucked into his vest. Josiah had built his operations from the ground up, a man of barely 25 years of age when he came back from France, determined to make a name for himself and protect the community that had been, in his eyes, murdered by the British government for a war they had no business being conscripted for. His hatred for the government ran deep, deep enough to line the pockets of the police across southeast Birmingham, especially in Balsall Heath.

“Alright, but don’t fuck it up, ya hear?” Josiah said, nodding for Harry to sit in the leather chair across from his desk. It was the chair where Harry had sat during many conversations, both good and bad. “Yeah, okay.” Josiah hung up, resting the telephone back on the desk and running a hand through his longer dark brown hair. He picked his cigarette up from where it was burning in the ashtray, and swung his feet off the desk. “Heard ya won,” Josiah said, finally speaking to Harry.

Harry took the offer of a cigarette and nodded. “Peters wasn’t as bad as everyone said.”

“Mhm. I’ll tell Billy that when I see him.”

“He was Billy’s?” That was a surprise. Billy had been on the rise in the neighborhoods bordering Balsall Heath, his power growing to become something threatening to Josiah’s operation. So for Harry to be fighting one of Billy’s boys was unusual to say the least. Josiah didn’t usually like to risk the fights turning into something more—at least, not when they weren’t meant to be.

Josiah nodded, pushing aside a stack of papers and resting his elbows on the oak desk. “Newer kid. I was promised no trouble, thought I’d take the gamble.”

“Warn me next time, eh?” Harry wouldn’t have had Cicely within a mile of the warehouse if he had known his opponent was one of Billy’s. The prospect of guns coming out while she was in the room made his skin crawl.

But Josiah just chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. “Goin’ soft on me, boy.” Harry hated it when Josiah called him that, but he always had. So he wasn’t going to start correcting him now, even though he was anything but a boy. “Heard ya had a girl there.”

Cicely. He knew Josiah would hear, but he had hoped he’d have a bit more time. “Yeah.”

Josiah wrenched open a door, reaching around for what Harry hoped was his pay. He wanted to get out of this damned office. Harry tolerated Josiah for Jack’s sake, but in truth Josiah had always been a bit too much of a wild card and a short fuse for Harry’s liking. But he gave Harry work, so he didn’t let his feelings get in the way. Plus, most men were short fuses after the war. “Where’d she come from?”

Harry chose not to answer, and thankfully Josiah didn’t push. He knew Harry didn’t like to talk, and most times he didn’t push too hard. “D’ya have the money from Manchester?”

Josiah didn’t reply, just pulled out a stack of bills, crisp and ordered, and placed them on the desk. “Manchester and last night,” he said and Harry took it, folding the bills over and shoving them into his pocket. It was more than most should carry, but Harry was anything but most people. “Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?”

Unable to help it, he rolled his eyes, the tension in the room lifting. Josiah smirked and Harry pushed back the chair, the thought of getting back to Cicely making him eager to leave. “When’s Jack back?”

Josiah pulled a ledger from a drawer before responding. “Sunday.”

Harry nodded. Jack had been in London since last week, working on some deal that Harry didn’t have the status for the details on. “Tell him I’ll come by?”

“Sure.” Josiah didn’t look up as Harry took his leave, shutting the door behind him and giving Josiah’s secretary a nod. Next was Nellie’s, which he hoped would go smoothly, at least.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Nellie stared at him when she opened the door, hair swept up on her head, clothes disheveled as usual. She cocked her hip against the door and rolled her eyes at him before asking, “What d’ya want, Harry?”

It had been over a year since he had rejected her, and yet she still treated him like he had broken it off with her after months. When in actuality, she had been the one to pursue him, and he hadn’t had it in him to tell her he wasn’t interested until she tried to kiss him. To say the least, things had been icy ever since. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Clothes for who?”

“A girl.” To her credit, she didn’t react to that news with anything but a sigh.

“What happened to hers?” She asked, opening the door wider. He stepped inside, the sound of children from upstairs wrapping around him, the sound making his body itch. It was too loud.

“Mud,” he replied simply, looking around for something to keep his hands busy, but he turned up empty. “So?”

Nellie pointed to the couch in the sitting room, a bit sunk in and worn with love. “I’ve got some that no one picked up. What size is she?”

Harry sat down the couch, folding his fingers together. “About yours.”

Nellie gave him another pointed look, but said nothing. She just disappeared to where she kept the clothes she mended for ladies, and he had to sit there and listen to her younger siblings squeal and yell up the stairs. When she reappeared, she had a few things in a stack for him, which she set on the table next to him. “There.”

He looked at the stack, the fabric without anything around it. He would have to walk home with them under his arm. “No wrap?”

“No,” she replied, and he decided that she purposefully didn’t give him any. “3 shillings.”

Harry pulled the coins out and pressed them into her hand, taking the clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Thank you,” he said, and headed for the door, knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye, Harry,” Nellie said, and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which he didn’t deserve, but wasn’t the type to protest. He checked his pocket watch—a little over an hour had passed since he left home. He wondered if Cicely would be waiting for him.

Walking into his home to find Cicely in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt made Harry stop in his tracks. While he knew he had seen her like this last night, last night it had been dark. In the dark he couldn’t see the lines golden curl of her hair, the milky white of her skin that seemed to go on for miles. It should be illegal, he thought to himself, to look as beautiful as her.

“You should put some clothes on,” he finally said, words gruff in the distance between them.

Cicely looked down at her legs and then at Harry. “I was waiting for you to come back, hopefully with clothes. Which I see you did.” She nodded at the stack of clothes under his arm and Harry knew he should move to give them to her, but he was frozen in place.

Seeing her in his kitchen, a plate with a piece of bread on it, an open jar of jam on the counter next to it, tea in his cup, it made him wonder for a split second what it would be like if she stayed. Like, really stayed. He knew that what was happening wasn’t permanent, that eventually she would have to go back to wherever home was for her. But having her in his home was making him realize that perhaps he didn’t like being alone as much as he had thought.

“Harry?”

His thoughts cleared and he jolted into action. He set the clothes on the table by the door and walked into the sitting room leaving her make her own decisions. Space, he thought to himself, he needed space from her. It was a push and pull inside of him—a pull that drew him to her and a push when he got too close. He stood by the fireplace, eyes trained on the black metal of it, as he listened to Cicely move through his home. Across the room to get the clothes, feet creaking on the stairs as she went up. When he heard her door shut he let out a breath, his body softening, tension leaving him.

The prospect of breakfast was enticing—he hadn’t eaten this morning. Porridge was what he had every morning, and this wasn’t the time for that to change. He shrugged off the jacket he had on, dropping it onto the couch, and headed for the kitchen.

When Cicely reappeared, the porridge was done and he was pouring it into two bowls, one for each of them. “Did you make me breakfast?” She asked, and his eyes drifted up to her. Nellie’s clothes fit her perfectly—a bit more snug on the curves of her body, but he wasn’t complaining.

“S’just porridge,” he replied and took the two bowls to the small table. He returned to the kitchen to grab his cup of tea, and he immediately felt her presence next to him as she picked up her own cup, left on the counter. Somehow he would have to get over the tension that raked through his body whenever she got near, but he didn’t know how he would manage that.

Cicely turned away from him and he followed her to the table, eyes trying to land anywhere but her body. She pulled out a chair and smiled at him softly. “Thank you. I’m not used to men cooking for me.”

Harry realized that him making breakfast for both of them meant they would have to eat together, that they would be forced to talk. The idea made him falter as he went to sit, but he forced himself to do it anyways, knowing that she would probably make him. “Mum taught me,” he mumbled, chair scraping against the floorboard as he say.

“Is that her in the photo?”

He knew exactly which photo she was talking about—the only one he had up. “Yes.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and dipped her spoon into the porridge, taking a bite. She was probably used to better quality, an actual chef maybe (he had heard rich people had those), but she didn’t give any indication that it was bad. Instead, she just took another bite before opening her mouth again to speak. “Where are you from?”

Harry didn’t tell people where he was from. It was a decision he made when he came to Birmingham, to leave his past behind him. The photo was up in his sitting room because he would’ve felt like shit for not putting it up, not because he particularly wanted it there.

“Harry?” She prompted, gaze fluttering over his face.

His grip tightened on the spoon in his palm, eyes on the food in front of him. “I don’t talk about my past.” Why did he want to tell her? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue and he tightened his jaw, trying to keep it from tumbling out on its own accord.

Cicely considered his statement as she sipped on her tea. “What do you talk about?”

The question made him look at her, her brown eyes already waiting for his. “What d’ya mean?”

“If you don’t talk about your past, then what do you talk to people about?”

He didn’t talk to people, he thought to himself. That was how he dealt with it. He only spoke to people who he felt safe with—Jack mainly, sometimes Tommy, Josiah if forced. They all knew his past, knew not to share it around. “Dunno.”

The sigh that slipped from her lips made Harry grimace. He had disappointed her and he didn’t like the feeling. “How about this? I tell you about myself, and you do the same in return. We each get a question.”

The idea was enticing, mainly because Harry desperately wanted to know more about her. She was like a period to him and he wanted to know everything that came before it in the sentence. Was it worth telling her about his past? Perhaps. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes twinkled, a playful grin sliding onto her face. “King,” she said, that one piece of information rocking Harry’s world immediately. The Kings were as notorious as Josiah was, just in a different way. They owned dozens of garment factories in Birmingham, controlled a handful of shipyards, one or two coal factories. Harry estimated probably half of Birmingham’s working class was employed by the King family and he assumed properly, by Cicely’s father.“Where are you from?”

“Church Hulme,” he told her. “Who is your father?”

He searched her expression to see if she recognized it, but she didn’t seem to. And why would she—it was nothing but a small farming town, some local businesses and a forge. “William King. How old are you?”

So she was the daughter of the head of the King family, an heiress to a fortune larger than anything he could imagine, no doubt. He knew the Kings had only daughters, but he didn’t know how many, or if Cicely was the oldest. The importance of staying up to date on the lives of the King family was never something he felt inclined to do, but now it was vital information. “22. How did you end up on that road?”

“I went riding,” she said after taking another bite of porridge. “The lightning scared my horse and he bucked me off. I must have passed out when I hit the ground.” Cicely considered him for a moment before speaking. “Where did you fight?”

Harry’s blood ran cold at her question. It dredged up memories he didn’t want to talk about. “We’re done,” he told her, pushing away his finished porridge and standing abruptly.

“Harry, wait.“ Her hand wrapped around his wrist, catching his arm as he stepped away, and the feeling of her skin on his made him have to close his eyes to get his breathing under control. Did she know what she did to him? “I’m sorry.”

“‘m not talking about that,” he said, not budging from his position.

Cicely’s thumb brushed across his forearm, the thinner skin meaning he could feel the press of her fingers on his body. “That’s okay,” she said, voice soft. “Will you come back?”

Although he probably shouldn’t, he opened his eyes and turned back around. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Her hand dropped from his wrist immediately at his question. “My father is forcing me to marry Clifford Stevens. Do you know who that is?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t exactly keep up with high society Birmingham circles in his free time. “He’s thirty and disgusting. He never even acknowledges that I might have a brain, much less that I’m a human being. If I marry him I’ll end up shut in his estate to raise his children for the rest of my life and I would rather die than sentence myself to a life like that.”

Clifford Stevens immediately became Harry’s least favorite person in the world, with the second being William King. To sentence a girl as kind, spirited, and open-minded as Cicely to a life as a glorified hostage was deplorable. “Why is your father forcing you to marry him?”

“We’re nearly broke,” Cicely said with a sigh. That was news to Harry. “Father has been losing money for years. He gambles most of what he makes away and because he’s a fucking idiot he never wins, and he hired a series of treasurers who are apparently inept at balancing the budgets. The factories are bleeding money and rather than take any responsibility for it, his solution is to marry me off with the knowledge that Clifford will bankroll my father’s lifestyle.” Perhaps it was the look on Harry’s face that gave him away, but Cicely gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t know the truth of the Kings, did you?”

“No.”

She fiddled with the cuff of her blouse as Harry considered her words. Was there any way to get out of her future? Probably not, unless she left behind everything that came with her name. Although from what she told him, it didn’t sound like there was much left. “Will you tell me about your family secrets in exchange for mine?”

His family secrets? God, where did he start. His gaze drifted across Cicely, her fingers brushing through the ends of her hair. What would she say to his answer? He supposed it didn’t hurt to tell her, since it wasn’t like she would tell anyone in his life about it. They were from different worlds, after all. “I found out when I came back from the war that ‘m not my father’s son.”

Cicely blinked at him, face softening as the words settled in. “What?”

“It’s just what it sounds like,” he said, leaning back in the chair and taking a breath. “Grew up my whole life thinking I had one father, when in reality it’s not him at all. My mum had an affair with some bloke and the man who raised me,” he spit out, hating the word father when he thought of him, “decided to keep me.” The feeling of her hand on his warmed his skin, but didn’t have the calm effect that he expected she intended. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Harry,” she murmured, calling his eyes from where her hand covered his to her face. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time someone had told him that, now that he thought about it. He had told Jack, who said, Fuck mate, that sucks. Want another pint? And that was that, but he didn’t mind it. Somehow though, Cicely’s compassion made his chest ache, his throat close up. He could feel tears rising inside of him and he panicked—he hadn’t cried since France and he wasn’t bloody going to start now, not in front of her. “I—I need a second,” he said quickly, scooting back in the chair and walking into the hallway, leaving her behind at the table.

He rested his forearms on the wall and let his head fall on his neck. Deep breaths in and out, his eyes shut, struggling to keep his brain together as his ears buzzed. They didn’t deserve his anger, he reminded himself for the millionth time, they didn’t deserve shit after the secrets they had kept from him. That his sister wasn’t his sister. The man who had taught him how to play football, how to tie a tie, wrestled with him as a kid, wasn’t his father. His fists clenched against the wallpaper, knuckles hurting from last night, but the pain almost felt good to Harry—it was a feeling he knew.

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped his head to the side to find Cicely standing there. “What?” He asked, not moving an inch, but just looking at her, trying to understand for the life of him why she was there.

Instead of responding, she ducked her head under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his body into hers.

She was hugging him, he realized.

He was frozen, unable to move. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her skin, somehow still clinging to her despite being in Balsall Heath for almost two days. The darkness of this place seemed to not even touch her, the light from her repelling all of it away. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt loosely, but just enough to where he could feel her through the fabric, her body feeling impossibly close to him.

No one had touched him like this in years. And he didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to act.

The only thing he could think to do was to lift one of his hands from where it was clenched in a fist against the wallpaper, and brush it down her hair. It was soft against his skin, the strands of it darting between his fingers and petting the rough calluses he had from years of hard work and fighting. They stung against his cuts from the past week’s worth of fights, but he didn’t care. The prospect of touching her was enough to push all of the pain away.

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding his. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and it was way too fucking close, so Harry immediately took a step back, giving her space. “Will you show me your Birmingham?” She asked him softly, voice echoing in the narrow hallway.

“What d’ya mean?”

“The Birmingham that’s your home,” she offered as an explanation. “I want to see it how you do.”

His Birmingham, the one that he had made a home, full of people who knew him as he was now. Respected him, feared him even—because what was the line, really, between fear and respect? The prospect of her wanting to understand his world the way he saw it was one he had never expected, but appreciated more than he could say. “Okay.”

Harry took her on a grand tour of Balsall Heath, them weaving through the streets with children playing, horses and cars  making their way down the thoroughfares. He showed her the factories her father owned, which he assumed she had never seen before, and he studied her as she saw the conditions of the workers her father employed. Cicely seemed to be everything her father wasn’t and he hoped that that continued to her views on labor.

Parts of Balsall Heath were more well-to-do, people who could afford to send their children to the art school opposite the public baths. But Harry showed her the parts he knew, the parts where people scrapped together money to make ends meet, where they relied on wages from people like Cicely’s father. He was thankful he had gotten her clothes from Nellie because at least at this rate she blended in more, although her nice boots still stuck out like a sore thumb. Although, he expected her being with him drew a decent amount of attention. When men stopped him to talk about a match and their children were with them, Cicely would squat and talk to them, not minding that her skirts got muddy from the unpaved roads. Harry had a difficult time understanding her when she did things like that. She was so unlike so many people of her station, and yet here she was crouching to talk with grubby children on unpaved streets with a pile of horse shit just a few feet away with a smile on her face.

For a second, he let himself consider what it would be like if she stayed. But he didn’t let that thought linger for too long.

They visited his favorite pub for a pint and she laughed at the barkeep’s jokes and charmed every man they met. Perhaps Harry should have been hesitant to introduce Cicely to so many people in his world, but at the same time he didn’t care what people thought of him. If Cicely wanted to see his world, then by God was he going to show it to her.

It was getting dark by the time they made their way back to his flat, bellies full from a roast they’d had at the pub. Harry watched her walk beside him, her eyes darting around the homes as they passed. “I like it here,” she told him, not meeting his eye. “Everyone is so nice.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Not everyone is. See all these houses?” She nodded. “In every one of them is a man who works for Josiah in some way. There’s a gun in every one of these houses for when Josiah calls.”

“Does he call?” Cicely asked, eyes finally turning to him as they walked.

He nodded, hoping that was the explanation she sought. From the way her expression changed, he assumed it was. Harry didn’t know what to do with her naivety, because it mystified him that someone could know so little of the world around them. Although, he thought as they rounded the corner to his street, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Does he ever…call for you?”

“Yes,” he responded because it was the honest answer. Even though he got to avoid a lot of the action because he specifically had told Josiah when he signed on to box for him that he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it came with the territory. Sometimes they needed all the people they could, and with someone as skilled at fighting as Harry and the experience from the war that he had, it would be idiotic for them not to call on him.

They reached his house in silence and he unlocked the door before pushing it open. She stepped in, and leaned down to wipe off her boots. He liked how she had already made herself feel at home in his space, knew that he always wipes off his shoes in the entryway on the mat, because otherwise the filth from the streets ends up inside. “Do you have a match tonight?” She asked, moving to the side.

“No.” It was his night off, but he had one tomorrow.

Her fingertips grazed the table and he watched them trail, the thought of her fingers on his skin drifting into his mind. “What do you do in the evenings you have off?”

Harry considered her question. He didn’t know, really. The evenings all passed, though, somehow. Time was irrelevant to him since the nights dragged on, plagued by nightmares most of the time. He spent a lot of time staring at the wall in the dark. Sometimes he took walks. Sometimes he drank enough to where the dreams didn’t come, but that was when it was really bad. “Nothing, really.”

Cicely rotated to see him, the sliver of moonlight those shone through his curtains hitting her blond hair perfectly. “Do you do anything but box?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

Harry hadn’t read a book since before France. “Not anymore.”

Cicely turned to his bookcase, which had collected dust from disuse. “Then why do you have so many books?”

“They make me think of my sister,” he replied, the truth shocking both of them. Gemma loved books, always had—she would be curled up on a chair all day with a book in her hands if their mother didn’t make her stop. When he was young, she would read to Harry sometimes, his childhood memories a mixture of fantasy and historical tales from his sister’s lips. Perhaps the books were his way of keeping her close.

Her fingers grazed the spines of his collection, dust falling around her. “Do you talk to her?”

“No.” He’d picked up the telephone a handful of times, ready to say the number to the operator. But then he’d think again, and set down the stand.

“I like this one.” Cicely pulled a bound volume off the shelf, her eyes dancing across the cover. “The Magnificent Ambersons.”

The name meant nothing to him. He bought bestsellers because he knew his sister did the same. Sometimes he considered reading one just to see what she would’ve thought about it. One time he almost mailed her one on her birthday. But each time, he did nothing.

“Can I read to you?”

Her voice was hesitant, nervous of what he would say. No one had read to him since the war, when his friends would read aloud their letters if someone didn’t get one. It made them feel like someone was looking out for them, even if they didn’t get a letter themselves. If it had been someone else, he probably would have said no. But it was Cicely and her voice was like his favorite church hymnal, entrancing and meditative. He would have listened to her talk for hours. So he said yes.

She directed him to lay down on the couch and he did, while she sat in the chair to the side. Harry lit a cigarette as she opened the cover, the sound of her tuning the pages the only noise except for the flick of his lighter. And then, she began. “Major Amberson had ‘made a fortune’ in 1873, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then.”

Cicely’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t know why. But then she heard a shout and a long, deep moan from downstairs. It was Harry again. Her hands pushed at the duvet and she flicked on the light by the bed. As she left his room the sound of him moaning in his sleep, words she couldn’t understand reached her ears, but louder without the muffling of the door. She didn’t bother to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

A scream, blood curdling and filled with anguish, ripped through the house, and Cicely flew the remaining few feet to the couch. The sound of Harry’s scream, sharp and frightened, shook her to her core. She just wanted him out of there, free from the clutches of whatever demon robbed him of his sleep.

“Harry!” She said, loudly, jostling his shoulder to try and rouse him. Unlike last night when she had knelt by the couch, Harry wasn’t flailing around. He was stick-straight, as if held in a straight jacket, but she could feel his pulse racing when she pressed her fingers to his sweaty skin. It was almost more frightening—seeing him unmoving but mumbling nonsense in his sleep. The only part of him that moved was his head, ever so slightly shaking back and forth, a stream of Nos leaving his lips.

“No,” he mumbled, “please, it’s too dark, please.” His words from last night were back again, and she wanted to know where he was. What endless circle of hell he had found himself in and how to dig him out of it.

She decided to do what she had done before, and tried to lift his shoulders from the couch. But this time, Harry’s body was so tense that she couldn’t lift him, as if he had made himself a thousand pounds. As he let out another loud groan, she grimaced—she had to wake him, she just didn’t know how. “Harry,” she said again, “wake up, please. Please, Harry.”

But her words didn’t seem to do anything, because the next thing she knew his scream was filling her ears, the sound ripping at her heart. Her body seemed to move without her knowledge as she threw herself on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, her palms cupping his face. “Harry,” she said softly, brushing her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Wake up for me, please. It’s Cicely. It’s safe, I’m here.”

Somehow, that seemed to rouse him, because his eyes fluttered open, his hazel eyes meeting hers in the dark. She was inches from his face, and she wondered if his sight was filled with her face just as hers was. “Cicely?”

“It’s me,” she said, brushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “You’re safe now.” She could feel the sigh that left his body intimately, her skin touching his in parts. That was when she realized how close they were, how completely improper her position was. She was on top of him for Pete’s sake. Her knees were on either side of him, their most intimate parts just inches from one another. If her elbows weren’t propped up on his shoulders, her chest would be touching his.

She scrambled to move, but Harry’s hands moved to her hips, halting her in place. Her eyes flickered to his, trying to read him, decipher what he was doing. Usually she had a hard time reading Harry, understanding what he wanted and needed. But now she had no problem. She watched him lick his lips, his pupils still blown out from the dream trained directly on her. When his grip didn’t shift from her body, but his thumbs brushed across the shirt she wore—it was his—and she knew.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cicely had never been kissed. Boys had tried, but they’d been disgusting, as had every other man she had ever known, and she had no interest in them. Until Harry, she hadn’t ever understood romance novels, the attraction people described in them. Every man who had ever showed interest in her had been boring, unattractive, and more than anything, just made her want to run in the opposite direction. But Harry made her want to race towards him at full speed, the darkness in his gaze and warmth in his heart made her want to know his stories, the way he looked at her made a part of her heart race that she had never felt before. He made her feel alive, as if she had been sleeping for nineteen years, just waiting for him to arrive.

One of his hands moved from his hip, inching through the air until his knuckles softly brushed across her jaw. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she wondered if she was going to pass out again. It couldn’t be possible to go this long without breathing, right? Because Cicely didn’t know the last time she had taken a breath, all of them swallowed up in the look on Harry’s face.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Desperately. With every bone in her body. Cicely wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like when he kissed her. She wanted to know everything about him, to uncover every piece of him like gifts on her birthday, ripping back the pieces of wrapping paper walls that kept him from her.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice one she had never heard before. It was soft, yearning, the encapsulation of everything she wanted in that moment.

He seemed to understand, because his fist uncurled, his palm moving to cup the side of her face. Slowly, his hand moved around her head, his fingers threading through her hair, the feeling of his callused hands on her skin alighting every inch in her body. Then, he pulled her head into him, his fingers on the back of her neck, delicately pressing at her skin. His eyes fluttered shut and perhaps hers were supposed to, but she wanted to see every moment of this—she wanted to know what he looked like when he kissed her.

When he did, his wet lips meeting hers, it was like returning home after a long trip, a homecoming she had been waiting for her whole life. Her eyelids shut, lost in the feeling of him, of the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips, the smell of him that she had grown to look forward to when she walked into the room he was in. Fingers drifted from her neck to her hairline, and he lifted his chin, changing the angle, and Cicely fell into the kiss. Her arms gave out, elbows falling from his shoulders to the cushions of the couch, her body suddenly flush with his.

Harry’s hand moved from her hip to curl around her lower back, tugging her impossibly close to him as their lips parted and met again. It felt like there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them and Cicely didn’t want any. Their noses were pushed against each other, foreheads touching, lips moving in a dance they somehow both knew by heart. She pushed her fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. A sound left his throat, and Cicely went to move her fingers, thinking she had hurt him.

“Do it again,” he mumbled.

Cicely’s eyes flickered open, studying him with her lips just a centimeter from his. He looked at her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—it was a look she had never seen but one she wanted to see for the rest of time. So she brushed her nails across his scalp and slotted their lips back together, squeezing his hips with her knees. Under his shirt she could feel his heart racing, and she wondered if he was as affected by what was between them as she was. Because for her, it felt like her world had become Harry, even though she had known him for only two days. Somehow, he was her every thought and she didn’t want another thought to grace her mind ever again.

Harry shifted his head, nudging at her jaw and pushing it up so that her neck was stretched out. In rapid succession, he pressed soft kisses to her jaw and Cicely’s head lolled back to make room for him because it felt so good to have his lips on her skin. Then, his tongue flitted out and licked over her pulse point, making her squirm against him. His hands gripped her tightly in response, before ducking his head down, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

A breathy moan left Cicely’s mouth, mixed in with the undertones of Harry’s name. It seemed to spur him on, because he opened his lips and sucked on her skin softly. It was a sensation Cicely didn’t even know what to do with, how to process, but she knew it felt good, so she held his head to her skin, urging him to continue. Which he did—laving his tongue against her tender skin in between nips and harsh sucks, and when she looked down and saw the mark he had formed, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She just pulled his head up to meet hers, desperate to have his lips back on hers again.

His hands fell to her waist, clutching at his shirt that hung there. When he pulled at it, the hem crawled up, leaving her thighs mostly exposed to the cool air inside the room. But to Cicely, her flesh was burning from Harry’s touch and the cold air was welcome, and she didn’t mind that more skin than was appropriate was on show. She had a desire within her for Harry to see all of her, every inch of her skin if he would keep making her feel like this.

Harry seemed to not notice her exposed skin until his palms drifted downwards and gripped her skin, his eyes fluttering open and his lips pulling away from hers. “Cic—“

“It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing at the hair on his forehead. “I trust you.” And she did. She trusted him more than she did anyone else in her life, who had just let her down in a series of lies and cheats. He was the first person to take her for as she was, not demand her to be some prim and proper version, to show her the truth of their life, even if it was in pieces. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know it all, she knew enough. Enough to know Harry could never hurt her, at least, not in the ways that mattered.

His head bent, and he rested his forehead against hers, sucking in air and quick puffs. “We—we should stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, barely trusting her own voice in the moment. She didn’t even know what it was that she wanted, but it was everything, anything he would give her. She would take scraps at his table, if it meant one more moment in his arms.

Harry pushed her hair behind her ear, and then let his fingers fall to the mark he had left on her skin. She thought she could see a blush rising to his skin and it made her smile. “I want you to be sure,” he told her earnestly. “And I—I haven’t done this in a long time. I need…I want it to be perfect. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did, and the fact that he wanted her to be sure made her trust him even more. Because even though she wanted it, she had barely thought about it. Cicely was impulsive, and her impulses had a tendency to get her into situations she regretted, and she didn’t want to regret a moment with Harry. “Will you come back to bed with me at least?”

His breath shuddered, eyes closing. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, and she thought she had an inkling as to why.

“Harry,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his brow bone. “Your nightmares don’t scare me. I want to know every part of you, even the dark bits.” That made his eyes open, his pupils found her in the moonlit room. “Will you come to bed and tell me about them? It doesn’t have to be everything, I just want to know how to help you.”

Slowly, he nodded. She scooted back, letting him sit up on the couch. Tentatively she pulled her knees up from the couch and dropped back to the floor, coming to a standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers to help him up. He was a disheveled mess, his hair standing in all directions, and she realized it was from her. She liked it, seeing the results of something she had done on him.

With his hand in hers, they walked up the stairs to his bedroom, to the unmade bed she had been sleeping in before. Knowing he would be hesitant, she got into bed first, scooting against the wall and turning, so she could watch him get in behind her. The moment his head hit the pillow, the duvet cover around his waist, Cicely leaned into him, wanting to be close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm cautiously wrapped around her, holding her to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, just inches from the nipples with barbells through them, the ones that she wanted to see again but didn’t know how to ask about. The bed suddenly smelled like a mixture of them, a new scent that she already adored. She hoped she didn’t have to go to bed again for a long time.

She brushed up and down his chest over his shirt, drawing light lines across his skin. After a few minutes of just lying there, Harry cleared his throat and began to tell her the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes. “I’d barely been there a few weeks,” he said softly. “It was still all new to me, the landscape of France, the sound of bullets in the distance, the smell of smoke and dead bodies in the air. We were in this open field, the only protection was an occasional tree, but we spent all of it in trenches.”

His voice was like gravel, rough in the silence of the room, and Cicely kept rubbing at his chest, hoping it would keep him calm enough to keep going. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter how bad it got. “There was this massive offensive in motion from the French, and we were a piece of it. We were supposed to take Arras, to gain a strategic advantage against the Germans, break the deadlock we were in. All of us were itching for action, something just to keep our minds from spiraling in those fucking trenches. I’d never really been in battle before, so I didn’t know what it was like. But god, the minute we started moving, when we came up out of the trenches and the firing started, it was like the world was ending.

“Everyone around me was dropping, partly from the German fire, but more so from the shells from the air. It was so loud—they don’t tell you that, how loud war is. Your ears never stop ringing, and you’re almost able to like, drown it out for a second? But then something goes off near you and your whole body is jolted and it draws you back to the Earth. And I was just trying to like, reload my gun, right? And keep my body from shaking. Jack was there, and he was telling me to keep it together—that’s how we met actually. He found me on the field, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t reload.

“It went on like that for days. Weeks, even. We made it three or so miles on the first day, but we also lost so many fucking men. We had to figure out who was gone, and it was easier to figure out who was still there. We made it into the town and there were all these houses with no roofs, tanks covering every inch of the road. It was like walking through the end of the world. And you can’t sleep, but you also can’t do anything but sleep because it’s this bone exhaustion you’ve never felt before in your whole life.”

Cicely could feel the fast beat of his heart and his voice was speeding up, the anxiety settling into his bones. “I’m here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder where her head laid. “I’m still here.”

His head shifted, tilting to his chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel like I did, on that battlefield. Everything I knew before that moment was gone. It was just echoes of the dark trenches at night, the feeling of rats crawling across your boots and the niggling feeling that you can’t go to sleep because something might happen. And the death...I think I stopped believing in God on that battlefield, because how could any God ever want that many men to die? And for what, a few measly miles that didn’t even fucking matter in the end?”

“How many did you lose?”

He paused before answering, but when he did his voice cracked as he said the number. “158,000. There were conflicting numbers, but that’s the one I heard the most.”

Cicely couldn’t even wrap her head around that number. What did 158,000 people look like? Who were all of those 158,000 people? Who were their families, their children, their loved ones? How many lives were changed forever by those days? “I’m glad you survived,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t want to say she was sorry because that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Not in comparison to everything that had happened.

“For a long time I wasn’t,” he said.

“What changed?”

His fingers brushed through her hair, tender, soft caresses that made her eyes flutter shut. “A girl who showed me there was still someone left inside of me.”

Cicely looked up at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the light bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night, the curls of his hair. “You know what I see when I look at you?” He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Someone who has experienced more pain, hurt, and loss than any one person should be allowed to. But who still manages to be kind, to be generous, to care. Someone with a life worth living, someone who is worth loving.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly. “Someone who is worthy of everything in the world.”

She felt the tears on his cheeks when he kissed her, their lips molding together just like before. His hands gripped her face, as if he couldn’t have her close enough, and she didn’t blame him. She wished with every kiss she could drink away the pain inside of him, pull it from him piece by piece until none remained. But she couldn’t. She could only hold him and tell him who he was to her, that he was everything to her, someone she didn’t know was waiting for her out there in the world. But who now she couldn’t imagine a life without.

The days melded together in beautiful technicolor. Seven days had passed since Cicely had woken up in Harry’s bed, and each one made her more thankful it was him who had picked her up on the road. She stood in the crowds during his matches, cheering his name with Tommy and becoming less floaty every time she had a pint. At the end of each night, Cicely cleaned the blood and sweat from his skin with a tenderness he had never experienced, pressed kisses to his forehead and told him how good he did. Each night in the pitch dark, she chased away his nightmares with reminders that she was there, she was real, this was real and the battle wasn’t. He clutched the shirts of his she continued to sleep in and held her close, letting the beat of her heart and the exhales from her chest lull him back to sleep.

He hadn’t slept this well since before the war.

Cicely had discovered a new routine. While Harry was meeting with Josiah and Jack, training, or just generally out of the house, she went next door and helped teach the Rollings children to read. She had stumbled on Pippa and Clarence the morning after she had kissed Harry, almost stumbling over them in the daze she carried. They were playing outside and she had a book under her arm, a plan of finding the nearby park and reading for a few hours. But when she stopped and apologized, Pippa asked what she had, and at the sight of the words and Cicely’s description of what a book was, she was intrigued. After asking their mother, Cicely began to spend her mornings with the children curled up on their couch or at their small table, or even on their front steps, teaching them their alphabet and how to sound out words, how to form sentences and read them on the page. They were ravenous for learning and their mother was happy to see her children entertained by someone who wasn’t her for a change, so Cicely quickly became a fixture in the house.

When she had told Harry, he gave her a small smile, the first one she had seen, and a quick peck to her forehead. It was exactly what she needed from him, a vote of support and nothing more. In the afternoons she washed the blood stains from Harry’s clothes and towels, or carried water into the house and ran herself a bath, a task well worth it. One time Harry almost walked in on her and the flush on his cheeks made her almost let him in. But that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her naked body for the first time, so she squealed for him to shut the door and he did, none the wiser.

After he had told her about France, about the demons that followed him into the night, the secrets between them fell away. It was if a damper had been lifted, and at night when they laid in bed, he shared more about his past and she told him of her family, the life she was supposed to live. She tried to avoid the topic of the future, because it made them both anxious. It felt a bit like they were living in a bubble, as if the outside world and its pressures were nonexistent. One morning Harry brought up how they hadn’t heard anything from her family, and Cicely nodded in reply. She had thought about it many times, and she didn’t quite have an answer for it. Although maybe Harry was just so far from the expected answer that she would never be found.

Just as she was starting to settle into the prospect of her life becoming this permanently, her past came knocking. She was with Pippa and Clarence on Harry’s front steps, their own ones being swept by their mother. A book was spread open on her lap, one she had found at a bookstore for children, and she was helping them decipher the sentence. She could feel eyes on her, which at face value wasn’t something to worry about—people were always looking at her, at the new person in the neighborhood, although once they found out she was Harry’s, they stopped. But this time, the feeling of someone watching her didn’t let up.

So when they reached the end of the page, she looked up in search of whomever was so interested in her. And what she found were the eyes of a policeman, the black uniform and intent stare raising the hair on the back of her neck. She knew immediately what it meant, that this wasn’t some normal policeman, because the ones in this area normally didn’t pay her any mind. Josiah had made clear she was not to be trifled with the minute Harry had told him that Cicely was with him, for all intents and purposes.

This policeman, though, wasn’t from around here. He stuck out, the shine of his shoes a bit too bright, the cocky attitude obvious from a mile away. He didn’t know the people or the area.

Which could only mean one thing.

Her father had found her.

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan​

PART TWO

[parkerlyn]

Hello again! 🥰

It’s been two weeks since I put out this very silly demo, and I just wanted to give a huge thank you again for the kind messages and the asks! ❤️❤️❤️ First of all, I never imagined other people would actually want to know about my gaggle of idiots. 😂 Plus I’ve gotten so much great feedback that's helped me improve the story and the choices/stats, and I really appreciate that and you 🥰 (And thanks for being patient when I restructured twice haha)

Just a progress update this time, and hoping to keep these up on a biweekly basis (weekly if I just slam dunk writing) on Wednesdays for those interested, to keep me honest on progress, and keep a personal record. 😊

So far in Chap 2, I’m basically complete with one and a half of the scenes out of four big ones. This chapter is going to end up being a bit beefier than the Prologue and Chap 1, but I hope to have it and some other improvements on the current demo out by/in November at the latest.

I’m at the tail end of a weeklong night shift at my job, which tends to make me a bit of a useless blob overall 😂, so not as much progress as I was hoping. But! Shifting back to normal hours on Friday will hopefully give me a (caffeine driven) day of writing which I’m excited for!

Current offline word counts:

Without Code: 27k -> 32k

With Code: 31k -> 36k

Avg Playthrough: 17k -> 19.5k

Also a housekeeping thing, I realized I was just posting every message unless people mentioned not posting. Should I default to only doing anons instead? Don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable reaching out!

Thank you all again for the support and wonderful messages! Stay safe out there and take care ❤️

xoxo Parker

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 18/?)

In which a particularly unpleasant mountain storm offers new and distinctly unwanted challenges. Elsewhere, a Healer and her apprentice do their jobs.

(Chapter length: 19.5k. ao3 link)

Warnings: Warning for respiratory illness and mentions of amputation, and non-consensual administration of sedative/analgesic. Later, comprehensive and graphic depictions of preparation of hunted animals. Read with caution. Also, emetophobia warning.

---

 The morning dawned bright and remorseless upon Katolis proper, the light casting dramatic shadows from the walls of the Valley of Graves. Sarli looked outside her window to the Hall of Paragons carved within the stone, and could not help but feel the weight of it. The weight of Mercy. The weight of Justice, too.

When the time came, she fetched Cairon and the bag, and set them upon their walk. “Come then,” She said, more than a little grimly, while the door closed behind them. “Let us see about this business. And pray that the Lord Protector has the sense to allow a Healer’s apprentice within his castle’s walls.”

He very nearly didn’t. It was plain to see on the very, very careful blankness of Lord Viren’s face, when he was confronted at his office with one more party than he had expected. He inhaled too-sharply through his nose, as though he were like to lose his temper without a steadying breath. Then he said “I hardly think it’s appropriate, Healer. You are bound by confidentiality. Your apprentice is not.”

“He is mine, Lord Viren.” She answered to that, flatly. “Though he lacks his holy vows, he is beholden to mine. He knows my honour rests upon his own. I would not allow him to shame me.”

Another careful, audible inhalation. There was a switch, barely-suppressed, at the Lord Protector’s brow. “You must understand, as the protector of this kingdom, I have to be exceptionally careful with how far I stretch my trust.” He said, delicately.

“Yes.” Sarli agreed, because it was true, and said nothing more. She met Lord Viren’s gaze unflinching, and waited.

“…Very well.” He conceded, in the end, with a tightness around his eyes that spoke well of his displeasure. Even so, something bothered her about how quickly he’d acquiesced. It was too easy a victory, for how displeased he was. It set a twist of unease to her gut. “But while your integrity is beyond reproach, Healer, I must take precautions for your apprentice. He will be blindfolded on his way to our destination.”

Cairon blinked once at this and didn’t object, apparently entirely unbothered. It still stuck in Sarli’s craw. “I do expect that you mean to allow him the use of his eyes for the treatment, Lord Viren.” She said, dryly, showing none of her unease at all. “He would be of considerably lesser use, otherwise.”

He smiled thinly. “If you are so convinced that he is trustworthy, I suppose I must.”

The response bothered her, too. Perhaps it was in that all signs of his frustration seemed to be slipping away, as if he had never been annoyed at all. She had not spent so many years in service to Mercy without developing a fine sense of people, and that sense was ringing alarum now. Nonetheless, she held fast, and stood by impassively while her apprentice presented himself for blindfolding, and the two of them were led down the secret passages with a two-guard escort. Sarli noted, very carefully, the faces of those guards. Soldiers, after all, were as beholden to the Accords as the Lord Protector himself, and their participation in this travesty meant that she must surely report their conduct as well. She would need to remember their faces.

She kept a hand at Cairon’s elbow to guide him all the way, but found that he didn’t especially need it. He was very sure-footed, and seemed to orient himself in the direction of the footsteps ahead of him with ease. Not even on the stairs did he stumble, but even so, she held his arm all the way down.

At last they came to that Mercy-forsaken dungeon, which at least smelled less repellent this time. The patient had been moved; the cell she was led to was a different one to the day before, and was clean and well-lit. She noted this with a bare flicker of attention as she levelled all of her focus upon the elf she was to treat. He did not look well. He hadn’t looked well before, but he was worse today. Though his eyes were open and turned her way, there was something entirely too vague and unfocused about them, and there was an unhealthy waxy pallor to his skin. Her expression tightened at the sight of him, but she allowed no further reaction upon her.

“The blindfold, Lord Protector.” She said, as Lord Viren filtered into the room with his escort, and settled himself in a chair nearby to observe. How repellent.

“You may remove it.” He allowed, and she carefully did not sneer.

Instead, she turned, and pulled the cover from her apprentice’s eyes. She watched as he blinked, pupils contracting in the firelight, and then-

The moment he saw the elf was very obvious. There was a sharp inhalation, a widening of the eyes. A brief tremble, quickly-suppressed, at his fingertips. Other than that, he did not react. “An elf, master.” He said, levelly, because according to Lord Viren’s misapprehensions, he was not supposed to know about the elf. She spared an approving thought for his acting skills.

“Yes. I assume it will not be a problem.”

He closed his eyes for a second, and she could not tell whether it was part of the act, or something more genuine. “No, master.” He answered, and his eyes opened. He fixed them seriously upon their patient, gaze analytic and tightly controlled. The patient himself opened his eyes a little further, though they grew no less hazy. There seemed a lesser luminosity to them, now.

She nodded, and strode forwards. She knelt before the elf, though it hurt her knees. She said, “I do not know your name, but you are my patient, and I am your Healer Sarli. With me is my apprentice, Cairon, whose hands are mine. Let it be known that your health is now within my care.” The elf watched her, almost lucid, but did not respond. His attention was perfectly evident, though. “Your arm must be amputated today. You will be administered a painkiller for the procedure. Will you take it of your own will?” She waited, very calmly, for long enough to make it plain that she expected an answer.

His eyes lowered, just for a moment. Then he looked up, and spoke the first words she had heard from him. They rasped. Something ill rattled in his lungs. “I will not.” He said, in that terrible voice, and Sarli rapidly reassessed the likelihood of his ultimate survival. She tilted her head sharply, and watched as the elf’s words were followed by a distinct wet cough.

“Then it will be administered to you via a needle.” She said. “Cairon. Make the preparation. And pass me the stethoscope.”

He obeyed with silent efficiency, setting to work with the lilium and the needle reservoir even as she took the long tube of the stethoscope, pressing one end to the patient’s chest and the other to her left ear. She leaned into it and listened as the elf breathed, then moved it over to the other side. She had the fortune to still be listening when he coughed again, which was very illuminating. She receded and put the stethoscope aside.

“Cairon, take note. Beginnings of respiratory infection observed. Both lungs affected, with the state of the right lung more advanced.” She waited for his murmur of assent before she rose to inspect the elf more thoroughly. Infection wasn’t surprising, given the conditions he’d been kept in, but she’d have expected blood or wound infections first. Unless…

She leaned over and inspected the broken horn, frowning at what was very plainly an open cavity, with living tissue inside. Not only bone and marrow, either, but what had evidently once been pink pneumatised space. The look of it was very familiar from her studies, though she’d never seen a sinus so large. She had never guessed that elves might have respiratory cavities within their horns. But it made the aetiology of the infection very clear, and indeed, seemed visibly inflamed to the naked eye. No wonder the elf had developed such a sickness, with that open channel into his system.

“Infected sinus in the broken horn.” She observed aloud. “It will need to be carefully irrigated and then bandaged as part of treatment today.” She would need to be careful to avoid allowing water further into the sinus cavities. But irrigation of the infected tissue – and perhaps even debridement – only seemed sensible. She stayed by the sinus for a few moments, listening, and discerned from the lack of hissing air that the internal pathways to the rest of the skull cavities had likely all closed, or otherwise been blocked. Yes, then; debridement would be warranted. It wasn’t as though this sinus would ever function properly again.

“The needle is ready, master.” Cairon reported, quietly, and she glanced sidelong at him.

“Good.” She said, and knelt by the elf again. “You will be administered a high dose of the drug known as lilium. Due to its pronounced soporific properties, you are likely to fall unconscious during the procedure. It takes effect very rapidly once introduced to the bloodstream; I expect you will feel it within the minute. You will likely experience residual euphoria and feelings of wellness as a side effect for up to eighteen hours following the dosage.” She paused, watching his eyes to be sure that he was listening, and added “When you awake, your arm will be gone. If you haven’t already, I advise you to make your peace with that now.”

For a moment, just for a moment, the elf’s eyes moved sideways to behold his doomed arm. He let out the quietest, faintest exhalation. He didn’t speak, but there was something about the minute movement of his head as he looked at her that felt like a nod.

“Cairon.” She said, and her apprentice moved up to find a vein in the healthy arm. He administered the lilium with practiced skill, and the effect was nearly instant; the awful tension in the elf’s body fled him, he went lax, he went placid. She could see the Lord Viren shifting out of the corner of her eye, for whatever reason interested by what he saw.

The elf’s eyes slipped closed within the minute. She monitored his breathing through the process, two fingers resting at his pulse, and found that it slowed to well within normal parameters. When she was relatively sure there was no bad reaction to the lilium, she sighed and leaned back.

“Come now, boy.” She said to her apprentice, finding that he was already laying out the necessary tools. “It’s time we began.”

 ---

 It was weird to sit around awake while the others fell asleep. Not as weird as it could have been, but still pretty weird.

Back home, it was relatively familiar. Callum and Ezran shared adjoining rooms, after all, and Ezran’s bedtime was earlier than his. He was perfectly used to his brother falling asleep in his own bedchamber while he did something (relatively) quiet and inconspicuous, such as reading or drawing. But…well. A pseudo-cave whose accommodations were limited to a campfire and a huddle of tent-layers was decidedly not ‘back home’, and there wasn’t the benefit of walls and doors here. Rayla and Ezran were right there, close by the fire, and all he had to do to see them was glance a little to the side.

So, it was weird. He felt self-conscious every time he poked the fire with one of Rayla’s swords, or fed another branch or disc of wood to the flames. He felt weird seeing Rayla twitch, and sigh, and shift, and know full well that she wasn’t actually asleep yet. He wondered if she usually took this long to fall asleep, or if her bruising and pain was just…aggravating everything. Ordinarily, he’d ask, but…well, she was trying to fall asleep. He couldn’t disturb her. It was just weird.

Ezran took longer than usual falling asleep himself, brows furrowing as the dragon-light flickered out from the shell in his arms. But his breathing did ease off eventually, and after that, Callum breathed a little easier. His brother could generally be relied upon to be a heavy sleeper. He could draw, and talk to himself while drawing, and move about, and clatter his art supplies all without waking him.

Rayla, of course, was another matter entirely. His self-consciousness over stoking the fire turned out to be entirely warranted, because when he watched, he could see her twitch at every sound he made – the spitting of the fire as it crackled around new wood, the small shifts and sounds of him moving the wood, everything. He couldn’t help but wonder how she ever managed to get to sleep, if she was that sensitive to the sounds around her.

He thought, guiltily, of his alleged tendency to shift about and occasionally talk in his sleep, and understood a little better her tired eyes on some of their mornings.

Callum kept as quiet as he could, and watched the fire, and listened to the wind howl, and waited. He didn’t dare do anything noisier, while she was still trying to fall asleep. He looked out past the cliff to the storm, and just…stared, silently, for what felt like hours. It wasn’t, of course. The light was still fading, so it couldn’t be that long. But it felt like it, watching the endless flurry of the blizzard. It was hypnotic, in a way. Disorientating, in another. Every now and then lightning flashed, thunder following some time after, and there was nothing he could do to control that sound. Rayla twitched at it every time.

It seemed like it had been at least an hour by the time Rayla finally managed to fall asleep, but it was honestly probably longer than that. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the Rayla-shaped lump in the tent covers slumped into something more relaxed, as some of the tension eased from her face, and felt quietly relieved. She really did need her rest, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to wake her up again in a few hours. She’d probably be so tired.

Still. If it came down to it, they could probably all take turns napping during the day. As long as the storm was still going, it wasn’t like they had anywhere else to go.

After a while, very carefully, he dared to get out his sketchbook and start quietly on a new drawing. The storm looked different in the dark; the white of it wasn’t nearly so pronounced, and the layers of the blizzard fluttering off into the night were full of subtle gradations of pink-grey light. He did his best to render the effect in charcoal, all soft smudges and greys, and startled occasionally in the shock of a thunder-clap. Every one of those, of course, woke Rayla up. She’d jolt and grumble quietly and then, evidently, do her best to fall back asleep again. Generally, she seemed to manage it pretty fast.

Again, Callum wondered how much he tended to wake her, on a typical night. He’d never met anyone who slept so ridiculously lightly.

Though, he wasn’t certain he’d fare much better with the thunderclaps. They were loud, even muffled through the snow-clouds. Loud enough that they disturbed Ezran too, who shifted and murmured, the lights of egg and Bait shifting with him.

It was hard to judge the time passing. Weirdly enough, though, drawing helped. He was used to hours disappearing when he sat down to draw, and had developed something of a sense of roughly how much time he lost between one art-trance and the next. When a crack of snow-muffled thunder drew him out of a span of time that felt vaguely like it had been forty minutes, he considered the state of the dark. He considered how tired he felt. He decided, eventually, that it had probably been around four hours since the others went to bed. Maybe longer.

Still, he hesitated, watching Rayla’s sleeping form. It felt wrong to disturb her, after all she’d been through lately, and after how long it had taken her to get to sleep. For a moment, he very seriously considered leaving her to sleep, and taking over her watch. But…

She woke up often enough throughout the night that she’d probably eventually question why he’d not handed off watch to her. And then she would not be pleased with him.

Finally, reluctantly, he put his sketchbook away and went to nudge her quietly by the shoulder. She woke at once, eyes flying open, focusing blearily on him. She looked terribly groggy, and despite everything, it made guilt clench at his throat.

Her eyes were really, really bright in the dark. He’d noticed it before, but…

He didn’t speak. Keeping hushed and quiet for so long alone made the thought of talking seem weird, especially with Ezran still asleep. But she understood the situation easily enough, and peeled herself silently from the tent covers, rubbing grit out of her eyes. She made a few quiet murmuring noises of what sounded like pain, wincing as she rolled stiff shoulders.

Looking half as though she were sleepwalking, she reached out and tapped on his arm in a strange, purposeful rhythm for a few seconds, before she stopped short and frowned and shook her head. “Ugh.” She muttered, barely louder than a breath. Then she said something weird that sounded like ‘ick tuss’, in a barely-audible mutter, and pushed herself out of bed. Eventually, she leaned over, and murmured quite close to his ear “Thanks. I’ll take over now. Get some sleep.”  

He opened his mouth to question her about what the weird tapping had been about, then closed it, looking at Ezran. Instead, he tapped questioningly on his own arm, plastering an exaggerated confused expression over his face.

She stared back, a little sourly, and murmured the same thing she had earlier, except this time it sounded more like ‘ictus’. Her breath was warm on his ear. Then she said “’s not important. Sleep.” And dragged herself staggering over to the fireside.

He hesitated. He hesitated for long enough that she turned back to him and started making aggressive pointing motions at the tent-covers, as plain and uncompromising a ‘go to sleep’ as he’d ever seen. He relented, albeit reluctantly, and went.

The spot she’d vacated was still warm. He eased himself in, sparing a few lingering glances for Rayla arranging herself at the campfire. In the end, though, he was so tired that he didn’t even remember closing his eyes, and was asleep in seconds.

 ---

 As far as watches went, the only unremarkable thing about this one was that she was a fair bit more injured than typical for someone standing watch. And also perhaps that her ‘squadmates’ were directly beside her rather than ensconced in separate tents. And that there was a frankly intimidating storm raging close enough that she periodically had to shift her position to defend the campfire from winds. And – well, alright, maybe it was a pretty unusual watch, after all.

It wasn’t a problem, though. A three-part watch certainly made for longer shifts than a six-part watch did. But, for the most part, the whole thing was comfortingly standard. Rayla settled into silent vigil by the fire, fed it wood occasionally, and that was all. Easy.

She did, after a furtive glance at Callum’s sleeping form, take a few moments to inspect her bad hand. She’d not wanted to investigate it in front of him, given how much and how conspicuously he’d been fretting lately, but it still felt…off. She poked along her skin, and squeezed her fingers gently, and shifted uneasily at having her suspicions confirmed. The pins-and-needles hadn’t completely gone, it seemed. Or, at least, some hint of it remained. The skin on the back of her hand, particularly on the thumb side, was a little more numb than it ought to be. In places it prickled strangely when she touched it. The hand itself, of course, remained irritatingly stiff. She hoped that would go away, with frequent enough loosening of the binding.

She spared a moment to wonder exactly how long they were going to keep this up for. It would have to be until Xadia at the very least, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as though they were likely to find some way of removing the binding outside of Xadia. It seemed she’d be dependent on Ezran and Azymondias for the continued life of her hand for a good long while.

Rayla pursed her lips at the thought, troubled, and spared a glance to the cyclical glow of the egg in Ezran’s arms.

Her watch passed uneventfully, except for the periodic fright of the thunder-claps resounding through the sky and waking everyone up. Ezran seemed to be waking unusually easily at those – almost more at the lightning-flash than the thunder. Callum was being his customary self and barely waking for a second, but Ez…

She had her suspicions. They were confirmed the instant she went to wake him for his watch, and he blinked awake and into alertness so quickly that he couldn’t have been firmly asleep. Rayla spared a glance for Callum, and drew him out of bed towards the fire to murmur to him. He took the egg with him. “Have you been awake the whole night?” She asked, very lowly, and considered the look of him. He did have the customary exhausted stare of someone who’d been up most of the night, but…

Maybe it was only her imagination. But his eyes looked a little too bright for a human’s. “…Not really.” He answered, after a moment, keeping his voice as quiet as hers. “I just…haven’t really been all-the-way asleep.” His fingers stroked absently over the shell, eyes distant. She’d have dismissed it for sleepiness, if not for how strange his countenance was. Something about the sight of him sent a shiver of unease down her spine.

She watched him for a moment. “…The storm?” She guessed, quiet. “Azymondias?”

He closed his eyes and shuddered strangely as the lightning flashed. It lit the storm-haze, and cast a brief pallor on his dark skin. “Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper. He didn’t elaborate.

Unease twisted in her gut again, this time with a healthy accompaniment of concern. “Are you alright?” She asked, brows creasing, because – because he didn’t really seem alright. He seemed…off. Distant. Hazy, in a way he oughtn’t be.

“Mm.” He said, a little vaguely. “It’ll be better now I’m awake. When I was sleeping….I was in Zym’s head a lot. And he’s really feeling the storm.” He shook his head. “It’s fine, Rayla. You can go to sleep.”

She didn’t, not right away. She didn’t like how he was acting. But over the minutes she stayed beside him, he did seem to get more lucid, so…eventually, when he started nudging her again, she went. A little reluctantly, she took herself and her full-body exhaustion into the tent layers, wincing as she settled onto the hard ground. Her bruises were absolute murder for sleeping on the floor. She thought wistfully of actual beds, and soft pillows, and duvets, and eventually shuffled into the warm spot that still vaguely remained from Ezran.

With the breadth of her tiredness, it didn’t take all that long for her to start drowsing. And then, naturally, she was startled awake again by Calum rolling over with a murmur and pressing himself against her side. Because of course.

She sighed at him, but for once, didn’t even contemplate pushing him away. In the cold of the storm, it was…sensible. Sensible, to stick close to each other, and share body heat. That was all it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

She’d almost managed to convince herself of that by the time she fell asleep again.

  ---

  When Callum woke, it was to the steady numbing feeling of cold. His fingers and toes were so frigid they nearly ached, and a chill was seeping steadily into his skin. He murmured, still half asleep, and turned over, mindlessly searching for…something. Something warm? That seemed right, but…there wasn’t anything. He made a plaintive sound and shuffled further. He located something small that croaked at him when he touched it.

That woke him in a hurry. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring blearily at Bait. Bait stared back, unimpressed. “Morning, Bait.” Callum said to him, voice rough and croaking from sleep, and blinked a few more times to get his bearings. He was in something dark and leathery, like…a blanket fort? No, that was right – they’d not been able to put the tent up, because of the storm…

The storm. Callum sat bolt-upright and had to flail a few times to disentangle his face from the tent-layers. Light abruptly assailed him, and he winced, rubbing his eyes. For a moment the whole spectacle was just blurs of variably-coloured light – but then it resolved into a flickering campfire, a glowing egg by the fireside, the shining white of a sunlit blizzard…

Ezran was sitting by the fire, and had looked over at him. He offered a smile that looked tired and forced. “Morning, Callum.” He said, and his voice – he sounded exhausted. Callum straightened, staring at him more closely, and remembered the fire-watch, remembered that Ezran had had the last shift-

“Are you okay?” He asked at once, instantly worried. It took some tripping over himself, but he extricated himself from the tent and crawled over to the fire to inspect his brother. He looked a little paler than normal, and there were heavy bags under his eyes. Guilt churned in Callum’s gut. “We should have taken your watch.” He muttered, still not entirely awake, as he glanced around on reflex to look for Rayla. Where was she?

“It’s fine, Callum.” Ez said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway, so…”

Callum half-registered the words, but had already found something else to worry about: Rayla wasn’t here. He looked around a little more frantically, as if he’d find her hiding behind a backpack or something if he looked closely enough-

“Rayla went out to get more wood. Actually, this is the second time – she already went on another firewood run earlier.” His brother told him, and Callum’s movement stalled. He looked over at the wood pile, and indeed found it looking more well-supplied than he remembered, even from his own shift of the watch. “This time, well...” He pursed his lips. “She’s getting food, too. I pointed her towards a few different places where animals were hiding, so…I guess we’ll have a lot to eat, soon.”

“…Oh.” Callum said, mind gone blank. He searched the campsite, a little anxiously, and noted by the absence of several articles some small sources of comfort. Rayla had taken her cloak, apparently dried out by now. The rope-harness was gone, too. And Callum’s one-shoulder bag had been emptied out and taken away. “…Why didn’t you wake me?”

“We decided to let you sleep in. It’s not like we’re in a hurry to go anywhere, after all.” Ezran shrugged, and after a moment, Callum finally shuffled over to sit beside him. The heat of the fire made his hands and feet ache uncomfortably as they warmed. “Besides, the last few days have been kind of tiring. If you can sleep…well, I think you should.”

‘Kind of tiring’. “Sort of an understatement there, Ez.” He said, wryly, and tried not to squirm too conspicuously as he looked out over the ledge. The howl of the wind was vicious, even with them out of the worst of it. The scattered gusts that managed to reach him were uncomfortably chilly, even sitting directly beside the fire. Outside, in the blizzard itself…how much colder must it be? “…How long ago did she leave?”

“Not long.” He shrugged. “Maybe fifteen minutes. We were up for a while before that. Made some hot water.” He nodded to the pot, which was no longer on the fire, but still had some gently steaming liquid in it. “I don’t actually think it’s warm anymore, so if you want it, you should probably put it on the fire for a while first.”

He considered it. “I’ll just make some tea, I think.” He decided, and stood to go off and collect snow. He grimaced uncomfortably at the state of his bladder as he moved, which was decidedly unhappy with him after having gone the majority of a day unanswered. He wondered, with a frown, exactly how Ezran had been managing that, given the current situation.

On the first day of their travel, Ezran had broached the question of how exactly people were to manage certain bathroom functions without the use of the luxuries of civilisation, such as buckets of water and toilet paper. Rayla had stared at him with a particular expression of dawning weariness, as if she were only now realising the sheer helplessness of her princely companions, and had taken a moment to rub at her temples before she took them aside.

Then she'd said "You'd better listen up, because I'm only saying this once." And she’d given them a short primer on improvised wilderness cleaning options. These largely boiled down to 'leaves' and 'snow', and while she'd been very brief at the time, she’d taken particular care to point out any poisonous or irritant plants in the following days as they travelled.

He and Ezran had put this instruction to daily use, obviously, but that didn't really help much in a situation where they couldn't go off behind a tree or rock to answer the call of nature. And this was, unfortunately, one of those situations. There was absolutely nowhere in their pseudo-cave that was appropriate, and the way out was, well. A narrow and precipitous ledge covered in ice.

And so: “Don’t you need to go to the bathroom?” Callum asked his brother, when he returned with snow. “We’ve been cooped up here for probably most of a day by now.”

“I just asked Rayla to take me past the ledge for a bit, earlier.” Ez informed him, making a face as Callum dropped pine leaves into the snow in the pot. “I guess you’ll have to wait till she gets back. Unless you want to try the ledge alone.”

Callum eyed the ledge in question. It looked…precipitous. He could hardly imagine the embarrassment of having to ask Rayla to escort him over it for a potty break, but…he also did not particularly enjoy the idea of slipping and falling to his death. He grimaced. “Ugh.” He expressed, and set the pot on the fire.

In the end, he didn’t need to figure out a way to awkwardly fumble through the request. Rayla returned with a harness full of firewood not all that much later, spotted Callum sitting upright with his tea, and sighed with obvious relief. “Callum. You’re awake. Good.” She headed over, peeling herself out of the now one-shouldered harness and setting the wood down. Ezran shuffled over, murmuring greetings, and set to work stacking her haul. “I got a lot of meat, and I need your help processing it.”

He blinked, startled, and looked up at her. “Oh. Um. Okay?” He offered, giving her a quick look-over to appraise her state of health. She seemed perfectly alert and graceful, in sharp contrast to how she’d returned from the second firewood trip yesterday. She was shivering, maybe, but…she seemed fine. “Now?” He asked, a little dubiously, as he set his jar of tea down to rise to his feet and inspect her more closely. As before, she was so thoroughly wrapped up in layers that the only skin visible was the strip on level with her eyes.

She hesitated. “No, I should probably warm up a bit first.” She admitted, a little reluctantly, and carefully sat herself down. After a moment, he followed suit. “I left all the meat out past the ledge. Normally I’d be worried about scavengers finding it, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose much is travelling in this storm.”

“There’s not, no.” Ezran said, almost absent-mindedly. “There’s a fox sort of that-way-ish,” He gestured with an idle flick of his hand, then went back to stacking wood. “But she’s staying put in a sort of snow-hole she dug.”

Callum eyed his brother cautiously. “…The storm weirdness is still going, huh?”

There was something wrong with the look in his brother’s eyes. Too distant. Too vague. He didn’t seem entirely present, somehow, even though he was talking to them perfectly fine. “Worse.” He said, shortly. “The sky-magic, it’s…” He shook his head. “It’s so much thicker now. Zym is really – awake. Alert?” He looked side-ways at the egg he’d positioned beside the fire, hand twitching up briefly like he wanted to reach out and pull it closer. In the end, though, he stayed where he was, and sighed. “…Something like that.”

Rayla pursed her lips, and exchanged a worried glance with Callum before she spoke. “Well, if it’s any comfort, the storm’s probably going to have started moving past us by the end of the day.” She said, looking briefly out to the blinding-white blizzard. “…It’ll get closer first, though. Actually, judging by the thunder, it’s going to be really, really close in a couple of hours. We’ll have to put all the metal over by the ledge again.”

He paused, abruptly remembering his and Ezran’s conversation from the day before. “We’re under shelter, though.” He pointed out. “Lightning can’t strike through rock, right?”

She snorted. “Yes it can.” She informed him, and seemed to take some grim amusement from how both of them did a double-take as they stared at her. “If lightning hits the ground above us, it’ll zap through this empty air space on its way further down. And if we’re in its way, we get hit. So.” She gestured expressively to the partially-complete pile of metallics in the tent-pack. “I suppose the bright side is that lightning isn’t likely to be attracted to the metal – if it’s attracted to anything, it’ll be…trees, or something, further up the mountain. But it’s not worth the risk.”

“….yeah, I’d really prefer to avoid getting hit by lightning.” Callum decided, and spared a wary glance for the pot on the fire. He handled it perhaps more gingerly than necessary as he took it away from its re-heating to get Rayla some tea, and for a while they just sat around drinking while she restored some warmth to her body.

She didn’t take all that long to warm up. Ordinarily, he’d have fretted about it, but he really needed to get over that ledge. She grabbed her spare sword from the iron pot, passed it to him, and then tied herself to him with rope for the trip out into the blizzard.

Somehow, in the time since they’d reached shelter, he’d managed to forget how awful it was out there. Or maybe it was worse, now. That seemed likely, with the storm getting closer, but-

“How have you been going out to collect firewood in this?” He demanded, practically having to shout to hear his voice over the howl of the frigid wind in his ears. He pulled his hat down and his scarf up, and while Rayla was similarly smothered in layers, he could practically see the sardonic humour in the way she looked at him.

“Mainly because it was this or freezing to death.” She informed him, and pulled him by the rope over the final stretch. Callum looked around wild-eyed. The snow definitely hadn’t been this thick yesterday. Rayla’s footsteps from her firewood trip were plainly visible in it, though the blizzard was already starting to fill them in. The visibility was so poor that he could only see a few metres of the deep footprints, disappearing out into blinding white. “It’s worse right now, though. The storm’s getting closer.” With excellent dramatic timing, lightning flashed and made the whole storm painfully bright; less than two seconds later, the snow-muffled whomp of thunder sounded.

“No kidding.” Callum said, numbly, and tried to assess how deep the snow was. It was coming most of the way up his shins, for Mercy’s sake.

She tugged on the rope. “Come on. We shouldn’t stay out in this longer than we need to.”

“Er.” He said, suddenly remembering why he’d been eager to get over the ledge in the first place, and shuffled awkwardly. “I mean, could I take a couple minutes first? Just to…” He cleared his throat, and looked away.

She rolled her eyes at him and untied the rope around his waist. “Don’t be long.” She ordered, and tucked her ungloved hands into her sleeves.

He hastily stumbled off, nearly falling over into the snow, and felt his way along a rock wall until the suddenly-convenient snow haze had obscured any hint of Rayla’s silhouette. Then, because he knew her eyes were better, he went a little further and tucked himself behind a rock. An extremely cold minute later, he was staggering back with his hands red and numb and aching from grasping snow. He understood why she’d told him to leave his gloves behind, but…

For a moment, he couldn’t find Rayla where he’d left her, and panicked. But then he realised that the fresh footprints in the snow were actually good for something, and followed them through the vicious winds to find her.

The first thing he saw was the red. It was so bright, and there was so much of it, and – and he froze solid, dread and horror hitting him so hard he swayed in place, remembering that awful dream where she’d bled and bled and bled until the tide was fit to drown them-

And then he breathed, and pulled himself shakily from that terrible moment, recognising the bodies of animals in the snow beside her. She wasn’t the source of it. She was safe. She wasn’t bleeding.

No matter his attempts to reassure himself, he was faltering and shaky when he finally stumbled over beside her. When she looked over at him she seemed perfectly fine, and entirely lucid. There was no sign of new pain, no sign of new blood…

…except on her hands. Her hands, holding a dead rabbit, its fur ruffled and wet from snow, and her sword cutting through its belly. His gut heaved, and his shakiness finally got the better of him. He fell backwards and collapsed heavily into the snow, feeling so terribly disorientated that for a bewildered second he wasn’t even sure what was happening. Was she bleeding? Was it the animals bleeding? What was even going on?

“Callum?” her voice sounded worried, even half-stolen by the shriek of the winds. She turned and peered at him, and the shock of the snow’s cold numbed some of the reflexive panic out of his system. It was enough, just enough, to let him think.

“…Sorry.” He croaked, and raised a cold hand shakily to his face. “I, er. I guess I just found you surrounded by blood and panicked a little, and-“ He looked to the rabbit in her hand, and swallowed. “And also that there’s kind of gross.”

Rayla looked taken-aback for a moment, and then glanced around her as if only now noticing the macabre spectacle she made. “…Right. Sorry.” She said, chagrined. “Should’ve warned you. I just didn’t want to waste time out here.” She eyed him, sympathetic but assessing. “Are you alright to help?”

“Yes.” He said, determinedly, though he wasn’t at all certain. It was very early in the morning for this amount of gore, and his gag reflex was already feeling rebellious.

She looked at him dubiously, which was probably fair. “Alright.” She conceded, and gestured at the bloody pile beside her. “We’ve got a small deer and three rabbits, including this one. And they all need to be skinned and gutted. And in the deer’s case, cut up into smaller pieces.” She flexed the fingers of her left hand, carefully. It looked stiff, but whether that was from cold or infirmity was decidedly unclear. “My hand’s being a little easier to deal with, so I can demonstrate the rabbits. But the deer…” She hesitated. “I can probably gut it. But I don’t know about the skinning. It’ll probably be fine, but….”

“…Can you walk me through it?” he asked, tentative, and she nodded quickly.

“Of course.” She said instantly. “And we’re not planning on keeping the hide for anything, so you can be as messy as you like.” She grimaced at her sword. “This isn’t exactly a skinning knife, anyway.”

“Alright.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He really didn’t want to be messing around in animal guts, or skinning things. But he didn’t want to be shivering in the middle of a blizzard, either, or on the run from his own people, or worrying about his brother not having enough to eat. And…he wasn’t going to make Rayla do this alone. How selfish would it be, to depend on her for everything to do with feeding them, and not even try to help? “What should I do?”

“Just watch.” She said, and pulled the rabbit over to show him. She’d not actually been gutting it, he realised. Just…cutting a line up its belly to the truncated neck. She’d cut its feet off, too, and there were lines cut on the underside of the limbs inwards to that line down the body.

She finished the cut on the rabbit’s belly, and put her sword down. It was then that Callum discovered, much to his horror, that skinning animals apparently involved just pulling the skin off. He heaved and gagged several times, watching her, watching the pale pink flesh of the rabbit’s muscle and sinew exposed, but managed to choke down the taste of acid and keep watching.

“This is easiest when the kill’s fresh.” She explained, shooting him an apologetic glance as he gagged again. “The deer’s going to be hardest, because it was dead for at least an hour before I found it. It’s part frozen. But the rabbits should skin easily enough.”

“Great.” He managed, and held onto the contents of his stomach all through the demonstration. Soon, she’d set aside a disturbingly neat-looking rabbit pelt that had been pulled off of the flesh like a gory sock. And then, a little questioningly, she passed the second rabbit and a sword to him. He stared at it. It was…very intact. “…Do I cut the head and feet off?” He asked, and she shrugged awkwardly at him.

“If you can.” She agreed, and watched him with a vaguely conflicted expression. He wondered if she was reconsidering the wisdom of having him help her. That thought was enough to bring him some reserve of courage, and he took a long breath of the icy air. It was so cold it made his lungs burn. With some prescient inkling that his control over his stomach wouldn’t hold forever, he pulled his scarf down from his face before he began.

He braced the rabbit against the icy ground beneath the snow, and pushed down with the sword. There was a gentle crunch, and the foot came off. He swallowed, and repeated the process for the other three, getting a little better with the leverage of the blade each time. The head gave him a little more trouble – in more than one sense. It was harder to cut off, and more disturbing. He breathed past the taste of acid and quietly called to mind the knife-sharp memory of the incisions Rayla had made in the first rabbit.

She reached out and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder as he hesitated. “You’re doing fine.” She murmured to him, and he could hardly hear it over the wind in his ears. His hands were numb and aching now, and all the colder for the slippery blood on his fingers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. It was…too easy, to make the cuts. The sword seemed unnaturally sharp. Drawing the blade-tip through the rabbit’s skin seemed as easy as stroking charcoal over paper.

Rayla said something encouraging to him, but this time the storm was entirely too loud for him to hear it properly. He appreciated it, anyway. And then, reluctantly, he set the sword down to mimic the next thing she’d shown him.

There was some resistance, to pulling the rabbit’s pelt off. He had to adjust his grip to pull a little harder. But he pulled, and it went, and his head swam as the pelt inverted and the pink flesh of the inside of the skin peeled off where he tugged-

Nearly falling over in the process, Callum turned to the side and vomited a mouthful of acid into the snow. His fingers were slick with blood, and the too-smooth texture of skinned flesh. He wanted to wipe his face, but he also didn’t want to get the blood on himself. He hunched there, trembling, so shaky that it had to be from more than just the cold…

Rayla drew near, visible as a looming shape in his peripheral vision. She hesitated there for long enough that he almost looked up to see what she was doing, but then – her hand moved into his field of view, cupping snow. He made a small, startled noise as she wiped it over the lower part of his face, gentle and careful and sympathetic as she watched him. She discarded the handful of snow to the side while the cold was still stinging at his skin. “Can you finish?” She asked him, without any sort of judgement, as he stared at her and shook.

He swallowed. It still tasted of acid. “Y-yeah.” He stumbled over the word, hazily determined not to disappoint her. He wouldn’t make her finish his work. He wouldn’t. He turned back to his grisly work and pulled the rabbit’s skin off with shaking hands. It was at least less nauseating, now that he’d already thrown up.

“Well done.” She murmured to him, when he was done, and had set the pelt aside with the other one. When he looked up at her, she looked almost guilty. “…I’ll finish the rest of this, I think.” She said, finally, and his gut lurched with the sickening certainty that he’d disappointed her, that he’d not been good enough-

“No, I can still help.“ he insisted, hands still slick and bloody. His voice felt as wobbly as his fingers. “I won’t throw up the next time. I just – have to get used to it.”

She shook her head, firmly. Her eyes on his were gently understanding. “Callum, you did a good job. It’s okay. It…wasn’t really fair of me to ask you to do this much on your first try. You can help again next time.”

“But, your hand – your arm.” He scrambled to say, staring with a strange sense of loss as Rayla tugged the skinned rabbit from his hands. “You – shouldn’t be doing it, it’ll hurt.”

“My hand’s doing better than I expected today.” She said determinedly, which wasn’t especially convincing, given he was quite certain she’d lie about how well she was doing under circumstances like these. “I’ll be fine.” She hesitated for a moment. “If it makes you feel better, you’ll have to stay here ‘till I’m done anyway. I can show you how the gutting works.”

He paused, uncertain.

She took his silence as agreement. “Wash your hands.” She instructed. “And just watch. I’ll try to be quick, and then we can both go back to camp and warm up.”

…It was getting really cold. Sitting still in the middle of a blizzard…well. It shouldn’t be surprising. A little sluggishly, he finally nodded, and she sighed as though relieved.

“Good.” She said, and then proceeded to skin the third rabbit with clean, ruthless efficiency. Her left hand didn’t seem to be gripping very strongly, so she periodically lost her hold and had to pick it up again, but even that was quick and efficient. She set that third pelt aside with the others, and then moved onto the deer. Apparently she wanted everything skinned before she gutted anything.

Watching the deer’s head get cut off was horrible. Watching something that big get skinned was horrible. Seeing the bright red of its flesh exposed – so much darker than the rabbits – and the paler lines of tendons and sinew…he gagged a couple of times, even with nothing in his stomach to bring up. What little there’d been for dinner was long since gone, and the tea had probably gone up with the acid earlier.

She seemed to have a harder time with the deer’s skin, as she’d predicted, and needed to apply the tip of her sword to the situation a few times. He was horribly, guiltily glad that he’d not had to do that, and that made him feel even worse. He eyed her bloody fingers and wondered how much her hand was hurting. He watched miserably as she set the deer back and moved onto, presumably, the disembowelling stage of this whole ordeal.

Rayla did the deer first. She positioned the deer with its head and forelimbs back, and asked him to hold it in place. Wordlessly, he obliged, and then moved one hand over to hold one of the back legs up when she requested that too. She cut a line up its middle, deeper by far than she’d done to skin it. The outer muscle gaped open and put all of the organs into full view, the white of bone bloody-yellow compared to the white of the snow, and as Callum watched it his mind went weirdly blank. It was as though he’d gone so far past nauseated and shaken that his head had decided it was too much effort to bother with, and had just shut off the feelings entirely. He kept watching, oddly numb.

She broke the ribcage open at the sternum, with a sickening crack of snapping bone. She cut some weird connective tissue, and some sort of fleshy tube he didn’t know the name for, then grabbed said tube and pulled what seemed like all of the deer’s organs out at once. They all seemed….attached. That broke through his strange haze enough for him to gag again, watching with morbid horror as she dropped the innards into the snow.

Then, after some consideration, she reached into the mess and severed some pieces loose. “Some organs are good to eat.” She explained, awkwardly, as she set aside what he was pretty sure was a heart. “And they have…nutrients, or something. We probably need that, right now.” She cut out some sort of big pale thing too, and two smaller dark-red things of the same shape and size. “Heart, liver, and kidneys.” She explained, when she saw him staring wordlessly at the items in question, which she’d tucked back into the deer’s body cavity.

He knew, intellectually, about hearts and livers and kidneys, and what they were for, and…in as much as he’d seen medical diagrams, he knew approximately what they looked like. It was decidedly different to see them bloody and freshly-severed and steaming gently in the frigid air. “Oh.” He said, faintly, and helped her turn the deer over to – ostensibly – drain excess blood out into the snow.

After the deer, the rabbits really weren’t that shocking. He watched with distant, morbid curiosity as Rayla pulled the innards out of them one-by-one, piling them in a gory heap with the rest. She set the choicest offal out from those, too. They seemed almost comically tiny compared to the deer’s.

She didn’t take any particular care with butchering the deer. She seemed increasingly impatient as she grew increasingly cold-looking, and just outright hacked slabs of meat off of the carcass, piling them in packed snow. She eyed the legs begrudgingly, admitting eventually “We’ll need to make some sort of spit or stake for those. Getting all of the meat off would take too long, and it’s not like they’ll fit in the pot.”

“And we need to have the pot with the other metal stuff soon, anyway.” Callum said, with a weird calm. She eyed him with plain concern, and then kept shooting worried glances at him all the way through the rest of her butchery. When at last she had a stack of bloody red meat and three clean rabbit corpses, she…apparently decided to use the two halves of the deer’s ribcage and also its skin as carrying baskets, and piled it all in. It sort of overflowed. It was astonishingly macabre. She tied it all together with an extra piece of rope, in a giant parcel of meat, and then ushered him to his feet.

“Come on, you.” She said, a little gruffly. “Time to get you to the fire. You’re looking all…shocky. The warmth will do you good.”

“Uhuh.” He said, faintly, and wished there was a way to warn Ezran about the bloody spectacle of what they were bringing with them.

By some sort of mutual unspoken agreement, he and Rayla contrived to make sure the meat wasn’t visible as they finally turned the corner of the ledge back into shelter, hiding it between them until they could pile it furtively behind all the metallics, where it might not be so terribly visible. This turned out to be a wise decision, because even the couple of deer legs that Rayla brought to the fireside were enough to make Ezran gag with a single glance.

“Sorry, Ez.” Rayla said, apologetically, as she set the meat on a rag beside the fire. Her next priority seemed to be tugging Callum down until he fell clumsily on his backside beside Ezran, whereupon she inspected him for a moment and ordered “You, sit. Warm up. Think happy, non-gory thoughts.”

This apparently got his brother’s attention off of the grisly freshly-skinned and dismembered deer legs, and he turned to blink at Callum with dawning suspicion. “Are you okay?” He demanded. “You don’t feel okay.” He reached out and snatched his hand, his hand which had very recently been covered with rabbit blood, and his face scrunched up. “You’re all shocky.” He said, almost accusatively.

“That’s what I said.” Rayla contributed, from where she had started clattering about in the firewood pile. Ez shot her a frown, possibly for disrupting his lovingly-arranged stack.

“I’m fine, Ez.” Callum said, automatically, finally finding his voice. His brother ignored him entirely, and instead levelled an unimpressed look at Rayla.

“What did you do to him?” He demanded, albeit not with any true ire, fingers still gripping around Callum’s.

Rayla shrugged, looking uncomfortable. After a moment, she retreated from the firewood stack with what seemed like a highly specific selection of items, and said “Accidentally threw him in the meat-preparation deep end. Should’ve let him get used to what raw prepared meat looks like first, I suppose.”

He managed to pick himself up out of his bizarre blankness at that. “’He’ is right here.”

Ez pursed his lips, and glanced up at him. “…I guess it was worse than cut-up goose?” He ventured, and Callum thought blankly of pulling skin and fur off of flesh like a layer of sticky clothing. The disembowelling had been grisly, but somehow…he’d not been expecting skinning to work like that. It had been kind of shocking.

“Yeah.” He agreed, after a moment, and finally gathered the presence of mind to look at Rayla and ask “what are you doing?”

She looked up from where she was poking the tip of her blade into a disc of tree-trunk, right in the middle. “Trying to improvise a cooking spit.” She answered, and twirled the sword around until it had made a hold in the middle of the thick circle of wood. She repeated this process for the other disc, and then started stripping bark off of the branches she’d taken. Callum watched with quiet fascination as she cut the branches’ ends until she had two sticks of roughly similar size, clean of bark and leaves, with a sort of V-shape in wood at their ends.

It took her a fair bit of looking between her constructions and the campfire, and making faces, and grabbing longer branches, but eventually she seemed satisfied. She stuck two branches in the holes in the discs, V-end up, and put one on either side of the fire. The final, longest branch sat tidily between them.

“Won’t be too strong, so we’ll have to cook one thing at a time.” She said, with plain satisfaction. “But it’ll do. And this will taste better than boiling things, too.”

“Huh.” Ez said, having been watching just as avidly as Callum. “Does that mean we should put the pot over by the ledge now?”

Rayla considered it, and shook her head. “We should melt enough snow to fill our waterskins first.” She decided, and so they did precisely that. Callum attempted to help with the snow-gathering, but both of the others heckled him down again, evidently very determined to keep him resting and recovering by the fireside. He sulked, stayed put beside the brightly-glowing egg, and wondered if this was how Rayla felt when they cossetted her too much.

Filling the waterskins didn’t take too long, since Rayla didn’t seem interested in bringing the water to the boil. The snow melted very fast, and before long they were pausing between each delivery of it to pour water messily into the waterskins. This accomplished, the pot was relegated to the confines of the weighed-down tent-pack at the edge of the campsite, and Rayla began the process of trying to spear a deer leg on the spit. After a great deal of muttering and cursing and trying very hard not to break the spit, she managed it, and set it cautiously over the fire.

“We have to be careful with that.” She said, as she leaned back to inspect the arrangement. “It’s wood, after all, so it could catch fire if we let it too close to the flames. But for now, I’m…cautiously optimistic. In an hour or so, we’ll probably have food.”

“Roasting meat for breakfast.” Callum said, wryly. “That’s a new one.”

Her lips quirked, and she shrugged. “Well, we’re going to be living on a protein-only diet for the next however-long, so we only have so many options.” Before he could ask what protein was, she planted herself beside him and patted him hesitantly on the arm. “Thanks for helping.” She told him, and his mind went blank. He looked down at her hand.

“With what?” he wondered, stupidly.

“The meat.” She elaborated. “Didn’t realise how much of a shock it would be for you. So…thanks.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and looked away. “I guess the two of us are pretty sheltered.” He shrugged, uncertain how he felt about being thanked for half-doing a job and then leaving his heavily injured friend to do everything.

“Extremely sheltered.” She corrected dryly, seeming more amused than anything. “But that’s alright. You’re learning.” She patted his arm again, and he found himself weirdly encouraged by that small motion. His chin lifted, cautiously, and he watched her half out of the corners of his eyes as she receded and went to attend to the food.

“We really have learned a lot since we left.” Ezran remarked, observing with interest as Rayla twisted the spit, the meat rotating with it. “It’s kinda cool. I never knew how to make a campfire before. Or put up a tent.”

Or be a field-healer’s assistant, Callum thought to himself, with a touch of gallows humour. “Didn’t know how to talk to dragons with your mind, either.” He said, reaching over to ruffle his brother’s hair. “But look at you now.”

Ez giggled, and spared a glance to the egg. His expression went a little strange, and his eyes rested on the shell for a few heartbeats where he couldn’t seem to look away. “In fairness, it’s kind of harder not to talk to Zym than it is to talk to him.” He said, after a moment, and moved his eyes away with an odd sluggishness. “It’s like my mind is wide-open to him. I don’t think I could block him out if I tried.”

Callum eyed him with interest. Rayla, beside the fire, looked up from her work with an eyebrow raised. “Have you tried?” She asked, and he blinked at her.

“…Well, yeah.” He admitted. “During the night, when I couldn’t sleep, because he was being too awake in my head. Most people and animals I can shut out when I stop touching them, but…”

“But not the extra special baby dragon, huh.” Callum mused, uncertain whether or not to be worried. He should be worried, right? He was definitely worried. His brother rolled his eyes at him, apparently close enough to catch that wisp of concern.

“I’m fine, Callum.” He said, apparently exasperated, and nodded in the direction of their pile of things. “Just sit and draw for a bit or something, and stop worrying.”

“Er.” He said, because he had somehow managed to forget about the existence of his sketchbook. That was not something he had ever realised could happen, and was probably excellent evidence for how muddled all of their various problems had rendered him. His brow furrowed for a second, and then he did shuffle over to retrieve the book. As he leafed through it, even the most recent drawings…it felt weirdly like he’d drawn them months ago, instead of merely days. There was a sense of separation from them that was hard to put into words.

“Something wrong?” Rayla asked idly from over by the fire, and abruptly he realised he’d gone still with a page half-turned, eyes fixed on the drawing of Rayla’s bound hand. He jerked, turning the page away, and breaking from the strange disorientation of looking at objectively recent art.

“…I guess it just feels like I drew all of this a really long time ago.” He admitted, looking down at the sketches of Verdorn. He turned the page onto what he’d been drawing during his watch – the only thing that didn’t feel absurdly distant. The storm. He flipped back again, looking through Verdorn, Rayla’s weapons, Rayla’s hand, the primal stone… “Normally a week doesn’t feel all that long, but…” He shook his head. “Stuff that was just days ago feels like months ago.”

She appeared to consider that for a moment, perusing him from over the fire. “Well, that’s perilous life-changing quests for you.” She said eventually.

“Stress does weird things to people.” Was Ezran’s contribution, which wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Mmhm.” Callum agreed, only half paying attention, as he flipped back further, and further, until all of the drawings were from the time before any of this had started, before he and his brother had fled home with an elf assassin, before he’d ever cast a spell, just – before. He looked over the sketches of Katolis with an extremely strange feeling, half-homesickness and half-regret, twisting around in his belly. He remembered all of these drawings, of course he did, he didn’t put anything in this book that wasn’t carefully thought-out, but…

It felt like they were almost from another world, now. Or another time.

“I remember that cliff.” Rayla said offhandedly, and he blinked to realise that he had the page open at a drawing of the Katolis castle from the forest below, looming far above the treetops upon its rocky perch. He looked between the sketchbook and her, vaguely impressed that she’d managed to both see and identify the drawing from her current viewpoint. Then he processed what she’d actually said.

“What do you mean, ‘I remember that cliff’?” He asked, suspicious, and she shrugged.

“Climbed it.” She claimed, cheerfully nonchalant.

Both he and Ezran turned and stared. “What do you mean, ‘I climbed it’?” Callum demanded, a little strident, looking between her and the drawing which very clearly showed how ridiculously sheer the cliff face was, and how high up the castle was, and-

“I climbed it.” She repeated, with a very small smirk twitching at the edge of her lips. He suspected she was starting to enjoy their reactions to her admitting to particularly impressive deeds. “To break into your castle. Couldn’t exactly go in through the front gate, you know.”

They goggled at her, momentarily flabbergasted. “…Did you stop at the bottom of the castle?” Ezran asked, after a moment, reluctantly fascinated. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they built it so you can’t get around the bottom parts easily?”

“They definitely did.” Callum confirmed, who had been subjected to numerous lessons on the history and facility of Katolis castle over the years.

“Nah, I just climbed the castle, too.” Rayla asserted, and still with that smirk, slunk around the fireside to point her finger to a particular part of the drawing. “All the way up to the battlements.”

Callum stared at her fingertip, hovering over his drawing of the crenelated walls. “….How?” Was all he could ask, stunned yet again by the breadth of her strength and skill.

“With difficulty.” She shrugged again. “And also my hook-blades.”

It took him several moments to speak again. “You mean you chased me through the castle right after you climbed the castle?” A small part of his brain shrieked that’s not even human, and then the rest of him realised, that, well. Yeah, it wasn’t. It very much wasn’t. It was, however, extremely impressive.

His brother blinked. “She chased you through the castle?”

He turned and squinted. “Yeah? Of course – oh, you weren’t there for that part.” He remembered, suddenly. Yeah, that was right – Ezran had been in the secret passages at the time. “Didn’t I say anything about it?”

“Maybe? I’m not sure.”

Rayla rolled her eyes, and leaned back from the sketchbook. “Well, I did take a few minutes to collapse on the battlements breathing heavily first,” She said, dryly. “But yes. Not sure I’d have managed it if it wasn’t so close to Full Moon, honestly.”

“That’s crazy.” Callum said, admiringly. “I’d have fallen off the cliff about ten feet up.”

Her face scrunched up for a second. “Ten feet.” She said, pensive. “That’s not much, right? So I suppose if you fell you probably wouldn’t hurt yourself all that much, at least.” He was blinking at her, contemplating asking about typical elf metric systems, when she tilted her head sideways to peer at his sketchbook and said “Do you have any others of the castle?”

He paused. “Er, yeah, a few.” He said, hesitantly, and…suddenly remembered that he’d offered to show her through the sketchbook, sometime. It was still a little uncomfortably personal, but…maybe not in a bad way? And it seemed as good a time as any…so, after a moment, he cleared his throat and slowly offered “If you want, you could have a look through the whole book?”

She paused, looking momentarily startled, and lifted her eyes to blink at him. “…Well, it’s a good time for it, I suppose.” She said, with a brief glance out at the storm stranding them in place. A small, genuine smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Sounds good.”

He stared at that smile for longer than was strictly necessary, and wasn’t certain why. In the end, a little awkwardly, he cleared his throat, and carefully handed the sketchbook over. “My step-dad gave it to me.” He explained, and her hands faltered for a second as they settled around the thick-bound tome. “When I was pretty small. So the earliest drawings are kind of…not amazing. But…” he shrugged.

“They’re cute.” Ezran claimed, shuffling in closer to Rayla to watch. “I like them. Especially that one of Bait.”

“No, yeah, that one is a masterpiece.” Callum agreed, lips twitching, and watched Rayla stare at the cover of the sketchbook with an odd, pensive expression. He was about to ask her if anything was wrong when she shook her head, a minute motion, and opened the book.

The first pages, predictably, were full of childish scrawl he’d been very proud of at the time. The odd expression on Rayla’s face was almost instantly replaced with a lopsided smile, as if she found the old drawings of Ez and Bait and Mom and Harrow particularly charming. The earliest portrait of Bait was just a grumpy looking circle with eyes, and despite everything, it still perfectly captured the spirit of him. “Looks just like him.” She said, lips twitching, as she inspected it.

“I know, right?” He grinned, and shuffled a little closer so as to see better. Her eyes glanced his way for a quick moment, then returned to the book. She turned the page to an amateurish rendering of Pip.

“I have to say, this is still lots better than anything I can draw.” She commented, and turned the page on again.

Page by page, she flipped through the book, lingering each time to inspect whatever was drawn there. For all that he’d made the offer, it still made him feel somewhat exposed, watching her uncover page after page of his life. It was his personal sketchbook, after all, with years of memories and emotion immortalised within it. He didn’t draw anything in that book that he didn’t put heart and soul into, and that meant it was…well. Important. And personal. Enough so that watching her leaf through it left him feeling strangely timid, as though he were worried she wouldn’t approve.

She commented, here and there, because lots of the pictures were noteworthy and many had an explanation or story behind them that she wasn’t privy to. He quietly identified his mother for her, on the first sketch skilled enough that she was recognisable, and repeated the process for Harrow, and Aunt Amaya, and Gren, and then-

“That’s the girl that attacked us in the castle dungeons.” Rayla said, eyes sharp on a drawing of Claudia. “The dark mage.”

He coughed, abruptly uncomfortable, and as he stared at the face drawn on the page, realised that he hadn’t really thought about Claudia very much recently. “Yeah, that’s Claudia.” He explained, awkwardly, and wondered at the bizarre twist of emotion in his gut. He was guilty for attacking her, and stealing her primal stone, sure…but… “She’s one of the only friends I really had at the castle.”

It was a little strange to think of her. The days since they’d left the castle had been so hectic, and so increasingly stressful, that he’d just…not really had a chance to sit down and wonder how she was doing. Whether she’d got in trouble for losing the egg. Whether she was mad at him or not. He hoped not. He hadn’t really had much of a chance to miss her, maybe, but he did still like her, and it would be a bit of a punch in the gut to have her angry at him. Even if that liking felt vaguer and more distant than he remembered. Like almost everything from before the start of this journey…she felt almost like she belonged to another world, now.

Rayla glanced to the side to inspect his face for a moment, and while her expression didn’t change, her ears twitched down a little. “Hmm.” She offered, noncommittally, and returned to the book.

There was a lot in the book. A lot of stories, and a lot of memories. When she was around half-through, she started to send periodic glances towards the cooking meat, as though to ensure it hadn’t burned while she wasn’t looking. Ezran had helpfully taken it upon himself to twist the spit occasionally while she was looking at the book, but it had to be getting close to done, now. The smell of it was ridiculously appetising, and if it hadn’t been for the distraction of his sketchbook, Callum might have had a hard time focusing on anything else but the hideous hunger twisting in his belly.

Still, it apparently wasn’t done yet, so she returned her attention to the book.

“You’ve got a lot of variety in here.” She commented, after carefully turning the page again, this time onto a lovingly-rendered sketch of Harrow with Pip on his shoulder, offering the bird a treat. It was by far the most detailed and skilled drawing of the man she’d seen yet; one he’d been very proud of. She was far enough into the book now that most of it was at least vaguely approaching his current skill level.

Her expression went strange and a little tight at the sight of it, which…he tried not to dwell on too much. Of course it would be awkward to see a drawing of the King you’d been sent to assassinate, particularly when that King was the father of your newest friends. That was all there was to it.

She swallowed, and turned the page over onto something more innocuous: the capital city of Katolis as seen from atop one of its towers. “…How do you decide what to draw?” She asked, after a moment, eyes lingering on the sprawl of the city. He wondered how much she’d seen of it, before they’d fled the place.

He thought for a second. “I guess I just see stuff and want to draw it, mostly.” He said, honestly. “It can be anything, and I’ll just look at it, and..” He waved to his head, then made a sort of mime of a drawing motion with his hand. “…I start thinking about how I’d draw it. The lines I’d use, the parts I’d shade…that sort of thing.”

“Is that what you’re always spacing out about when you’re walking?” She questioned, dryly, giving the city-drawing one last look before turning the page. This featured a drawing of Fort Viatori, which she must surely recognise from experience. “How you want to draw random rocks and trees you see?”

Callum laughed, a little abashed. “Well. Not only.”

“Sometimes if you look at his hands when he’s daydreaming, you can see his fingers twitching.” Ezran said, helpfully, and they both glanced at him. “Like he’s imagining drawing something. It’s funny.” He put his first two fingers and thumb together as if holding a stick of charcoal, then made a deliberate twitching motion of said fingers. “Like this.”

Rayla snorted, a smile slipping onto her lips, and she glanced at him side-long as if to slot that new detail in with the rest of what she knew about him. He felt his cheeks heat, just a little, and he ducked his head. “Do I really do that?” He asked, nonplussed, and received a very matter-of-fact nod from his brother.

“All the time.” He claimed.

“I’ll keep an eye out, then.” Rayla said, lips twitching, and inspected the drawing of the Fort for a moment of consideration, before she pointed out one section of the far end. “This is where my team climbed up the walls.” Her finger shifted along a path. “We sort of…snuck along the battlements here, and in the shadow of this tower here…and then dropped down along this wall here until we got to the bridge. And then we waited for the guards to challenge someone and slipped across.”

To Callum’s memory, Viatori had been positively bristling with soldiers, easily the most well-guarded and well-defended checkpoint in the kingdom. They checked every trader, every caravan, every traveller…and given their fort occupied the only easy way through the mountains, not to mention a junction with the great Rhodane river, well. That was a lot of people. “That’s…impressive.” He said, at last, because it was. “And no one saw you?”

“Nope. Full Moon’s good for that.” She answered, with a trace of a smile, and turned the page again. She blinked at the drawing on this one; a hand holding a knife, but neither of them typical. The knife was ornamented, and oddly curved, almost a crescent-shape. The hand was elaborately tattooed, with dark intricate designs rendered in careful lines on the charcoal of the dark skin. “…Who’s this?”

He peered closer, although he remembered perfectly well. “Evenerian Priestess of Mercy.” He said, recalling the strange woman, and the fierceness of that knife held beneath the outward calm and solemnity. “I met her at Greatport, coming off the ships. I’d never seen someone with tattoos like that before, so I kind of accidentally stared a bit.”

“I remember that.” Ezran reminisced, smiling. “She asked you what you were staring at.” He paused, and added “I asked to see her knife.”

“Priests of Mercy in Katolis don’t really have the knives so much these days, so I’d never seen one outside of old paintings or history books.” Callum elaborated, looking down at the sharp curve of the blade and the marks on the hand that wielded it. That had been an interesting, and memorable, meeting. “It was interesting.”

“…You have priestesses that carry knives?” Rayla asked, a little dubiously, and in a rush of disorientation that felt oddly like vertigo, Callum realised that…that, well, Rayla probably didn’t know anything about Mercy. Or…or Justice, or Valor, or Fortitude, or any of the Paragons. That was…so weird. “What for? Fighting?” She squinted at the shape of the knife and suggested, cautiously, “Ritual bloodletting?”

He mulled over the revelation for a few seconds, nonplussed, before he answered. A little haltingly, perhaps, freshly aware that he was speaking to someone who didn’t know anything about Mercy. It was weirdly daunting, to be the voice representing the faith of most of an entire race. “Er, I mean, no? Not that I know of, unless there’s some weird Evenerian thing I’ve not heard about, but…no.” He cleared his throat, and considered how to answer. “Well…Mercy is about…uh, mercy, right? The stories say that she carried a knife like that, because…” He hesitated. “Because sometimes there’s only one mercy left to give people.”

He saw the moment she understood, her brow furrowing. “That’s kind of dark.” She said, eventually. “And, what, the priestesses carry them for the same reason?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just ceremonial at this point. No one uses knives for Mercy-killing anymore.” He explained, awkwardly, feeling keenly that he was not representing one of the great Paragons very well.

“It’s some sort of flower now, right?” Ezran mused, a little pensively, as he stared at the page. “I mean, I never paid that much attention to the religion classes, but that’s what Mercy’s always holding in the pictures, isn’t it?”

“The lotus of Evenere?” Callum ventured, thinking. A white lotus held in Mercy’s hands, the clusters of pollen at its centre a deep, bloody red…and there was something familiar about that… “I know the symbolism is all about…peace, and falling asleep, and…” he frowned. “…painlessness.” He groaned, as finally his thoughts clicked into place. “I can’t believe I never realised that.”

“What?” Ezran asked, interested.

Rayla seemed curious too, although a little nonplussed by the topic. “Figure something out?”

“The lotus of Mercy.” He explained, a little distractedly, pulling his bag over to go rummaging through it… “The lotus of Evenere, the marsh kingdom.” He found what he was looking for, and pulled it out: a little bottle full of sanguine fluid: lilium, a drug made from the pollen of a potent and dangerous flower.... “It’s the marsh-lotus. I can’t believe I never made that connection before!”

Rayla stared. “So…what you’re saying…is that I’ve been taking a pain drug that humans use for mercy-killing.” She said, flatly, the fingers of her good hand settling over her opposite wrist.  “That’s…disturbing.”

“…Well, the Healer did say that overdose is dangerous.” Ez pointed out, and despite how lightly he said it, he looked a little disturbed too.

“Mercy from pain.” Callum said, trying not to think about it too hard, and shrugged. “That’s part of her thing. It’s not just for death. But I guess the people in Evenere remember that more than most of us.” He saw Rayla’s eyes glancing curiously at him, and he added “I’ve always heard they lead pretty hard lives there.”

“…Mm.” She said, noncommittally, looking down at the page again. “Well, I guess it was nice of her to show you the knife.” She sounded dubious, even as she tilted her head. “…I didn’t know humans put markings on their skin like that. ‘Tattoos’, you said?”

Callum looked up at her, curious at the implications. “Yeah.” He confirmed, eyes settling with interest on the markings beneath her eyes, which…he’d sort of unthinkingly assumed to be much the same thing. “So…um…” He fidgeted until she looked over at him, expectant, and finally said “Those marks on your face. They’re not tattoos? What are they?”

Rayla blinked, startled, and her fingers rose to one of them out of reflex. “They’re…pigment?” She offered, evidently confused by the question, and side-eyed him strangely.

“Like ink?” He pressed, and saw Ezran was looking interested too.

“Pretty much.” She agreed, looking down at the drawing. “So, what, these…’tattoos’…what are those supposed to be if they’re not pigment?”

“Er. Well. They’re ink too, but…” He hesitated, uncertain on how to proceed. Ezran, evidently, had no such difficulty.

“People put the ink under their skin with needles.” He said, cheerfully, and Rayla recoiled. “The priestess lady said it takes a long time and hurts a lot.”

“That was the day I learned about tattoos, and also the day I decided I didn’t want one.” Callum reflected, and looked at the obvious astonishment on Rayla’s face. “…I’m guessing that’s not how elves do it?”

“No.” She said, stridently, then paused. “Well, I don’t know about all elves. Maybe some of them do it like that. But…” She shook her head, stroking a finger down under her eye. “I got mine painted on with a brush, like a sane person.”

Callum perked up with interest. “And, what, it stays on?” He inspected her markings with a little more scrutiny than he’d dared before. They’d been travelling together for over a week now, and he didn’t think the colour had faded at all… “It doesn’t wash out, or wear off?”

Rayla eyed him, as if uncertain whether he was serious. “…They wear off eventually, but it takes a long time.” She said, finally. “A few months for the lighter colours, but you can get a good six to eight months out of dark pigments like mine. You just touch them up when you need to.”

“Huh.” Callum expressed, fascinated, and stared at her pigment until she started shifting uncomfortably and he realised he should probably maybe avert his eyes now.

“What happens if you mess up when you’re painting it on?” Ezran asked, just as interested. “Do you have to go around for months with like, a squiggle on your face where your hand slipped?”

Rayla snorted, surprised, then snickered. “No, there’s this pigment remover stuff you can use.” She said, lips twitching. “It stinks, though, so no one likes to use it.” She smiled for a few moments, quiet, with a sort of reminiscent cast to her eyes that made Callum think she was recalling something both pleasant and relevant. After a few seconds, a little haltingly, she said “One time when I was little, I snuck a bottle of pigment and a brush and snuck up on…“ She hesitated, then went on. “…on Runaan and Ethari, while they were sleeping, and painted over their faces.” Her smile went a little wider, but…sadder, too. “Ethari sleeps pretty heavily, so he was fine. Runaan, though…” She shook her head. “Woke up right away. I got caught and didn’t even care, I thought it was so funny.”

Runaan…hadn’t that been the assassin on the castle roof? The one who’d pointed the bow at them? The one who Rayla had stayed behind to fight? Callum looked at her, torn between amusement at the story and concern for the almost bittersweet cast to her lips, and wasn’t sure what to say.

Ezran looked at her a little too-thoughtfully as well, and Callum wondered what he was picking up on. In the end though, what he asked was “Did you get in trouble?”

She smiled. “Not much, actually. Runaan thought it was a good enough show of stealth to let me off most of the punishment. Not all of it, though. I was doing extra chores for a week.” Her eyes went distant and wistful, and Callum wondered if, maybe, it would be okay to ask…

In the end, he didn’t have to. She looked back at him, and a flicker of understanding passed across her face as she saw him. She exhaled, very slightly.

“…Runaan and Ethari took me in after my parents left for the Dragonguard.” She explained, after a moment, not looking at them. “They’re…sort of my second set of parents, pretty much.”

Callum shifted, cautious, aware that this was a difficult subject. “…Runaan was that elf back at the castle, wasn’t he?” He guessed, and Rayla’s expression twisted into a light grimace.

“Leader of the mission. Yeah.” She said, quietly. She hesitated, then closed the sketchbook, and held it out to him. “I’ll finish looking through it later.” Her voice was…very normal, but in a somewhat forced way. Like she was having to work at it. “For now, I think our weird breakfast is about done.”

“Oh, um.” His hands closed automatically around the edges of the book as she proffered it. “Yeah, sure. Good?” He tried to inspect her face for any signs of that quiet, sad wistfulness…but she’d replaced it with a carefully neutral expression instead.

Her fingers brushed his as they receded from the book. “Thanks for showing me.” She said, and his eyes flicked up automatically from her hands to her eyes. They were really very purple. He felt a little flustered, and didn’t know why.

“No problem?” He squeaked, and watched her as she flashed him a smile and retreated around the campfire. Ezran looked sideways at him and sighed, but Callum was still somewhat too distracted to ask him about it.

Rayla inspected the meat for a few seconds before, carefully, removing the spit from over the fire. “Might still be kind of bloody in the middle, but it’ll probably taste better that way anyway.” She commented, and for a second, Callum remembered his erroneous impressions of elves as blood-drinkers and giggled to himself. She raised an eyebrow at him, but continued with her business of un-spearing the deer leg from the spit and bracing the end of it atop one of their rags to cut. She sheared off several large chunks of meat with effortless motions of her blade, proving that it was indeed still pretty bloody inside.

Callum might have assumed that being exposed to the animal in its extremely bloody skinned-and-gutted state would have made the sight of it less appealing. It didn’t. He was so overwhelmingly hungry that in that moment it became nigh unbearable, and his eyes seemed fixed on the pile of food in a way that wouldn’t be moved. He could feel the near-instant salivation in his mouth, hear the abrupt and beseeching rumble of his stomach…

Rayla sat down beside him, moving the food over by dragging the edges of the rag, until it was sat on the ground in front of them. She was still holding the leg bone, which retained a fair amount of meat. “Will Bait be able to eat from the bone?” She asked Ezran, with a glance at it. “It’s good eating for any of us, if he can’t.”

Ezran blinked, and turned to the side, where Bait had emerged from the tent-layers at once at the sound of his name. The glow-toad had started glowing very brightly indeed, apparently fully aware that food was imminent. “Well, he’ll give it his best try.” He said, lips twitching, and Rayla obligingly laid the bone out. This, incidentally, was how Callum came by the somewhat disturbing knowledge that glow-toad tongues were a little bit barbed, and entirely capable of stripping meat from bones when applied to the task properly.

Fortunately, there was an extremely absorbing distraction at hand. He stared at the food, not wanting to fling himself at it like some sort of savage, but also entirely aware that this was probably the hungriest he’d ever been in his life.

Apparently entirely aware of his conundrum, Rayla rolled her eyes at him, grabbed a chunk of meat, and leaned back. She gestured expansively at the pile. “Dig in.” She said, and neither of them needed any more prompting whatsoever.

The next ten or so minutes disappeared in a blissful haze of more-than-slightly frenzied eating, which of course they did with their hands, for lack of any actual cutlery or plates or bowls of any kind. Callum was aware of little more than the urgency of eating, of allaying that awful hunger, of the delicious taste of roasted meat still hot enough to sizzle and spit when he bit into it – he ate, and ate, and when he was done he stared at the empty rag with a strange sense of betrayal.

It was, he reflected, probably a good thing they still had so much meat left to cook. And plenty of time to cook it in. Because he was still hungry, somehow, even after gorging himself like a ravenous beast. A little self-consciously, he leaned back and reached for a separate rag to wipe his face and hands with, because the whole affair had been distinctly messy. He eyed it after he was done, wondering if they’d have to try to do more laundry soon. If nothing else, they had a steady supply of bandages getting dirty, and probably a lot of the various rags and socks were getting pretty nasty.

His stomach rumbled, a little plaintively, as if disappointed he’d stopped eating. He made a face, caught between the conflicting sensations of satiation and hunger, feeling paradoxically as if he’d eaten too much and not nearly enough at the same time. He’d eaten too quickly, maybe? But he was definitely still hungry. “I think that was the most satisfying thing I ever ate.” He concluded, after a moment, and Ezran made fervent sounds of agreement over his last remaining mouthful.

Rayla solicited the rag from him with a wordless gesture, and wiped her own face before she spoke. “It gets like that when you’ve not found good food for a while.” She agreed, letting out a small and satisfied sigh. “We’ll want to cook some more soon, though. We should honestly be stuffing ourselves with as much food as we can manage while we’re here.”

Ez swallowed his last bit of food, and thoughtfully, asked “Why?”

She shrugged. “Got to fatten ourselves up.” She claimed, passing over the rag when Ez reached for it. We’ve been on short rations for a while, will probably be on short rations at some other point on this journey, and to top it off…being cold makes you hungrier. So.”

Callum blinked. He hadn’t known that last part, but… “Also, red meat’s supposed to be good when you’ve been injured and bleeding a lot recently.” He added, and her lips twitched.

“That, too.” She agreed, her hand moving momentarily in the direction of her mangled arm. He recalled he hadn’t had a chance to check it yet today, and twitched all-over in discomfort, suppressing the urge to immediately demand a check-up. She inspected the fire and the spit pensively for a few moments, then said “I think I’ll put another leg on. Then I should probably go on another firewood run before the storm gets too close.” Her eyes moved to the side, focused on him. “Think you can handle the cooking while I’m gone?”

“Sure.” He said, automatically, before he’d really thought about it. Fortunately, when he’d actually thought about it, his conclusions weren’t any different. Turning the spit didn’t seem like a particularly intensive task. But… “Er. If the storm’s that close, is it safe to go out?”

“For now, probably. But if I wait, no.” Rayla said succinctly, and stood. “Which is why I should go soon.”

He turned to watch her, which also gave him the right angle to see that Bait was still thoroughly assailing his breakfast. He watched for a few seconds in somewhat horrified fascination, remembering the many, many times he’d let Bait tongue-tether some treat or other from his hand, when it could apparently strip flesh from bone just like that. It was…imposing. “Did you know he could do that?” he asked Ezran, in an undertone, and received a sunny smile in return.

“’Course.” He answered, shrugging. “He prefers it when he can eat stuff that’s small enough to just swallow, since he can’t chew anything, but…” ‘But’, evidently, it was far from a necessity.

There was a sudden brightening of the storm out side the cave, all at once, in a very evident lightning-flash. What felt like barely a second or two later, the thunder rumbled its softened edges across the sky. Rayla looked at it and grimaced, then hurried for their food pile. She piked the second venison leg without ceremony, handing it to Callum to deal with, and set about pulling up her scarf and pulling down her hat with an impatience that heralded her swift departure.

“I’d best be going soon.” She said to them, picking up her rope harness and one blade. “That lightning was too close.”

Ezran made a sound of glum agreement, and glanced back at the egg still sat beside the fire. “I can almost actually tell when there’s about to be lightning, now.” He said, eyes still fixed on the glowing eggshell. “Zym gets this…anticipation, right before?”

Rayla visibly considered that for a second, while Callum tried to come to terms with yet another facet of the growing trend of his brother’s dragon-connected empathy deal. “…Well, that would probably be super handy if we were travelling through the storm.” She said, dryly. “As it is…not so much.”

“…Well, we’ve probably got plenty of weeks ahead of us to get caught in another storm.” Callum commented, sounding a fair bit more fatalistic to his own ears than he was used to. “So.”

She sighed, a light grimace passing around what little remained visible of her face. “You’re not wrong.” She admitted, hefting the rope harness into place. She glanced towards the ledge, and squared her shoulders. “Well, that’s enough lollygagging. I don’t want to spend any more time out there than I have to. I’m off.”

Callum’s gut clenched. She might have already been out several times this morning, but… “Come back soon” was all he said in the end, with an anxious glance out into the storm. The winds were awfully, viciously strong now, and the snow…

She glanced his way, and if there was anything to be read from her expression, the scarf had covered it. “That is the objective.” She said, dryly, and waved in brief farewell as she departed along the ledge again.

Ezran patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry. She’s just gonna hack up a tree and then come back. She won’t be long.”

He made a vague hum of agreement, and when he finally managed to tear his eyes from the ledge, shuffled over to the cooking spit to supervise it with single-minded intensity. Maybe, if he focused enough on that, he could avoid worrying so much.

It didn’t quite work. But it worked enough that it took him a good ten minutes to notice that Ezran had picked up Zym’s egg, only turning to see when he noticed the rhythmic ebb and flow of the blue light over the stone floor. He found his brother sat quietly with the dragon egg in his lap, eyes closed, fingers splayed over the shell. He was entirely still and silent but for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, in time with the cyclical shine of the egg. A shiver of unease prickled at Callum’s skin at the sight of that stillness.

“You okay there, Ez?” He prompted, after a moment, and suppressed another curl of anxiety at the strangely sluggish way his brother opened his eyes.

“…Fine.” He said, after a moment, but his voice was strange. Callum sat up straighter, and looked at his brother more sharply.

He’d been fine ten minutes ago, talking with Callum and Rayla. He’d been fine for a while before that, too. But this? Did not seem ‘fine’. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to be holding the egg like that right now?” He asked, and watched Ezran’s brow furrow uncomprehendingly. “With the storm….maybe it’s a little too much dragon-empathy-magic.”

Ezran blinked, very slowly, and looked down at the egg with a strangely sluggish motion. He looked almost as if he were moving through water instead of air. “…What, you’re worried I’m gonna overdo it on my weird empathy powers?” He asked, and…while it should have sounded joking, it didn’t. There was a distance to his tone and expression that was profoundly unsettling.

“Honestly? Yeah, kinda.” Callum admitted, and abandoned the spit to shuffle closer, reaching out to turn his brother’s chin up. He inspected his face. Was it just his imagination, or did the colour of his eyes seem brighter somehow? “It’s not like you’ve been empathy-connected to a baby storm dragon in the middle of a storm before, you know. And you weren’t acting like this before you picked the egg up.”

“Acting like what?” Ezran wondered, voice still far-away and distant, his eyes staring in the direction of Callum without quite focusing on him.

He suppressed the urge to snatch the egg away. “Like you’re sleepwalking.” He said, tightly, more and more concerned by the second. Mercy, but he’d been talking and reacting completely normally just ten minutes ago, and now… “Like you’re not even really here. Ez, please – give me the egg, or put it down, or something. I don’t think you should be touching it right now.”

His brother looked slowly down at the gleaming eggshell again. “I can still feel him when I’m not touching him.” He pointed out, vaguely.

“Maybe. But you keep saying how your empathy deal always works better when you’re touching things.” He held out his hands. “Please, Ezran.”

His brother watched the egg, brow furrowed, as if he were having trouble thinking his way through what Callum had said. Then, eventually, in a hesitant and halting motion, he drew his hands back from the shell. It seemed to be an effort. “…Take it, if you like.” He said, still distant, and Callum only hesitated a second.

He’d not exactly had much contact with the egg. But his sudden urgent desire to get the thing away from his brother easily superseded any hesitance he’d have had on the matter. He closed his hands around the sides of the eggshell, skin tingling with static as he took it. He hefted it up and carefully away, watching his brother all the while.

It wasn’t a pronounced shift. But it was noticeable, even so, how a touch of lucidity returned to Ezran’s eyes. “Oh.” He said, softly, blinking a few times in a bleary sort of way, as if he were waking up. “That…does feel different. I…didn’t realise.”

Callum held the egg carefully close, tense with anxiety. “I think,” He said, slowly, “you shouldn’t hold him unless you have to, until the storm’s gone.”

Ez opened his mouth as if to object, then hesitated. He looked at the egg, brow furrowed, and his shoulders slumped. “…Yeah, maybe.” He admitted, and Callum thought it was starting to dawn on him, how unsettling it was for him to have…gone blank, like that. “I…maybe that’s why I had so much trouble sleeping. Because I was holding him? So it made the connection so strong…” He raised his hands and rubbed them slowly over his face. “I feel so weird. Like my head is full of wool.”

“Someone else can hold him tonight.” Callum said firmly, fingers feeling a little jittery on the eggshell. “And for now we can put him next to the fire, or something, so he’s still warm. And you can just…absolutely not touch him until the weird storm-magic-overflow thing isn’t a problem anymore.” He forced his breath to stay even, and closed his eyes for a second, just a second, to try to grasp at calm. This was far too much anxiety for a single morning.

Ezran hesitated for a long moment, looking at the egg. His fingers twitched towards it, and then he pulled his hands forcefully down to his sides. “…Yeah. Okay.” He said, and his voice was very quiet.

So Callum made a little nest out of rumpled clothing a short distance from the fire, and carefully set the egg there. All the while Ezran watched and shuffled and became a little more fidgety with every minute of lucidity. When they returned cautiously to just watching the cooking meat, and twisting the spit occasionally, Callum couldn’t help but notice how often Ezran’s eyes returned to the egg. It was like he couldn’t look away. Like he was drawn to it, again and again and again, even with that distance imposed between them.

He didn’t need to point it out to him. Ezran seemed perfectly aware of it, forcing his eyes away every time as though it were a physical effort. His shoulders hunched with discomfort, and he huddled beside Callum with Bait held tightly in his arms. By the time Rayla returned, it was to a spectacle of uneasy silence, with the egg exiled to the other side of the fire and both Callum and Ezran so obviously tense that she stopped short to stare at them when she stepped past the ledge.

“Okay, what’s happened now?” She demanded, with some asperity, stalking forwards and shrugging off her latest haul of wood. It made a noisome clatter on the stone floor, and both of them flinched. “I was only gone for twenty minutes.”

Callum exchanged an unhappy glance with his brother. Eventually, Ez spoke. “…Turns out Zym is kind of messing with my head more than I thought.” He admitted, unhappily. “I just…picked him up, and then Callum noticed I’d gone all weird, and I didn’t even notice how much I couldn’t think until I put him down again, and-“ He shook his head, frustrated and anxious at once. “-and it’s. I don’t know. Weird.”

Rayla looked between them, brow furrowing, and crept over to kneel beside them. “You alright, Ez?” She asked, inspecting him seriously. She reached out and lifted his chin to look at him, just like Callum had earlier, and there was something almost comical about that. In a sort of horrible way.

Ez hesitated, looking up at her with such an expression of open vulnerability that Callum instantly wanted to pull him close and smother him in hugs until he felt better. He couldn’t stand it. “Mostly.” He said, in a small voice. “But – we’re still connected, even if we’re not touching, and I just – it’s really – I don’t know.” He sounded miserable. “I keep thinking that I want to pick him up, or go over to him, and he’s still in my head, and I dunno what to think…”

She watched him, quiet, then said “It’s the storm, right? Making it like this. This wasn’t happening before.”

“I – yeah. I guess.” Ezran looked over at the shining dragon egg again and flinched. “He’s just – it – it feels like he’s absorbing it? The storm-magic. It’s all around us and he’s…taking it in, but I’m connected to him so…”

“…It’s spilling over, maybe?” Callum ventured, setting a steadying arm around his brother’s middle. Ez shivered, and then pressed closer into his side.

“Kinda.” He agreed. “And then I guess…I don’t know. I think it’s the magic that’s letting me feel so far out like this. I could never feel anything I wasn’t touching, before, but now…” he shook his head. “It’s so much. And Zym – he’s feeling the magic and the storm so much and I can’t-“ he broke off, frustrated, and fell silent.

Rayla’s hand receded, and she stared at him quietly for a few short moments. “I didn’t know if I was imagining it, before.” She said, after a pause. “But I’m pretty sure now. Your eyes are too bright, Ez. More than human-normal.”

Ez blinked, startled out of his anxiety, and his brow furrowed. “They are?” He questioned, baffled.

Callum shifted uneasily. “I noticed that too.” He said, turning to Rayla. “What does that even mean?”

She shrugged minutely, and leaned back. “No idea.” She admitted. “My eyes glow when it’s dark, but that’s just a Moonshadow elf thing. I think – I’ve heard other elves’ eyes glow when they’re in their primal magic states, or when there’s a lot of magic around, but…”

Ezran stilled, shoulders hunching inwards. “This is weird.” He said, in a very small voice. “And kind of scary.”

Callum’s arm tightened around him. He’d try to appear less worried, but considering he was currently in close contact with his empath brother, that was probably a lost cause.

Rayla reached out and laid a hand on Ezran’s shoulder, trying for a reassuring smile. “If it’s the storm making it like this, it should get better soon.” She said, voice gentle. “The storm’s almost as close as it’s going to get. In an hour or so, it’ll start heading past us.”

He shivered. “Yeah.” His voice was quiet. “I know. The middle of it is sort of…” He nodded in a specific direction. “That way. And moving that way.” He jerked his chin to the side, as if to indicate the travel path of the storm.

“We’re not going to be quite in the middle of it.” She agreed. “Probably a good thing, considering.”

“Yeah.” Ezran turned and pressed his face into Callum’s shoulder, and said nothing more.

Callum pulled him close and sat there quietly, heart aching with worry, and hurting from the force of the protectiveness he had no way to act on. He wanted to do something – to protect Ezran from this, somehow. But what was there to be done, except wait?

Ezran stayed curled into his side, Bait half-squashed in his lap, as Rayla quietly went about stacking the wood and turning the spit. Callum felt it when Ez flinched, at nothing he could identify – and then, the very next second, lightning burned the sky white. The thunder followed, accompanied by searing blue light quivering over the camp from the intensity of the egg’s glow.

“Close,” Rayla noted, looking at the sky. Her brows were furrowed. “I got back just in time, I think. That was less than a kilometre away.”

“I can tell.” Ezran muttered, the words muffled by the fur of Callum’s cloak. Rayla still seemed to hear it well enough, though, and glanced his way with a light frown.

After a moment of hesitation, she came over and knelt beside them, resting a careful hand on Ezran’s shoulder. When he lifted his face up to peer out at her, her face was…gentle. Warm, and plainly caring, and Callum throat went half-choked with gratitude and gladness to see it. He was just so thankful that she was here, that she cared about Ezran too, that she was helping… “The next batch of food’s about ready,” She told his brother, offering him a small smile. “Might do you some good, to eat a little more.”

Ezran exhaled, the slow sound of it more than close enough for Callum to hear, even despite the whistle and shriek of the winds at such close remove. “…I guess I am still pretty hungry.” He admitted, and slowly peeled himself from Callum’s side, sitting up and unfurling from the tight ball-shape he’d squashed himself into.

Their second meal of the day was a good sight less enthusiastic than the first. Rayla sliced the meat off the bone and passed it around, and they ate, but it was in a subdued silence. Even Bait wasn’t as enthusiastic as usual, sticking close by Ezran’s feet and picking half-heartedly at his portion. Callum found himself shooting worried looks at his brother what felt like every minute, and all the more once the storm and its lightning drew perilously near.

The first time lightning flashed, perfectly in time with the thunder, Ezran paled and dropped his food, eyes moving unwillingly to the near-blinding light of the egg. The second time, he started trembling, and couldn’t seem to stop, his arm shaking as he lifted his meal piece-by-piece to his mouth. The third time, he seemed to give up on the meal entirely, pushing it away and shuffling back to curl into Callum’s side. “Sorry.” He whispered, huddling into a tiny and miserable-looking shape beside him. “I don’t think I can eat any more, right now.” Bait, beside him, looked up and croaked worriedly.

Callum swallowed, then set his own food aside to turn and pull him into his chest. “That’s okay, Ez.” He murmured, arms tightening around his brother’s back. “You just…rest. Until the storm passes a little.” His heart thudded heavy and sick with worry, and he shared a helpless look with Rayla over Ezran’s head.

After a moment, Rayla abandoned her meal as well, shifting around the campfire until she was beside them. “Anything we can do to help?” She asked, quietly.

Ez shifted in Callum’s arms. “’ready doing it.” He mumbled, indistinct, but lifted his head just enough to peer out at her with half an eye. “…I can’t block him out.” He explained, haltingly, and the half-visible shine of his pale blue eye blinked. “But – it kind of helps. To have you guys in my head, too. I’m trying to…” He struggled for the right words. “…distract myself? I guess.”

Callum considered it, fingers tightening at his brother’s back. So…if he couldn’t shut off the too-intense draconian input, he could at least try to focus on whatever he got from them, instead? “…Rayla?” He asked, a moment later, looking at her with open entreaty. Thankfully, she didn’t hesitate, and moved over at once to settle herself at Ezran’s side.

She extended a hand, and slowly, Ez reached out to take it. He shivered, and his visible eye slipped closed. “…Thanks.” He mumbled, still muffled in Callum’s clothing, and tugged her by the fingers until she was flush by their sides, all of them braced together in the middle of the storm. The wind howled outside their meagre shelter, eddies of it pulling at their hair, and the only thing louder was the thunder.

It wasn’t the most intense thunderstorm Callum had ever seen, maybe. That honour went to a storm that had woken him up in the night a couple of years back, lightning shrieking through the sky almost every other second for what had seemed like an hour straight. Here, the lightning only seemed to flash once every minute or so…but it was more than bad enough, what with how Ezran shuddered in his arms each and every time it happened, and the light of the Dragon Prince flared blue enough to colour the entire cave. He didn’t know how long they sat there, how long Ezran trembled, before-

Light flared – and, even muffled by the snow-clouds, the crash of the thunder was so loud it hurt, a sound almost as potent as an explosion, right above them-

“That was close,” Rayla uttered, in the ringing, howling strangeness of the moment after the thunderclap, where nothing sounded quite right- “That was too close, I think that was-“

Ezran stiffened, abruptly, and cast a wild-eyed stare over to the egg, face pale and washed-out in the blue, and- “Guys,” he said, with a note of rising panic in his voice, “It’s gonna – I think – get back!”

There was a second of frantic scrambling, a second of confusion, a second of following the frantic movements of his brother-

Then the world went white with light and noise.

Callum didn’t quite see it directly. But the searing white of the lightning, the detonation of sound – there could be no missing it. The smell of ozone was thick and stinking in the air, his ears were ringing and hurting, and he fell over into a tangle of limbs and scrambling bodies, half-insensate with shock-

When the world finally resolved enough for him to find sense in it again, it was too bright. Lightning had speared through the mountain, through their shelter of earth and stone, and hit the egg straight-on, and the shine of it-

In the seconds following that great shock of light and noise, the silence rang with a strange droning, like all the winds of the storm had collapsed their voices into a single awful note. Callum stared ahead, stunned wordless, at the incandescent spectacle of the dragon egg, shining in a thousand blinding blues, so bright that it hurt to look at it. He couldn’t think what to say. He could barely do anything more than scramble up onto his hands from where he’d fallen, and stare.

“He’s a lightning-rod.” Rayla said, shocked, into that painful silence. “A lightning-rod. We’re in the middle of a storm and he’s a lightning-rod-“

It was then, slowly, that Callum noticed Ezran. He’d fallen back too, was pushing himself up just the same, but…

Something was wrong. Something was worse, worse than before, worse than the quiet and trembling, worse than the fear-

“Ez?” He asked, tentative, and Rayla’s words cut off. She whirled around to follow his gaze, following it to Ezran, who was staring at the egg, whose distress was alive on his too-pale face. He was shaking terribly, skin pasty and washed queerly blue in the shining light, and his breath was coming in short, awful gasps.

He didn’t answer. Instead, slowly, he curled up, knees to his chest, hands clamping up over his ears as though they could block out whatever he was feeling. His gaze ebbed into something distant and senseless, as though all the thoughts were going blank behind his eyes.

“Ezran.” he said again, more sharply, throat going tight with anxiety as he scrambled over to his brother, fixing a hand on his shoulder. He shook him, but Ez just…moved with the motion, limp, like a ragdoll. He didn’t even look at him. “Ez, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, slowly, as if he had to force it, Ezran looked away from the egg. He looked away from the egg, and towards Callum, and – Callum flinched, because- “He wants to hatch,” Ezran whispered, face too pale, eyes too bright-

It was on some strange reflex, but he instantly moved, situating himself between the egg and his brother, taking him by both shoulders this time. Bizarrely, it seemed to help, and a little coherence returned to his brother’s too-bright eyes.

“He wants to hatch,” Ezran repeated, face crumpling, half-way between pain and desperation-

He started crying before the next words even passed his lips-

“But he can’t.”

 ---

End chapter.

  Notes:

So actually I wrote the vast majority of this in the two weeks after posting ch17, after which my spoons vacated my body with a vengeance and didn’t start to return until late last week. I’ve been making quota with like, editing, and worldbuilding, for half the month. Low inspiration is so much easier to work through than low spoons, my god.

Also I made a last minute decision to move a second Cairon and Sarli scene from the end of this chapter to next chapter, for pacing and tension build reasons. It made the chapter 2k shorter, which I’m pleased about.

 Worldbuilding:

 Ictusian code

Rayla makes mention of something called ‘ictus’ this chapter. This is to be elaborated on in the next chapter or two. I wonder if any of you can guess what it is.

 Skinning animals

It is indeed possible to skin animals by basically making a few cuts and pulling the skin off. It can be done before the animal is gutted, and is often preferred when you want an intact pelt out of the animal. In the absence of proper skinning knives and tools, it’s also probably the easiest method open to the kids. The rabbit skins could have been used later – but fleshing and tanning the skin on the pelts is decidedly beyond what the kids could manage on the move. The best they could do is to make sure the pelts stayed frozen solid until they had a chance to process them, which none of them reasonably expects would happen any time soon, so alas. Wasted fur.

 Callum’s sketchbook

If future canon shows us any significant old sketches in the book that I feel warrant mention, I might edit the relevant part of this chapter to include them. Examples from the actual book ‘Callum’s Sketchbook’ not included, because while that thing is full of cute character fluff and some fun context, I can in no way imagine it being a genuine in-universe thing.

On that note: I still don’t have access to a copy of the s1 novelisation, but you can guarantee that I’ll include some new canon details and dismiss others. For instance, I’m absolutely going to rename the Great Bay the Weeping Bay at some point, but I have no intention of making my elves vegetarian.

 Glow toads

I didn’t plan the whole barbed-tongue thing, it just sort of happened, so I figure I’m just gonna roll with it. Honestly making Bait’s biology a bit weirder is probably the only way I could actually develop interest in him, so why not.

 Some notes on strength

Callum thinks of Rayla’s past demonstrations of strength as ‘inhuman’ in this chapter. I’d like to note that well-trained and well-prepared humans are fully capable of climbing a sheer cliff and sheer walls, but like. Without the right equipment, that shit is downright exceptional, and far from human norms. It’s not something Callum expects from members of his species.

 Zym as a lightningrod

Azymondias is canonically a more potent lightningrod than an actual lightningrod, and I’ve applied that property to his egg too. This was foreshadowed earlier in the story when Callum casts lightning-magic and the egg seems to attract it. Chapter 5, maybe? Something like that.

 Dragon hatching conditions

Dragons as I’ve worldbuilt them have somewhat differing hatching requirements depending on whether they’re a lesser dragon (aka wyvern) or an archdragon. Lesser dragons have a hatching condition, such as Sky dragons needing the eye of a storm to hatch. Archdragons have this hatching condition, but also a magical activation threshold that they need to reach before they can be born; basically, they need to absorb a lot of magic before they’re ready to hatch. They’re born already obscenely magically powerful, whereas their lesser relatives are born quite weak, and only become terrifying forces of primal might as they mature.

Azymondias has been exposed to a great deal of Sky magic already from his years in his parents’ care, and wasn’t all that far from his activation threshold. Being in the middle of this storm, and then getting hit by lightning a couple of times, was plenty enough to bring him to that edge. He is now technically ready to hatch…but he still needs his specific hatching condition met, i.e. a storm’s eye-structure. If he doesn’t have that, he’s shit out of luck.

[magicalsalamander]

Gold Embers Touch the Blue Veil

⟳ Pairing: BTS Jin  ⇆ Reader

⟳ Genre: Avatar: TLAB| Fire Bender Jin | Water Bender | Fluff | Angst | Smut | Military | e2l

⟳ Summary: Your grandparents were refugees of the Southern Water Tribe after the start of the 100 year war. Lost without a home your family blended in at the Fire Nation’s Capital forgetting the ways of being a water bender. For generations, your family blended, but that was until you. You broke every single rule. Seokjin, the son of a General in the Fire Nation Army, was royal by military status. He always knew something was off about you, he could sense it in his chi. What happens when he sees something he’s not supposed to? 

⟳ Words:19.5k

⟳ Warnings: Rated Mature; Explicit themes, action/ violence, bullying, sexual content, temperature play, unprotected sex, vanilla but with light dom/sub themes. 

⟳ A/N: Orig post date:18 08 ‘19 | This story occurs in the Avatar’s storyline, but not very inaccurate depiction and can veer off the main storyline. Main characters mentioned. Header art permission granted by the artist, Tiana; Cr: insta: Tiana.artist & art found here. Check her out guys, she’s amazing and a wonderful human being!

✸ | Masterlist | Moodboard |

Twisting your hand counterclockwise in an abstract circle you tried pulling at the invisible forces that don't run through your veins. With your head propped on your other hand, you stared out the windows at the blue sky. Blue washed a certain calmness over your skin. You knew it would never work; you would never strike a match with your fingertips. You were stupidly lucky that one time you ran your hands under hot water and was able to fool your teacher that you performed hot hands. After that, your tricks ran thin, and they were convinced you were just a stunted bender.

Your chi didn’t burn, and never would. It just wasn’t in your nature.

Whistling through the air, a harsh cracking sound rung in your ears before you registered what had happened. You straightened up as a bamboo stick was pointed directly between your eyes making you go crossed eyed. The unlit candle rolled off your desk as a result. Your teacher’s face was a fiery red, almost as deep as their robes. “How hard can it be? Really, how hard can it be to light a candle?” He yelled, frustrated that you were straggling far behind. Your class turned around observing with a smirk, holding a hand over their mouth as they snickered under their breath.

He smacked your desk once again causing you to jolt in your seat. But with cat-buns like reflexes that time, you snatched your hands back afraid of getting smacked. You knew the pain well and didn’t want to be reminded of it today.

“Go run laps.” He tapped your desk a few times for emphasis.

Politely, as you were taught, you stood from your desk with your head down and bowed properly. You left the classroom hearing snickering come from the class. You kept your face neutral, posture fluid as you followed instructions. It quiets down as you came out into the empty hallway. You breathe a sigh of relief. As long as you could have alone for a moment.

You stepped out into the courtyard of concrete into the blaring sun. Fourth year's, much less seven-year old's, were never to be left alone, but you were sure they didn't care about you. The troublemaker was always left to wander alone. You lifted your head towards the sky for some blue but instead, your eyes caught the grand statue. Trailing from the base up until you tilted your head back to stare at the face of Fire Lord Ozai blocking the blue. Scrunching your face up at him, your head shot down in silent protest. With a deep breath, you began a light jog. If they wanted you to run, you'd do it. You had to listen.

Your professor stood with his arms crossed at the window watching you run. He sneered, “If she doesn’t learn soon, she may have to go to reform school.”

The boy sitting next to the window blinked as he turned to look out the window. Your figure bounced as you ran around the courtyard. His candle flickered with interest.

The professor stepped away from the window tapping his hand with the stick, “Alright class, let’s try—.” The voice dimmed in the boy’s ears as he could only focus on you running around the courtyard.

Peculiar.

Years and years of practice, you were never able to produce a spark. It never came to a disappointment to you though. You never wanted to produce a spark. It wasn’t in your nature. It wasn’t who you were. It wasn’t in your roots, at least that’s what your father whispered to you when your mother couldn’t hear. After hours the true learning began with your personal teacher. You spent your days under the sun, but at night, when the moon was high in the night sky, your hands were cool. But while the sun was out you had to keep proving the impossible to keep your head above water.

Orange amongst red, complimentary to your true color. You kept a zipped mouth, tight and closed, to protect your roots.

Under the hot sun, you were all out in the courtyard, well you were the last one still out. Your professor was turning burgundy from yelling constantly at you as you maneuvered graciously matching his poses. "NO!" Taking a deep breath, "You're too loose, be more rigid in your pose! You can't fire bend when you're not touch in your core!"

Gliding your foot over the concrete the gruff sound followed the motion as you punched the air as you twisted. You grunted out, sweat pouring down your face when out of your fist not even a wisp of smoke followed the motion. You remained in place huffing as more commands filled your ears, "AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!"

The sun was too hot, too cruel. You hated daylight.

The rest of the class had already finished their lesson and you were the last as always. Your professor was being stubborn. He knew this was beyond your capabilities, but discipline ran deep in the Fire Nation’s teachings. Fire would come if you found the passion or so he insisted.

The boy, Jin, sat under the shade cast by the shadow of Ozai. The other students were taking an early recess, but he found himself fascinated again. His friends tried to provoke him to join them in a game of fireball, but he waved them off much to their disappointment. He was the best player.

He watched you closely, finding himself fascinated by your movements. They were so strange, so foreign. No matter how many times the professor tried teaching you, you were still too lax and smooth. You didn't put any force behind your punches, a matter of fact, your moves were pathetic for a fire bender.

Panting and heaving for air, you wiped at your sweaty forehead. His eyes flickered observing every motion trying to pick you apart. What was wrong with you?

Elbows resting on his knees, hands crossed like a bridge that he rested his chin on his eyes followed each scuff and weak and delayed movements. Your eyes were on the defense when you should be moving in the offense. His eyes widened as you raised your hand to wipe at the sweat on your forehead. Slowly sitting up he watched the water suspend around your digits for a second as if it floated around your hand before you wiped it off on your training clothes. You continued to move defensively following the commanded motions. His mind was still stuck. Did he see what he just saw or was he imagining it? He was brought out of his stupor when you collapsed to the ground, hunched over on your knees, hair wet from sweat.

The professor shook his head as he walked right past you with his hands behind his back, “You’re never going to be a fire bender.”

The rest of the class followed the professor back inside when he announced, “Lesson over.” The class filtered by you giggling or snickering following the professor back inside.

In the middle of the courtyard heaving on your knees, you couldn't lift your head. Sweat trailed down your nose and dripped off the tip of your nose in a thick drop. It hit the floor and instantly became steam. You failed. You tried, but no matter how much you tried to put force into the motion it wasn't natural to your body. Physically your body rejected the poses.

You heard shuffling when the ringing in your ears dulled. The person steps grew louder and they stopped right next to you. It was silent. You were waiting for a scoff, to be shoved, something…but it never came. They started walking, following the rest of the class. In a moment of weakness, you raised your head, shifting into a kneeling position as you caught sight of who was standing next to you. You huffed for air as you watched the back of a boy with blond hair. You watched him disappeared behind the walls of the campus.

Groaning you picked yourself off the floor and followed the rest in.

It was subtle at first.

Involuntarily, you found out his name as you heard the other kids call him. Jin, Seokjin of the infamous Kim family, who only bear sons of war. The most popular student. It was hard to miss really, everyone liked him, he was always the center of attention, but clearly—you had. You only began to notice all that because the blonde boy, the top bender in the class, began to orbit around you in subtle ways. You’d feel the intense stare directed at you from him and when you’d respond he’d hold it with you. Cockily he’d raise a brow at you challenging the return. You’d look away every time, but you’d still feel his eyes on you. You didn’t trust him. What would the best fire bender want with you?

After months of this odd silent dance you were doing around one another, passing in the hallway, he finally spoke to you for the first time. It was empty, you remember it vividly, it was only you two. You crossed each other and just as he was slightly past, he spoke, "Red doesn't suit you."

He met your scrunched gaze over his shoulder as you twisted around. There was a moment of tension, it was hard to decipher his neutral expression. Yet, in ways, that spoke louder than anything. You relaxed instead of spitting at him like you wanted to, you huffed away. Your father taught you patience and silence was often stronger than words. Yet, the first words he spoke to you were so spiteful. You were right about him. You couldn’t trust him. You didn’t want to get close to him. You didn’t want to get close to anyone.

Jin watched as you tucked your books closer to your chest and began a light jog away from him. He shoved his hands in his pocket and watched as you rounded the corner. The corner of his mouth lifted.

He thought, “Peculiar.”

Your interactions didn’t end there as much as you’d hope.

He'd purposely walked by your desk going to his, even though it was columns and rows away. Your water skin was on your desk and in passing he pressed his hand on it "accidentally", causing water to spill all over your desk. You gasped and got up yelling his name, he watched your hands carefully. Your eyes shifted from his to everyone’s as the people near you laughed. Instead of giving them what they wanted, quietly you began wiping it up.

His anticipating face fell when he realized what he had done. He whispered an apology, but it didn’t cross your ears. When you didn’t answer him, he shoved his hands into his pants and walked away.

You looked over your shoulder and watched his back as he sat in his chair. The squeals from the hoard of girls that admired him followed as he moved through the isles.  His friends surrounded him as he picked up a conversation with them naturally. You scowled; he was such a jerk to you. He seemed to have this vendetta against you. You squeezed the wet handkerchief in your hand holding your anger in. You couldn't. You couldn't do anything. You had to keep it in, keep it hidden.

Laughing half-heartedly at a joke he stared through the bodies that surrounded him towards you. He stared at the hand that squeezed your handkerchief. A smack on his shoulder brought him out of it as he pretended to laugh and rejoined the conversation.

Maybe he was wrong after all.

Walking home late, unsure of what time it was, but he was tired and exhausted from late-night practice in his family's temple. Being a son of a General was exhausting, especially being the second son and his older brother already serves the Nation. Generations could be traced back, all the way to the first Kim, all of them were known to wear the heavy red and black armor. The gold emblems were present for each tier. His parents, father especially, were expecting him to become a leader in the Fire Nation's Army, to follow in his father's footsteps as his brother had.

Slowly walking back home late at night, he purposefully took the long way home going through the city. Royal Caldera City was always boring for him. It was strict, but the city surrounding the main walls had a life bustling about it. The streets were crowded with people of all sorts. A sea of red, orange and yellow. Street vendors, restaurants, and colorful dance orientations were parading through the main street. Taking in the festivities it clicked, he had forgotten, today was the Fire Lord's birthday. He would be coming home to a scolding for missing the important dinner held at his grandparents' home. He ran a hand through his sweaty, white locks that had fallen out of his top knot as he thought of all the excuses he could come up with to appease his mother. Sighing heavily, he knew none of them could be good enough.

Through his peripheral bright flowing fabric caught his eye as people gathered around a street performance. Bodies were dancing in a flowing manner, for the first time seeing anything other than red for a long time. People were dressed in yellow, green and blue robes as they all danced around a central red figure. The masked dancers danced powerfully in a choreographed fight. The central figure with the biggest stick pranced around slicing through the yellow dancers and they fell to the floor with a dramatic spin. The green dancers stomped their feet, howling and chanting, but were ultimately slain by the red figure. The blue figured dancer stood as the last contender, just a single blue-robed dancer. The red and blue dancer twirled around one another; arms locked in a cross as they stared at each other intently. They pushed from one another and began clashing in a flow of fabric.

It was beautiful in Jin’s eyes, the mixture of blue and red almost blurring to a deep purple. He internally soared watching the red gain the upper hand. The dancers stood face to face in a final gesture. The red performer lunged his staff through the gap between the arm and waist of the blue dancer. The blue performer fell to their knee holding the “sword”. With a dramatic final breath, the blue performer held their hand out as if it was coated in blood and collapsed to the floor. The crowd roared in a cheer, chanting the name of the fire lord.

Jin’s smile stretched from ear to ear shouting the name of the Fire Lord alongside everyone. The red performer was the only one that took a bow amongst the lifeless. As the red performer bowed, he noticed someone across the circle. You were standing directly across from him. Your eyes were watering as you stared at the actor’s lifeless bodies as they laid on the floor. You began backing away, pushing through the crowd to run away.

His feet began moving before his mind had registered what he was doing. A drizzle began trickling cutting the summer heat, he didn't mind nor noticed. He was already a sweaty mess and was focused on following your figure. "Y/n!" He called out your name, but it was drowned out by the hissing and complaints from the crowd.

You picked up your pace, slithering through the heavy crowds. The rain began picking up into a cold downpour. People were shouting trying to move to a dryer place. The paper decorations slumped, lanterns extinguished, and the festivities stopped. He shoved past through bodies until he noticed your figure swamp into the bodies. Just when he thought he found you, he lost sight of you again. His heart was racing in his chest. He called your name loud, "Y/N!" He received glares and stares from people around him, but none of them were yours. His head was jerking fast trying to find you. He was panting as his mind tried catching any glimpse of you, your red shirt, or your face.

It occurred to him that you weren't going to follow the stream. He began searching the edges and he caught a glimpse of your being sneaking off into an alleyway. With a jolt of adrenaline surging through him he picked up the pace, slipping out of the crowd and into the alley. He called your name, but you kept a breakneck pace nearly clipping crates, giggling drunks, and promiscuous couples. You banked right and he followed you through the darkness. As you both ran deeper and deeper into the urban area of the city it grew quiet and dark. He couldn't figure out why he was following you exactly, but he knew he had to. His instincts were telling him to go after you. "Wait, don't run! I'm not going to hurt you!"

You made a sharp left as the alleys began narrowing to an arms width of extension until you reached a high fence leaving you trapped in at a dead end. The rain was heavily pouring making it hard for you to see a way out as every time you looked up rain would get in your eyes. Your back raised and heaved as you faced the fence. You tried to jump, but it was no use.

His thumping feet came to a splashing stop as was out of breath, “Why-are-you-running,” a deep, dry breath, ”from-me?”

You turned around with trembling pupils, eyes unsure, but you had a burning fire behind them. He was taken aback by your hostility, he’d never seen it before in your eyes. You’d always stand tall against him, but now you…looked afraid.

The harsh glowing light of the moon illuminated your scowling face perfectly for him to see.

“Why did you run—?” He tried questioning, but he was cut off by you.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!”

He stopped his leg from naturally jerking towards you. He raised his hand reaching out to you making you flinch. His face scrunched; he’d never seen you do that either.

“Why—why were you cry—?” He was cut off again as your eyes bulged speaking a thousand silent things to him. You backed away and reached for the fence to climb it again. You tried jumping again and nearly slipped. His eyes widened as he jogged towards you. “Where you going? You’re going to hurt yourself!” It suddenly clicked, a pang following the thought, “I’m not going to hurt you, y/n.”

He was a split second away from grabbing you when suddenly you turned around and screamed. “STOP FOLLOWING ME!” It was like gravity was suddenly pulled as the heavy rain halted and levitated around you and him. His thoughts paused, brain stuttering, as it took seconds for him to process and catch up.  He was paralyzed. The water droplets oscillated in their spot, glimmering as it caught a bit of moonlight that slipped through the dense clouds.

In limited motion his eyes scanned, head slowly rolled, eyes glimmering and wide. “It’s-it’s…true.”

The impact of your choice knocked all air from your lungs and with that loss of traction, the rain began pouring again. Struggling to inhale and exhale you got out sounds, "No, no, no!" Nausea built up, "You-Jin-you didn't see anything! You saw nothing." From the corners of your eye's tears began melting in with the rain, you were becoming hysteric.

He stepped a bit closer to you, mouth hanging agape. He had never imagined this, well, that’s a lie. He’d always been curious about you. He knew what he saw all those years ago, but to see you like this, pulled at something. You were always so assured. The moments between you both were short but that look on your face never gave way to anything. The way you tilted your head back, equally challenging him at all times. It always irked him, made him want to just glance at you a bit more to see that fire behind your eyes light.

You pleaded with him again, “Please. Please. Please.”

Your pleading set off something in him. He rushed up to your trembling figure, nearly chest to chest. He was conflicted, but deep down the honest crawled through. The first words he blurted, “Wow, that…was amazing.”

Your eyes shot up to his towering figure, his broad shoulders were embellished in black, red and gold. His blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, a unique thing in the fire nation, and the only family in the nation to ever have blonde. Slowly you let your eyes trail up to meet his. Yet, what you were looking for, a threat to out you, anger, or a snide remark he normally would say…wasn’t there. 

In a whisper, your voice trembled, "Don't tell anyone, please." Tagging off at the end when you were out of breathing, "I don't want to die."

Your words hung heavy in his ears, weighting down the canal until it settled in the back of his throat. He was choking on his own words. Moments flashed before his eyes to the way he had smiled earlier, what he had done to get a reaction out of you, the comments in passing, all of it. He envisioned your face in the place of the blue-robed mask. That could be you. If the nation found out, found out that a water bender was in the capital, there would be only one fate for you.

He never wanted to hurt you.

He was just…curious.

You’re a water bender.

He looked at you with a quirk to his head, swallowing his hearing, “Tell anyone what?”

He could make out your tears silently poured down your face from the rain. “Are you playing me? Are you telling me this and going to tell all your friends? Your father? I’d imagine you’d look great if you came to your father with me.”

He felt another pang in his chest, “No, I’m not.”

You looked at him and he confessed, "I always wondered about you. You never made sense; how come you couldn't even light a candle? I mean, I learned how to do that when I was still in diapers, but you couldn't even do that at the age of ten. You were just so odd, and the teachers always yelled at you because you couldn't do anything right. You never did anything right. You were so…odd until I saw it, I saw you bend water. I knew I saw it that day."

You wrapped your hands around your chest, “What? When?”

He cleared his throat feeling your body heat radiate a bit towards him in the small proximity he made. You were practically harshly whispering to each other. "That day when we were doing poses in fifth year, you wiped your sweat…and it happened."

Holding onto the quiet, “Why didn’t you out me then?”

He combed the hair on his forehead back, “I never wanted to hurt you. I’m just curious…I wanted to know more…about you.”

Unbelieving of his words you repeated a word he said, “Curious?”

Then like a light went off in his head, he extended his hand, “I’m Jin.”

You looked at him then back to his hand then back up with a quirked brow. He nodded his head in encouragement. In your eyes, Jin was always geminal. He had two sides of him that never made much sense to you. He was a part of the popular kids, always had been. He knew his face was gorgeous and would put it out there, half-seriously and half-jokingly. He was clumsy, extroverted, but when it came to fighting it was like a demon took over his being. He spewed fire from his fingers as if it was an extension from himself and he wielded it with such grace. His moves were clumsy when you were children, the dexterity just wasn't there. But as time went on you caught him staying late at the academy practicing his moves. As much as you hate to admit on a testing day you remember your jaw unhinging as you watched him move with such grace and fight with furry.

He had so many chances, yet he never took it. Everything he’s done up until now makes sense, but it didn’t mean you forgave him for it.

He was beginning to get weary when you didn’t respond, “I think I owe it to you to reintroduce myself and offer you my promise to keep your secret safe. I won’t hurt you. Never.”

You weren’t sure you could trust him. After years of back and forth tugging, it was hard to see this working out. But there was one thing you did know about Jin. He was always honest and kept his word. You took his hand hesitantly in acceptance, “I’m Y/n.”

The rain was still pouring, rain dripped down both of your faces. He was shivering from the cold, his broad shoulders hunching in, but he made no complaints.

For you, it felt just right, under the moonlight accompanied by rain.

For the last reinforcement, you jutted your chin at him like you always had, "Keep it."

“Keep what?” He smirked.

He kept that promise. That’s the thing with fire benders, it’s in their blood to be loyal.

You still held your books tightly to yourself, as much as your expression was tight still too. However, things changed as you passed Jin in the halls, he’d raise his hand and smile at you. You nearly stuttered in your pace giving him an odd glance before he’d continue on his way with a lasting smile. Slowly he would hang around you during break and eventually you both became close. How could you not when he was just always around. The whole school found it odd, hearing whispers here and there but he told you to ignore it.

In secret, far away from anyone, you showed him one of the deepest parts of yourself. Leading him you brought him to a lake just on the outskirts of town. It was where your father would teach you waterbending. You wanted to show him this side of you. Show him that you weren't what you were under the daylight, but who you were. He'd never seen a water bender in real life, limited by the capital. Sitting down after demonstrating the way water was second nature to you. He asked how you figured out you had the abilities and you told him it was just something you always felt. It was natural. He told you it was the same for him. It was just…instincts.

Sitting lakeside Jin waited for you as you stepped up to the shore soaking wet as you plopped down next to him. Laying down heaving after a good practice session you took in the stars in the sky.

“The Moon is so bright tonight.”

He asked, “Do you feel it? You know—feel it?”

You hummed turning over to look at Jin. His profile was illuminated by the reflection of moonlight off the surface of the lake. It was odd at first seeing him at night, his personality and being matched the sun too much. Staring at his profile you began to notice his masculine features had been setting in, his jaw was defined and his shoulders very broad.

Blinking out of your stupor you barely caught on to his question. “Why is your family in the capital?”

You gathered all the water off your clothes in a ripping motion away from your being. You hovered over the blob of water and relinquished it back to the lake. Softly answering, “My Grandparents are from the Southern Water Tribe. At the beginning of the war, my grandfather was out on a mission just before the fire nation raid. My grandmother tried to get as many people out before they landed but it was too late. My grandmother got my father, their only child, out with a few other people on a canoe. Somehow, my grandmother left a note for my grandfather in words only he would understand.

When he returned from his mission with his men they found the whole tribe had been nearly wiped out. He decided to go find my grandmother and somehow they reconnected years later.”

You sat up suddenly feeling the weight of the world on your chest. You began playing with the bits of grass the trailed the shores. "It wasn't safe to go back, it wasn't safe to travel to the North either, so my grandparents chose to leave everything behind, including waterbending. They said the safest place is the eye of the storm, so they moved to the Fire Nation Capital in disguise of exotic tea merchants. They set up shop and have kept it for years. My father ended up marrying my mother, a local merchant daughter."

Jin questioned, “Does your mother know about…you know?”

You shook your head, “No, she doesn’t, and she can’t ever.”

Jin’s face turned down.

You smiled, but it was sour, “They’d always hope that I too would be a firebender, like my mother, but it never happened.”

Jin’s eyes widened, your mother was a firebender?

“My mother kept insisting it would just take time. That was until I did the unspeakable. I bended water. My father caught it and punished me for it without my mother’s knowledge. When I grew up later, I found that what I was doing wasn’t wrong, but it was to be a secret. In secret, he began teaching me things. It pained him what happened to us and he didn’t want our traditions to die. He didn’t want our abilities to be hidden, but that’s…that’s not reality.”

Jin's face turned down. His heart ached that you must hide your self from your mother. He could hear the pain in your voice as it pitched. He moved around you, caging you in and molding his chest to your back. He wrapped his arms around your front. He knew you would push him away if he went about it the normal way. Your body tensed like you had been doused with ice. You weren't sure what to do, but your heart was beating out of your chest. His warmth radiated over you, but it was so comforting. He squeezed you tight before dropping his head into the crevice of your neck. His thick lips tickling the skin there causing your heart to jump. Quietly to you, "I promise."

You reached up and held onto his forearms that wrapped around you.

He held you tight with the promise he spoke against your neck, “I won’t ever hurt you.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and dropped onto his forearm. You felt safe in his arms.

It was routine, you would practice by a lake just outside the city. You would stand in the water and he would practice his fire bending on the shore. When you got the hang of things, able to move ribbons of water, you’d splashed him on the occasion and would get a grunt from him. He’d complain he can’t fight back because he’d hurt you. However, that didn’t stop him from getting revenge, he’d get in the water and splash you, pick you up and toss you in.

That was when, face to face, for the first time you realized how thick Jin’s lips were. How handsome his face was and why all the girls were. Your heart would beat in your chest, but you pushed it down. Jin was your best friend and only your best friend. That’s all he’d ever be.

You were like Yin and Yang, with him being the pull and you the push. He centered your gravity and gave you hope.

But hope, hope was fragile.

Jin’s father, dressed in full armor, resided in his office. Holding the official scroll in his hands with a request to see him crossed behind his back, he cautiously approached his father, as he marched to a solid stance in front of his father’s desk. He properly brought both of his hands to the front to bow then crossed them behind his back again.

His father dipped his brush in the black ink and quietly wrote and punctuated his scroll. When he was satisfied, he rolled it up and his hawk soared into the room onto its golden perch. His father stood and attached the scroll and watched the bird fly off with the message. Jin never took his eyes away from front-facing as his father sat back into his chair.

“Why are you missing practice son?”

Jin spoke firmly, “I’ve been practicing at the academy later instead of going to the temple.”

His father blankly stared at him, “I know that’s not true.”

Jin thick brows wiggle as he blinks, “I’ve kept with my studies and practice father.”

Jin’s father smiles, but Jin knew it wasn’t gentle. “I know son.” His father picked up a new scroll and laid it out, “I know about the girl you’ve been hanging around.”

Jin kept his posture but began manually controlling his breathing. His inside began to sway. His father continued, "Your mother was the one that told me."

Jin remained silent unsure of what to say next.

Jin’s father took his black brush and dipped it in ebony ink. “A non-bender, she brings shame to her family.”

Jin gulped.

“Tell me son, is this girl just a friend?”

Jin’s eyes widened. He knew the only answer his father would like to hear, even if it wasn’t the truth. “She’s just a friend father.”

His father chuckled, “A friend?”

Jin formally kept himself, “Yes, father.”

His father finished off his next scroll with a chuckle, “Son, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Jin tilted his head down, then lifted it, adjusting his posture so he was standing straighter, "She may not be the best fire bender, but she's smart and capable. Her abilities lie beyond bending."

His father smirked still, “Son, you are to no longer see this…friend. We can’t have a—connection—like that to our family. We can’t have her associated with the Kim name. No useless non-bender will be seen hanging around my son.”

Jin untangled his hands as they rested down by his side, “Father—!”

His father held up a hand, powerful motion that hushed Jin immediately. "That's final." He waved Jin away, "Leave."

Jin’s fist clenched at his side. Begrudgingly he bowed and walked out his father office, turning down the corridor. The harsh oranges and yellows of the torches highlighted his taunt face, irked with anger.

Escaping to his family’s temple he practiced all night. Letting his rage flow through his fist as he struck and kicked with a passion. He brought himself to the brink of exhaustion, muscles twitching in protest. Sweat dripped down his toned bare torso and off his nose. He fell to his knees and leaned back and roared fire blazing from his fist and mouth in rage.

Chest heaving up and down, steam escaped through his clenched teeth.

What was he going to do?

Your feet were light as you walked down the hall. As you caught a glimpse of Jin your pace picked up, butterflies filling your stomach with excitement. You wanted to tell him about a new technique you had learned over the weekend. A huge smile was plastered on your face, “Jin, I have som—.” You weren’t able to complete your sentence as he brushed past you, hands in pockets as he kept going. A cold chill overcame you despite the sun being high in the sky. Namjoon, his other best friend who you were only on greeting terms with looked over his shoulder back at you with a somber expression. You clutched at your fist and tried, “Jin?” He didn’t bother looking back but instead walked out into the courtyard, leaving you in the shadows of the empty hall.

You kept trying, day after day, greeting him, waiting for him at the normal spot, but he’d never show. He pushed you away as if you never existed. You’d watch the water ripple alone, the moon high above reflecting on the water, but yin fell short without yang. You tried practicing to keep your mind busy, but the moves didn’t feel the same. The flexions felt to ridged. You thought about him. His face was practically imprinted on the back of your eyelids. You couldn’t go to his house, merchants, tea house shop owners like your parents, people like you, weren’t allowed in certain areas in the Royal Caldera.

You truly felt lost.  

You never stopped trying though. You were frustrated with his sudden closing off. It wasn’t like him. With confidence, in passing in the hall, you went up to him, but he ignored you again. He brushed passed you and each time the air around you grew colder. Time felt like it slowed as from the corner of your eye his face was trained rigid and blonde hair covered his eyes. When he was a few steps away you twisted and followed after him, “Jin, what’s wrong?”

He stopped and turned around eyes empty as if he was looking through you. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Your heart sunk. Was it all that simple? “Why? Did I do something wrong? You know you can talk to me?”

He sighed running a hand through his hair to push it back in frustration. He looked different, everything about him felt different. The human you were looking at wasn’t Jin. Plainly he demanded, “Don’t seek me out anymore. We’re not friends. Your nothing to me.”

You were left standing in the corridor as he backed away from you. You didn't know how to react. Tears welled in your eyes as you watched, but you didn't let them breach. With venom lacing your tongue, "Red doesn't suit you Jin."

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. But you knew, you knew what you said.

Red suddenly looked tasteless. It made him look so distant, the near armor we wore to school reminded you exactly who he was. The General’s son, a son of the Fire Nation, it was bound to happen sooner or later when you’d realize you both were from two different worlds. That he’d hate you eventually like everyone else.

He straightened out his broad shoulders and kept walking away from you. You never let those welding tears fall as you turned away from him.

A turn of seasons came and went. The lake you practiced at truly never frosted over in the Winter, but the chill reminded you a year had passed. It was colder there being alone. Senior year came in a blink of an eye, and so did the following year's Summer. You were to graduate.

You felt numb at all times. Jin never did talk to you, you never saw him anymore, not even by chance. The only time would be in class, but it was never more than that. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you knew something deep down was wrong. You were angry, had he used you this whole time? Your other half was telling you he would never do that, that wasn’t the Jin you knew. You tried figuring things out, in denial, bargaining, putting mismatched puzzle pieces together, but you kept coming to dead ends.

He left you.

You sat there biting on your nails. Everything, everything had come to this. You were supposed to demonstrate what you've learned, but you had nothing. You stood in the columns of students ready for their last demonstration to graduate. When the signal sounded everyone assumed the stance and you followed. Flames erupted around you, yet you were just dancing about, following the same moves.

Your teacher shouted, “Y/n! Are you not taking this seriously?”

The whole class stopped. You bowed in apology, “I’m sorry.”

Your professor had a smile erupt onto his face. "Come to the front of the class." Your hands trembled as you stepped out of line to the front of the row. You passed students who looked at you in sneer form their side gaze. You kept your face ahead as you stood before the podium.

Jin was in the front row, alongside the other best benders in the class. You didn’t bother looking towards Jin. It would do nothing.

Your professor tapped his podium with his bamboo stick as he nearly laughed, “I will let you pass…if you pass an Agni Kai.”

A hushed gasp ripped through the room.

Jin standing a few paces from you gripped his fist together. He swallowed hard. Each of his muscles was protesting to do something, to reach out and pull you away. He wanted to shout, but he couldn't. He stood there facing forward with a controlled expression.

The only way to win an Agni Kai is when one opponent burns the other. You were trembling, saliva thickening, you were terrified internally. You were going to get burned, but what choice did you have.

Apathy washes over you like a wave. It was always going to come down to this. You were going to get burned one way or the other. “I accept.”

Your teacher smiled, nearly clapping like a seal. “Your opponent is,” he scanned the auditorium before it settled right next to you, “Kim Seokjin.”

Jin stepped out of the front of the line, knuckles turning white, as he stood next to you.

The teacher softly spoke, dearly towards his pupil, “Do you accept Kim?”

The room was immersed in silence waiting for his response. For the first time, he looked at you. He looked you in the eyes but it felt like he was looking through you. In a bass rough voice, he turned away, "I accept."

In the courtyard, you observed the statue of Ozai. Your back was to Jin as he faced the opposite end of the courtyard. On command, you both turned and bowed to one another in a locked stare. Your heart was thumping in your throat. This was the first time facing him and your stomach still churned. Unsettled things battled in your hollow stomach. Jin's thick dark brows contrasted his wavy untamed blonde hair. His eyes were smoldering, centering his hardened expression.

The gong was struck and Jin darted at you first fast like lightening. You braced yourself and blocked his attacks. You shifted your footing and countered it with your jabbing move. Your instincts were telling you to bend, to send bullets his way, but you suppressed instincts.  Hands, forearms, and shoulders meet as you pushed and struck one another. There was no holding back in pure fight, but no firebending came from his hands. You tried hard to avoid eye contact, you kept your focus on his motions. You both had practiced hand to hand combat before many times. You spared countless times by the lake, so you were familiar with his technique. As you moved about one another, it was like falling back into an old habit. You both were sweating after minutes of tight fighting. You felt bruises forming on you while you barely had struck him, but you made each impact purposeful. You were going to use his moves against him. It worked because you began to notice he winced every time he put pressure on his side.

The professor shouted enraged, “It isn’t over until one is burned.”

You darted towards him punching at him, knowing he would grab your arm when you moved a certain way. He did it like you anticipated bringing you face to face with him. Your eyes meeting truly for the first time. All his guards were down for a split second, you caught a glimpse of him somewhere within them. Through pants, you whispered to him, "Do it, Jin. It's okay."

As quickly as you saw him underneath it was glazed over with the stranger again. He wasn't listening. He growled at you, sparks coming from beneath his feet as he pushed you away. In a full swing, he lunged for you and kept sparing.

You were growing tired, he was a great fighter. You knew he was going easy on you, trying to hit major points to end it all quick. But you were playing the same game. It was tiring for both of you in this odd dance around each other. In frustration, you danced around him avoiding his swinging arms as they swept at your legs. You ducked under his arms and pushed him. For a moment he lost his footing but he squared his hips and roundhouse kicked you. The impact caused you to roll and tumble to a stop. He ran over to you, straddling you and pinned your wrist above you.

You pleaded with him, panting, “Do it.”

He closed his eyes and growled, fire seeping through his nostrils. Heartbeats passed as you raised yourself and he allowed you in a short struggle so you were level with him. Speaking over the crowd chanting at you both to get it over with. You spoke only for him to hear, “Do it Jin.”

When he opened his eyes they were glassy, anger, frustration, and pain-filled his eyes. You were sure yours reflected it. His hands glowed like hot plate as he grabbed onto your open forearm for a second before he released you. You screamed as the immense heat burned, it felt like you had been stabbed by a thousand needles. Still kneeling in front of him you slumped forward in exhaustion.

It was over.

A growling groan echoed through the courtyard. Jin stood up as the victor. A rumble sang through the crowd, "That wasn't a win!"

Jin wasn’t paying attention to it all, he was focused on you. He wanted to tuck you close, but all he could do was stand there with his chest heaving.

With suppressed tears, you stood straight up despite your arm screaming at you. Your eyes searched the crowd of your classmate and professors, they were sneering at you, faces of disgust. Your eyes landed last on Jin. As soon as his bleak eyes met yours it was like he was looking through you. He turned on his heels and began walking away. Your eyes filled with tears as you watched his back, blonde wavy hair rustling in the wind. Choking on a sob, you've had enough. You've had enough of all of this—for it all to come to this. Your ears began to ring, every face began to blur, and your breathing became more rapid and shallow. Every instinct in you was telling you to run. You listened to that voice inside. You bolted through the entrance of the school and kept running.

Jin paused in his steps as he heard your footsteps grow distance, but he kept his back to you. “Jin, Jin, Jin!” Voices of his classmates erupted into a cheer, cheering his name in rhythm. Although his name faded in his ears as he stared down at his fist that trembled.

He tilted his head back allowing the sun to beat down on his face, he opened his eyes and the blinding light filled his sight.

Your feet carried you far, you kept going until you were home. You stood outside your parent’s tea shop. You peered in through the door ready to cry out, but your voice was stuck in your throat. You watched your father serve customers as your mother brewed tea behind the counter. The smiles on their face tugged at your heart. You couldn’t go home. You couldn’t bring shame to your family, you failed, you couldn’t blend in. You couldn’t break your parents’ hearts.

Everything you do gets undone.

This was your way of protecting them. A tear found its way from your eye as you pulled away from the door with a silent goodbye.

Standing under the bright sun you leaned your head back and let the daylight overcome you. Taking a deep breath you picked up the pace and into the shadowed you disappeared.

--10 yrs later

The blue mesh fabric sewn to your flat, wide-brimmed bamboo hat was an all-encompassing veil that protected you from the strong night breeze. The black cloak you wore over black pants and a blue long sleeve, loose shirt, however, wasn't great against the crisp weather. The lantern hanging on a stick swung gently as you paced quietly through the alleyways like a shadow.

In the outer ring of Ba Sing Se, a place you never expected to find a home in, wasn't the safest place at night. You weren't sure how much longer you were going to be here before you were going to be on the move again. You blended in here, no one cared about you.

That was the point.

You kept your footsteps light on the dirt road unstirring the dust. You were probably the only soul wandering this time at night in this side of town. Everyone knew at this hour the guards were about. You kept yourself to the shadows, but you felt them before they came around the corner. You had no choice but to be calm in your steps. Four fire soldiers appeared at the intersection in a two by two march. Soldiers patrolled all ends of the city but especially focused on the lower ring dissolving rebellions. They were always on the lookout for offenders or renegades, but mostly they picked on the impoverished.

In a cocky huff a solider huffed, “What are you doing out this late,” one leaned in close to you, “Miss?”

Another cocked up, squaring out his body, “Show us your face.”

You kept quiet and raised your hands up together over your chest and bowed to them.

A solider behind the two frontiers stepped towards you with a raised brow, while another chuckled, “Ah, a Monk.”

You heard through hushed whispers from them, "Monk? Nah, she looks more like that-ugh—painted lady from that one place we were at a while ago." They all simultaneously stared at you for a moment looking you up and down before one spoke up haughtily. His gold emblems shined from the swaying lanterns they carried as well. Their uniform appeared new, the cuirass was without a single dent and their boots were polished. “Doesn’t matter what you are, monk lady or not, you gotta show us your face even if you’re a part of some religious thing.”

You nodded, setting down your lantern carefully so the melted wax wouldn't set out your light. They watched you carefully as you reached towards your hat. The air was crisp, but it was a humid night. Instead of grasping onto the brim, you swung your arm around your head in a circular motion. You contorted your fingers, pulling water out of thin air creating a ribbon of water. You bended the water at a solider like a whip. With a groan and unexpected huff, they all shouted and their hands lit up.

From the fist of two soldiers who were upfront, they thrust a bomb of fire towards you. Extending the ribbon into a thin sheet that instantly you froze. The shield blocked the fire and the heat caused steam to radiate from the shield. Standing up tall again you broke down the shield and wielded it into ice disk. Avoiding more burst of flames, you dance about to avoid any strikes. The two from the back took advantage of your vulnerability and spun with fire arcs that attempted to slice you down the middle. Popping open your gourd in the next second you created a sphere around yourself. You thinned it out to a ring then morphed them into four ice lines. Projecting them they all struck the soldiers accurately on their helmets, effectively knocking them out.

They all slumped to the floor in a uniform thud. Willing your hands around you collected the water and streamed it back into the gourd. You popped the cork back on and adjusted your hat. You picked up your lantern and stepped over their knocked out bodies and kept on your way home.

Jin sat in his office staring at the night sky. Office work was never his style, but ever since his promotion to general. He was in the capital when he was promoted, but he couldn't help feeling the burden of it. He was happy, he finally got what he worked his whole life to become, yet it felt empty. He wanted to leave, he put in a request to be stationed elsewhere, command a new set of people. A new outlook. They gave him a spot in Ba Sing Se. He moved as soon as he could, his father sent him away with a proud smile as he left. It was almost erased weeks ago when word got out that the prisoner had escaped. An investigation was currently underway from the Dai Li on how the prisoner was able to escape the General's guard. No one had ever under his watch, much less the Dai Li's, everyone was suspicious.

Knocks sounded on his door, while still writing with his brush he called whomever in. His secretary walked into his office, "There are four soldiers here to see you, General. They said that they have important business to report."

He set his brush back into his ink and looked up, “Important business?”

His secretary, Yoongi, a long-time friend he met in the military, was already rolling his eyes. Jin nodded still allowing them the visit.

Four stumbling soldiers came through the screen door, their heavy steps echoing on the wooden floor. He crossed his hands as they lifted their heads, fat bruises littered their face, jaws puffy and some eyes closed as they were too swollen to open.

They all swallowed realizing he was waiting for them to continue. One of them clutched onto their helmet, "Sir, we…there's a rogue woman in the city pretending to be a missionary."

Jin spoke deep in his throat, lifting a brow, “And what do you expect me to do?”

The men looked at one another their hands trembling, "General, I don't want to speak out of term, but—." He swallowed, "We didn't even see her coming! She came out of the shadows and attacked us without a warrant. She jumped us and her stronger than anything I've ever seen. I can't go protecting the city on without telling you that there is a dangerous person in the city. Fire bending didn't affect her."

Another one seemed to want to add on, “General, she was wearing a hat that covered her face with a veil. She was wearing dark clothes!”

Then in a quiet voice, another added in, "She was a water bender."

Jin tilted his head to the side, anger building up within him. Were the soldiers here that cowardly? In the capital, this kind of behavior wouldn't be tolerated. Even a lowly soldier like them could be able to handle that, four of them more of the reason to handle a….rogue…woman.

He picked up his brush, “You’re dismissed.”

The four soldiers looked at one another attempting to speak again, but Jin cut them off, “Did I stutter?”

The four of them bowed and limped out of his office.

The odd thing was he couldn't figure out what he wanted to write next. Four soldiers were beaten by a woman? Much less, she was a water bender. It was illegal for all other element benders to use their ability in the city. Who dared to fight fire soldiers and use their ability?

In the upcoming weeks, he had found himself hearing the same story of a mysterious woman haunting the outer walls. She would attack them with her water bending skills and take down the soldiers with ease.

After a long day full of meeting and strategy he came back to his empty home. The estate was large, and without the staff that would maintain it, it was especially immaculate. Late, when the moon was filtering through the open doors in his private practice room, sporadically the room lit up with his lashings of flames. Core tight as he swung his hips around into stable poses and moves, he fought with trained burst of flames leaving his limbs. Slicing through dummies with flames daggers he weaved about the manmade obstacle coarse. With a roar erupting from his gut he used the momentum in his swing as he pivoted to jab the dummy in the center of their chest. Stumbling away from his defeat he centered himself with a heavy breathe extinguishing all flames coming from him. He rolled his spine up, bare chest dripping with sweat as he wore nothing but black calf tight trousers. Licking his lips his mind felt unsettled, there had been too many reports. Why couldn't any of his trained soldiers take down the mysterious bender? Far too many for it to be a casual rogue among the lower ring.

With a made-up mind, he rushed out letting the embers of the dummy fall to the concrete floor. He had to go find out about it for himself.

He wore loose fit brown pants, a dark green kimono tunic that was tightened around his waist by a yellow strap. No one would be able to recognize him without his uniform, but his hair was a telling factor. He put on a bamboo hat tucking in his blonde locks, completing the extra uniform that belonged to the gardeners. He left his estate through the servant entrance sneaking to the main streets like a shadow.

An hour later, deep into the lower ring, no one recognized him. He blended in, mimicking the average behavior. He floated through the crowd a shadow, keeping his face shadowed. The lower ring was notorious for all kind of things. He walked the dirt streets, pacing around through the various street like a vagrant. He stopped at a few shops when trinkets caught his mind and gave a few coins to an elderly man begging for money.

It was much more exciting here and full of life compared to the upper ring. It reminded him of the times the capital would host festivals in honor of Ozai. His mind crossed back to when he would spend dinners with his family and the time he watched that performance on the street. The flowing of fabric crossed his mind until they gave way to your face. He paused in his steps the then your face popped in his mind. The streets had grown barer without him realizing. A rikshaw suddenly speed by him with a earthbender thrusting the earth beneath them to move faster. He clutched his hat before it flew off, bringing him back to the present.

A decade. It’s been a decade, yet your face still makes his heart stop. His whole being tenses as your face plays through his mind regularly. He’s never forgotten you. He would never admit it, but he’s been looking for you. After graduation, in the dead of night, he went to seek you out, he waited by the lake, but you never showed. His head hurt for months, the stress of holding his tongue. It was only later that he found out you had left the capital completely that day. You vanished into thin air.

Adjusting his hat, he cleared his throat as he watched the swinging lantern attached to the rickshaw disappear around the corner. The streets were nearly bare the farther away he roamed from main streets where sightings were stated. He paced around for hours more lost in thought, but eventually, he went back home with nothing.

There wasn’t a “Painted lady in the Slums”.

However, he couldn’t resist the itch, it didn’t stop him from going back the next day. Walking with his hands in his pocket he found himself whistling through the same streets he walked yesterday. Dropping coins into the same old man’s cup and pondering through the shops. Soon he felt that he wasn’t wandering alone, he felt presences following behind him. Purposefully he dipped downside streets weaving them away from the public

There was a fight inside him, should he do something but risk revealing who he is? The men kept following him and eventually he turned and turned until he came to a dead-end street. He turned around back to the fence, head brimmed low. Five men with their knives out shoved close in his direction. He could easily take these guys out. It was all calculated out in his head; he had his hands still tucked in his pocket. He smirked and was about to make the first move but in one moment their knives disappeared. Even the thieves were surprised. Suddenly their eyes rolled to the back and they all collapsed. Jin looked up and saw the alley empty. He rushed forward looking forward, stepping over the thieves foot splashing in a puddle of water. He looked down at it before it clicked.

It was the painted lady.

His heart raced in his chest. He ran to the end of the alley searching the crowd of pedestrians shopping at the night market. Eyes working overtime, he caught the back of a bamboo hat blending in with the crowd of the main street. He searched and searched through the crowd, but they disappeared.

He stood amongst the flowing crowd, lost.

The blue veil was suffocating as your panting chapped lips were fighting for anything but dry air. Your vision lacked focus as you were just coming too. Dizziness churned your brain into mush and you were unsure where you were. A harsh tug and you could tell you were being rounded, but where, you were unsure.

One thing for sure was you felt the heat from torches as you passed them rapidly. Five paces between each. The sound of your captor's relentless march indicated you were still going far and deep within somewhere; fifty paces so far deep already from when you awoke. Your arms were pulled behind your back, forearms horizontal with a cuff of rocks holding your whole forearms together. Abruptly you all stopped and suddenly the ground was knocked from under you as the Dai Li stomped their foot. The ground shifted underneath you, your legs gave way in your dizziness and you collapsed like a ragdoll. Your knees scrapped against the harsh ground tearing the knees of your pants. Every single fiber of your being felt like dead weight, your arms heavy as you fought with a grunt to resettle yourself. You shuffled on your knees to turned around and confront them. You never got the gratification as the cell door slammed. You were left in complete darkness. Your mind fought for consciousness and something to hold onto. You slumped forward listening in closer to the ground as you heard their footsteps retreat away from you.

A sudden tickle sent you coughing as soon as they were far enough. Your throat burned, body chalky wherever you were was devoid of any water. Your senses couldn’t register anything around, you must be somewhere deep or far from the capital?

You hung your head clenching your jaw. You failed orders. How could you have been so careless? It was going so well, you were moving with others then suddenly you were ambushed. The green robes came down from the ceiling and it was all a blur from there. You remember sending ice bullets in every direction, and just when you were about to cloak yourself in water you remember your pressure points being struck. Your arms were immobile then you were struck in the back and then everything went black. Heaving a single sigh of relief you were glad you didn’t bring the token with you.

Your chest and mind raced in tandem as you were swallowed in darkness.

“We got them, General.”

His hooded eyes flicked up to the two guards that stood in front of his desk with proud smiles tickling the edge of their lips.

“The Dai Li caught them sneaking into the Palace.”

He quirked a brow before he set down his ink brush and rose from his desk like a giant. His broad shoulders and armor that elaborated the width and casted a shadow over the room as he stood at full height dowsing the two in shadows. The edge of a smirk died on the guard's lips as Jin rounded his prominent desk and set pace with embers burning in his eyes.

Impatiently, he trailed down the apparating damp steps from the depth of the lake as the Dai Li raised the platform. He walked fast through the dark corridors tunnels, orbs of light lined the bottom edges of the wall. The tunnels smelled sterile despite it being underneath water. His hands were bristling with heat nearly flickering with flames. Finally, finally, they caught a lead on the opposition. The Dai Li lead him towards the cells holding the prisoners.

Stopping in front of a cell, the metal door was completely sealed and locked by a heavy metal slab.

He spoke monotonously, “Let me see the prisoner.”

Two Dai Li slid the metal bar across and opened up the cell door in a calculated fashion. Darkness greeted Jin’s eyes as he blinked to adjust before he noticed the prisoner was hunched over in the shadows of the cell. Only a single ray of light from an external torch barely stretched its light inside. Stepping slightly forward to stand just at the threshold of the cell, from deep within his throat he commanded. “Prisoner, face us.”

The figure didn’t move.

He smirked and glanced and the Dai Li with a curt nod before he turned back to the prisoner posed proudly with his hands behind his back. He knew not to underestimate the prisoner, they were worth gold. He’d been working his whole career to do something this defining. To catch someone in the order, and they had done it. It all happened in a split second that the floor shifted circularly around the prisoner and earth bended around their earthen shackles so that they were sitting upwards. Their silhouette was still concealed by the darkness.

He stepped inside the cell unlacing his hands behind his back. Using a single hand with minimal effort he created a glowing flame that sat in the palm of his hand as a personal torch. On full guard, he had his fist raised for light, but also ready to strike the prisoner if they were to try anything.

His heart paused as he recognized the top of the bamboo hat, the flowing blue fabric that covered the figures face. It was the Painted Lady of the Lower Ring. His fire sputtered sending embers tricking down from his palm. Conflict floated about him, the other night when they had “saved” him, did they know who he was? The mysterious figure that had been haunting the slums was a part of the order?

He stood on guard in front of the figure, whose head was still hung despite the forced position. Growing frustrated with the prisoner's disobedience, voice harsh in a growl, "Head up."

The figure refused, the flames from his hand flickering as seconds passed. He was near breathing steam through his nostrils, but he was never one to lose his cool. He was the General. Each word was punctuated, “Head up prisoner.”

Slowly their head raised and tilted back, but still, a shadow covered their face. Their eyes were glued forward not meeting his. "Head up prisoner." When their head tilted back fully, through the blue veil their eyes blinked up to meet his.

The flame in his hand dimmed the slightest and it felt ice-cold seeping from the palm of his hand and contracting around his heart. The chill held his heart in a contracting embrace. He truly felt cold for the first time. All the while his inside felt like nothing, as if there was nothing there, except for his strangle heart in his hollow chest.

His face remained trained neutral. The flame in his hand restored itself to a torch when his mind returned.

It was you. You were the painted lady. The one who haunted his mind.

A moment of silence passed over you both. Then Jin tilted his chin back, allowing the light from his palm to cast over his face intensely. He turned around in a steady march, stepping out of the cell with his back facing you. You watched his flame die out and the metal door was bended back in place. You were engulfed in darkness and alone once again.

He paced down the hall face still trained, shoulders taunt and back tight, but his mind was racing a million miles per hours. His guards were following with the Dai Li right behind.

The image of your eyes was burned into his.

Azula sat center with the panoramic view of the upper ring encased in a burning sunset behind her. Fire Nation flags and emblems replaced every décor in the open council room. Dai Li was stationed around the room as her personal guards. All officials stood from the table and in unison, they all bowed before walking away from the table.

As Jin was about to depart, his mind working in different ways, but he wasn't present at today's meeting. He could only picture your face.

The dungeons.

Why?

Why were you there?

Azula called to him sweetly, “Jin?”

He paused in his pace both feet clasped together, body ridged. He bowed and turned towards her, “Yes, Princess?”

She rounded the war table and stepped up onto the large map. She walked over the nations with her heavy boots. The model pieces after each nation were positioned around the map, modeling the next strike on the world. She maneuvered a piece, knocking over the rock with a fire piece. "I've moved the other prisoners to the Boiling rock. But, the prisoner in the dungeon, she, I can tell she's the leader of her little group."

He watched her motions carefully, fire flickering on her face, as she softly smiled. Although, he knew under the expression was something waiting to bite.

“Why is it taking so long?”

He knew to never falter in front of a snake, never to take eyes off it. “It’s all strategy Princess.”

She scoffed, picking up the other trinkets on the table indicating the other nations. She picked up the Earth element she knocked over and picked it up, rolling it around her hands. With a short shrug her grip tightened on the piece then she arched her arm back and sent it flying out the window out the tower. She picked up the air symbol and tossed it out as well. Walking over to the North she picked up the water symbol and held it up in front of her facing Jin.

"Jin, I don't have the patience for such childish games you plan on playing with the prisoner. I need answers now. I need you to get them to confess. Find who they're affiliated with and all the information. I don't care how you do it, but I need it. Now."

He watched as she engulfed her hand in flames melting the wax water element trinket in her hands.

Jin kept neutral as he bowed again before walking away. “Yes, Princess.”

It hurt to blink. All moisture of your being was being sapped by the atmosphere.

You had tried counting how long you were in this prison, but the guards never walked by in even intervals. It was quiet, too quiet all the time. It left you a lot of time with yourself and to think. You kept running back to his face. You were proud of yourself for keeping a straight face, but you felt opposite internally. His face was the same, but by far more masculine. It was undeniable he was still handsome, but there was a roughness to his features. Your last encounter kept running through your mind.

You were too deep in thought to hear the footsteps approaching your cell, the sound of the metal door sliding open and closing. Only when you heard the door closing did you register that someone was in the cell with you. You whipped your head up when you felt a sudden heat fill the room and strangle you from the inside out. It took only a brief second for you to acknowledge the silhouette amongst the darkness. Pulling from the remaining strength in your core, you gathered the sweat dripping from your face and body moving it like an aggregating amoeba. In a matter of seconds, you collected as much as you could on your chest silently.

Feeling the ripples in the air break as the figure took a step towards you, like a viper’s strike, you sent the dart of ice whistling forward. Bending his hands counterclockwise and diagonally from himself flame appeared in both of his palms. Halting the dagger just under Jin’s chin, your gut has recognized him before your eyes had, but you kept it hovering there.

Your eyes met and staring had become your only form of communication. However, it felt different. The first time it felt like he was looking through you, but this time he was looking at you. Those eyes that you once used to fall into salvation with were glazed with something different. Polished by someone and refined by the twisted. You knew you were looking at Jin, but it wasn’t him. The gold of his emblems, the burgundy that outlined his black armor, and his golden hair…he was a stranger to you.

“Why?” He spoke lowly, afraid to break the tension.

You didn’t respond, unblinking you continued to hover the dagger.

He spoke again, “Why are you here?”

You returned the cold tone that would’ve sent anyone begging for forgiveness. Your dehydrated voice was hoarse from disuse, “Why are you here?”

Hearing your voice, all be it, hoarse tickled his hollow chest, stimulating his frozen heart. Yet, the question put a weight right over the stimulation, muting it. Words jumbled in his brain then mouth; for a moment he felt drained of the assertiveness. Drained of what here meant, but defenses were still high, ten years’ worth of putting each brick into that wall.

“It’s my duty. I’m the General.”

Your facial expression didn’t change, but your words were cold and sharp, “You invaded Ba Sing Se.”

He licked his lips, suddenly feeling the skin pull taunt and chap, “No.”

Directive with your eyes flickering down to the dagger then back to his brown eyes, “No?”

He was supposed to be interrogating you, not the other way around. Anger began to fill his words, defensive of himself, “I didn’t but I’m here on orders of the Nation.”

You snickered mockingly, “Duty. Still taking orders Jin?”

"I'm doing what I have to do!" The fire in his palm was growing as his tone went up.

You tilted your head, having him right where you want him. “Doing what you have to do? Do you?”

He stepped closer to you, the dagger following forward but still pressed to his neck. He hovered over you with a burning look in your eyes. “I came here to see you. I wanted to know why. I wanted to…” He was so worked up. The heat of his being was making you sweat, the dagger was dripping, but you didn’t falter.

"Help," you kept your eyes placed on his burning one, "Is that what you wanted to do Jin?"

He was silent and you took that as an affirmation. You pressed the dagger closer to his Adam's apple, pressing into the skin enough for it to feel like a prick. "Leave."

His brows creased, the anger conflicting with something internal.

“Leave. I don’t need your help.”

Anger turned in his head, that nauseating feeling of an empty chest filled him. You weren’t like you used to be. This wasn’t what he was expecting when he came here. He wanted answers—needed answers.

You changed.

With a snarl, that turned out a roar to you, he turned on his feet. Armor shaking as he forced the heavy metal cell door open with brutal strength. He slammed it shut with a growl. You could hear his hard footsteps resonate down the empty hall.

You dropped the dagger and the dehydrated cement gladly soaked it up.

--- days later

The sound of crickets sung in the darkness as he sat on the porch of his backyard. The large backyard filled with horticulture was meant to be trailed, yet he never dared smell the flowers. He poured liquor from the bottle into a ceramic cup. He filled it to the brim and set the bottle of liquor down and the liquid inside swished and spilled over. He brought the cup up to his lips and downed it all in one shot and set it down chipping the cup. He wiped the drips off with the back of his hand before he dropped it on the wooden porch like it was led. The breeze was cool, but to his natural heat, it felt like a pleasant summer breeze.

Seeing ghost, he was seeing a ghost, not the girl who once filled his days with life. The girl who he'd watch from the shore smile like a maniac when she was able to finally make a water ribbon. The girl whose playful touches were something he yearned for more than playfully. No, you weren't her anymore. And he ruined that all. The day he pushed you away was the day he died and a shell of who he once was took over him. Under that blue veil you hid under, your eyes haunted him, he'd never meant to seek you out again.

He was pulled two ways, he shouldn’t see you, he shouldn’t be thinking of you.

Droplets of rain fell from the sky causing him to jerk at the sudden cool.

He shouldn’t be thinking of you

--- days later

You were visited by guards, interrogated back to back the Dai Li, but you remained silent. You didn't speak or bend for anyone. Although you were feeling weak, mind teetering, but you kept it together in the small confinement of darkness. Your clothing was in tatters form struggling and your hat had long been tossed somewhere off in the darkness. You've experience worse you kept chanting to yourself. They wouldn't break you. You would never take a knee to the Fire Nation. You'd never betray the order.

You spent your time instead of worrying about the rest of your team. As the leader of your unit, you were expected to stand tall still, and you were going to.

Your mission wasn’t over.

Laying on your side with your cuffs moved to the front in your last interrogation you attempted to sleep for the night or day, you weren’t sure.

The metal door opened, and footsteps entered, but at this point, your senses were extremely dulled. You couldn't bother moving to turn to the person. Perhaps it was the guard here to give you a surveyed meal? They would have to poke the sleeping bear if they wanted to harm you. They stopped just behind you and then kneeled behind you. They were silent and that's when you knew who it was.

With the little energy, you had left you slowly turned around with your joints clicking loudly in their sockets. He had brought a torch this time, but it was burning discarded nearby. Slowly blinking your eyes open you stared into his deep eyes. You expected anger to still fill them but instead, you found a glazing of sadness over them. Heavy darkness like smudged charcoal had taken home under his eyes.

“Y/n” he began softly. You swear you could see him cracking through a mask that he had built upon his new face. It was him, but it wasn’t still.

Mumbles spilled from his lips that were unintelligent on your ears, but you could slightly make out what he was saying. You were unsure of what to say.

A crack severed down the center of his mask and his eyes, his eyes, those were the ones you recognize as he lifted his head and repeated it. "Y/n."

You just picked up on the fact that his chest was rising and falling rapidly, had he run here? His face was damp with sweat.

You raised your cuffed hands out of instinct, a deep part inside of you calling out to this, but you slowly lowered them when you realized what you were doing. He was Jin, but it didn’t change anything in the big picture. He was still the General…and you...you were—.

He watched your hands and it seemed he hesitated too as his hands jerked at his side. He wanting to reach out and grab your hands, but instead, he clenched them at his side.

You looked at him once over, still harping on the red and black armor he wore. His being was giant, but he looked so small hunched on his knees. In a tired voice, you finally spoke, "Why are you here?"

“I needed to see you.”

Afraid of an answer, you asked anyways, “Why?”

He rubbed his knees, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting angry at you. I—.”

You wanted a genuine moment, but you couldn’t trust this side of emotion. “Jin.”

He stopped and looked at you with rounded eyes, realizing why he’d come to see you. “You to escape.” I don’t care if I get punished, but I can’t let them…I can’t let them wash—.”

Your eyes widened, it was just rumored in hushed whispers, but it was true. Without him having to continue you knew what he was implying.

You croaked out, “How?”

He briefly smiled at you, slowly reaching out for your hand on instinct. When he just touched the tip of your fingers with his, his chest felt a bit fuller. When you didn’t pull away, he kept it there, the feeling sending goosebumps over his being. You were real. When his smile widened, you knew he already had an idea.

Your eyes remained stable as Jin came later as promised. His head tilted back, eyebrow raised in mock as a Dai Li entered the room along with him. The mask was back on.

Jin smirked, “It’s time to take the prisoner for reconditioning.”

The Dai Li commanded you up, but your legs protested. The ground shifted below you and soon enough you were standing up. The Dai Li had your cuffs behind your back once again and he was shoving you through the cell door out into the hall. Your legs wobbled and you stumbled from having sat so long.  As you passed Jin you side-eyed him with a sneer.

You grumbled as a mesh black bag was placed over your head and the Dai Li was leading you somewhere. You could hear Jin's footsteps leading the three of you somewhere. Twisting and turning down the hallway, it was all disorienting.

Soon you heard another door opening and you were shoved into another room. You were maneuvered until you were forced to sit in a chair. Your hands were locked in place as the cuffs fastened themselves to the chair. The Dai Li stood behind you and ripped the mask off, and you blinked against the dim lights. Jin waved his hands and lit the candles within lanterns that were placed on a metal ring in front of you. You watched the candle in front of you flicker as your eyes looked over to Jin's once. There was darkness swirling behind his eyes that weren't there before.

Your insides caught fire, propelled by anger that you projected onto your face. Jin stepped forward as the Dai Li stepped into the center of the ring. Jin rounded the circle and stood next to you in the chair. “Inmate, we wouldn’t have had to come to this if you only told us what you know. Unless you want to confess now?”

A growl left your lips as you hissed and jerked towards him in a bite, but the cuffs connected to the earthen chair locked you in.

He snickered as he stood in between you and the Dai Li who was awaiting commands. As he stood in front of you, back facing the Dai Li, his eyes softened for a split second.

The plan.

“Y/n, do you…do you still remember how to do it?” He whispered to you as he held on tight to your hand. He didn’t have any intention of letting go.

You tilted your head to the side, “Do what?”

He licked his lips, “The one your father used to do?”

Your mind filtered back and you knew what he was talking about. “Jin, I don’t…that’s.”

His smile faltered, “I know. I’m sorry to ask you to do it, but it’s the only thing I can think of.”

You sucked in a breath tight through your teeth. “I’ll…I’ll do it.”

 Silently his eyes communicated to you the go-ahead. You took a deep breath in and released it to take in another deep breath rapidly. Your hooded eyes brimmed up as you took control of the only water in the room.

Jin’s pupils expanded as you watched his body grow taunt. The Dai Li behind him was imprisoned in our grasp as well. They groaned and huffed trying to regain control of their being, but you held it tight.

In a near squeak, pitched and strained the Dai Li muttered painfully, “Blo-od Be-nding.”

With your mind, you forced Jin to pick up his legs and move aside. His eyes widened as he followed the moves, his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck taunt and on display. You had pleaded with Jin to not practice it on him, but he said that to play it upright he needed to be a part of it the rouse. The Dai Li gulped hard swallowing a scream they wanted to shout. You forced their hands up with twitching of your fingers and mimicked the motions you'd seen them do when they adjusted your cuffs. The earthen cuffs split open and fell and soon your arms were free. You shifted your arms for the first time and raising your left hand above your head and your right to your eyes. Lowering your hands you commanded the Dai Li to kneel.

Jin stood off to the side watching it all with a bit of fear inside him. He had heard of this bending from you, it was illegal, you had told him when you were children that your father used it in medical practices and had shown you tricks. This was different witnessing and feeling it. The feeling of no control of his own being sent his body on overdrive, heart pounding. To be able to do this, control someone else with just your eyes, meant you had more power than you lead onto. No wonder they had put you in a deep cell with doors that were nearly impossible to open.

You. You were dangerous.

Within this time you let go of Jin, but his body was still too in shock to relax.

Focusing all your energy onto the Dai Li, like a marionette, you stood up slowly approaching the ring of metal with your pose controlling his kneel. You contorted your fingers and with a bit of pressure, you halted the blood in his neck flowing to his head. You watched his eyes flutter and he passed out with a muffled huff. Gently you released his being and laid him down gently. You stumbled over to him to check for a pulse and was able to find a slow pace still beating.

You slowly turned to Jin, “What now?”

His eyes widened and blinking for a second. Without commentary, he moved you over and began undressing the Dai Li down to his underwear. Noticing this you turned around, a hot flush coming over you. Jin tapped your shoulder, "Here, dress quick and let's go."

You looked at the clothing in your hand then looked over your shoulder. “Turn around and don’t look.”

He snickered and obeyed. You looked over your shoulder a few times to assure you could only see his blonde hair. You changed like it burned to touch the clothing. You slipped on the black and green hat, tucking your hair into it. “I’m done.”

Jin turned around looked you over once, he stared more than necessary and coughed. “Let’s move. Stay behind me, head down and hidden.”

Moving through the halls caused your heart to beat erratically in your chest. You weren’t sure this plan was going to work, but you were going to trust in him.

The domed tunnels were made of cement blocks. The torches flickered on the floor with a green flame, yet the walls were a deep emerald. You followed orders and kept your head down. Hearing footsteps coming towards your direction you kept your head level but cast. A Dai Li lead a group of women and out of the corner of your eye you glimpsed at them. All of the women looked similar all dressed in a yellow dress with the same haircut, mostly the same washed look in their eyes. You flicked your eyes back and kept them forward.

Guards bowed to him as he walked past but Jin kept his shoulders taunt as he moved forward without acknowledging them. It was minutes before you both reached the entrance. Walking up the stairs Dai Li guarding the entrance and with Jin's presence alone they opened the gate that leads up and out.

Quietly you followed Jin up but your arm was grabbed by a Dai Li causing your breath to catch in your throat. The man stared you directly in the eyes, "Who are you? You're not one of us?"

Your eyes widened but the arm was soon ripped from yours and Jin pulled you to him. He pushed you behind him. "You dare touch one of Azula's warriors? Do you understand what kind of punishment would come to you?" Jin's voice boomed towards them with anger.

Their eyes widened before they bowed with an apology. Without missing a beat, Jin guided you out to the surface and into the night.

You both disappeared into the smoke that covered over Lake Laogai.

Stepping into his home you trod carefully through the garden, sneaking in through the servants' entrance. Looking through the trees you got a glimpse of his immaculate home. His home was made of stone with yellow tiles on the expansive roofs. He grabbed onto your hand leading you through, "The help is gone for the day, no one will find you here."

He kept you close as he led you to a wooden porch that seemed to wrap around the entirety of the back of his home. Stepping up onto the porch Jin finally observed his grip on you and he let go like he had touched fire, coughing uncomfortably as he ruffled his hair to ease the awkwardness.

You glimpsed inside his home, as it seems he always left the doors open, internally you analyzed all the fire emblems that decorated everywhere. You were in the Earth Kingdom, but it was dowsed in Fire.

You slipped the Dai Li hat off your head and held it between your hands. The energy of the Moon grazes over your skin sending goosebumps along your skin. You turned to gaze at the full moon, “You get a good view of the Moon from here.”

He stepped up next to you, surprisingly nervous, but he kept his posture. “It’s nice.”

You turn to him, “Thanks for everything Jin.”

He cocked his head, “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for?”

You scoffed a laugh finally looking up at him, “I should leave now. They must know I’m gone and with you being gone, things won’t look good.”

You were about to turn without another word as his hand latched onto your wrist holding you in place. His warm touch was searing hot, but it was welcomed to your aching wrist. You turned to look at him with a raised brow.

“Don’t…go.”

You turned but he still held your wrist. “They will be looking for you, it won’t be safe for you to leave Ba Sing Se now. Stay…until the morning at least, then I’ll let you leave.”

Words were stuck in his throat, there was more to it than that.

You pondered on it for a moment. It irked you knowing you were too weak right now. Your body was only full of moon energy, but overall you still felt weak. You probably couldn’t make it past the rings to get to the Lower ring to headquarters without being spotted. You nodded.

"Come." He took your hand and lead you inside. You bathed, changed clothes, and when you came out to the living room he was sitting out on the porch with a meal set up on a small table. He smiled and beckoned you over with a wave of his hand. You sat across from him tucking your feet under you. The food looked delicious.

“I didn’t know you know how to cook. I thought you had people do that for you?”

He scrunched up his fast in protest, “I don’t have them do everything for me.”

You laughed at how much protests he put up. Then, it hit you, you knew nothing much about him anymore. When was the last time you had laughed with him? Clearing his throat as he saw the light in your eyes drop, he urged you to dig in. You both ate in silence, the sound of crickets filling the silence.

He broke the silence, curiosity eating away at him. “Where did you go?”

You dipped your spoon into your soup and contemplated for a moment. His eyes filtered down to the scar on your forearm as the sleeve of your shirt lifted as you brought another spoonful of soup to your lips. His handprint discolored your skin in a deep purple that wrapped like a bracelet. He frowned. It still pained him to know he hurt you.

“I’m sorry.”

You followed his gaze to your forearm, then back to his sad eyes. “I don’t blame you anymore.”

His eyes filtered up as he set down his utensil he had been strangling. “Why? You should. It was horrible what I did. Nothing I ever did to you should be forgiven. I walked away when you needed me the most.” A look of pain crossed his face, swallowing hard, “I hurt you.”

A tung pulled within your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. The way he looked at you took all your breath away and expelled it to the universe. Butterflies filled you, but you tried fighting the feeling. You weren’t going to let those feelings resurface.

“You had no choice.”

His face was complex, he wanted to say about a thousand things.

Instead, you answered him, "I…I had to leave the capital. I knew after what happened it wouldn't be safe for me in the capital. I escaped on a ship and let it take me wherever it was going. I was on it for days before it stopped at Jang Hui delivering parts and supplies to the factory. I snuck off the ship and tried to find a place where I could start new. I stayed by the small town just by the river in the forest, but an old man I came across told me I couldn't stay there. He told me it wasn't safe for a young water bender in Fire Nation territory. After some discussion, he offered to mentor me. Without a place to go, I took it. He's taught me everything I practically know…even a bit of blood bending."

Jin’s eyes widened, finally understanding how advance you were in it, how you understood water so well.

“I stayed there for years, I stayed in town as a fisher to blend in and had a small home and everything.” Smirking, “The painted lady uniform you called was ironically from there. I wore that as my fisherwoman outfit.”

Jin asked, “Why’d you leave?”

"Things changed when my mentor came to me one night in a panic. He told me he had to leave, that he was called upon."

Licking your lips, Jin followed the motion with his eyes. “There was news that the Fire Nation was going to attack Ba Sing Se and they called upon him to put a stop to it.”

Jin's eyes flickered back up to yours hearing about the order.

"I told him that I wanted to go with him, but of course he protested. Eventually, I convinced him I was ready to join the order. He laughed like I was crazy, but I told me I wasn't. I told him if I could follow him and help then I would help in any way. I was his mentor after all. I ended up going to Ba Sing Se and built a small team of other refugees and we formed our own syndicate within the order."

Somewhere along the way he had pushed the small table out of the way and had situated himself in front of you. He looked like he was holding his breath, eyes holding yours as you looked away from your scar you had been tracing.

“It’s all my fault.”

You shake your head again, “You didn’t have a choice.”

He shook his head in denial, but still lacked comment.

You squinted your eyes at him. “What do you want Jin?”

He was silent. “I don’t know.”

You brought your knees up to your chest, “Do you want this?” You pointed to his visage.

Although he was just about a meter away from you, he felt so much closer.

“I don’t know.” In a sigh, he confessed, “I never stopped thinking about you.”

The air around you both had changed, it was intimate. The way his eyes were looking at you with something similar to affection was teasing the feeling within you. Gaze swimming with something deep. Cautiously he reached out for your hand again, wanting to hold onto something stable.

You look him in the eyes, the feeling in your stomach undying and it terrified you. “I can’t be here.”

He sits up straight feeling you slip through his fingers. “ Y/n.”

“I don’t belong here.”

He grows frustrated with this game you had been playing your whole lives. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know much, but one thing he was sure about was you. You've never migrated far from his thoughts, always lingering, and he never wanted to lose the real thing again. Maybe from the moment, he looked out the window when you both were kids, that's when his heart was pulled towards you. He never had a choice, never had a choice…up until now.

Scooting forward in he grabbed your elbow twisting you around as you tried getting up. He stares intently into your eyes, golden embers burning behind them. "You belong here. You've always belonged."

"Jin." In a stable voice, you wanted to remind him you don't. Remind yourself.

Urged on by your unmoved expression, fire filling his veins to prove to you. “I need you.”

“I’ve had enough decisions made for me. It’s always been you and I’m not letting you slip away if I can help it. That’s my choice.”

He watched your eyes flicker down to his lips then back up. He grabbed the back of your claves and pulled you to him like you weighed nothing. In a squeak naturally, your arms went to clutch at his shoulders. He pulled you into his lap and wrapped your legs around his waist. His warm hands sent a shiver up your spine as he grasped you tight to him.

“Can I?” He tipped your chin with the back of his fingers while his eyes were glued to your lips. You nodded squeezing his shoulders. He presses your lips together hard like a starved man, moving them against you with ferocity. Your lips were stiff against his, unsure, it felt like you were dreaming. You had always wondered if his lips were as soft as they appeared, but they beat all expectations. He moved his plush lips bruising over yours as if he was afraid he was going to lose you. When he finally pulled away his pupils engulfed his iris, but they were trained on you. Despite the feral beast hiding inside the blond man, his touch was gentle. His hand that was tangled in your hair came around and cupped your cheek. “Do you need me too, Y/n?”

You nodded, you wanted this too, you wanted him. You clutched at his shoulders, “Please.”

Lust, a look you dimly began to recognize took over his being, but your mind struggles to catch up with. He leaned in and peppered kisses down your neck to the collar of his shirt. You shivered in his embrace. His touch had you melting to him and you moaned as he moved back up your neck to capture your lips again. His tongue pried open your lips and tasted you as he moved it around yours. You were intoxicated on his kisses and you could only moan out his name.

Instantly he was tightening his embrace around your waist and lifted off the ground. You yelped, his cold armor was a contrast to his hot hands and body. He walked you through his home and before you knew it, he was dropping you down onto his bed. He kept himself hovering over you as you still had your legs wrapped around his waist. He caught your lips as he propped his elbows by your head. With a bit of confidence, you reached up and tangled your hands into his soft, thick hair.

He groaned into you as he pulled away too lightly bit at your lower lip. "You don't know how long I've been wanting this."

You didn't get to answer as his lips answered yours by pressing his lips sweetly to yours. Your cheeks flushed as he fully pulled away and sat back on his legs. Your legs fell from his waist as he shifted about. He began unlacing his armor and tossed them aside, along with his undershirt while still maintaining eye contact with you. Your eyes widened as you gazed at his sun-kissed toned arms and bare chest. Your mouth fell slightly agape. All the scars that littered his chest were immense. Subconsciously you reached out to touch them tracing the longer ones that lead into smaller ones. Carefully you trailed your hand up and noticed a fresh one. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and he hissed in pain at a recent cut that had yet to heal.

You gazed around the room and noticed a vase holding a bouquet. Apologizing to the flowers mentally, with an extended hand you bended the water over to you. Jin watched you carefully as the water covered your hand like a glove. You flickered your gaze up to his before you brought your hand closer to his chest, just over his heart. He patiently let you, although both of your chests were still rising and falling with adoration and lust. When your hands touched his searing chest your hand turned a silvery blue glow. Jin watched in fascination, feeling a tickle over the wound. It was a few seconds before you pulled your hand away and smiled at the perfectly closed skin.

He looked at where his injury once was in awe. He leaned down and caught your lips, "You're amazing."

With confidence, you bring him down closer to you. Tightening your legs around his waist you flip him over onto his back and straddle his waist. You lean down and mark up his neck tasting his salty skin. He groans his hunger for you swallowing him whole with unadulterated desire. As you made your way down his chest where you've left a trail of saliva you breathed an icy breath that appeared like a gentle stream of smoke over his chest. He shivered tossing his head back as his half-hard length tightened in his pants. The feeling was new as it sent shivers down his spine.

You got close to the waistband of his trousers. You looked up through your lashes at him and he nodded watching you pull down his pants from his small waist. His pants protested coming around his thick thighs before he shook them off somewhere on the floor. Your eyes came back to meet his thick and long cock. You felt intimidated by the size, your last partner didn't compare. If a cock could be pretty, his was pretty. Imagining it fitting inside you sent a shiver down your spine. You steel your nerves and swallow any tempting thoughts. You licked your lips and relaxed down between his legs as they naturally spread to accommodate you. He gulped and you watched his Adam's apple bob. Internally you smiled, maybe he was just as nervous as you were. You took his cock in your hand and you felt him shiver under your touch. You hadn't realized that in your excitement your body naturally took on a chill ready to shift phases if you were to bend. You noticed small, white droplets oozing out of the tip and without much thought you lean in closer and lick it up. He groans legs shifting as his hand's fist at the blanket. He attempted to say your name, but it was swallowed as you began peppering kisses down the side of his length only to work your way back up on the other side. When you touched his thighs with your cold hand he hissed, "Ah, so cold."

"Is this okay Jin?" You licked the tip once more as you look up at him innocently. You take the tip into your mouth and begin sucking wanting to work your way down. Jin's eyes were glazed and disoriented. "Ugh, you're going to be the death of me. You're taking me so well."

When he hears you wantonly whimper his name with a string of saliva connecting you to his cock, he loses it. You can suck him off next time. With unrivaled strength and martial precision, he flipped you over, his touch was so hot like coals as he began tugging at your clothes. You hissed as your clothing began to light creating holes in it that were extinguished before it caught fire. You yelped, “Jin,” as he tore your shirt off you with impatience.

You look beautiful, your eyes brimming with something that melts his tough exterior. He could practically hear your heartbeat, but he was sure you could hear his own. His large hands encase your waist, cupping just under your breast as he ran his hand over your velvety skin. With his mouth, he kisses down from your lips to your clavicle until he reaches down and takes a nipple into his mouth. Everything about him was hot, especially his tongue that was tasting your soft lumps. With his other hand, he was rolling your breast in his palms before flicking the nipple with his thumb. You arch your back feeling his plush lips encompass one. You hadn't realized how sensitive you were until you were arching up, you're your hands rest on his shoulder squeezing occasionally. He tested a thrust into you as he wrapped a leg around his waist. He squeezed your thigh when you granted him a moan in return.

He was nearly purring as he made his way down your body before he was in the apex of your thighs. He kisses them before he was back on his knees. Extending his hands, he lit up the candles in the room with a flick of his wrist. “I want to see you, all of you.” It felt like he was a dragon as he rose on his haunches, powerful and willing to devour you as his prey. He stared down at you and subconsciously you wanted to cover yourself up, but he didn’t allow you to as one of his hands brought it up to his lips kissing your palm. “So beautiful.”

He brought your legs together and slipped off your pants and you allowed your legs to drop open. With no underwear on you bear all your natural self to him. He situated himself back down between your supple thighs. He leaned in and licked a long strip up your slick folds with a devious smile. You withered underneath him, but he held you down as he wrapped his thick arms around your waist. You were nailed to the bed as he tasted you, licking around your folds and dipping into your entrance. Just when you thought it was too much he began suckling at your clit that had pleasure washing over you instantly. He pulled away when he noticed you were getting too close to the edge. With a finger, he prodded at your entrance before he sunk it in slowly. His finger was so hot it felt like you were going to melt deliciously. You moaned as he crocked the finger upwards and began moving it in and out of you. When you could take that much he thrust in another that had you crying out. You felt so cold and it only made him want to make himself hotter, have you melting underneath him.

"I want you to cum on my cock." He pulled away just as your coils were about to burst causing the fire to fizzle out. It still thrummed through your veins and your core tightened around his fingers at the prospect. He chuckled feeling you tightened around his fingers as he pulled them out of you.

A wanton moan tore through your throat as he lined himself up with your entrance. He ran his cock up and down your slit then flicking around the head of his cock picking up your essence. You groaned when he rubbed the head against your clit. He chuckled the breathier you got. He leaned down stopping his teasing capturing your lips, “You’re so good for me.”

On his elbows with your noses touching he pushes into you slowly. Your mouth falls open as you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tight. Yes, you've done this before, but it's been a while. You felt the pinch and stretch as his thick cock buries itself in you inch by inch. He attempted to soothe and distract you by drowning you in kisses and tweaking your nipples. It worked but the stretch brought a bit of tears to your eyes as he slowly pushed completely inside of you. As you two meshed, the feeling was hot and icy at the same time was euphoric.

Pulling away he wiped them away, "You did so well for me. Tell me when I can move."

He felt like a furnace on top of you and you were sweating, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You wiggled your hips against him, "Please, Jin."

He rocked his hips into you testing out the motion. You moaned at each motion; you hadn’t realized how sensitive you were. Every place he touched was like he was setting off a blazing fire bringing you closer to an end, but you wanted to hold on. You wanted to feel him longer, but you weren’t sure you were going to last. Your legs trembled around him.

He pulled out almost all the way before he slammed himself back in. You let out a moan at the delicious pleasure as his cock stretched you out. Each time he met your hips with a slap from his own you choked on a moan. His grip on your hips was possessive and tight as he thrust into you with fever. His skin sweating like it was the hottest day of summer. It was building and building inside him. "Fuck, you feel too good, you feel too good."

He growls, rough and dangerous.

"Cum with me, give it to me." He placed his thumb over your clit and began rolling and pinching it. His pace was unrelenting as he brought you over the edge. When he came, he threw his head back mouth falling open as flames erupted from his throat. He captured your lips in a sweet kiss as your bodies twitched against each other in pleasure.

He rolled off you, landing on the bed next to you. He pulled you close to him tucking you to his side. Lazily you brought your leg up and draped it over him as he hugged you tight to him.

In the moment of peace, your body was still buzzing with pleasure. Jin turned his head, blonde hair stuck to his forehead, and he beamed a smile at you. You reach up and catch his lips and he gladly returns the lazy kiss.

Feeling like you swallowed metal, all thoughts of reality came to you as your high began leaving your system. “I need you too, but I can’t stay.”

His heart stops in his chest, you slip from his embrace and sit at the edge of the bed. He immediately sits up and embraced you. He tightens as you try to get up to leave. He tucked his head into your neck as he mumbled, “Don’t leave.”

You turned to the side to face him face to face, and it killed you inside seeing his eyes scrunches, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Jin, we’re in two different worlds. No matter how much I want you, us—we…we won’t work.”

His words came out rapid, “It will!”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, despite his scrunched expression he leaned into the touch, “I love you, and always have.”

Slowly you slipped from his embrace and you picked up his discarded shirt and began pulling it over your head. It was eerily quiet, your heart pounding in your chest. You finally said it to him, a feeling you've always held. Tears welled in your eyes; you couldn't face him.

The sheets shifted behind you and hard and fast footsteps followed before he grabbed you and spun you around. He pressed his lips to you in fever and you melted into it, the motions now feeling vintage between you two. Gently pulling away for air he rested his forehead on yours. When you opened your eyes, he was already returning the look, eyes trimmed with near amber.

“I’ll leave it all.”

Your eyes widened as you tried pushing away, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He grabbed your arms holding them tight so you couldn’t look away, “No, never again, I’m not losing you again, but I can lose all of that and not give a damn. It’s you. That’s my choice. I love you.”

You searched his eyes for deceit, for anything of insecurity, but you couldn’t find it. He repeated himself to you. “I love you.”

A single tear dripped down your cheek as you reached for him, “We leave at dawn.”

There’s a chaotic rebellion in the simple things.

Tranquility amongst the ever omnipresence of war in the world.

The world was engulfed in flames.

His blonde hair rustled as he stood amongst the sea of other benders ready to finish the 100 year war. Standing tall next to you, your blue veil flowed about you in your shadowed silhouette. With members of the Lotus, they all walked as equals.

Your hands engulfed in water and his fist alight, it was time to end it all.

You were going to take back the world.

Copyright 2019 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.