#it's jagged little pill in case you were wondering

[bakedbakermom]

i am burning a cd for the first time since college this is awesome peace and love on planet earth

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (35)

Author’s Note:  I had planned on delivering more this chapter, but the wordcount got a little out of hand and it made the most sense to stop it here. I’ll be working on the next chapter in advance so I can still write the good parts while my muse is present. For those that are still with me reading this story, I would suggest listening to Runaway by AURORA for Sakura’s pov in these chapters and Don’t Worry by Boon for Sasuke’s second pov. Special shouthout to my Optom husband who was happy to lend me his medical knowledge for this chapter. As always, let me know your thoughts. Thank you for your patience. I promise it will pay off. 

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34

Chapter 35: No Help Needed

Sakura’s trail was cold. Beyond their shared bedroom and her departing letter, there was nothing. Like a released bowstring, Sasuke had sprung forth into the night in the direction of the only detail he was certain about her plan: Tanigakure. He had plucked this detail from Mako’s memories like a healer digs out pieces of metal in a flesh wound. The physical toll of traveling nonstop overnight while chakra-depleted had cost the Uchiha, and he had been tempted several times to just pop another chakra pill into his mouth. However, he couldn’t risk taking it in case he came upon a situation where he would need it in combat. So, Sasuke had trudged through the sand all night, wrapping his hair and face with the black cloth of his turban, pulling the hood of his traveling poncho up and over his hair to better disguise himself; Sasuke didn’t want to even waste chakra on a simple transformation jutsu. He ‘had to be discreet,’ after all.

Sasuke arrived at the jagged mountainous ribcage surrounding Tanigakure the following evening, gaining entrance easily as an unrecognizable traveler in a world of peace. His eyes searched for any flash of pink and he stopped at every place he could think where Sakura might start her search for the organization bent on killing her: the hospital she made Sasuke stay at just so she could visit the medical facilities here, and even their old hotel room, but there was no sign of her. After hours of staking out with no word or sign, Sasuke cursed himself for not gathering more information about her plan from Kakashi before pursuing her. His inability to find even a trace of her just went to show that Sasuke was always a little too confident in himself and still found himself habitually underestimating Sakura’s skill. 

As the sun began to set, Sasuke wanted nothing more than to approach every single soul crowding the streets in the evening lantern-lit dusk and ask if anyone had seen her, but Sasuke couldn’t risk the suspicion it would rouse about his own identity. Who was he and why did he want to know? How did he know her and where could they find him if they did see her? He could already hear the questions and he didn’t want any rumors to make it to the leadership of this village. Discretion turned out to be a lot more difficult when you were panicking.

And so, Sasuke perched himself on the roof above a crowded izakaya, where many individuals were flocking to participate in nighttime drinking and he did the only thing he could think of: watch and wait for a word, a clue, the breath of her name or description between the boisterous laughter of intoxicated patrons. In the darkness of night, when the starlight outshone the dimming lanterns, Sasuke even became desperate for the crickets to sigh but a syllable of her name. But like everyone else, they gave him nothing. Sasuke released a frustrated sigh, adding another useless sound to the nightscape around him as he jumped down from the building, too restless to do anything but pace the streets and wonder how he ever ended up like this.  

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Sakura fingered her dark hair in the reflection of the ink-stained water in the bucket at her feet. She scrubbed at the lingering residue of black dye running past her hairline and wrapped the towel in her hands quickly around her short hair. When Sakura heard the crack of the door, she flashed the woman who entered a quick grin. 

“You dyed it!?” the youngest girl of the group, Tabi exclaimed, falling to her knees beside Sakura with her hands covering her mouth. “But it’s your best feature! You would attract the attention of everyone!”

Sakura shook her head, wanting to say something along the lines of ‘that’s exactly the point,’ but she didn’t for the obvious reason of blowing her cover. And despite what she had told the headmistress of the bathhouse, Sakura didn’t plan on being here long—just long enough to gather the intel she needed in order to move into the next phase of her plan. 

“Mother will not be happy,” the girl stated, reaching over to finger a stray lock of jet that escaped from the bundle atop Sakura’s head. 

“Mother,” Sakura responded, using the same honorific for the headmistress, “will hopefully understand my reasons. I don’t want to stand out too much.” 

Tabi shook her head, saying, “Is it permanent? How long will it last? Will the steam from the bath ruin it?”

Sakura shook her head, grateful she could be honest with the young girl with at least one thing. “It should hold for a couple of days, if not more.”

“The sooner it fades back to rose, the better.” Tabi stated matter-of-factly, rising to move to the other side of the room that they shared to begin the evening ritual of preparing for the night’s work. 

Sakura copied her experienced movements, powdering her face while her hair dried, carefully concealing the purple diamond between her brows. Infiltrating this job had been easier than Sakura had anticipated given the reputation of difficulty in this line of work. Sakura had approached the headmistress as a ‘transfer’ from another establishment. Due to Tanigakure’s exclusive nature from the outside world, it was not difficult to acquire fabricated copies of the necessary paperwork indicating a ‘private transfer’ from another village, and Sakura easily produced the medical assessments of her health that was also required. It also didn’t hurt that Sakura’s coloring was considered rare and possibly desirable by some; in other words, she would be highly profitable. Sakura promised the headmistress a steep percentage for every patron she ‘pleased.’ Or would allegedly please. 

No, Sakura did not plan to violate herself in order to gain the information she was looking for. She had never stooped into this role before in all her mission activity, but Ino had once used the disguise in order to slip into minds of her targets more easily once she got them isolated and no harm could befall her body once she performed the jutsu. 

Sakura had only acquired empty leads since she had arrived in Tanigakure. All Sakura needed to do was assess, learn what she could from the right people, and transition into the next step of her plan. The infiltration was the easy part, but this next part was dangerous, and Sakura would have to tread so very carefully. 

“Why are you here, Tabi?” Sakura couldn’t resist asking, wondering how such a lovely girl ended up servicing despicable men at one of the secretive bath house locations in the shinobi world. “How did you end up in a place like this?”

Tabi eyed Sakura curiously for a second before laughing. “I could ask the same about you.” And then she didn’t talk to Sakura for the rest of the evening as they prepped for the night.

Sakura followed the other girls into the establishment, a building disguised as a common bathhouse in the front section, advertising the typical bathhouse amenities, but concealing the back half which included private baths and rooms. When a section of the wall slid back to reveal a dark sitting room, Sakura had to steal herself and conceal an inner cringe under the stares of the lounging men who were already expecting them in the luxury-style waiting room. Sakura never felt so disgusted in her entire life than she did in that moment under the predatory gazes of those who only sought to devour others and pleasure themselves. Sakura immediately found herself second guessing this step. Maybe this hadn’t been such a clever idea. But she had no other choice. The members of the organization had been able to conceal themselves in a “neutral” territory long enough to gain numbers and begin operation. To Sakura, this meant one of three things. The first and most unlikely option was that this anti-peace organization had managed to keep their activity low enough to avoid detection and that Tanikage was truly focused on other things. Sakura doubted this one. The village was simply too small to have as many members as Mako had claimed go undetected. Or there was a very real possibility that the Kage and Council were already aware and didn’t take action because powerful figures were involved, maybe even leadership, or they simply did not care.

When the door was shut behind them, Sakura watched the other girls disappear into the noisy room hazed with pipe smoke, making their way toward familiar patrons. Socialization seemed to be a part of the selection process, to intensify the excitement, and Sakura planned to take advantage of it. She held her breath as she navigated, walking up to Tabi who had already familiarly climbed into the lap of one of the younger men, apparently a returning patron of hers. 

“Is this a new friend,” the man drawled thickly through a handful of Tabi’s hair that he had twirled throughout his fingers and pressed to his mouth. 

At Tabi’s sudden wide-eyed expression at Sakura’s appearance, Sakura answered for herself, soothing Tabi’s fears in the same sentence. Sakura knew the look of someone who felt threatened by her presence, and Tabi was giving her a warning stare for approaching her patron. “Yes. Guta Hae, sir,” Sakura introduced with a bow. “I am new. Perhaps you could introduce me to any friends that you might be in company with.”

Around her, the socialization had already begun and men who had already found their women for the evening, began to mingle with their associates, the girls clinging to their arms like trophies. Several of them appraised Sakura from a distance, naturally curious at the new face. But Sakura wasn’t going to just be picked from the lot like a prized animal ripe for butcher. No. Instead, Sakura would be choosing amongst them in the form of an introduction, just as she had planned. 

Tabi nodded, exclaiming, “Yes. This is her first night so she doesn’t know anyone,” Tabi smiled back at the man who was running his hands possessively over her leg in the dim light around them as he debated whether this unexpected disturbance would be beneficial in some way, or if he should just whisk Tabi away to their private room. “Could you introduce her to some friends, Toka-san?”

“Hmm,” Toka smirked, “any favor for you, dear,” he murmured into Tabi’s hair. “If you’re willing to return it.” 

The words dropped into Sakura’s stomach to spoil like rotten food. This wasn’t good. Sakura didn’t want anyone to suffer anything personally from her meddling, especially not a woman as nice to her as Tabi had been. Just as she was fixing to retract her request, intent to say nevermind, Tabi was helping the man in the lounge chair to his feet, twirling his arm around her neck as they walked toward the crowd gathering in the back of the room. 

The haze grew thicker around the smoking men as they lounged against the shadow-cloaked walls, and Sakura bowed to them when Toka stopped and held out his hand smoothly for Sakura to take. Masking her face to conceal her repulsion, Sakura slid her fingers into Toka’s waiting palm and he held her hand above her head to spin her in a half pirouette in front of his curious counterparts. The way each of their eyes clung to different parts of her body had Sakura feeling like she might wretch. 

“Guta Hae,” Toka introduced, dropping her hand as if he were a gentleman. Sakura knew he was anything but. “She’s new here. Tabi asked that I introduce her to you all.”   

Sakura’s eyes fluttered as she feigned shyness, bringing her shoulders innocently up for a small second. 

There were exchanged smiles amongst some of the men as they debated their current choices, but Sakura’s eyes assessed them back, weighing her options and gathering what little intel she could gather from them. At the center of the pack, Sakura’s medical eye immediately located a man with his eyes tightly bound with bandaging. He was quiet as he tilted his ear to appraise her, solemn with two girls on each of his knees as he sat in one of the red, luxuriously tufted high-back chairs. And Sakura marked him as someone of little interest to her despite the initial surprise of his blindness. His injuries could mean several things, either good or bad for her purposes, but Sakura also could tell that whatever had happened to him had potentially wisened him, and Sakura didn’t need to approach that type of person. The fact that his injury potentially revealed his status as a former ninja, put him on Sakura’s radar; but, she also believed he might be worth investigating at a distance. Sakura’s eyes scanned over the rest of their smoking and laughing personas. 

“New in what way?” one of the men joked loudly as the rest of them snickered with shiny, interested eyes. “New here? Or…new, new?”

Sakura wanted to sneer at such a suggestive question, curl her lip and let her inner Sakura bleed through her teeth and down into her firsts. “I’m from the Land of Fire,” she revealed, weighing the various reactions to such a revelation. And several eyes flickered to her, assessing her differently. 

“The Land of Fire?” asked the loud man again as he crossed his arms. “Can’t be Konoha. I’ve never heard of such an establishment in the Leaf. Not recently, anyway.”

The others agreed around him, but Sakura didn’t reveal that answer. She had made her cast, throwing the lure out onto the smoke-infused water, dangling the bait in the crocodile faces of six influential men. By smiling and shrugging her shoulders and keeping the mystery of her origin concealed, Sakura was reeling in that line and establish her own draw.

Sakura moved toward the loud one, painting a saccharine grin on her face. He was going to be the one to spill secrets, Sakura could tell. He had a mouth on him like Naruto. “Are you familiar with Konoha?” Sakura asked him sweetly as she moved into his inner circle, receiving a glare from the woman on his arm. “I’ve never been to the Leaf, but had many patrons from there,” she continued. 

Before she even learned the man’s name, Sakura’s fingers were grasped carefully once again, the same application of force that Toka had just touched her with, and she was being tugged back around to face the group of men. The rougher man with the bandaging around his eyes had stood to retrieve her, reeling her in towards him as if she were the bait on the line. “Don’t waste your time on him. He’s a clown.”

Sakura’s instinctual reaction was to become solid, send chakra to her feet and become as immovable as her inhuman strength would allow her to be. It took her only a millisecond to resolve herself, to recommit to her plan, and Sakura became supple despite her annoyance with the man who felt too important to be overlooked by her. 

The two women who had once sat on his lap were gone and he replaced them with her, pulling her down to sit on his right knee. She still stiffened despite her resolve, realizing once again how dangerous the people were whom she was trying to play with. This guy was lucky, so incredibly lucky that Sakura’s purpose here was not to kill every single one of them. 

“I can tell you about Konoha,” he spoke lowly, a whisper as the conversation resumed around them, as he bent his head into her blackened hair. Sakura could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest as he said, “What is it that you want to know?”

Sakura couldn’t help herself. She turned her left shoulder into him to create more distance as she watched him carefully. “Are you from there?” she asked, wary that this man might be able to recognize her despite her careful disguise. 

“No,” he answered, “but I know several men who are.”

“Are you a ninja?” she questioned again, trying with everything in her to relax into this man’s embrace. Where their bodies touched, Sakura felt as if he were like a boiling acid, searing and burning at the connection points. 

“Have you been with a ninja?” he countered, and Sakura recognized his attempt to avoid answering the question. 

“Who do you think visited my previous establishment in the Land of Fire?” 

He chuckled, a mirthful laugh that lasted a little too long to make anyone comfortable. His next words sent an electricity through her blood. “What I wouldn’t give to see your face as you lie to everyone around you that you’re a sex worker like the rest of them.”

Her eyes grew wide as she checked to see if anyone heard what he had said. Most of the couples had already retired to their rooms, so Sakura forced her breathing into a steady cadence of ease and indifference. She turned to him slowly. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Her hand was taken lightly into his and she resisted the urge to snatch it back as he guided it to his cheek, splaying her fingers across the side of his head with his own as he grinned wickedly. “Your face was the last thing that I saw before I lost my vision. I’ll never forget the sound of your voice, Haruno Sakura.”

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When the door closed behind them, Sakura snatched her hand from the blind man who had lead her privately to one of the sauna rooms where extracurriculars were expected to take place. Sakura’s initial plan for this part was immediately interrupted. Pulling a kunai from her tightly-fitted silk attire, Sakura spun and pinned the mysterious man against the black wood of the closed door, kunai flush against the flesh of his throat. Beyond the slight tilt of his chin skyward, the man had no reaction. 

“Who are you?” she hissed, all pretenses and disguises temporarily dropped. 

The man chuckled against her blade. “It’s not surprising you don’t remember me. The battlefield of the war was so gruesome and so many men at your mercy, my face was one in a sea of millions.”

Sakura couldn’t help but think of Satou, Isao’s father, and Satou’s wife, whom Sakura had failed to save. Isao’s mother, too, had been one of millions. Sakura desperately searched for any recognition and came up blank. She remembered healing hundreds of visual injuries—this man had only been one of them. A heavy weight settled in her gut as she realized, that like all those others, his injuries had most likely been passed off to others because of the minority of them in comparison to those on the brink of dying. Severed appendages, organ damage, bleeding. Going blind was unfortunate, but not life threatening.  

Sakura asked the next obvious question. “Are you one of the people out to kill me?”

“Yes, actually.” He admitted and Sakura pressed the blade deeper, contemplating the pros and cons of killing him on the spot. “But,” he added lightly, avoiding the dipping of his throat against the bite of her kunai’s sharpness. “Since I was lucky enough to find you first, I will make you a deal.”

“Why should I even believe a word out of your mouth?”

“Because you have something that I want,” he answered, a hand coming up to grip her own. But he couldn’t move the fisted blade away because Sakura’s hand was as unmovable as steal as she no longer suppressed her immaculate strength. 

“And what is that?” she interrogated, unperturbed by his words. 

“Your abilities,” he smiled. “Heal my eyes completely, and I’ll help you.”

“I’ve been betrayed once already by a fellow member of yours,” Sakura revealed. “I won’t make the same mistake twice. Trusting you is the last thing I am going to do.”

Another chuckle reverberated up his chest like the swell of a wave in a turbulent ocean. “Then don’t trust me. But I am afraid that you have no other choice to work with me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because all of your friends are being watched carefully. And to your soon-to-be dismay, a certain Uchiha has been identified here within Tanigakure, and he is looking for you. The Zenshin’s plans for him aren’t a part of your plans, are they?”

Sakura’s kunai bounced as her hand shook in surprise at his words and it nicked his throat once before she steadied it. He hissed and pulled harder against her hand, but it still didn’t move. 

“He is here?” Sakura asked in a whisper, a myriad of paths of possibility spidering out from the revelation. Sasuke had followed her. Despite her wishes and despite Kakashi’s promises of keeping Naruto and Sasuke preoccupied, Sasuke had followed her. Not Naruto, but Sasuke. Even if it was out of concern for her, why? Why did he continue to doubt her abilities? Sakura pushed those feelings to the back of her mind as a new thought formed around the name of the organization that wanted to kill her and many others: Zenshin. To advance. Progression. The exact same word that Mako had declared to her in the desert wind only nights ago. She finally had the name. 

“Here and unsuccessful in his search for you, is what I have heard,” came the blind man’s sultry response in her face. “We knew you had to be close if he was here sniffing for you.” 

Damn it. Her plans were already starting to unravel. She was banking on the fact that they might not believe her brave enough to confront them, alone and in their own territory.  “On the off chance you’re actually telling the truth,” Sakura growled, “you lot are absolute fools to underestimate Sasuke. He and Naruto are singlehandedly the strongest shinobi to have ever walked this earth. He will mow you down just as Madara did to the shinobi alliance.”

“What about you?” he asked, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth despite the knife still secured against his flesh, nearly vibrating with the energy it was taking Sakura not to silence him permanently. “How strong are you?”

In the next movement, Sakura sheathed the weapon and relaxed her face into a smile of her own. “I am not far behind them.”

The blind man instinctively rubbed his neck where her kunai had been, smearing the pinpricks of blood there. “You’re lucky that even blind, my senses are sharper than my companions’,” he spoke, seriousness replacing the nervous humor of his previous persona. “By claiming you first, I have saved you from the lions you were prowling amongst just outside.” 

“Which ones in the sitting room are a part of ‘Zenshin’?” Sakura asked, and her eyes grew terribly wide at the next admission from his mouth.  

“Why, all of them,” he laughed once again. 

All of them? If the man had been able to see, he would have noticed that Sakura’s face had drained of all color. Sakura’s mental efforts doubled as she began to cross out steps of her plan and recalculate, following the conceptual intricate spiderweb of possible effects from each detour she could potentially plan for. 

He took a step toward her. “And all of them were already suspecting your identity the very minute Toka introduced you. I happen to be the only one present who has ever heard your voice. My actions to grab your attention will have interested them even more. I’ll have to explain what I did tonight. Your next move will determine the words that will come out of my mouth.” 

Sakura nodded, still silently assessing her options, before she said, “remove the bandage.”

The man hesitated, as if he was almost unsure if he wanted her to see what lie beneath. He only hesitated for a moment before fingering the white bandage. He walked toward her until he was only a few feet ahead of her. When the bandage slipped down to reveal his eye sockets, Sakura frowned at the unblemished nature of them. Not an external injury that could be healed, then. She had been hoping for cataracts or some other resolvable issue via procedure.

He flinched as she touched his temples, tilting his head back so Sakura could peer into them. She summoned her chakra to her fingertips and pressed exploratory chakra into them. He gasped at the invasion when her chakra made contact with his flesh, and his hand came up to grasp on to Sakura’s wrist.

“I’m only investigating the injury,” Sakura reassured him.    

“I know,” he frowned. “You did so once before. You told me there was little that could be done.”

Sakura nodded, feeling dread at her past self’s words. If she had not been able to heal them, she suspected no one could. Sakura suddenly recalled the shinobi war and Kakashi sensei, whose eye had been torn from his eye socket by Madara and then restored by Naruto, through his perfected Ying-Yang release through the sun seal given to him by Hagoromo. Naruto was not only able to restore Kakashi’s eye from nothing, but he had also been able to revive Obito after the extractions of the Ten Tales, and accomplish other grand healing feats during the war in the duration of which he had possessed the seal. Both Naruto and Sasuke relinquished their Sun and Moon seals when they sealed Kaguya. That sort of healing power was gone now. 

Sakura possessed and could control both Yin and Yang chakra due to her healing training under Tsunade and her natural affinity for genjutsus. Even with Sakura’s near perfect control of chakra, she could not use Yin and Yang simultaneously as Naruto had done with Hagoromo’s seal.  

“Are you able to see anything at all? Lights? Shadows? Shapes?” There was a big difference between being blind and being visually impaired. While others saw nothing but darkness, some could still make out some glimpses of their surroundings.  

“Nothing. Not since the war.”

Sakura frowned as she searched the eyes with her chakra. The eyes themselves were undamaged. The optic nerves intact. The retinas whole. They were clear in appearance, with startling dark irises. Black, like Sasuke’s. No clouding. There was only one possible cause left: brain damage.

Sakura frowned at how hopeless the situation was. “Do you have any pain?”

“No,” he answered. “Would pain be a good sign? That the body is trying to heal?”

Sakura winced at his train of thought. People often believed that pain meant the body was trying to repair itself, and that if there was no pain, it meant one of two things: the body was not damaged, or whatever healing was to be done was complete. This was not the case for many injuries. If he was experiencing pain, it might just indicate a different type of injury. Saying he had no pain was just strengthening Sakura’s suspicion.

Reaching to cup the back of his head, Sakura pushed her fingertips into his scalp. He winced at the contact. 

“Were you hit in the back of the head during the war? Is that how you lost your vision?”

He nodded, grinding down his teeth as she determined the truth he hadn’t offered freely. Brain damage was irreversible. Sakura could not create new pathways for nerves. She felt the dead-end her chakra reached after traveling down the optic nerves. The visual cortexes of the occipital lobe at the very back of the brain was no longer receiving signals from the eye. Sakura suspected that he probably had been told this by multiple healers and was hoping she would arrive at a different conclusion. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, feigning medical indifference to his injury. She wasn’t ready to reveal her deductions while he was still in the mood to answer her questions.

“You can call me Rugo. It’s what the others call me.” 

Sakura nodded, understanding why he wasn’t going to divulge his real identity to her. She decided not to ask what village he was from originally, which was going to be her next question. Tanigakure had been neutral in the war, and since he had allegedly fought in the war, he had either migrated here after the war, or he came to be a part of Zenshin mission, specifically. 

“How many members of Zenshin are ninja from other villages?” she questioned instead while she still had the opportunity. 

He hesitated for a moment, before admitting. “Most of them.” Sakura frowned at that. Just how many ninja had been unsatisfied with their lives after the war that they believed healing the grievances of the next generation stood in the way of progression?

“Is your vision loss why you joined Zenshin?” she asked boldly, trying her best to understand his particular motives. Something as significant as blindness could make the kindest of people bitter. If that was the source of his bitterness, Sakura didn’t understand why he wanted to allow such anger spread for the sake of strength and progression in the next generation of ninja.

He did not answer at first, but then said. “Yes. It is the reason. But I did not join Zenshin to prevent you and others from healing the trauma of ninja. I joined to find you. You are the only one who can help me now.” 

Sakura sighed at his confession and pulled her hands away, but Rugo caught them desperately, a sharp contrast to his cocky charisma. “If you can heal them, I’ll help you. Don’t tell me what the other healers say. I know that you can fix this.”

Sakura pulled her hands free, hesitant to disappoint him. She fumbled silently in her pocket for an item that she had prepared for the next phase of this night once she was alone in this room with whichever man was unlucky enough to become her recipient, even though it hadn’t exactly happened how she had planned.

“I am sorry Rugo. Brain damage cannot be reveresed. I cannot heal them.”

The man frowned deeply at her words, shaking his head. He was not expecting the sharp prick in his neck that came next. Sakura pushed down on the plunger that pushed the harmless sedative into his bloodstream. Ironically, as a medic, Sakura couldn’t help but notice the widening of his eyes as the muscles registered his surprise, which indicated that the cerebellum, the separate part of the brain in control of muscles still operated perfectly. He crashed to his knees before falling forward as she caught him. 

She wished she had the time to tell him that he was lucky, so incredibly lucky to only have lost his vision from the type of head injury that he had received. If any other parts of the brain had been damaged, he would have likely lost his ability to speak, to control his muscles, to walk; he could have become paralyzed. Maybe, if he were still alive, they could have this conversation in the future after she executed her plan. 

Sakura was only a little disappointed that she hadn’t been able to accept Rugo’s offer of assistance as an inside source, after all. Whether or not he had intended to, the Zenshin member had already given her the information she was looking for. And Sakura never really needed anyone’s help anyway. Not Rugo’s. And not Sasuke’s, either.

Only when Sakura turned on the tap water for the bath that wouldn’t be used after all, and she was certain the sound of it would keep her from being disturbed by the head matron, did Sakura bite into her flesh. Blood pooling at the tip of her finger, Sakura placed her thumb against her palm and pushed her five fingers into the ground, performing the summoning technique. 

“Lady Katsuyu,” Sakura greeted the small slug, 1/1000th of her original body, that began to climb its way over the legs of the man she had just incapacitated. 

Sakura knelt, using her blood smeared finger to trace an intricate symbol on Rugo’s temple. The blood pooling where she had traced, and small trails hastily dissected from the main paths to trickle down into the hair at his temples. “You’re certain this will work?” Sakura asked the human-size slug that reached up to cover the man’s unmoving face with her body. 

“It should,” Katuyu reassured her. “The blood is just an extra step of assurance. I should be able to do this on my own without it.”

Sakura nodded, sparing the little extra chakra it took to stop the blood flowing freely from her thumb without completely healing it. She was going to have to repeatedly break the skin there as the night continued, so growing new skin was not needed.  “This is the first of many.”

“Sakura, dear,” Katsuyu responded as the slug divided into an even smaller version of herself and slipped into Sakura’s outstretched palm while the main body completely consumed the man Sakura had incapacitated.  “Please be careful.”

 “Of course, milady. I’m sorry for what you will witness from this moment on.” She tucked the slug away into the hem of her robe’s neckline. 

Sakura opened the door to her room and turned to stare down the hallway at all the closed doors concealing the fellow members of Zenshin. 

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.

It was the sheer lack of activity that he was witnessing in his observation spots that first alerted Sasuke that something wasn’t quite right. In every town, if someone positioned themselves correctly, there would be brawling to spectate, scandals to witness, information to gather, but not in Tanigakure, apparently. The last twenty-four hours had been surprisingly uneventful in comparison to his first pass through when Sasuke and Sakura had been ambushed in their sleep. It was odd, how quickly they had been identified the first time in Tanigakure, but Sasuke had yet to be approached. Yes, he had been more discreet than before, but Sasuke was starting to feel annoyed both with his lack of progress in finding Sakura’s whereabouts and this organizations inability to notice his whereabouts. 

That was, until he noticed that nothing around him was particularly noticeable. Ah, he realized. So I have been discovered. It was the only explanation for how fruitless his efforts had been to acquire any real intel about an organization fixated on killing his friend. Sasuke realized immediately that he was purposefully not being fed anything helpful. It only unnerved him when he realized just how many people must be in this group if the multitudes of people he currently watched from above were being intentionally silent. Sasuke also surmised that whatever organization this was, they were also dodging interest from the leaders of Tanigakure. They, too, were trying to fly under the radar.

And so, Sasuke waited in the night, perched above the noisy izakaya once more, rain pattering against his cloak and bouncing from the brim of his black hood, content to play his role while he schemed. He contemplated doing something unexpected just to shake things up, but what would they consider unexpected? Sasuke tried to see this situation for their perspective. This organization knew that Sasuke had followed his pink-haired friend here, and that he was searching for her. They knew that Sasuke had retreated the last time he was here, whisking Sakura away in order to protect them both. They knew he was trying to be discreet so as not to cause any problems for Konoha. With that information, Sasuke deduced that they expected him to continue to look for Sakura, sit and listen discreetly until he located her, interrupt her mission to take her away. They were allowing him to do just as they expected him to in order not to alert him. 

To their extreme disappointment, Sasuke was smarter than everyone involved in this ridiculous plan to distract him. 

And so, Sasuke covered his face tightly. He planned to throw a wrench into the plan, discreetly, while still sending a very strong message to those he assumed lurked in the rain-cloaked shadows. And it wasn’t going to cost him very much chakra. 

Unfortunately for them, thunder rumbled above him, and Sasuke inhaled the energy of the surrounding atmosphere. Unlike in his battle with Itachi, Sasuke did not have to manipulate the air with Amaterasu in order to manipulate the cumulonimbus clouds into existence. They brooded over him regardless, as if his very frustration manifested into the storm that now cast the village in a torrential downpour. For once, Sasuke saw it as a sign that the universe might actually be on his side, that his decision regarding a future with Sakura might have been the right one. One worth destroying a few buildings for. 

And he did exactly that. Sasuke wasn’t entirely his former revenge-seeking self, one bent on the destruction of an entire village, but he smirked dangerously as a flash of lightning struck the infuriatingly useless izakaya. A lightning bolt strikes in 1/1000th of a second, and the explosion happened first. Sasuke waited on the sound to follow before he let out one quick laugh to himself. Sasuke inhaled as if it were the first real breath he had in a long while; it felt so good to let go, to cave to destruction. To push things back into motion and take control of a situation. 

As expected, people ran from the building, some attempting to put out the small fire in the ceiling, while others ducked for cover back into other structures and away from the smoking rooftop. The heavy rain assisted in putting it out very quickly, causing minimal damage. 

It wouldn’t draw enough attention from those who didn’t know that the lightning wasn’t entirely one of nature’s unfortunate disasters. Only those who were watching him as closely as he was suspecting, would realize that Sasuke was done waiting. 

When two ninja landed on either side of him, Sasuke’s Sharningan glowed in the dark as he leaned his head back against the building, arm slung forward over one reclined knee. His Sharingan darted to each of the two men, seeing what no one else could see in the blinding shower and muddled night. Two shinobi, faces covered, stood before him, proudly adorning two headbands with that insufferable five-spiral symbol he’d seen the last time he was here and more recently glimpsed from Mako’s memories. 

“Finally,” the Uchiha breathed as he rolled his neck. 

At his words, the two ninja, obviously assigned to monitor him, glanced at each other in surprise. Sasuke saw it cross their faces: the moment they realized they had been outplayed and forced to show themselves. 

The air, now electrified, lashed out on its own and more lightning crackled in the air above them. In one lightning flash, Sasuke sat unmoving against the building’s side. In the very next, he had swapped with one of the men, teleporting places with him. Timing his movements with the crash of thunder, Sasuke grabbed the second by the neck and hurtled him into the first, smashing their bodies together. Sasuke justified his next actions based on two things: his low levels of chakra and the fact that he had one arm to handle two ninja at once. His katana spun free of its sheath before either men could even react to their sudden collision, and Sasuke skewered them on his blade, penetrating one through the shoulder and the other through the bicep until they were pinned together against the elevated section of the roof. They cried out in unison but their noises didn’t echo beyond the very next crack of lightning that Sasuke generated somewhere in the distance, its very purpose to disguise their screams. 

Releasing the blade, Sasuke knelt before them in the pouring blackness, just so that they could see a glaring set of red and purple irises. He wouldn’t waste his limited chakra combing through their deranged minds, so Sasuke planned to interrogate his preferred way and do it thoroughly. “Where is she?”

“We don’t know who you’re talking ab—,” came the automatic lie, and Sasuke twisted the blade immediately in disguised fury. He was not in the mood to listen to deceptions. The thunder boomed. 

Sasuke sighed. Sometimes it was the most predictable outcomes that tipped Sasuke over into an all-consuming sea of annoyance. If he treaded this sea too long, Sasuke would tire and eventually sink, and the Uchiha was already too well-acquainted with the depths of anger. If he hit the bottom, people would begin to die. And Sasuke didn’t want to be a murderer anymore if he could help it. Steadying himself, Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose and said lowly, “I would advise not bothering to waste my time with more lies. It won’t end well for you.”

“We don’t know,” spat the first man as he clutched at the katana penetrating through his arm. “The lightshow is unnecessary. Someone needs to put you in your place, Uchiha, for using your power in this village.” 

So that was it. As long as Sasuke was laying low, they were planning to leave him to his futile attempts to find Sakura. They didn’t want the real authority alerted to his presence because then Sasuke would talk, explain his presence and involve the real people in charge of this village. That, or there was deal with the higherups. If the village leaders knew of this organzaiton’s activity, they had allowed it to transpire as long as it remained inconspicuous. All of this information told Sasuke that the less evident of a profile this organization could keep, the better. Sasuke suspected that Tanigakure didn’t want multiple villages involved, but were somehow benefiting personally from this arrangement. Sasuke guessed that this secret organization also wanted to eliminate more reputable individuals off their list before they were confronted by multiple parties. It was a testament to their lack of experience and firepower if they had yet to eliminate Number 1 and had already pissed off two out of the five Kage. 

“Last chance to be honest,” Sasuke hissed, twisting the blade deeper into both of their bodies, relishing the squelch of the blade’s movements in their flesh.

“We lost her!” the man in the very back hissed, spitting out rainwater, holding his partner very still with his clenched fists to keep him from jostling the weapon any further. “And many of our men, with her.”

Sasuke unfeelingly blinked at that confession. 

“Shut your mouth,” the front man said to the fellow soldier behind him, jostling the both of them as he tried to shift in order to look back at him. 

“Stop moving!” the man in the back hissed, grabbing more firmly to the man seated practically in his lap. 

They had already located and lost her? The mention of other members of their organization going missing was the part that had Sasuke’s mind trying to make connections. Sasuke wasn’t sure if this was a trap. He had expected it to be a lot more difficult to receive any answers from anyone. So, what was the angle? Did they intend to follow Sasuke to her after telling him that? There would be no chance of that happening; Sasuke would quickly ensure it. 

Inhaling, filling his lungs with electric energy, Sasuke reached forward and gripped the hilt of his katana. The current came from his lungs when he exhaled and it snaked around his arm in a circuiting slither, crisscrossing down the blade until a surge of electricity connected with their open wounds. Another crack of lightning, closer this time. More screaming. 

It had been a very long time since Sasuke had used this technique to simultaneously torture and weaken his captive. He remembered performing this very move on Yamato, the temporary squad leader for Team 7 when they had come searching for Sasuke in one of Orochimaru’s underground hideouts. How ironic that he had once felt the same level of annoyance that he was now, but it had been directed at Team 7. And now. Now, it was because these imbeciles had the absolute audacity to come after one of them, as if any member of Team 7 could be taken down by such dirt beneath their feet. As if Sasuke didn’t have the absolute power to obliterate every single one of them without a second thought. 

“Enough,” Sasuke growled lowly, forcing himself to talk more than he was usually inclined to do. “This current will intensify over the course of two minutes until you are essentially executed by electrocution. Which means you have two minutes to answer my questions without lying. If I even suspect a lie, lightning will travel straight to your heart before two minutes is even up.”  

Their eyes widened, and Sasuke moved out of the path of the rain running down the slope of the roof towards him, until he was free of any electrified water that connected with their bodies. 

“First question,” Sasuke began, thickening the electricity traveling through his arm to his blade. “Where was her last known location?”

“The bathhouse,” groaned the man in the back, the more talkative of the two. “The brothel.”

Despite his usual collected countenance, Sasuke’s red and purple eyes widened marginally at such a word. A brothel? A brothel? A new fire quickly formed in Sasuke’s chest at the revelation, and it was not the lightning-style chakra centralized there. It was a fire of panic and rage. 

“When?” Sasuke asked next, amping up the voltage once more. The man in front, the first to receive electrical current, slumped forward unconscious.

“Earlier in the night,” the guy mumbled, lips beginning to numb with the rest of his body. His words still came out in a rush, however, eager to meet Sasuke’s deadline, before he, too, ended up like his partner. “Our leaders failed to give us our next orders at our usual rendezvous point. We arrived at the bathhouse, their last known location, to investigate—the other girls. They told us she had taken them.” 

“Where is this bathhouse?” came Sasuke’s final question.

“Promise you will spare me, first,” the man pleaded, but Sasuke’s frustration only grew at the begging. Instead of assuring the man, Sasuke twisted his blade again. 

After the scream, came the answer to his question. “On the eastside, against the mountain.” This man, too, fell unconscious, slumping against his partner, when Sasuke poured more electricity into his chest cavity. Sasuke ripped his blade free from their bodies. 

He left them there in the rain, feeling absolutely no guilt at all because they would at least eventually wake up. Unlike every man who had occupied Sakura’s space in a godforsaken brothel, these two men were lucky because they would keep their lives. 

[marmolady]

Her Reason

Main Pairings: Shamir x Catherine

Summary: In the wake of Lady Rhea's death, a lost and grief-stricken Catherine frets after Shamir.

Word Count: 2542

Warnings: Grief and loss. Also, I haven't written FE3H before, so don't expect a masterpiece.

*throws at @greengroove and runs away, hiding face*

____________________

The rainstorm that had rolled in further shrouded Garreg Mach in gloom. The downpour came as if to wash away what had been, whether those left behind were ready for that change or not. A sombre atmosphere hung within the monastery’s ancient walls, and nowhere was it more potent than in the audience chamber; where weeping prayers in hushed voices were magnified in their number. Save for the distinct air of mourning, it could have been a scene from before the war. And… save for the absence of the church’s most prominent figure. Where Lady Rhea once stood, a wall of flowers and wreaths paid her tribute.

Few felt that absence more than the archbishop’s most loyal knight. It had been a long time since Catherine had found herself so aimless… bereft. More years than she’d worry herself to count. No doubt it had been noted by her partner, for it was a long time as well since Catherine had been so quiet.

Shamir’s sadness was different. It wasn’t for Lady Rhea-- a fact that she’d never hidden-- it was for her, Catherine. Just this morning before heading out on the mission, Shamir had referred to Lady Rhea with the proper and respectful honorifics, clearly not out of any reverence for the late archbishop-- no way!-- it had all been about treading carefully with Catherine’s emotions. From someone so stubborn…. Well, Catherine knew a thing or two about stubbornness herself, and she knew that some small, subtle acts against the unyielding grain held a lot of weight. If it weren’t for that weight, Shamir’s lack of sorrow for the passing of Lady Rhea might not have been bearable. It wasn’t fair, Catherine knew that, but it was what it was. At least Shamir was honest. She’d take that over the falseness of some of the nobles in ‘mourning’ any day. On a practical level, it meant that Shamir had been able to step up; proving to be a vital force amongst the knights during this period of transition, while others had been made undeniably vulnerable in the wake of their profound loss. It was no secret that this situation was not to last; Shamir, like Catherine, was at a cross-roads. All either of them knew was that it was a transition they would ride out together.

To be honest, Catherine wasn’t sure why she’d come up here. Perhaps it was just a habit that refused to die; when she was lost, Lady Rhea had the answers. But all she found here now was a dull sense of finality. Her purpose for so many years simply no longer existed.

The sound of the rain suddenly became a roar upon the high-vaulted roof. Catherine had to stop herself from flinching. As much of a hindrance that she might have been, and however much both Alois and Shamir might have protested, she’d rather be in the thick of a mission than waiting behind; not knowing what battles were being fought in her absence… not knowing how her partner was faring. She and Shamir were a team for good reason. It was a rare foe that could best their potent combination of belligerent force and sharp precision. There was no doubt that Shamir was perfectly capable without Catherine-- hell, no one could argue against that prowess with the bow-- but… some things were too important to be gambled. Shamir was too important. In this storm, visibility would be compromised….

“Oh, Catherine--”

“Flayn! I didn’t see you there.” Catherine startled, but recovered masterfully. One would have thought being partnered with Shamir for years would have made her immune to being snuck up on… apparently not. Or, she was really off her game.

“How wonderful to see you! It has been a few days… I do not believe I have even glimpsed your face in the dining hall. Not that I…. Well, it is hard not to struggle with one’s appetite in the wake of….”

As Flayn trailed off, her warm smile became sorrowful, but no less kind and genuine.

“Nah, appetite? I don’t even know what that is anymore. It’s a strange feeling for me. All the fire’s just… fizzled out. It’s as if I don’t even know which way is up.”

That was certainly true. It was the same shock that had been so staggering when Lady Rhea had disappeared all those years ago, but the glimmer of hope that driven the fight was now extinguished. And after tasting the sweet relief of finding her alive and-- not well, but alive counted for something, didn’t it?-- but they’d saved her, and then…. It wasn’t just a bitter pill to swallow; it was gutting. Catherine was totally lost. The only thing that made sense anymore, the one thing in all this chaos, was Shamir. How strange that, from the right person, some well-placed snark could court a smile-- even though it be a shaky one. And behind it all, the aloof quietness and the deadpanned jibes, Shamir cared for her. Right now, it made all the difference.

Just get your ass back here safe, partner.

Flayn’s expression was full of concern; no doubt picking up on Catherine’s worry. “If you feel yourself at a loose end, you could do worse than to take the time to care for yourself,” she said gently. “I find a good meal is fine place to start.”

If she could hold anything down…. Actually taking the time to eat a proper meal would, however, kill some time. And maybe she was hungry? Probably just the dread she was feeling, but a bite to eat couldn’t hurt.

The dining hall was bustling; apparently the wild weather had made the lure of a steaming bowl of onion gratin soup simply irresistible. Next to the mournful quiet that permeated the rest of the monastery it was jarring. Well, Catherine had wanted to be distracted.

It was all too easy, though, for the layers of voices to become just an unintelligible roar. The smiling faces grated on Catherine. This was just too normal. It was best she didn’t talk to anyone; just eat her fill and get out of there. She was in no mood for mincing words with anyone who had the nerve to gab away over a meal as if everything hadn’t changed, as if everything wasn’t wrong. These people could take a leaf out of Shamir’s book….

There it was. All of five minutes, and guess who’s on your mind again?

In the wake of Lady Rhea’s passing, it probably only made sense that she was fretting over any possibility that she might lose the other shining light in her life. You could never assume you were going to win any battle, but out of action, Catherine could do nothing except to assume everything was fine. That Shamir was safe. And she couldn’t just do that; the uneasy feeling wasn’t shifting.

She’d just have to deal with it. Thinking about Shamir. All through this wretched storm.

And there was a lot to think about. The proposition that Shamir take Catherine’s hand in marriage had not been forgotten-- not remotely. She cared for her partner deeply, she loved her, and the only future she could see out of this wreckage was the two of them together. There was nothing truly left for Catherine here-- her devotion had not belonged to the church, but for its head--; to disappear with her blunt and prickly Shamir into the sunset was a tantalising lure. But it wasn’t fair. How was Catherine to trust her own judgement when the throes of grief had her on the edge of snapping? That grief-- the price of it-- was not Shamir’s to bear. It would be all too easy to give in to comfort and spare the forethought….

But, a little voice in Catherine’s head stubbornly insisted, you know who you are. You know who you are with her. Any ‘doubt’ is an excuse. You’re just afraid to feel too much; afraid of giving everything and being once again left with a jagged empty space in your heart. Like the one left by Lady Rhea… the one left by Christophe.

If she hadn’t gotten so flustered and just said ‘yes’ then and there, would she be sitting here now? Imagining all that could go wrong on the field of battle in her absence? Perhaps Shamir would have stayed behind with her. Perhaps they’d be huddled together in a quiet corner, sharing a pint… Catherine mourning and Shamir commiserating. And they’d tentatively map out a future. A future different to what Catherine had seen for herself, but not in that they’d be together. That was something she could still believe in. She’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to express her feelings. Why hadn’t she just said ‘yes’?

Soup downed as quickly as possible-- no doubt indigestion would follow-- Catherine made a beeline for the front gates. The sun was going down, the rain slowing; the chances of the mission stretching out any longer than nightfall were slim. Even in a tempest, how long did it take to put down a few wolves, monstrous proportions or not?

As if by clockwork, from out the now-drizzling rain trudged a small group returning from the mission, mud-splattered and --in some cases-- bloodied.

Shamir was not among them.

No, no, no, no no….

Dread hit Catherine like an icy fist to the gut… clenching until she was totally winded. Too roughly, she pulled Byleth aside as they stepped through the heavy doors.

“Where’s Shamir?”

“The group became separated in the downpour--”

Of course it did. Damn it! Not waiting to hear more, Catherine strode off. “Fuck, Byleth! Well, it looks like a nice evening for a walk. I’m going for a bit of… fresh air.”

One hand on Thunderbrand’s hilt, ready to smite whatever creature had lain waste to her partner, Catherine powered on in the direction of the mountainside village the beasts had been threatening. Her angry panting breath caught in her throat, unable to move past the cold, hard lump there.

This was her fault. This was her….

--Thnk--

An arrow whizzed in front of Catherine’s face, finding its mark on a tree at the side of the path and making her skid to a halt.

“Is there a reason you’re striding off alone into the forest?”

And Catherine breathed. There she was, sheltering in the trees… perfectly fine. Safe. Thank the goddess. Thank the fucking-- She ran. She ran and took Shamir in her arms.

The force of the embrace swept Shamir clean off her feet and left her winded. Always nice as it was to see Catherine, this was somewhat excessive. Nevertheless, she hugged back firmly. All this upheaval… to be swept up in the arms of the person she loved most in all the world was admittedly a most wonderful comfort.

“...Anyone would think you’d convinced yourself I’d got killed out there….”

Catherine stepped back, and shifted her weight, sheepish.

Sheepish? Catherine? Oh.

Shamir shook her head in disbelief. Jeez, Catherine was really not okay. “Do you think Byleth would have left me-- would have left anyone-- if the beasts had not already been dispatched?”

“What--? Am I the Byleth-whisperer now? Even they don’t know what’s going on in their head!”

Though admittedly, Catherine realised, Shamir had a fair point. There may have been a smidgeon of unnecessary panicking. What was wrong with her head? It was just the thought of her partner fighting off some slobbering beast alone, compromised by a storm…. If anything had happened because Catherine had been too caught up in grief to be there backing her up….

Shamir brought her numb, wet fingers up to Catherine’s cheek, cradling her there.

“If you need me to remain close, then close is where I’ll stay.”

… then kissed her, slow and deep.

When Shamir pulled back at last, she was met with a dumbstruck expression and without a doubt the fiercest blush she’d ever seen across her partner’s face. Oh, the satisfaction. It was not every day the great Thunder Catherine was rendered speechless. Shamir made a note to remember that trick. Not that she’d ever need an excuse to want to…. It had been a long time coming. Too long.

Catherine swallowed hard. She could feel her mind short-circuiting, but she wouldn’t let it happen this time. Not when that had felt…. She leaned forward, touched her forehead to Shamir’s. It did… feel like coming home. Something joyous, impossibly joyous was rearing up inside her, some swell of certainty and desire and love… a feeling so vast she could not cut it down with even the mightiest swing of Thunderbrand. Why would she even try anyway?-- this was glorious.

“I thought I could always read you…,” Shamir said as her partner seemed to return to her senses, “but I was never quite sure if you understood that I meant it. When I suggested we marry.”

“I wasn’t expecting it!” Catherine defended herself, arms raised. Her face still was a glowing red, she could feel it burning. “Trust you to be the one to take me by surprise.”

Shamir held Catherine’s gaze, trying not to get lost in those startling blue eyes, so alight with fire. She had so feared that fire might fizzle and fade. She’d protect that fire, tend it as she would the spark of her own life. She needed Catherine to know that she’d meant it.

“Someday we might lose this,” she said, voice hoarse. “Actually, scratch that ‘might’; we're not naiive. All things end. But for as long as I’m breathing, all I am is yours. We’re in this for the long run…,” A sparkle came to her eye, as she met Catherine’s, an adoring smirk to her lips, “…partner.”

“It’s a relief that you meant it-- it would have been a wickedly cruel trick in light of the fact that I love you.”

“You…?” Shamir’s breath hitched.

“Love you.” Catherine affirmed. “I… love you.” Was it normal for her heart to be beating this hard? It was going wild, as though she was storming recklessly into a battle of impossible odds. She could hear it over the goddamn rain…. But it was nice. Oh, it was nice. “Heh,” she chuckled. “It actually feels pretty good to say it out loud. You should try it sometime.”

The vulnerability behind that dare wasn’t lost. Shamir could almost hear Catherine holding her breath.

“Catherine. I love you.”

Sputtering a breathless laugh, Catherine pulled her partner-- her lover-- into another embrace. Holding her like she’d never let her go. Because there was not a fucking chance in hell she ever would. She had her reason to keep fighting there in her arms.

“We could take a further dive into blatant sentimentality,” she said. “There is a chance I alarmed Byleth enough that they’ll come searching, and see how hard I’m blushing right now. My reputation will be destroyed forever!” She pulled away, painful as it was. It was, though, in aid of something bigger. “Or you could always just… kiss me again.”

The day’s last rays of the sun pushed through the clearing clouds, creating a sparkle on a rain-drenched land.

And Shamir kissed Catherine again.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Epilogue

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The first couple of weeks following the incident that had taken my long-lost mother from me was misery in its purest form. Link and I didn’t speak, not even by phone, during that whole stretch of time. In fact, I could rarely bring myself to answer the phone at all. The memory was still too vivid, the wounds still too fresh.

He’d gotten off scot-free in the end as he’d been deemed to have acted in the defence of others—namely, of me. It wasn’t long before I learned of his plea, that if I hadn’t come along quietly, I would have suffered the same fate that he’d brought upon her, and they had believed him. How I felt about this was still something I was struggling to wrap my endlessly pounding head around.

As dark and deep as this seemingly bottomless pit of despair that I’d found myself plummeting down was, however, someone did eventually toss a rope down for me. The time I spent apart from Link gave me the opportunity to properly reconcile with those whom I myself had wronged: Auntie Purah and Paya. The former and I found comfort in our mutual grieving, and even as Paya had never really known my mother well enough to mourn her loss (though, arguably, it seemed no one had ever truly known her), she was more gracious and understanding than I or anyone else would have been, which only made me regret even more deeply my past transgressions toward her.

One day, during one of our continual conversations, she shifted to the topic of the Yiga leader’s executioner. How she could even think of him at a time like this was beyond me, but I digressed. I told her everything from start to finish. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to talk to anyone about it at length. As I spoke, she listened calmly and carefully. Despite what I’d have liked to believe, she had always been the more levelheaded one out of the two of us, save for when it came to discussing things about herself.

By the time I finished, I’d begun bouncing my still healing ankle back and forth, which I’d crossed over my other leg to keep it from touching the ground. I didn’t stop even after I noticed what I was doing.

“It’s painfully clear to see how conflicted you are about all this.” Coming to sit beside me on the sofa in the Sheikahs’ sitting room, Paya placed an affectionate palm on my thigh, bringing its restless jittering to a halt. “I understand how hard this must be for you. But the way I see it, there’s only one question you need ask yourself at the end of the day.”

Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t be an easy pill to swallow, would it? I straightened my posture. “And what would that be?”

“Between the two of them, who do you think was the better person?”

She was looking me dead in the eyes, her hand still resting upon my leg. I uncrossed them.

I’d never thought to compare the two before. What reason would I have had to do so? But now that she’d mentioned it, I hadn’t realized how few memories I even had left of my mother, and the ones that remained were blurry and vague beyond any hope of being recovered. If only she hadn’t left me with the Sheikahs all those years ago, maybe I could have remembered more clearly what kind of person she had been.

On the other hand, Link had always been there for me. Even during the times when circumstances had driven us apart, the thought of him was what had kept my flame burning strong and hot throughout each arctic day, and what had protected me from myself, keeping me from doing the irreparable. He had stayed by my side to the bitter end.

No matter how I’d reflected back on that day previously, the sight of his steely, focused stare and the sound of his crazed breaths, short and sharp, had been ever dominant. But now, I recalled the way those eyes had then glazed over with unadulterated horror. How his arms had shivered as they’d clung to my broken form and how they’d continue to cling for what would feel like millennia until the rest of his unit would finally stumble upon the scene.

My stepsister-of-sorts gave my leg a soft squeeze as I looked back at her with a tremor in my lip. “He s...saved me,” I whimpered. “Didn’t he?”

After a month apart, I made plans with Link for a night out on the pier, where we would celebrate the end of the Organization. The ice cream I’d promised him was at the top of my list of priorities for the evening. Tonight was a dessert-first night anyway, I’d decided. From there, we went and found ourselves a bite to eat at a seafood restaurant within walking distance. I’d hoped eating with him would feel like old times, but he hardly spoke a word throughout the whole meal. I tried lightening the mood with some banter, but this proved ineffective when he brushed off everything I said with mere one or two-word replies.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten us both a bit of something to drink that he finally broke the silence. “Have you...” he started, but lost the confidence to continue.

I perked up at the sound of his voice, wanting to hear more of it. “Have I...?”

“A-Ah...” His fingers poked at the copious amount of chips piled onto his plate next to the practically untouched fillet of fried fish. “I was just wondering if you’ve thought about what you’re going to do now, since...you know...you’re not a detective anymore.”

“Ah, right. That.” I took another sip of my drink, its contents long having fled my memory. “Actually, my auntie talked about it with me and she said she’d consider letting me inherit the company once I’ve acquired the proper education. So to answer your question, I’m thinking about going to school for engineering.”

His brows rose. “Oh! My, that’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s brilliant. I’m happy for you.”

I thanked him with a hesitant grin, then asked, “How about you? Do you plan to stay on with the force, or...?”

“Ahh, well...” What little there’d been of an upward turn in his lips vanished. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s something I’ve been mulling over for a while now. Whether to stay on and honour my father’s work, or...whatever other options are available, I suppose.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?” He raised his head. “I think you should do whatever you think would make you happiest. That’s what you’re father would have wanted, I’m sure.”

This finally, finally, got a real, unsubdued smile out of him. And I intended to milk that smile for all it was worth.

After dinner, I dragged him back down to the arcade on the pier, where I managed to ring a few laughs out of him while we were still a bit tipsy. We steered clear of the toy gun target-type games, favouring other stands like the ring toss where he won me a plush frog that I could only just get my arms all the way around. His aim was spectacular, especially for someone who wasn’t entirely sober. Not only that, but I could never have imagined how sweet and charming he would be like this. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though we’d gone back in time again. That, or the light from the setting sun was playing tricks on me.

But by the end of the evening, he’d reverted back to that quiet, reclusive version of himself that I’d quickly grown to detest. We were out on the docks now, facing the sea. The breeze carried a mist of saltwater within its bows. I breathed it in, soaking up the feeling of it hitting me softly and coolly in the face. A hint of pink in my partner’s cheeks caught my eye, and I wondered whether it was the cocktails or my arms, which were currently wound about his waist from behind.

“Beautiful sunset,” I tried, hoping I could get him to spare me a glance at least. “Isn’t it?” But to no avail. He only continued to gaze westward at the rippling flames reflected in the water. “Hey...” Before I knew what I was doing, my palm had found the warmth of his cheek, and there was hardly an inch or two of distance between the tips of our noses. Without giving myself time to think, I tilted my head, leaned in, and started to close my eyes.

But when I realized he wasn’t doing the same, I halted. On the contrary, he’d been leaning back and away from my advances, his back so rigid and shoulders so stiff it were as though he would sprout wings and bolt were I to make any sudden moves.

“What’s wrong?”

A harsh, jagged exhale. “Zelda, I just can’t—” He grabbed both my wrists and wrenched my arms off of him. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.” He was bent over the railing, arms folded in on each other. “Not now,” he said, dwindling, “after I’ve gone and...murdered your only family.” A weary chuckle shook him by the shoulders before he raked his hands through his wind-tousled hair.

I fell into quiet thought for a moment. Then, taking a long, thorough breath, I placed a feather-light set of fingertips atop his own. “That woman was never my family.” I’d made up my mind. Figuratively or otherwise, my real mother had moved on a long time ago. And it was time I did the same.

Link must have seen the resolve in my eyes or heard it in my voice, because now he was looking back at me openly, his body turned to face me. Though there was still an air of uncertainty lingering about him as he ran the crease of his cuff between his fingers again and again. But when I brought my arms around him and held him close, he sank into my lips, returning my embrace at long last. A lone pair of tears fell from my eyes the moment they fluttered closed—a culmination of all past ordeals—and as they fell, I couldn’t help but smile.

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [10/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their  living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn  found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

“How do you keep people from turning into new addictions?”

Eren never liked group.

Being soaked to the bone and listening to every single drip of water adding to the puddle under his chair while he tried to towel himself off without making a scene didn’t do anything to make the feeling go away. His sneakers were soggy masses of sponge glued to his socks. His jacket was in a useless, sodden heap under the cookie table.

Historia wasn’t doing much better. Worse, maybe, since she’d taken one of Petra’s towels with distracted obedience before bringing her real focus to powering her way through as much therapy as she could in as little time as possible. Her towel was slung over her shoulders like a limp ferret.

Petra had a collection by the door for rainy days. Just in case. No one else had taken one.

Eren should have grabbed more, but he was in his squeaky plastic chair, and habit said he wasn’t allowed to leave the squeaky plastic chair until he’d sat still in it long enough to wonder if the car crash had killed him and this was what he was stuck with for the rest of ever.

He didn’t like group.

He liked Petra, and her calm, steady tone when her pen clacked against her clipboard and she asked if anyone wanted to start them out. He liked the few seconds he wasn’t thinking about the water dripping down his neck and under his shirt. Then the work started, and he had to figure out words for wanting to break his body into pieces until he came back right.

All the jagged edges chafed and reminded. Petra wasn’t the one who would take that away.

But she made it easier to push the pieces back into place. And to figure out where that place even was.

So when Historia asked her question, watching Petra with the feverish concentration that said it was the first and only thing she ever should have asked when she found out she wanted better, and Petra’s eyes shot to Eren, he sat up straight and listened. His shoes squelched on the floor. His eyes were probably just as hungry.

“It is very easy to displace addictive tendencies,” Petra started. “I won’t count the number of you who take smoke breaks after this, but I think we can all agree that when something has consumed so much of our life, walking away and leaving that hole is almost impossible. Maybe we’ve kept from filling it up with the same poisons, but it’s there, and we’ve come to depend on it. We’ve rewired ourselves to want the pattern to keep going, even when it ruins everything.”

Hundreds of unanswered texts buzzed in Eren’s pocket. Dozens of dents pounded into his fists.

The fucking orange bottles.

He breathed through his nose. He answered his texts now. It was fine. If it wasn’t yet, he’d make it.

“A lot of the time, we don’t even notice. We’re so used to going through our life that way, and working so hard to keep away from our vices, that we completely miss that we’ve found a new one. Depressive episodes turn into somewhere that’s safe to stay as long as we aren’t on drugs.” Petra eyed Eren again. “Anger is a natural emotion, so there’s nothing strange about always feeling it. Finding a new place to put it becomes as much of a habit as anything else.”

Eren’s hands clamped compulsively on his towel. The threads caught in his fingernails the way dust on the baseball diamond got stuck under them after a long practice.

“Adding people into it makes a complicated thing even harder. Especially the people we’ve kept, who want us to be doing well. Someone like that turns into a beacon, not a person, so our relationships become strained.”

Historia interrupted and Eren was almost glad for it. She leaned forward in her chair while scattered raindrops fell from her head. “How do you stop that?” she asked.

Petra didn’t miss a beat. “Boundaries.”

Historia waited. The chair’s weight fell on its front legs. “What if it’s someone you don’t want boundaries with?”

Or someone who had a weird concept of what they were. Like a girl who showed up to make breakfast in someone else’s home, or a guy who had dinner regularly with his step-mother but not his brother.

The two people who understood the rules had never stepped out of the box Eren made for them, and it had made him crazy to need it.

“Then they’re even more important,” Petra said. She repositioned her clipboard on her lap, letting her pen roll to the edge and zoning in on Historia. “We all have people we want to be close to. Sometimes we want to share everything with them. We want them to be part of us so strongly that we lose track of who we are without them. Who we are stops mattering without them.”

She didn’t look at Eren again. All of her attention went to Historia, who had lost any color she had left in her skin. Eren didn’t think she’d blinked the whole conversation. He wasn’t sure he had, either.

“No one can make it through the world alone, but we’re still individuals. Who you are,” Petra said, turning to the whole circle, “matters beyond who you are connected to. Healthy relationships have everyone involved remembering that. For people who are just now rediscovering who they are, the obvious danger is losing yourself in the high of something new and wonderful.

“So you find your boundaries. Yours and theirs. Focus on where you begin and where you end, and learn where to find them. Then, you work together to discover how you fit.” Petra settled back, smiling her easy, gentle smile that promised help. “Addiction drives us to lose ourselves in whatever will take us. Moving forward is always about reclaiming, or gaining more of yourself. You want to build relationships that make that easier, not harder. If the relationship itself is hindering that, you know there’s a problem, and, well.”

Comfort. It shone straight out of her. That was what made Petra worth listening to even when she said the stupid thing that stupid people had been telling Eren even before he downed his first pill. She believed it. She believed deep down that all the broken people she talked to would be okay. “There is a saying about that being the first step to recovery.”

----

By the time Petra recruited Eren to dump the soaked towels back in the car, it was no longer raining, and he could hold his jacket near him without feeling like he was holding Benjamin.

They hadn’t gotten off the relationship kick. Daz had managed to adopt the cat that lived in his drug dealer’s alley. Samuel, who didn’t have a leg to be broken, was wondering about when the right time was to bring up why he wasn’t barhopping with his new coworkers.

Eren had only mentioned Zeke once. When that was too many, he forced through how he only had Mikasa and Armin at all because they’d been better than anyone had the right to expect. He’d earned the circle a reminder of how they didn’t get to choose how the world around perceived them. Historia’s whole body had flinched, but by that point the embarrassment and past guilt was more choking than any present guilt.

More to work on.

“Do either of you drive?” Petra asked, opening her trunk. “You didn’t have to walk here in the rain.”

“We don’t have a car,” Eren said.

She shoved several beds of blankets and a sandbag to the side to make room for the pile Eren and Historia had created after helping out with drying the floor they’d soaked. “Uber works, too.”

“It isn’t a long walk.”

Petra never made sudden stops. She flowed into her movements, even stillness. Annie and Mikasa moved the same way. Years of training in something. Petra smoothed out her shirt and considered him. “Can you drive?” she asked.

Wet tires rolled across the parking lot, smearing puddles and keeping the damp silence from sticking to anything.

“Yeah,” Eren said. “I can drive. I’m the one driving half of Zeke’s team to parties after games.”

“Even though you don’t own a car?”

“It’s Zeke’s car,” Eren said.

Petra took the towels from his stiff arms and tossed them easily into her car. She watched him throughout the movement, and Eren wanted to hate, the way he hated himself and Zeke and anyone who tried to give a damn about him, but the hook about patterns and anger was too fresh to pick at and he could hear his heart in his ears with the steady thump that didn’t belong to thrown tennis balls against a wall they belonged to a body hitting a mat or a windshield.

The cold didn’t feel so cold. The outside of his skin matched.

“He lets you drive,” Petra said, with Frieda’s gentleness.

Eren nodded.

Petra knew the thin details.

“He’s your brother on your father’s side, isn’t he?”

“Right.”

Petra knew more about everything else in Eren’s life, because she was too good and too responsible to zone out during group and forget who the people she was helping even were. She was the one who had Eren thinking to count how many times he brought up his brother. She didn’t barrel in without consideration. She asked, “Have you ever talked to him about what happened?”

Eren froze up. Working his jaw felt like bending steel. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Petra carefully patted the disorganized clump of towels into a corner and smiled back at him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” She stood up straight and squeezed his shoulder. Eren, in a way he hadn’t felt for weeks, had trouble meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said. “You just seem to be looking for something more from him, and…” She paused, and Eren was back in his chair for the first time. “No one likes being vulnerable, but having someone to share it with can be very rewarding. That’s all. You still get to pick if you want that or not.”

“I don’t,” Eren said. Like they were the only words available. He sounded like the small kid Zeke would actually try with for a painful second.

“That’s fine,” Petra said. In another place, if he were a different person, her step forward probably would have made for an okay hug. She kept smiling at him, and he couldn’t make the corners of his mouth do anything. “But being able to go somewhere without the weather getting in your way would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Droplets of water were still spilling out of his bangs, and all of his shrugs dampened his chin. Out of everything she’d said, that was the easiest thing of the day to nod to.

----

Somewhere, Eren had stopped slamming doors. Not when Mikasa came to stay with them. Not when his dad asked him, speaking in the tolerant tone that said Eren was misbehaving and it was expected, to be kinder to his home. Maybe when the therapist told him he should find less destructive outlets and some words had slipped in through the drugs and screaming at her. Maybe when he shared a room with Reiner, who jumped at every unexpected noise.

Somewhere. Close to when he moved back with his mom and put one last step of trying in before giving up and whaling on the walls.

Somewhere, he’d put a lid on himself, and steaming mad, he could walk through a door and close it like what Armin called a civilized member of society.

He could leave a family dinner without exploding. He could tromp the cleats he’d never asked for back through his front door without giving anyone a reason to think there was something wrong.

Everyone in his apartment, being Ymir and Historia, was too asleep to look up and see the reasons written all over his face. They probably appreciated his self-control. Eren would have appreciated Historia being awake. Not at the cost of Ymir being awake. But the heat in his chest wanted to be screamed if it couldn’t be thrown out into pieces of the building, and he was starting to need someone to listen when the rage hit.

Other good habits. Always needing someone else. He couldn’t just fix himself and keep everyone out of it. Not that he ever could.

The bitterness was hard to keep, with Historia and Ymir on the couch, trying to fuse themselves permanently together in their sleep. An empty pizza box was strewn on the floor by their feet.

Eren slouched over to Benjamin’s tank and sunk to the floor. Unreasonably jealous and stupid. Dinner with them would have been a better kind of weird. A kind of weird that belonged.

Better than walking out into the deep night air and having his mom squish him into a hug that took away all the cold rage that had spent an hour and years building. “Eren,” she’d said, voice alive with good humor, “you do have to tell him at some point that you want things to change. Or of course they won’t.”

She’d let go, and taken all of the comfort with her. Leaving him with him.

“Eren?”

Eren’s head whipped to the couch. Drowsy blue eyes peered at him from over Ymir’s shirt.

“Yeah. Hey.”

Historia shifted, carefully tucking her head under Ymir’s chin without disrupting her snuffled snores. “How was dinner?” she asked blearily.

She should have stayed asleep. The frustration and Zeke had expanded into his throat and waited through every mouthful to pop, held off by his mom and the enforced calm of trying not to do this to everyone who put up with him ever week, still buzzing under his skin and making sitting still hurt, even with Benjamin’s soothing tank noises so close, and—

Zeke had nodded his customary goodbye, and Eren had nodded back, not saying anything.

The balloon of anger deflated. “The way it always is,” Eren said.

Historia watched him, far away from his problems in the safety of Ymir’s arms bruising her ribs.

“She can’t always be right!” Eren remembered shouting. Four, and five, and eight, and ten, and the injustice of his mom knowing more about the world than he did being flung into the ears of anyone who would listen.

Armin and Mikasa. Mostly.

His dad used to listen. He would listen, and his glasses would glint in the lamplight—the way Zeke’s still did—and he would say, too calmly to possibly understand, “You accuse Armin of that sin often enough.”

Their dad hadn’t known what to do with Zeke either. It was always his mom making things work. Never Zeke. Never his dad. Never Eren.

Watching Historia, whose forehead was starting to fold together with a concern Ymir usually kept her too calm to feel, the question slipped out without a thought.

“What’s having a sister like?”

Concern popped into confusion. “Probably like having a brother?”

The perplexed blankness on Historia’s face didn’t do much for the leftover bristles in Eren’s shoulders. He shrugged without following up with anything helpful. Wondering if he should have even bothered asking. Historia and Frieda were their own complicated. Normal siblings didn’t bring over ice cream to hide that they were watching their baby sister sleep because they were afraid of her dying.

“If you texted her more often, she’d probably back off on that. Or if you talked to her at all.”

He was used to Historia getting it. He was used to Historia being like him. Even if it wasn’t the same at all. He was used to watching his brother keep his hands off everything Eren did unless he had an explicit invitation, and Historia was used to letting her sister believe that her most extreme fussing was a secret. Loving Frieda enough to stay alive for her hadn’t made them closer. It was just one more thing Historia didn’t talk to her about.

Frieda showed up to fill the silence anyway.

“…Do you mean,” Historia asked, “what it’s supposed to be like?”

Eren nodded stiffly.

Historia was quiet so long Eren wondered if that was the end of it. Or if Ymir would wake up and throw her dysfunction into the mix.

She snored away, relaxed enough to make Eren feel like he was intruding in his own living room, and Historia spoke. Slowly. Not looking at him, and not seeing the floor her gaze had stopped at.

“It’s like they’re safe,” she said. His ears strained to catch the words. “They don’t know all of you, and you don’t know all of them, but they decide you belong, because they have a piece of you inside of them. No matter what happens, you’re part of them, so whoever you are is allowed.”

Historia refocused on him. Uncertain, but present. Awake and nudging herself back into the crook of Ymir’s neck, prompting a sleepy, muffled squeak that Ymir would hate Eren hearing. Historia kept going, and he kept listening.

“When she found out what I did…” Historia stopped. Her eyes shut. “Ymir said that it only made sense to cut out family who called themselves that without really being it.” Her eyes opened, and inexplicably, she smiled. “It was the worst thing anyone had ever said to me about him.”

“She was right,” Eren said flatly.

“Yeah.” Historia, nestled comfortably in Ymir’s death grip, added, like she was reading something off their grocery list, “I think that’s when I started falling in love with her.”

Historia was the only person he knew who made things like that sound real. Like Armin when he was tripping through tanbark with a new library book, talking about things neither of them had ever seen. Without the sparkle. Just a weird truth that was never going to be anything else.

Eren swallowed down the limp, rubbery balloon of bristling rage, and let the ground come back to him.

“My mom says I have to tell him I want things to be different for them to be,” he said. He didn’t point out that no one ever had to tell Zeke anything about scheduling games, or filling team rosters, or booking rooms in pizza parlors for parties he didn’t even like.

He’d done that in group, with water dripping down from his ears loudly enough to disguise the grate of the whining.

“You could invite him to lunch,” Historia said, void of inflection.

“Dinner’s weird enough.”

They fed the silence together for a bit. The same waiting cluelessness they’d shared before he cared she was a person. A little less quietly than everything else, Historia said, “I still can’t talk to Frieda.”

“She’d like hearing what you said before,” Eren said. “You could just say that once in a while.”

Historia pressed her head into Ymir’s chest. “I think every time we talk I remind her of everything that went wrong.” The frown lines in her forehead shaded in. “She wants me to forget even though she can’t. I can’t think of anything to say that would stop that.”

Eren fiddled with his shoelaces, scuffed with baseball dust. Frieda’s face—too much like Historia’s, too much like his mom’s, too much like Ymir’s—carried all those memories with her every time she walked through the door. The haze of hot chocolate brought it out even when she wouldn’t.

“Mom said,” Eren said, prodding the knot his cleats wouldn’t let go of, “the reason things were never okay with Dad and Zeke was because Dad couldn’t think of a way to fix things.” He ripped the knot free. “So he just went forward without trying. Zeke never got over it. There wasn’t ever a real reason for him to.”

A million and one scenes could play out from their childhoods, over and over, of Eren and Zeke, big brother and little brother, mother and step-mom ruffling their heads, and Dad wouldn’t ever fit right.

He was only the missing piece to the smaller version.

“They look alike,” he said suddenly. “I don’t look anything like him, but Zeke looks like my—our dad. A lot. More when he still had a beard. He started shaving after rehab.” Eren kicked off his cleats, rolling them towards the front door. “I don’t know why he never did that before. He hated it whenever someone said something about them looking alike. Any time someone brought Dad up around him, that was all they ever talked about. He hated it. He hated him.”

“…Did you?” Historia asked.

“No.” Not once. “I had a good dad.”

One Zeke had never wanted and wouldn’t ever know.

Eren could feel it. The thing, way beyond the broken leg and hate. The thing that said there weren’t enough pills in the bottle his mom picked up for him. The bottomless loss that people kept thinking Zeke could understand when he never would. Pain.

He dug his palms into his eyes and willed the tears away before they could force him into the kind of sobs that Ymir wouldn’t be able to sleep through. His hands felt like sandpaper over his cheeks.

The couch creaked, and through the spots and blur, Eren could see Historia switching her perch from Ymir to the edge. She kept one of Ymir’s hands, holding it to her neck like she was expecting a noose around her throat.

“Frieda had a good father too,” she said softly. “He’s not what made us family. She is. He’s just why we met.”

Eren’s fingers threaded through his hair. Like his mom had earlier, when she pulled at his ear and told him growing out his hair wouldn’t grow him out of making his life harder than it had to be. Or like Zeke did the first time he helped him put on a helmet. “When did Frieda decide on you?”

Historia toyed with Ymir’s hand, and hesitated just enough for Eren to catch the crack in her voice. “When she found out about me.”

Fresh tears sprouted, and Eren coughed in choked surprise. “Yeah,” he said, “that sounds like her.”

“Yeah.”

Maybe Eren should have headed to the kitchen and started the hot chocolate before sitting down under Benjamin. The impulse to get up and do that now instead of letting the suffocating emotion in any deeper ran as thick as the embarrassing thought that Frieda herself would have been even more of a comfort.

Ymir snorted, making both of them jump. Somehow that pulled Historia even deeper into her arms. Eren didn’t think either of them minded, even if Historia did squeak at the proximity change. Or maybe Ymir whispering her name after was what did it.

They were a million times worse than Hannah and Franz ever were. It should have been disgusting. Ymir being so happy was still weird. Then Historia being happy at all was a relief, and something in all of it evened out.

“So when are you gonna tell Ymir you’ve decided on her?” he asked her.

“When I establish my personal boundaries,” Historia mumbled into Ymir.

They hadn’t bothered leaving many lights on for their nap on the couch together, but that Ymir glow never needed much help. Eren could feel a smile on his face twitching to match the shine in hers.

“She’d probably say yes if you asked her out.”

“Mm.”

“Holding off this long starts to make you look scared.”

Ruffled, the parts of Historia not completely buried in Ymir leveled an unimpressed scowl at Eren that mostly said he was right. “I’m working on it,” she said frostily. “Like you’re working on talking to your brother.”

Eren clapped his mouth shut and returned the scowl through the superior glint in Historia’s eyes.

Somehow, it felt like one of his lighter ones.

----

“See? Right there?”

Movies used to be a weekly thing for them. New ones. In theaters. They’d sneak in their own candy, find the thing no one else was watching, and jump into the front row. They’d done it so many times the staff at five different theaters knew them by name.

“I… no?”

There were things about it Eren had forgotten.

“You—what?” Armin blinked several times, looking between his phone and Eren. He enlarged the blur. “What about now?”

He was vibrating, flush with indignation and exclamation points in his eyes.

He was an Armin Eren hadn’t seen in over a year, and Eren would have gotten thrown out of a hundred more movies to find him again.

That didn’t do anything to clear up what it was Armin thought was worth getting thrown out of this first one. Eren leaned in closer to the phone to humor him. The black on black blur, helped by Armin’s fingers one more time, leaned in back, turning into a clump of pixels.

“It’s… a backpack?”

“Yes!”

Eren sat back in their bench, basking in the warmth of Armin’s enthusiasm, and strangling the lingering guilt trying to creep up when it felt too much like home. “Is the backpack important?”

“No, it’s what’s in the backpack—look, there!”

The blur stayed a blur.

Armin stayed vibrating, bright as a star.

“I don’t see it,” Eren said.

Armin’s finger poked the center of the blur. “It’s a power cord,” he said.

Eren tilted his head to the side. A small sliver of shadow, just barely caught in the picture, was directly under Armin’s fingernail. Enough to maybe be something, and Armin, who’d noticed enough to pull out his phone and snap off a dozen pictures, said it was something. There wasn’t much room for argument.

“They were running around the house for an hour,” Armin said. “The room they barricaded themselves in had five outlets. The jump into the lake messed up most of their phones, but he didn’t swim. His just ran out of battery, but they didn’t edit out his power cord from his backpack! You can see it.”

Armin furiously unzoomed from the image, bringing back the full, grainy shot of the giant screen they’d been sitting six feet away from. “They didn’t even try to hide it. And it wasn’t on purpose! This is right after they dumped all their bags out on the table to see what they had, and the power cord wasn’t there. Look—” Armin flicked away from the photo and on to a video of the main character swinging his backpack on.

Eren, obediently, looked.

The black backpack swung by the light, the camera angle switched, switched back, and—

A power cord.

“That’s pretty bad,” Eren said, looking at the tiny set of pixels no one but Armin was going to notice before a home release.

“It’s ridiculous,” Armin said. He settled back in the bench, frowning furiously at the small video that had yanked them out of their seats.

Eren didn’t know how he’d forgotten this part. He remembered him, and Armin, and usually Mikasa, and the candy, and the sticky floors, and the way Armin’s eyes would light up when the previews started. He remembered excited plans to see whatever was on the posters in the hallways, and him and Mikasa standing back and letting Armin teach them everything there was to know about the thing they were about to watch.

He remembered it all being so normal he never even thought about remembering it.

Then Armin’s phone was going off in the front row, and he was buzzing more than it could, and a million hushed arguments with ushers played back in Eren’s head.

“Oh.”

Eren shook himself back, where Armin had stopped buzzing, and was looking at him. The voice inside that called that dangerous took a second for him to stamp out. Armin was great practice. Sometimes too great. “Oh?”

Armin, with the same uncertainty Eren could hear when he asked about seeing a movie, smiled, and pocketed his phone. “I don’t want you to feel strange about it,” he started, “but… you’re smiling again.”

In a move that made Eren glad Mikasa couldn’t make it, his hand went up to his mouth and checked. Instead of the deep etches the mirror usually caught, there were smooth, relaxed lines that perked up at the corners.

“Oh,” Eren repeated.

The bench dug into his jeans. Armin’s gentle, smiling hope was impossible to look at, and Eren’s ears were bleeding from the strain of that beam shining right on him.

“Sorry we didn’t get to see the end of the movie.”

“It’s fine.” Eren took a breath and told the truth. “I’d rather hang out with you anyway.”

Awkward. Unless Eren burned everything to the ground one more time, they’d have things fixed and perfect before he ever got used to it. Armin wasn’t awkward. Armin was what made all the fog in Eren’s head clear out.

Right now, they were both fog, and Armin’s arms wrapped around each other like snakes under his red face. “We—uh. Maybe it’s a bad time,” Armin said, “but since we’re talking about movies, I still have your DVD player.”

Oh.

Armin rushed through the next words. “You—I was borrowing it when—so it’s in my room. I know you and Historia don’t have a TV, so it’s probably not easy to watch things. I could bring it over, if you want? Or maybe, if you wanted, since there’s time now—”

“No.”

He could hear his heart beating louder than the word. Armin still shut up like he’d screamed it.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. It felt like a personal failure. Everything from his mouth down was made of boiling sludge that was more useless for explaining why, for saying sorry, for all the yelling he wouldn’t do, and Armin was sitting there doing nothing wrong.

Eren took a breath. Somehow.

“Some other time,” he said. Like a person.

“Sure,” Armin said. Like the bullet he dodged was inside him anyway.

Awkward had been better.

Eren didn’t want to be ‘like’ anything. He wanted to make it all the way back.

“What do you want to see next?”

Armin’s head jerked up from boring a hole in his knees. “Huh?”

“We didn’t get to finish the movie, and I don’t think they’ll let us back in,” Eren said, keeping his voice light and steady. “If this one’s a bust, what do you want to go see instead? We’ve still got an afternoon to kill.”

He didn’t have anyone to blame but himself for the cautious way Armin looked at him. Rabid animals bit. No one in their right mind wanted to stick their hand through the bars, and Armin was Armin. He had every kind of sense and several more besides.

Just not the one that kept him away from Eren. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Armin popped off the bench. “If we hurry, downtown is screening Rear Window this week?”

It took a second. Eren’s footing felt as slow as his brain, fragments of speech catching up to him like scooped shells out of a tide pool. He could taste the salt before any kind of response skittered out of his mouth. “Again?” he asked, the tease hollow but close enough to count. So he counted it. “How many times have you seen that?”

The sun came out on Armin’s face, too open to hide the relief backing his smile. “It’s a classic, Eren.”

“It’s why Mom took our telescope away.” Easier. Less hollow.

More like how things were meant to be. In that moment, watching Armin’s eyes glitter and his pace pick up until he was practically skipping, it was like they’d never been anything else at all.

The goal wasn’t supposed to be to run back to exactly how things were. Eren wasn’t an idiot. He knew that wouldn’t happen. Even when Historia figured her stuff out and didn’t want him interrupting couch time anymore, things weren’t going to bounce back to him and Armin lying upside down on their cramped balcony while they argued over which movies got to stay on their list.

But running down the sidewalk at Armin’s heels, chasing down the rest of their afternoon, Eren felt like some limb he’d been missing had snapped back into place.

[next]

[insanityclause]

On the afternoon of Thursday, March 12, 2020, Broadway was hopping, with 31 shows in one stage or another of production. That evening, Six was to have its opening night and Flying Over Sunset was to have its first preview. The evening after, Plaza Suite was to begin previews, along with Caroline, or Change. And then, over the following 42 days leading up to April 23, the eligibility cutoff for the 74th Tony Awards, several other shows — among them American Buffalo, Birthday Candles, Diana, Hangmen, How I Learned to Drive, The Lehman Trilogy, Sing Street, Take Me Out and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? — were to show their hands, gambling that a late unveiling would position them optimally for the sort of awards recognition that can make the difference between a show staying open or closing.

As it turned out, every Broadway show closed that evening — at least temporarily — as the Broadway League, the producers and trade organization that presides over the 41 theaters that comprise the Great White Way, shuttered all of them due to the outbreak of COVID-19.

Now, two months to the day from when the Tonys ceremony was supposed to take place at Radio City Music Hall, members of the New York theater community — from actors to producers to publicists to the 50 or so members of the Tonys nominating committee itself — have no better idea than they did on March 12 about how Broadway's best work from the 2019-2020 season will be recognized.

"Not a word," says a dismayed member of the nominating committee. "There has been a total lack of communication," adds a frustrated Broadway publicist who has several horses in the race.

Without a doubt, there are far bigger problems these days than what is going on with the Tonys, even within the Broadway community, which usually employs some 87,000 people, according to the Broadway League. Now, virtually everyone is out of work as the League tries to determine if/how Broadway's theaters, with their cramped seats and tiny bathrooms packed with tourists and the elderly, can possibly reopen before a vaccine is widely available.

But, as the Emmys and Oscars proceed with plans for virtual awards ceremonies in the coming months, many who had a stake in the 2019-2020 Broadway season are wondering — in email exchanges and on phone calls with each other, and in off-the-record exchanges with this reporter — if they have been forgotten by the Tonys. After all, almost every other annual awards ceremony that celebrates theatrical achievements in New York has proceeded via a press release or virtual ceremony — the New York Drama Critics Circle (April 16), the Lucille Lortel Awards (May 3), the Outer Circle Critics Awards (May 11), the Drama Desk Awards (May 31), the Drama League Awards (June 18), etc.

So what is going on?

The Hollywood Reporter has learned that the Tony Awards Management Committee, which is comprised of representatives of the Broadway League and the American Theater Wing (which established the Tonys and owns the brand), has had a number of Zoom meetings during which various gameplans have been considered and then tabled as the severity of the pandemic became increasingly clear.

Indeed, Broadway theaters were originally to be closed for one month through April 12, then that was extended to at least June, then through Labor Day and now all that is known is that they will not reopen before the end of the year. No Tonys gameplan has been arrived at yet, although there is an expectation that a meeting later this month could bring things to a head.

The Broadway League and American Theater Wing declined to answer questions for this story.

It is understood that there are three primary options under consideration at this time, each of which comes with pros and cons...

1) Ask nom-com members to select nominees from the shows they were able to see before the shutdown and then conduct a virtual Tonys ceremony soon.

Pros

This seems to be the option that would please the greatest number of people associated with the 2019-2020 season, since shows that were seen will still be fresh in the minds of the nom-com and the larger pool of final-round voters.

Indeed, in the minds of a cross-section of the community, there was quite a bit of Tony-worthy work that was widely seen. Among the contenders repeatedly brought up: The Inheritance and Slave Play for best play; Moulin Rouge! for best musical; Betrayal or A Soldier's Play for best play revival; Danny Burstein (Moulin Rouge!), a popular vet with six nominations but no wins under his belt (and who recently overcame a brutal battle with COVID-19), for best featured actor in a musical; 33-year-old phenom Adrienne Warren (Tina: The Tina Turner Musical) for best actress in a musical; 89-year-old Lois Smith (The Inheritance), who has worked steadily since her debut in 1952 and has been nominated twice but never won, and 80-year-old Jane Alexander (Grand Horizons), who made her debut in 1969 and won one competitive award 51 years ago, for best featured actress in a play; four-time Tonys bridesmaid Laura Linney (My Name Is Lucy Barton) and 2001 winner Mary Louise Parker (The Sound Inside) for best actress in a play; veterans Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins (The Height of the Storm) for best actor and actress in a play, respectively; Tom Hiddleston and Charlie Cox (Betrayal) for best actor in a play; Elizabeth Stanley (Jagged Little Pill) for best featured actress in a musical; David Alan Grier (A Soldier's Play) for best actor or featured actor in a play, depending on where the nom-com placed him; and Derek McLane (Moulin Rouge!) for best scenic design. David Byrne, meanwhile, would almost certainly receive a special award for American Utopia.

Additionally, announcing Tony noms and winners could be a morale booster. "We're not doing shit that says 'Broadway is still here,'" says a publicist. "TV is still on. Movies are adapting. But our industry is in the toilet. So all goodwill gestures would be very welcome."

Cons

Because so few people ever make it to New York to see one Broadway show a year, let alone many, the Tonys are a tough sell to TV viewers in the best of times. Moreover, because of the abbreviated season, there may not be enough contenders to fill several categories (e.g. best revival of a musical and best original score).

And, setting aside the issue of shows that never even began previews, there is no question that a handful of late-breaking shows would be at a disadvantage, either because they had only recently opened (e.g. West Side Story and Girl from the North Country) or begun previews (e.g. The Minutes, Hangmen, Company, The Lehman Trilogy, Diana, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?), meaning not all nom-com voters would have seen them yet.

Perhaps most significantly, some associated with shows that were widely seen and plan to reopen would prefer waiting to hold the Tonys until the ceremony could be of some value to them at the box office.

2) Employ the Tonys ceremony in 2021 (assuming one is possible) to honor the best of both the 2019-2020 and 2020-2021 seasons, each of which will have been abbreviated due to the pandemic.

Pros

By March 12, 2021, the one-year anniversary of the Broadway shutdown, theaters — and at least some of the shows that were interrupted but managed to survive thanks to business interruption exclusions in their insurance policies — will presumably have reopened, meaning that at least one full Broadway season's worth of work could be recognized at the Tonys, which itself could occur in the traditional manner with on-air performances that could help drive ticket sales.

It is possible that Broadway's top producer, Scott Rudin, now believes that this is the likeliest outcome, since a decision was announced on June 24 to postpone the opening night of his revival of The Music Man from Oct. 15, 2020 all the way to May 20, 2021, which would push it into the 2021-2022 Tonys season and thereby keep it from having to compete for best revival of a musical with another of his shows, West Side Story. (Rudin declined to comment for this piece.)

Cons

Not all shows that were interrupted by the pandemic will reopen — most plays won't, save for perhaps those mounted by nonprofit theaters, like Take Me Out and Birthday Candles, and the musicals which probably will, such as Moulin Rouge!, will be hindered by having opened so long before voting (in that case, in the summer of 2019, nearly two years prior to the would-be new Tonys date). Even those that opened later, like Jagged Little Pill and Tina, would be disadvantaged compared to any new blood in the spring.

Additionally, not all of the people who served on the nominating committee in 2019-2020 would be willing to return to Broadway theaters in 2021, making a small group even smaller. "I would withdraw from being a nominator," one older member of the 2019-2020 nom-com tells THR, citing health concerns.

3) Scrap the 2019-2020 Tonys altogether.

Pros

It would be one less headache for the Broadway League, which is first and foremost interested in reviving Broadway, as opposed to looking back at past glories.

Cons

It would deprive recognition of those who did great work on Broadway during the 2019-2020 season, and mark the first time in the 74-year history of the Tonys that a period of Broadway work was not recognized at all.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Flavors of Poison (part two)

[Sweet Shop AU]

Part 1

TW: Vomiting, intrusive thoughts, minor mentions of teenage pregnancy (like one time), depression

———————

Beyond the Basilisk

Mooo

Aragon’s eyes popped open.

The woman sat up in her room, squinting because of the bright sunlight bleeding in through her curtains. As much as she loved it finally being sunny after a week of unforgiving cloudy, cold weather, she didn’t appreciate being blinded the moment she had woken up.

What had woken her up, anyway?

Aragon listened, but didn’t hear Cathy or Bessie bustling around upstairs or downstairs, and it hadn’t been one of the cats. Perhaps she just imagined it? It might have been from her dream or something.

She lays back down, putting the sound behind her. It was her day off- she was going to sleep in.

Mooooo

Or, maybe not.

There it was again!

Aragon shot up this time. She surveyed her room once more, but found nothing. She had been thinking it might have been one of the cats after all, but none of them were in her room and her door was shut.

Moooooooo

Aragon climbed out of bed, groaning in annoyance. Thinking it had to be one of her girls, she stormed down the hall to Cathy’s bedroom-

But the girl was asleep.

“Mama...?” Cathy mumbled sleepily, rousing slightly from her door being thrust open. “What...?”

“Nothing,” Aragon said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

Aragon quietly shut the door and was heading back to her room when she heard it again.

MOOOOOO

It startled her, actually. It sounded like a cow being gutted alive.

Right. They had a cow.

Aragon walked downstairs to go tell Bessie to tend to her pet, but the girl wasn’t in her bedroom. In fact, she was now realizing that she never got a text saying she returned home after the party (despite getting specific and strict instructions to do so).

MOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Aragon raced outside to see Hyde standing in the backyard. From the porch, she could see the fence surrounding the barn had been broken down in one spot, thanks to the heifer’s powerful body and strong horns. Not only that, the gate to the backyard had been completely ripped off and was dangling off of one of Hyde’s horns.

“What in the...?” Aragon approached the cow. “What have you done?!”

Hyde lows again, stamping her feet and lashing her tail. Aragon didn’t know a thing about cattle body language, but the highland seemed...anxious.

“Hold still, you beast-” Aragon hissed, managing to get the gate off of Hyde’s horns. Once it’s off, she watches as Hyde sprints through the gap where it used to be. When she doesn’t follow, the cow runs back and bites her sleeve, nipping her arm in the process, and drags her along. “What are you doing?! You have done enough!”

Hyde lows and pulled harder, not phased by the swats against her head.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming! Just let go of me!”

Seeming to understand, Hyde releases Aragon’s arm and dashed through the broken part of the barn fence, disappearing through the opening in the structure where she could get in and out of. Aragon followed, thoroughly annoyed, but that annoyance is replaced with fear when she notices the figure sprawled out in the hay.

“Elizabeth?!”

———

Agony clawed her mind.

Bessie awoke very slowly, immediately feeling the intense pounding in her skull and the roiling of her stomach when she moves. She can’t help but whimper at how terrible she feels and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain.

As if it were that easy.

Hangovers sucked.

A second whimper breached her lips and she tried to get up, but her arms were made of lead and she collapsed back down. The very short fall was like plummeting from a cliff to her alcohol-hazed mind and it felt as if she came crashing down onto thousands of jagged rocks that ripped her to shreds upon impact.

Something wet presses to her cheek, and it isn’t a tear. It’s much bigger than tears and leaves behind a slimy, slightly smelly residue against her hot, clammy skin.

“Hyde...?” She groaned.

The heifer moos softly and licks her again. There’s something else besides her gentle cow noises- a voice.

“Elizabeth!”

Someone kneels besides her head. Their skin is a darker shade and their hands are gentle when they brush her cheek, wiping away the saliva coating it. Bessie leans into the touch.

“C...Catalina...”

“It’s me, my darling, it’s me. I’m right here.” Aragon assured her.

“...D..don’t feel good...” Bessie slurred. She can’t help the embarrassment that rises in her chest- she’s nineteen years old, yet she’s talking like she’s five. How pathetic could she be?

“You’re hungover, Elizabeth.” Aragon told her, easily picking up on the signs (and the thick, heavy smell of alcohol coating the teenager’s body). “It’s not gonna feel too great.”

Bessie agreed with a hoarse moan. She squeezed her eyes shut, lolling her throbbing head in the hay she’s laying in. She could barely remember the night before, especially getting home and apparently passing out in the barn.

“Were you drugged?” Aragon suddenly asked, as blunt as ever. “Or did you just drink too much?”

Bessie probably would have killed herself if she got drugged, so she safely assumed the former wasn’t the case here.

“D-drink,” Bessie said and heard Aragon breathe a soft sigh of relief.

“Alright, my love,” Aragon said. “Can you stand? We need to get you inside.”

“I’d rather not,” Bessie breathed and Aragon frowned.

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll be much more comfortable in your bed and cleaned up.” Aragon brushes back some fringes of hair along Bessie’s crown. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” She makes her voice so velvety, “You can take a nice, warm shower and then lay in bed for the day. I can make your favorite tea.”

That did sound really, really nice...

Bessie nodded and Aragon smiled slightly.

“Wonderful.”

Standing took a lot of work- Bessie’s legs didn’t work properly at first, nearly buckling beneath her weight, and even when she did manage to get up, her head seemed to be set on sending her to the ground as punishment for putting so much alcohol in her body.

“C-Catty-”

“I’ve got you,” Aragon coiled an arm around Bessie’s waist. If she heard the old nickname Bessie used to refer to her with, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Steady... Lean on me, Elizabeth. I won’t let you fall.”

That sentence sent flutters through Bessie’s heart and she did as she was told, leaning heavily against Aragon’s side. She mumbled a goodbye to Hyde before she was helped outside into the sunny, but chilly weather. The wind felt amazing on her heated skin. For a moment, she actually felt a little better, but then her stomach churned like a nest full of restless snakes.

“Catalina-”

Before she could really warn the woman, a line of bile is splattering from her lips, just barely missing Aragon’s slippers.

Bessie clutched tightly at her shuddering stomach as she coughed and heaved. She probably would have completely collapsed into the puddle below her head if it weren’t for Aragon holding her up.

“Oh, honey...” Aragon murmured. “That’s it... Get it out. Just get it out.”

“I’m- I’m sor- I’m sorry-” Bessie wheezed in between spats of vomit.

“Shh, shh,” Aragon hushed her. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Somehow, Bessie still thinks she is.

After an agonizingly long minute of heaving, Bessie finally finished. She struggled to breathe as Aragon helps her into the house and to the bathroom, where she’s pressed onto the toilet seat as Aragon gets the shower running.

“Mama?”

Cathy is peeking inside. Her expression is curious, but becomes much more wary when she sees the state Bessie is in and smells the scent of alcohol wavering off of her basically-sister.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Cathy stammered, her breath hitching slightly. Aragon turns to her with worried eyes.

“Oh, Cathy, baby,” She hurries to her goddaughter, shielding Bessie from view. “Hey, shh, it’s alright...”

Bessie feels terrible. Cathy was very wry of alcohol and drunks ever since her father became an alcoholic after her mother died. She had just been seven when she moved in with Aragon- Bessie joined at fifteen, a year later.

“Go wait in the living room, alright? I’ll be right there.” Aragon told Cathy, who nodded and left.

“She...she’s scared of me,” Bessie whispered.

“Don’t say that, Elizabeth. Cathy isn’t scared of you. You just know how she gets.” Aragon said, walking back over. She checks the water. “Do you think you can get in by yourself or do you need help?”

A slight blush dusts Bessie’s cheeks. Despite how disorientated she feels, she can’t bring herself to get Aragon’s help for that.

“Yeah,” She said softly.

“Alright. I’ll come check on you soon. Yell if you need anything.”

With that, Aragon walks out.

Bessie stays rooted on the toilet seat for a good five minutes, just trying to gather the strength to simply stand back up, but finally managed to get to her feet. She wobbles treacherously, but gets enough balance to start undressing.

Peeling off her alcohol and weed-scented clothing and freeing her damp, sweaty skin to fresh air was a relief. What was even more of a relief was getting in the shower and washing her hair out, which was wet with vomit from when she had thrown up.

Bessie stood under the scalding rain for a long time, taking deep, steady breaths through her nose. For a brief moment, she almost felt at peace.

But, like before, her stomach cramps and everything comes rushing back.

Literally everything. The events from the night before, specifically Anna and Thomas, flooded her brain.

Anna thought she was disgusting.

Bessie’s whimper is blocked out by the sound of her knees hitting the bottom of the shower as she collapsed, shortly followed by the rest of her body. She’s crying, but can’t produce tears. She’s far too dehydrated.

Delirium fogs her already muddled brain. Voices shriek loudly in her mind. They’re usually beaten back by her antidepressants, but she hasn’t been able to take her daily pill yet. The intrusive thoughts take this opportunity to rear their ugly heads and hound her.

Bessie paws helplessly at the side of the tub, trying to get some kind of hold so she could push herself up, but her fingers slip and she crumples back down. Her head knocks against the floor when she slips and the pain flares to the point where she nearly blacks out. Bessie lets out a soft cry as the pounding in her skull gets much, much worse.

“Catalina...”

Her call is much too soft. The spray of the spigot blocks the name out.

“Catalina...”

She doesn’t want you

The voice sends ice through Bessie’s veins.

She’s too focused on Cathy. Her REAL daughter. The one who didn’t get knocked up at fifteen

“Shut up,” Bessie wept, then tried again, “Catalina...!”

Why are you even trying? She isn’t going to save you. Just drown yourself now and do her a favor

“Catalina, please...” Bessie sobbed.

Do it

“Catty... Mama....”

You want your mama? HA! How pathetic! You are pathetic. Catalina doesn’t want you. She’s never wanted you. She’s doing this out of pity. You’re just a worthless little whore that do anything right. Why would she ever love that?

That’s all Bessie hears, her cry dying on her lips. Her throbbing head lolls over so she’s face- down in the sloshing water and she laps desperately at the puddle that has accumulated around her fallen body. The water was dirty from sliding off of her sweaty skin, but she couldn’t care. She was too thirsty to care.

“Mama...”

After her last vain effort, Bessie’s eyes roll to the back of her skull and everything goes black.

———

“So that’s why she’s like that,” Aragon concluded. “She’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Cathy nodded, still slightly cautious. She extended her arms and hugged her godmother, who squeezed her comfortingly.

“Alright,” The girl whispered. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Me too.”

Now that that was settled, Aragon got up from her kneeling position and retrieved fresh clothes from Bessie’s bedroom, as well as a glass of water from the kitchen before knocking on the bathroom door.

“Bessie? It’s Catalina. I’m coming in.”

There was no answer, but she just figured Bessie didn’t hear her. She steps inside and is immediately hit by a coconut-scented cloud of steam that almost chokes her from how thick it was. She can’t help but shake her head fondly- Bessie was always one to take way too hot showers.

“Bessie, your clothes are on the counter.” She said.

No answer.

Surely Bessie should have heard her.

“Bessie?” Aragon tried again.

Nothing.

“Elizabeth?”

Aragon stepped closer to the shower. She really didn’t want to invade Bessie’s privacy, especially with the girl’s history, but she had to check on her.

“Elizabeth, I’m giving you one more chance to answer before I open this curtain.” It came out a lot more harsh than she had intended, making Aragon wince.

Bessie does not answer.

Counting to three in her head, Aragon pulls the shower curtain aside just enough to peer inside and, for the second time that day, cries out her daughter figure’s name.

“Elizabeth!!”

Bessie is crumpled on the floor of the shower, curled into a tight ball and shaking, despite the scalding hot water the spigot was spitting down onto her bare body. She wasn’t responding at all.

Aragon rushes to turn off the shower and then makes sure Bessie was still breathing (her face had been slightly dipped in the water, after all). After confirming that she was alive, Aragon grabs a towel and throws it down over Bessie. She knew the girl would panic if she was caught handling her while naked.

Carefully, with her eyes shut, Aragon lifts Bessie limp body out of the tub and sets her on the soft white shower carpet. She felt her forehead, finding it warm, but bearing no real fever. Bessie must have fainted from her hangover, then.

What the hell did she drink at that party?

Aragon takes the fluffy bathrobe off of the hook on the wall and manages to get it onto Bessie’s trembling body. She ties the laces together just as the girl below her moans softly.

“Elizabeth?”

Another soft moan.

“Elizabeth, honey, can you hear me? It’s Catalina. You’re okay.”

Bessie’s blue eyes flutter open. Aragon smiles softly and brushes her cheek with a finger.

“There’s my sweet girl.” Aragon cooed.

Bessie blinked blearily up at her, looking so much younger in that moment. Her features contorted after a moment as she registers her headache and grimaced, whimpering softly.

“Shh, shh,” Aragon hushed her, stroking her forehead. “It’s alright, my darling... You passed out. Do you remember?”

Bessie nodded slowly.

“M-my head...” She croaks. Her voice grates her throat and she winced. The taste of bile is still on her tongue, too. “H-hurts... Catalina...”

Aragon quickly grabbed the glass of water sitting by the fresh clothes and brought it to Bessie’s lips after propping the girl up. She resists for a moment, whining softly, but then Aragon says, “It’s just water, honey. You must be so thirsty.”

She really, really was.

Bessie immediately began to drink after hearing that, desperate for the liquid. The water cools her throat and washes down the acidic taste of bile, but lands heavily in her cramped stomach. After drinking it all, she pulls her neck back, panting heavily. Her head slumps against Aragon’s shoulder.

“My poor girl,” Aragon murmured, reaching around to rub the side of Bessie’s head. She can’t help but smile lovingly when the girl clings tightly to her other arm. “I’m right here, sweetie. You’re going to be just fine.”

“N-never gonna drink again,” Bessie mumbled, making Aragon laugh softly.

“I think that’s a good idea.” She agreed. “How does laying down in your bed sound?”

“Good.” Bessie said.

“Alright. Let’s get you up- hold onto me, darling.”

With minimal difficulty, Bessie is able to get up and change into the soft pajamas Aragon had got for her. Her head is still pounding unmercifully, but she endures it long enough to stagger to her room and collapse into bed, where she promptly bundles up beneath the blankets. Aragon leaves for a moment and she thinks that’s the end of the care she gets, so she grabs Elizabeth (which she hides under her pillows) and cuddles the cow close to her chest.

But then Aragon walks back in.

Bessie doesn’t have the time or strength to hide Elizabeth. Aragon sees the stuffed animal she’s holding as if she were a baby. However, instead of rolling her eyes or making a snide comment about how she needs to grow up, she just smiled softly and chuckled lovingly.

“Take these,” Aragon said, handing Bessie two pills of Ibuprofen. After the girl takes them, she eases her back down and sets a hot, wet flannel on her forehead. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Bessie sighed softly.

Aragon hums and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Bessie’s hair. She watches the girl begin to drift off and, before she walks back out, she presses a gentle, but loving kiss against her forehead.

“Sleep well, my special girl.”

———

The sun is still glowing by the time the afternoon bleeds into evening. Golden rays turn to soft orange and then blood red as the land is bathed in the colors of oncoming twilight. Aragon can’t help but admire the view from the kitchen window as she’s making dinner. Her soft smile grows wider when she heard Cathy laugh loudly from the living room, where she’s playing with one of the cats in front of the TV. On the couch, Bessie is laying down with a flannel over her forehead and eyes (after six hours of sleeping in her room, she claims she “got lonely” and walked out to be with the others. However, her persistent headache kept her from doing much, so she ended up dozing again).

Aragon was about to tell Cathy to quiet down so she wouldn’t hurt Bessie’s head when the doorbell rang, proving to be much worse than the twelve-year-old’s giggling when it came to noise.

Bessie let out a soft moan as the sound rebounded through her skull and lifted a slightly shaking hand to press against her forehead. Aragon checks on her before walking to the front door to see who was there.

Standing on the front stoop was a tall, dark-skinned young lady, probably twenty or twenty-one, with short black hair and warm eyes. She seemed friendly enough, she was even holding a bundt cake, but she was still unfamiliar, so Aragon was on guard.

“Hello,” Aragon said, not hiding the confusion in her voice or her eyes. The stranger matched her puzzled expression.

“Hello,” She replied, her eyebrows knitted together, “Is this- am I at the wrong house?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Aragon said. “I didn’t order a cake.”

The stranger laughed a little and quickly glanced at a small piece of paper she’s holding, which has Aragon’s address written on it.

“Does Bessie Blount live here?”

“Yes,” Aragon said slowly. “Why? Are you one of her coworkers? A classmate?”

“I’m...a friend.” The stranger said.

Thoroughly confused and a little wary, Aragon was about to tell the stranger to leave when a voice sounded behind her.

“Anna?”

The stranger perked up and looked over Aragon’s shoulder.

“Bessie!”

Aragon turned around to see that Bessie was, in fact, standing in the front room.

“I told you not to get up,” Aragon chided lightly, but kept the scolding to a minimum to avoid embarrassing the poor girl.

“Sorry,” Bessie said, walking closer. “Catalina- this is Anna. She’s a friend of mine. Anna, this is Catalina. Or Catherine. She’s...a family friend. I live with her.”

Aragon’s eyebrows raise up. “The Anna?”

“The Anna?” The stranger- Anna- echoed. A teasing smirk tugs on her lips. “You talk about me?”

“Maybe,” Bessie said, blushing slightly, “Um- Catalina, can she come in? Please?”

Aragon scanned Anna, then moved out of the way for the girl to come in.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?” Bessie asked while they all walked back into the living room.

“Anne told me,” Anna answered. “I wanted to check on you after the party yesterday. Oh, also, I got you a cake.” She holds it out and Bessie takes it with a soft giggle.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Bessie said, not missing the raise of Aragon’s eyebrows.

“I definitely did.” Anna said.

“Did you get home okay last night?” Bessie asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Anna said. “Only had one drink. The beers there were cheap and pretty gross.”

Bessie laughed a little. “Here- lets go to my room.”

Anna nodded and allowed the girl to lead her to her bedroom. They sat down on the bed together, and Anna notices the way Bessie presses the heel of her palm against her temple and wince. She gently touches her shoulder.

“Are you alright?” She asked softly, worry glinting in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Bessie grunted, “My head just hurts a little, that’s all. I may have a, ah, small hangover.”

Anna hummed sympathetically, then stood up. Bessie’s head snapped up, too.

“Wh-where are you going?”

“You need to rest, Bessie. Hangovers suck.”

“No, wait-” Bessie’s eyes are pleading, “Please don’t leave me.” She whimpered.

Anna looked at her and her eyes soften. She sat back down and wrapped an arm around the girl, which makes her snuggle into her side.

“I’m right here, darling.” Anna whispered, darling to press a soft kiss to the top of Bessie’s head, “I’m not going to leave you.”

And she didn’t.

Well, until she actually had to leave because it was late, but she didn’t for awhile. Aragon let her even stay for dinner! And, the whole time, she never brought up what Thomas had said the night before.

[devilgirl101]

My Dirty Angel–reader x Yourboyfriend fanfic by devilgirl101

Author:Your boyfriend belong to @invertedmindinc/@yOurb0yfriend Also

Warning:this fanfic contains graphic Themes as suicide,stalking and sexual content noncon/con if you are tiggered by the following or you're underage do not read viewer Discretion is advised!

Chapter 1: my hell is a virtual novel nightmare/follow the light of...the tv?/hhhhuuuuhhh!?

Part:1

Hey i'm (y/n) (y/l/n) and i'm pretty sure i'm in hell well or is it limbo i can's fuckin' tell anymore i slouch at the counter resting my elbow on it as i wait for someone to either order a coffee with a complicated name or complain 'i didn't order this' 'you call this coffee' and i throw a sugar packet at 'em blah blah whatfuckingever and fuck this box stop copying what i'm thinking it dibbled out my exact thought as if to say 'fuck you you can't stop me' i give a heavy sigh of aggravation at my predicament did i fail to mention i'm dead, i'll explain exactly three mouths ago i was in a very bad place in my mind i guess you could say in life i was 'rather' depressed , disconnected , alone i felt as though i had no reason to live i was sure no one would miss me i know my brother wouldn't, my body was like it was on autopilot when i reach for my sleeping pills from the bathroom cabinet, unfortunately i wouldn't have the chance to off myself cause someone ultimately beat me to it, the only warning i got was a masked face in the mirror, it happened so fast i didn't even feel a thing, i may have been a 'tiny' bit distracted

when i awoke i was in a room i didn't recognize i gasped and scanned the bedroom in alarm, the wallpaper was white littered with little pink hearts, the closet had double doors that were a dark wood color, a midsized tv , a desk with a laptop that was also covered in hearts that definitely wasn't mine and the bed i was laying in wasn't familiar either it was purple with light purple to match the blanket i was wrapped in was a hot pink with dare i say it even more hearts i didn't have time to ponder where hell i was for the bedroom door swung open, revealing a woman i definitely definitely didn't recognize she had short dark hair a heart shaped face brown eyes a turned up nose plump lips and her body had a curvy shape to it and wearing some kind of waitress uniform that was red with white accents on the edges she had a sweet friendly smile on her face "good morning sleepy head "

"w-who are you!?"

she cast me an astonished look "are you kidding me roomie, it's me sally your roommate." putting her hands on her hips "are you feeling okay?" she asked her eyebrow rised "i-i'm not sure" i shakely answered then i noticed the oddist thing a large transparent rectanglar floating box that spelled out exactly what i said "hey what's this thing?" pointing at it as it copied me again "uh what thing?"

i pointed at it again "That thing" she look at me like i was losing my marbles i was starting to think i was , "i don't see anything, are you feeling okay?" she sounded concerned, i scratched my head unsure, what the hell was going on she took my hand pulled me to my feet

"com'on i made breakfest, you'll feel better after you eat something" as she guided me to what looked to be a living room where there was a couch a tv and a round dining table that a steaming pile of pancakes still hot the sight made my stomach growled "your welcome" she said condescendingly as she sat down fixing herself a plate i sat and proceeded to do the same may as well eat something, after the 4th or 6th pancake "i gotta get to work, you probably should too" checking her watch "huh work?" i blinked in confusion "uh yeah ? The coffee shop remember." looking very credulous at me i can only imagine how dumbfoundead my face was

"what's with you today and do not tell me you don't remember the way there either." she crossed her arms "no?" drewing invisible circles on the table with my finger "but just for fun where would i find it ?" her palm met her forehead and groaned and irritatingly explaned to me the location of said coffee shop and other places i asked as annoyed as she was explaining i was just as annoyed for asking her but each place she told me didn't sound familiar, the coffee shop was under the name 'woke up cafe'

"You all that?" she asked "i think so" pileing the new info in my head "good if you do get lost for 'fun' check your phone on map app" my phone ? I start searching my pockets for it "*sigh* it's on your nightstand" rolling her eyes "oh heh heh" scratching my head " sigh i gotta go now or i'll be late, your keys are in the bowel and remember to lock the door"

'blem' she was gone leaveing me with questions then answers, well i may as well go to this 'coffee shop' maybe i'll find someone i know there, maybe get some answers to why i'm living with this 'sally' and how am i working at this 'woke up cafe' cause i don't recall, am i suffering from amnesia is that why?

I only hoped someone anyone could tell me what's going on "sigh" oh whatever i went to retrieve 'my phone' from the nightstand the seemed to be free of any hearts till i saw a small baby one in the corner of the wood, the phone case was a light pink with black dots, well at least they're not hearts, maybe i got into one of my drunk stupors that thought 'hearts' that would explain the interior design

i shook my head questions for later i guess, sliding the phone in my pocket i felt around the other pocket for my thermos and took a sip i put it back walk back to the front door, now where did she say the keys were, oh right a bowl there near the door was a stand with a glass blue bowl it was seethough in middle laid a small set of keys after picking them up i noticed a large tag with my name and there were three keys in total the one that looked like a house key had a pink heart with the word 'home' etched in the metal

oh goody another heart i sighed again and slipped out the door

however i would not be prepared for what i would encountered outside.

The first thing i noticed as i grabbed the railing was the sky it looked off like it didn't even look like sky it was like a painter's impression of sky like a oilpainting i shook my head , did i hit my head or something, then i made the mistake of looking down, and was suddenly aware of how high i was and how low the ground looked below, how fuckin' high in the air am i ?! i turned to the door i came out of '3' followed by a dark smudge i placed my hand on the three lonely and filthy just like me ,i looked back to the ground below, maybe this just the third i hoped, i grimaced and slowly and carefully climbed down the stairs and counted from point A to point B, i took some more calming breaths and counted seven floors, oh christ on a stick why, why the 7th floors, i hate heights, am i being punished ? my feet finally met the sweet ground i gave a great sigh of relief

"ok no more fuckin' around" i pulled out 'my phone' for the directions sally told me about, hey has the grass alaways been this bright green? In fact everything else looked off as well, the colors were too vibrant, the sidwalk too perfect, the scenery too nice it was down right unnatural, maybe i'll see my doctor after this cause i think i'm loseing it more then usual as i looked at the box that won't dissipate i thought, i took a fast walking pace the walk on the sidewalk was too smooth as i took my steps, the sidewalk i remembered was jagged cracked and uneven this isn't righ- then i stumbled on one part of the concrete that wasn't quite leveled, okay that's a little better, i steadied myself, something caught my eye someone slumped against a building their back flushed the concrete wall his head and face were obscured by a dark hoodie head down giveing the impression off the air of depression his legs were sprawled out in front of him, is he alright i shook my head doesn't matter not my problem as i tried to continue walking my guilt came to bite me

(you're just gonna leave just like that he could be dying) i don't even know him or her, i was still unsure of their gender (that Should't matter ya know why don't you run into incoming traffic ya piece of shi-) i turned back not sure what i could do but i was gonna try anyway, i crouched down in front of him "hey are you alright?" his head was bobbing so i wasn't sure heard me i was about to ask again till came very shaky "i-i'm.....f-f-fine" he stuttered out his voice was so scratchy and hoarse like he hadn't spoken in years, i pulled out my thermos and held it out in front of him

"here drink this, don't worry it's just water" i waited for him to take it he shook his head "n-n-no t-thank y-y-you i-i'm f-f-fin-"

"you're not fine you sound like you were eating chalk just drink it you'll feel better, trust me" i wagged the container makeing the liquid slosh his head finally turned up at me i saw one dark blue eye widen at me "it's....you.." and something else i could't quite hear

"hmmm?" makeina a confused sound was about to ask what he said but then he took the water and chugs down every last drop wow shit he must've been more thirstier then i thought i proceeded to stand

" listen sorry to cut this short but i gotta get going"

i started turn "Wait!" he grabbed my wrist stopping me in my tracks "yes? What is it?" riseing my eyebrow at him

"w-what about y-y-your thing?" holding up the thermos and keeping his head down avoiding my gaze

"nah you keep it i got other ones" at least i hoped i did, and he looked like he needed it more then me

"y-you s-sure?"

"yeah" i tried walking away but i was being hindered

"could you um..let go now Please." he looked at his hand still clasped around my wrist "oh S—shit s-sorry" finally letting go i sighed and gave him a polite smile and i wave him goodbye

i made my way to a crosswalk where there a bus stop and i heard the wonderful sound of civilization i saw a man his back turned to me and he had a phone to his ear i absentmindedly bumped into him not paying attention he snapped around almost violently "WATCH WHERE You're going" he screeched "sorry i mean to-" i gasped and clasped my hands over my mouth at what i saw the man had no eyes, no nose, and no mouth to speak of, he didn't have a face in fact none of the people in the crowed walking ,talking and sitting at the bus stop also were faceless i started to hyperventilate "hey are you alright?" and in my panic i ran not sure where to i was so frighten that my barin just turned off i think one of 'em tried to touch my shoulder but i flinched away, oh god oh fuck i've lost it for real this time, what the hell is- "HEY LOOK OUT !!!" one of them screamed at me as i saw and heard a large bus it's lights flashing, oh god this is it, i shut my eyes and held my hands up anticipating the blow, but after a couple of minutes it never came i could't even hear the bus anymore actually i could't hear anything, not the bus,not the even the faceless people, just dead silence and my heavry breathing, i was still afraid so i slowly opened my eyes one at a time "what the hell?!" it was completely dark the bus, the street , the scenery , and the people were gone it was like somebody took all them away and left nothing but dark nothingness oh god was i haveing a episode?

"Hello is anyone there please...answer me" i called out but i was met with only more unsettling silence till i heard a very soft "Over here" I almost missed it sounded just like a child

i ran towards the direction it came from then i saw a soft glowing light that slowly got brighter the closter i got to it, was is that? When i got toe to toe to it, it took the shape of a small little girl she glowed as bright as a nightlight her eyes glowed green while the rest of her glowed a light yellow

"w-who are you?" i asked shakingly she made a sad sound and softly and sadly "you poor soul, you are trapped in a cage that's not your making, a prisoner of fate"

"what?" my voice came ghostly as she continued

"they must've caught you when you were just drifting, This truly is a unjust retribution that has been placed on your shoulders, your chances are almost none, but if i am able to reach you, there may be a possibility open to you"

yep it's official it was a long time coming but i've finally lost it

"You seem to not understand what i'm saying do you, please look upon this" with a wave of her hand a great big tv emerged from the ground

i stared at the screen not sure why all i could see was static at first but the picture slowly become clearer and clearer till i finally saw myself in my bathroom reaching inside the cabinet, oh yeah i remembered i was going to kill myself wasn't i? I watch myself take the bottle out and stared at it then the screen charged to two masked men rummaging though my stuff, are you kidding me i was being robbed "psst i think i hear someone's in there" one whispered pointing at the bathroom door, the other nodded "i got this" holding a baseball bat then quietly open the and to my horror i watched helplessly as the bat came domn on my head and (y/n) on the screen fall to the tiled floor with a thud and blood poured out of my head like a fountain

"dude i didn't tell you to kill 'em" masked man A yelled "aw shit man, let's get outta here" the screen turned back to static

all the air i had left me and my knees hit the dark ground losing the strength to stand, "i'm...am i..." as i found i had difficuly speaking as though my tongue was made of clay

"'dead' yes, i'm sorry (y/n)"

great killed in a 'breaking and entering' gone wrong and not only that on the day i planed to kill myself how ironic i can hear my mother's disappointment from here i bet my brother's just haveing a ball with this

the worst part is i had a suicide note prepared sigh what a waste of time

"am i ... is this hell?" looking back at her

"no purgatory"

"this is purgatory" i gestured around the emptiness

"no, this place is a in between of existiong and nothingness almost a dream space if you will i pulled you in so we could talk" said matter a factly

"i see...but the place i was before you pulled me in, that was purgatory?" i slowly stood up

"yes and no"

"huh?"

"There isn't just one purgatory there are infinite think of them as levels each one significantly different then the last each housing millions of souls you had the bad fortune by them"

souls? Then i remembered the faceless people and sally why did she have her's and they didn't "those people ..... is that gonna happen to me?!" oh god i felt another panic attack coming on

"no, Souls that lose their conviction their individuality become faceless they're lost themselves , so please listen to me" she took my hands into her's "they love playing sick twisted mind games they will use your pain against you so no matter how painful no matter how tragic don't forget yourself, in your pain holds your truth, it is what will keep you so no matter what don't look away,"

my mind was in a shamble of questions " who's 'they'?" i demanded

before she could answer me a ominous sound filled the nothingness like a siren then the ground shook violently like a earthquake then the whole area glowed a horrifying red

"oh no they found me!" she shook her head in dismay

"who's they, and what's happening?!" i screamed trying to keep myself steady

"there's no time, you must find the angel of death that they have enthralled in their game of torture, he is the key, you'll know him by this symbol" oh good more convoluted bullshit she waved her again and in the middle of the static of the screen appeared a misshapened heart that had a jagged line in the middle on one side black the other white and in red was the word 'yours' right in the middle as it flickered in and out on the tv

"key? key to what goddamnit, how am i supposed to find him with that !?" as i shook her but she was like a mannequin her eyes were like static they were there one sec and gone the next

"S---so-rry -----ere's n--- -ime you mu-t fin-d him" her voice came in and out like a out of tuned radio

Side note: sorry have break it into two parts

Yourboyfriend belongs to @invertedmindinc cheack her other @y0urb0yfriend

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

Technicolor Beat- Part One

A Soulmate AU

Disclaimer: This features an original character by me @animalkingdom-anonymous and all plotlines are original content. Gifs and photos are not mine unless stated otherwise.

Subject: J X Indigo (OC)

“What if soulmates were real? What if there was one person out there for everyone? What if they were halfway around the world? What if they were a mere three miles up the coast?

Growing up, my parents always taught me to believe that soulmates weren’t real. There was no such thing, it was all make believe. I didn’t know any better, didn’t know how to disagree, so I went along with whatever they said.

Maybe it was because my mother was a pill popping lush who never got off the couch.

Maybe it was because my father was a drunken, disgraced cop who constantly reminded me that he never wanted me.

Maybe I was just too scared to disagree with them.

But here’s the thing, soulmates existed. They were a real thing, but I wouldn’t realize or understand that until I was ten years old. Until I found my own soulmate.

Well, technically, I didn’t find anyone. I felt it.

With soulmates, it’s all about proximity. If you’re within fifty miles of your counterpart you can feel them, feel their moods and their emotions. It’s not necessarily a weight that you feel inside yourself, it’s more of a warmth. A sense of not being alone. I felt him, whoever he was, for the first time when I was ten years old and I’d felt him every day since.

Thirteen years later and nothing had changed.

My name is Indigo Parrish and this is my story.

I slung my black Calvin Klein backpack over one shoulder as I bounded up the stairs to my apartment, keys jingling in my hand. It was nearly six and my shift at the cafe ended late thanks to the asshole who decided to spill his large iced latte all over the display case. I smelled like a mix of mocha and coffee beans, in desperate need of a hot shower before I had to meet my best friend, Tiny. We made plans to go to her favorite dive bar and it was somewhere in Oceanside, a town she had become familiar with when she was still heavy into coke and guys that were too old for her.

My phone vibrated in my pocket just as I unlocked the door. I stepped inside and locked it behind me before answering. “Tiny, listen, I’m gonna be a few minutes late. I need to take a shower, I smell like coffee and broken dreams.”

“I love coffee!” My best friend of ten years chirped happily into the phone.

“Nice try, I’m still gonna be late.”

“Boo, you whore.”

I laughed and hung up, undressing as I made my way down the short hall to the closet sized bathroom. Okay, so maybe my apartment was a shithole and maybe I could hear mice scurrying around inside the walls sometimes, but the rent was cheap, my neighbors were quiet, and anything was better than my parents’ house.

My anxiety began to rise just thinking about the two people who brought me into this world and I tried as hard as I possibly could to put a lid on it. I didn’t want him to feel that I was all riled up and upset because, in turn, he would get all riled up and upset. It was Friday, for fuck’s sake. I wanted us to enjoy our weekend even if we weren’t together.

We’d never been together.

However, I knew he was close.

It had been a selling point for the apartment, honestly. The second I stepped foot into the cramped space for the first time he felt closer than ever before. We’d spent a decade feeling each other but it always felt far away. This? My shithole apartment? This was where I could really feel him. Three years later and I never regretted moving in.

Tiny was the only person who knew my soul had found its counterpart. She was the only person I could trust with the information because she was the only person in this world who had my back. She believed in them, but anyone who truly believed in soulmates had to keep it on the downlow. There were some serious anti’s out there who refused to acknowledge that they existed. In fact, some people were so anti that they went as far as killing people who claimed to be soulmates. Just last week I saw on the news that a couple was burned alive in their home in Santa Fe after revealing they believed fate brought them together.

It was a cruel world.

I knew I believed in soulmates when I was ten years old. I’d been at the park by myself, my father too drunk to remember that he brought me there and leaving without me. I’d been sitting on the swings, kicking my legs back and forth when I felt this sudden rush of something inside me. I’d later realize it was adrenaline, but I was so panicked at the time, alone and scared, that I burst into tears. A man had been there with his daughter when he saw me having some sort of nervous breakdown. He’d rushed over, asked where my parents were and, after realizing I’d been left alone, he asked if that was why I was upset.

“No,” I said as I wiped fat tears from my cheeks. “Something’s inside of me. I feel weird.”

The poor guy looked so confused. “What do you mean? Where?”

I hit my hand against my chest three times. “Here. Something’s wrong.”

The man’s face lit up in realization and he started laugh which, in turn, made me cry harder. But that man changed my life. He told me everything about soulmates, about how he had met his when he was fourteen years old and they were still together. He told me all about how they had to keep it a secret, but that it was a good secret because they loved each other.

“Why a secret?” I asked him towards the end of our conversation.

He had lifted his hat off revealing a long, jagged scar that went from his forehead down to his temple. My ten year old self had been terrified, but something resonated with me that day. This man had his face permanently disfigured all because he wanted people to know that he found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. All because he didn’t want to settle. Even at my young age I knew, I knew, my soulmate was someone I needed to protect.

“Not all secrets are bad.” He smiled.

I never saw him again after that, but not a day went by in the last thirteen years that I didn’t think about him. His name was Simon and he changed my life.

I hoped Simon was happy with his wife and daughter.

I hoped someday I could be that happy, too.

Soulmates were a pretty straightforward concept. You could feel what the other was feeling. There was no telepathy, nothing Sci-fi about it. You could just… feel the other one. It was interesting and overwhelming, but the older I got the easier it was to manage. Although I had to admit it was a shock when I realized I could feel him get aroused and even more of a shock when I realized that he could tell when I was, too. It was embarrassing, but there was a part of me that felt as though it was easier knowing I wasn’t going through it alone. He, whoever he was, had to be just as uncomfortable as I was.

Though his emotions were never light I welcomed them anyway solely because I liked the feel of him. Sometimes his sadness and resentment were so heavy it made my chest physically ache. But he had his moments of peace. It never reached the point of happiness, but late at night when I lay in bed I could feel a certain weight lift off me. I wondered if he was asleep, if that was the only time he had any peace and quiet in his life.

Don’t get me wrong, there were days when it was so frustrating I could have screamed. There were days where I dismissed myself as crazy and told myself soulmates weren’t real and it was all in my head. I was just the dumb, crazy little girl my parents told me I was when I was a child.

Those feelings never lasted, though. They were dark, yes, and my mind was probably dangerously twisted from the constant back and forth. But there was always something to pull me back from falling over the edge of sanity. There was always something holding my hand, pulling me back, pulling me towards that warmth again.

It was him. I knew it was.

But I still thought I was crazy sometimes.

After my shower, I was quick to change into a pair of curve hugging jeans and a simple white t-shirt. Nothing fancy considering we were going to a dive bar. Wiping the condensation off the mirror, I looked at my own hazel eyes staring back at me. My long brown hair was pulled up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing my face. My thick brows looked the way they always did… thick, and my plump mouth had nothing more than chapstick on it. After swiping on a bit of mascara, slipping into my white Vans, and grabbing my keys I was good to go.

* * *

“I swear you don’t listen sometimes. It’s like I do all the work and all you do is lay around and smoke weed, and do coke, and fuck around with Renn by the pool. If you’re not here to do exactly what I tell you to, then why are you here at all? Craig, are you listening? Craig?”

I glanced over at my uncle who was zoned out and looking at whatever was playing on the tv. He was always the one who never paid attention in family meetings. I knew Pope would give him a play by play, but this was Deran’s job and Deran’s rules.

He was going to get what he wanted even if he had to sucker punch Craig for it.

It would be a routine job, the same old shit. In and out in under three minutes, ditch the cars, ditch the clothes, take the cash, and go. It was easy enough but going over the basics was smart, especially with Craig who was always too fucking coked out to pay attention.

With Smurf still in prison and Baz dead it was just the four of us. We were making it work pulling easy jobs that brought in quick cash. But it was never a big payoff. There were still bills that needed to be paid and properties that needed to be managed. We needed a serious hit. A big hit. Or else I would fuck everything up and Smurf would be right.

I’d sooner drown in my own fucking blood that ever admit she was right about us.

Hell, I didn’t even like my uncles but I wanted success so bad I could practically taste it. We could do it without her, we had to do it without her.

I shoved my elbow into Craig’s ribs. “Dude, listen the fuck up.”

He turned and glared at me, clearly pissed off that I’d interrupted his tv time. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, kid?”

I clenched my jaw and cocked my head from side to side, cracking my neck to relieve some of the tension. I couldn’t let my anxiety ramp up, not after feeling hersnot too long ago. I wondered what was bothering her, if she was alright. She wasn’t normally an anxious person, she was actually pretty relaxed most days. I could always feel that warmth in my chest when she was happy and as much as I loved it, it killed me that I couldn’t be there with her. I hated knowing that I wasn’t the one making her happy, but even more than that? I fucking loathed the thought of anyone else making her happy.

You’re her soulmate, I thought to myself as Deran rambled on about money and guns and we had to move quick and keep our heads low. No one will ever make her as happy as you do.

Although there was no way of knowing if I was actually going to make her happy considering I’d never heard her voice or seen her face. But I always liked to imagine what she looked like. I pictured a brunette, someone with an easy laugh, someone that liked the same movies as me.

“Jesus, J, you there? Or did Craig get you into the coke, too?”

I clenched my jaw as my uncle looked down at me with raised eyebrows.

“I’m here, sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

He huffed, moving slowly across the living room as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, if you’re too tired then maybe you should skip this one, kiddo. I don’t want you to lose any sleep.”

I bit back my temper, grinding my fucking molars. “I said I’m here.”

He clapped his hands together in response. “Great, now where were we?”

After going over the plan three more times we called it a day. Deran needed to head to the bar, Craig needed to pick up Nicky and get more coke, and Pope… went off doing whatever it was that Pope did. I went back to my room, closing and locking the door behind me as I thought about her, wondering if she had a good day. I assumed she did considering how light my chest felt. If it was a good day everything felt light. A bad day? It felt like my bones weighed a ton and there was a weight on my chest.

But today wasn’t a bad day.

I wonder if she felt my temper earlier, I mused silently. As if she could hear and answer my question, warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading over my shoulders and down my arms to the tips of my fingers. I knew she did.

There were times when I didn’t think she could possibly exist. Maybe my family was right, maybe soulmates were bullshit and it was just media propaganda. It was make believe and there was never just one person out there for us. But the older I got the more I believed. Because why else would I wake up in a panic in the middle of the night? Because she was afraid. Why else would I get this strange, bashful, vulnerable feeling in October of every year? Because it was her favorite month, it was her birthday month. It held something significant and I felt it.

She was real, she was out there, and she was waiting for me.

Sometimes she felt so close that I wondered if she was down the street.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, looking down at the ID. It was Smurf. Again. She’d been pushing me to go see her for the last four days but now I was dodging her calls. She was awaiting trial for Javi’s murder, but she just kept saying she would get out. She would come home. Things would go back to the way they were before.

I fucking prayed every day that she was wrong.

“J!” Craig’s heavy footsteps thudded down the hall to my room. “Get dressed, we’re heading to the bar.”

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here. Tired.”

He was already shaking his head. “No way. Come on, man. Smurf turn you into her little bitch boy or do you want to come have a beer?”

Fucking Christ, I thought to myself. It was bad enough living with this fucking family, the last thing I wanted to do was drink with any of them. I just wanted out.

“Whatever. Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“Five.”

I flipped him off and his laugh echoed down the hallway.

* * *

The bar was crowded. Shoulders were being bumped into and Tiny had her finger wrapped around my belt loop as we headed towards the bar.

“Two shots of Jameson!” I shouted over the overlapping conversations around us.

The bartender was a blonde guy wearing a red velvet shirt. Tiny mentioned earlier that she thought he was cute but he didn’t seem to pay much mind to the petite, raven haired Panama native that was my best friend.

“This is my favorite little place.” Tiny drummed her fingers on the bar and shook her ass to the beat of the music. It was clear that she’d pre-gamed pretty hard before I met up with her, not that I minded. She was the definition of a free spirit.

“That guy from last weekend showed up tonight.” She smiled over my shoulder, her nose crinkling up and making her little diamond stud twinkle in the dim lighting.

Tiny was, of course, referring to the guy (David? Daniel? Dick?) that she met here last weekend. She’d vowed not to exchange numbers with him but told him if she saw him at the bar again she’d let him buy her a drink.

“Looks like it’s my lucky night.” She winked at me. Her brown eyes looked like big saucers as he walked up to us with so much swagger I actually almost gagged. He wasn’t my type and his cologne was way too heavy for my taste, but he was right up Tiny’s alley.

“I believe we had a deal.” He laughed, revealing teeth that were so white they probably could have glowed in the dark. It was seriously like in that episode of Friends when Ross wore the teeth whitener for too long.

“Okay,” I said with an awkward smile. I knew it was my cue to leave and let her have her fun. To be completely honest, I didn’t mind. I was tired, work sucked, and after having a shot or two I would want nothing more than to go home, roll a blunt, and slide into bed. I’d been on my feet since nearly six and, though I wasn’t complaining about coming out and having a good time with my best friend, I was someone who appreciated their alone time.

I was heading towards the exit when all at once it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Slamming my hand against my chest, it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me and my vision blurred around the edges. It was like nothing I’d ever felt, completely overwhelming, and all at once I knew.

He’s here.

My eyes widened at the realization and I whipped my head around, looking for someone I wouldn’t even recognize. I had no clue what he looked like, who he was, his fucking name. But I could feel him. It was like he was standing right in front of me and I wondered if he felt the same way. Could he feel what I felt? That overwhelming, stifling warmth?

We’d been doing this for thirteen years, unwillingly sharing our emotions and feelings with each other. We’d always been so close yet just out of reach, just far enough away that maybe it didn’t feel completely real. Now? Now he was so close I could almost taste him, so close I could nearly feel his breath on the back of my neck.

I can’t do this.

It felt like too much. It was too much too fast, unexpected. I wasn’t ready to face him, whoever he was. What if he didn’t like the way I dressed or the way I looked? What if I was disappointed with his name or his job? They all sounded like such shallow, trivial things. But the simple truth was that they were basic things that people either accepted or they didn’t.

What if we couldn’t accept each other?

You’re soulmates. Don’t you sort of have to accept each other? It’s in the metaphorical soulmates handbook. My head was swimming and I was confused, anxiety tugging at my heartstrings. Jesus, screw the whiskey. I needed three shots of tequila and a horse tranquilizer.

It could be my only chance at actually seeing him, finding my counterpart, and I was running away with my tail between my legs because I was just too afraid. Shaking my head, I cast my eyes down to the floor as I weaved through the throngs of people in the bar. Some were playing pool, some were dancing, all were loud. My anxiety was making everything feel heightened and I figured if he couldn’t feel me before he could definitely feel me now. My palms were sweating and my temples were pulsating. I just need fresh air. I just need to get outside. My lungs were starting to burn, a panic attack quickly approaching as I shouldered my way through the crowd, eventually making it out the door to the sidewalk.

It was mostly empty aside from a few people milling about. I took a few steps to the edge of the concrete and bent over, placing my hands on my knees while I hauled in a few deep breaths and tried to even my breathing. My heart was beating a mile a minute and I shook my head, wanting to laugh and cry at the fact that I had just bitched out instead of facing him.

The strands of hair that escaped my bun were sticking to my forehead from sweat and I damned myself for wearing jeans instead of shorts.

What a shitshow this turned out to be, I thought with a humorless chuckle. I come out with my best friend and the night ends in a full blown meltdown. What was more embarrassing than that? I honestly figured the poor bastard was better off without me, I was clearly borderline certifiable and couldn’t even go out to a bar without feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

Eventually, after my heart rate slowed and my breathing returned to normal, I straightened up and rolled my shoulders a few times to relieve some of the tension. It was time to call it a night and I turned on my heel, preparing to walk for a few blocks, get some fresh air and then eventually hail a cab home.

I took two steps forward, my Vans scuffing against the broken concrete when someone stepped directly in my line of vision, blinking at me from a few feet away. He was a few inches taller than me, sandy hair curling just slightly at the ends and a navy blue sweater covering his upper half. His jaw was distinct, his shoulders broad, and he had eyes that reminded me of the ocean; stormy, dark, trouble looming just under the surface.

It was him. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. I could feel it in my core. I was standing in front of my soulmate and he was looking right at me, our expressions mirroring the other’s.

“You.” The word was barely audible, coming from low in his chest.

You. This. Us.

[yehet-me-up]

Don’t Call It a Love Song

Pairing: Kim Minseok (Xiumin) x Reader (female)

Rating: (M) for swearing and explicit sex

Word Count: 16,808

Summary: It’s been two years since you opened the bookstore across from KMS Music. Two long years of falling in love with its sexy and sarcastic owner, never imagining that he might feel the same. You’ve always preferred fiction over reality; books and stories just seemed to be inexplicably better, and safer, than real life. But when an unexpected present is delivered on your store’s two year anniversary, you think you might have found the one person who can tempt you to leave the fantasy world and chase something real.

Part one of the Exodus Mall series! (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

February 4th, 1995

It’s a cold and rainy day. You’re driving around, desperately searching for a music store. You wonder if you’ve brought on the downpour with your own torrential mood. 

“On Bended Knee” by Boyz II Men starts playing on the radio, for what feels like the thousandth time that day. Their beautiful voices are normally a guilty pleasure for you, but today, in all your fury, they feel mocking instead.

You don’t want sweet. You want angry, you want pissed off; something to match the swirling emotions inside of you. You jam your hand against the power button and suddenly the only sound in the car is your sniffling. Disgusted, you grab a tissue from your purse and dab your eyes, new tears welling in your frustration. 

You can’t take it any more, working with that pig, that asshole. Seven long years you’ve worked for Dalton Books and for it’s owner Jason Dalton.

You started working there the day you turned eighteen, saving every penny you could. Long night and weekend shifts to put yourself through college. Thanks to a combination of scholarships and that job you managed to graduate debt free three years ago. Since then you’d been relentlessly building your savings in hopes of one day achieving your dream of opening your own business. 

For years you’d been applying for promotions at the bookstore, anything to make more money so that you could make your dream a reality sooner. And for years Jason Dalton has been passing you over for whatever girl he’s currently interested in sleeping with, after you made it abundantly clear you weren’t going to take him up on that offer.

You dreaded having to look for another job, so close to reaching your savings goal. But just this morning you learned that instead of promoting you to the open supervisor position he’d given the job to Megan, who’d been there a whopping three months. Unbelievable. Everyone loved you; the regular customers, the whole staff – senior and new, the vendors. You worked your ass off and always showed up with a fantastic attitude. 

Everyone knew you deserved to be promoted, but as it’s a family owned store there’s no one to go to; no HR, no higher manager to complain to. So you sucked it up and worked your shift and then drove off in search of some music to drown your sorrows.

A single story mall up ahead on the right catches your eye. A neon sign, purple with white lettering and a lightning bolt symbol in the center, shines from the closest store. KMS Music it reads and you merge into the turn lane abruptly, thanking the universe that there was no one next to you. 

You pull into the mall, admiring it’s modern black and chrome exterior, and easily find a spot out front. You sling your purse across your shoulder, adjust your denim skirt and flip down your mirror. Mascara is running down your cheeks in two black streaks. You groan and clean it up with another tissue, wetting it on your tongue. Finally presentable, you get out of the car and slam the door.

You stride across the lot and pull open the door, stepping inside onto a deep purple carpet. “Money” by Pink Floyd is playing from the speakers on the wall. You sigh in relief, no sweet pop music for you today. 

The store is spacious, orderly. Rows and rows of sleek black wood racks hold CDs, records, and posters. Colorful picture discs hang down from the ceiling, creating a bright mosaic that draws your eye. 

Remembering your purpose, you look around the store, trying to find the best category that might hold what you need.

“Can I help you find something?” a man says from the counter to your right, his hands paused in sorting through receipts. 

Inwardly you curse your luck. Of course you run into the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen on a day you look like a complete wreck. Messy black hair, piercing dark eyes, vintage Led Zeppelin shirt, tight jeans tucked into faded Doc Martens. 

He’s leaning against the counter like some off-duty rock God. When you realize you’ve been staring at him for several seconds you blush and look down. Gathering yourself together you look back up to where he’s still regarding you with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

“Yes, actually,” you start, your voice thick from all the crying. You clear your throat and carry on. “I’m having a totally awful day. What do you have in the way of angry rock? The louder the better.”

His eyes widen and his gaze roams down your body, taking in your conservative denim skirt, soft green sweater, and twin braids. You glance at the customer currently paying at the register, a tall man with a sky high red mohawk and studded leather jacket; it’s safe to assume that you’re not the type of customer he usually sees. 

He gives you a smirk and sets down his receipts, sauntering toward you. “Right this way,” he says, walking over to the CD racks labeled “Rock & Roll.”

He leans against the nearest rack on one hip, tilting his head as he starts naming off bands. A lightning bolt tattoo, a matching design to the one on the store’s sign, peeks out from behind his ear as he leans forward. “If you’re looking for straight up angry rock we’ve got some AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Twisted Sister. Any of this sounding appealing?”

You draw your lip in with your teeth, considering. None of those sound quite right, but you’re not able to articulate exactly what you’re looking for. 

“Or, I have an idea. How about some angry girl rock? Hole – Miss World,” he says, handing you the CD. “Or maybe some Garbage?” His agile fingers flip through the racks, pulling out another CD and placing it in your hands.

“Hmm, no, wait. I’ve got it.” He takes the other two from your hands and puts them back, walking down and selecting another CD. “Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill.” 

He slides out the case and walks over to a listening station. With precision he unwraps the case and pops the disc in the machine. He takes the headphones off the rack and hands them to you. You slip them over your ears and the world is instantly muffled. He leans in, hitting the play button and then the skip button to queue up the second song.

The instant the chorus kicks in to “You Oughta Know” you decide that he’s right, this is exactly what you need. 

Throughout the song he remains close, watching you gently bob your head along to the music, his intense eyes never leaving your face. The song finishes and you slide the headphones down to rest on your neck. 

“It’s perfect, I’ll take it,” you say, giving him a grin and a thumbs up.

His face breaks into a satisfied smile in return, showing his gums, making him look years younger. Maybe the rock God has a soft side, you think.

“Fantastic,” he says, ejecting the disc as you put the headphones back on the stand. 

He walks you to the register and starts ringing you up. You can’t help but observe every detail of him, separated by only a narrow counter. The sharpness of his jaw. The outline of his chest through the faded shirt. His easy, effortless air of confidence. 

You’ve been working for your dreams for so long you can’t even remember the last time you were seriously attracted to someone. College maybe? Those six months you spent with Zach junior year? God, has it really been that long? you wonder.

“I hope you have a better day,” he says gently, handing you the CD and your receipt, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Thanks, I think I will now,” you reply, taking your purchase and slipping it into your purse. He nods to you as you step away from the counter, breaking the spell his presence cast over you.

Rather than heading back to your car you turn the other way, wandering out into the mall. 

It must have been here this whole time, only a ten minute drive or so from your apartment, but you’ve never been in before. The walls are a crisp white color, the floors an off-white marble tile. Potted plants, tables, and groups of dark leather chairs provide seating areas every few feet.

Walking toward the center of the mall you see what looks like an antiques store next to the music store. Its windows are packed with an assortment of goods stacked precariously; an organized chaos of books, clothing, and smaller decorative furniture. The sign above reads Guardians est. 1994. 

Next to that is a busy Starbucks, a line of customers trailing out into the mall as they wait to grab their caffeine fix. The far end holds a large department store, bustling with foot traffic. Across the way you see a narrow jewelry shop with some dazzling diamond and emerald pieces on display. Next to that is a chocolate shop called Sinful, its windows filled with an assortment of what indeed looks like sinful amounts of chocolate.

A loud laugh to the right draws your attention to the large, bustling food court. A crowded pizza parlor in the center has a “Grand Opening” banner hung above its menu board. Some smaller restaurants are scattered around the rest of the space. It’s just about dinner time and the tables are almost full of couples and families talking as they eat. 

Between the food court and where you stand are a handful of other stores. A computer repair shop, a clothing store from a chain you recognize, and an entrance to a sleek looking exercise studio. The block letters on its doors read KOKO. At the far end of the mall, through the open food court, you can see the large neon sign of a movie theater, rows of marquees out front list off the current movies and showtimes.

Finally your observation turns to the store directly across from you. The gate is drawn shut and the lights are off, but you can still see faintly through the large glass windows. A “For Sale” sign is pinned to the gate, listing the contact number for the mall real estate agent. 

Stepping the rest of the way to the store you lift your hand against the glass to block out the glare from the lights, peering into the windows. Rows and rows of dark wood bookshelves line the outside ring. A low, wide counter stretches to the right. Display tables are centered around the middle of the store, looking sad and empty of merchandise.

If you’re honest with yourself, a bookstore has always been your dream, ever since you first read The Hobbit as a child. As the only daughter of two teachers you’d never had a shortage of fictional friends to keep you company. It had killed your parents that they couldn’t afford to help you out with college, but they made sure you never lacked for books on your birthdays and at Christmas.

The store is calling to you in a way you can’t describe. A tingling feeling deep in your bones that this is where you’re meant to be. You have no idea how to go about buying it, whether or not you have enough money, or how on earth you’re going to manage to hire and lead a staff at the age of twenty-five. But you’ve always been practical and able to figure things out. 

You’re normally one to be cautious, to consider all the options thoroughly before making a decision. But today something feels right, something is calling you to take action, now.

You pull out a receipt and a pen from your purse, write down the phone number, and head back to your car full of purpose. The Exodus Mall, you think excitedly, it might just be the perfect place for you. Passing through KMS Music you sadly don’t see any sign of the good looking man who helped you out before. 

You pull out the Alanis Morissette CD as soon as you get into the car and happily rock out on your drive home.

May 7th, 1995

The second time he sees you is an unseasonably warm evening. He looks up from his paperwork and it’s ten on the dot, closing time. Pulling out his keys he does a quick lap of the store to make sure there’s no customers around. 

Satisfied it’s just him and his assistant manager, Alec, he goes to lock the front doors. He pivots and moves to close the gate, bobbing his head to the strains of Jimi Hendrix playing over the speakers. 

He reaches for the gate to the mall to pull it closed, but his attention is drawn across the way by light and sound coming from the previously vacant bookstore. The gate is still closed, but the store is full of activity. Several people are milling around, unpacking boxes; its once empty shelves now partially filled up with neat rows of books.

The upbeat opening bars of “Dancing Queen” by ABBA start coming from inside and the employees give cheers of approval. When you stand up from crouching down to start the CD on the player behind the counter, he recognizes you immediately. 

He smiles to himself, thinking all over again how cute you look with your hair in long twin braids. You notice him staring and give him a small wave, quickly turning away as you’re called over by one of your employees. He stays there for a beat, thinking that of all the people in the world he’d have expected to buy the old Cheshire Bookshop, you’re definitely a pleasant surprise.

Finally he slides the gate closed and locks it, looking up once again to watch you move about the store, speaking to another woman as you gesture to the shelves with wide arms. He observes your side profile as you discuss whatever plans you’re making, remembering how he’d been drawn to you when you stormed into his store months ago.

You’d looked so upset and defeated, he could tell you’d been crying, but you seemed so passionately determined as well. As the manager he doesn’t usually volunteer to help customers, preferring to exist behind the scenes. He chooses the stock, runs the logistics, and hires excellent employees to handle the customers. 

But for some reason he felt compelled to head off Alec and help you himself. It was completely worth it, watching you bite your lip as you considered his selection. Being on the receiving end of your smile as you listened to one of his favorite songs. Feeling satisfied that he’d chosen something that pleased you.

“There a problem, boss?” he hears Alec ask from behind him.

“No. Just checking out our new neighbors,” he says, inclining his head toward the bookstore.

“Oh, nice. I’m glad someone finally bought that place. It’s about time we got some new blood around here,” Alec says and wanders back to closing down the register.

“Yeah,” Minseok says to himself. He shakes his head, smiling, and slides his keys into his pocket. He gives one last look across the mall at you before turning back to all the closing duties that await him.

May 20, 1995

After months of preparation, you’re finally ready to open Greyhame Books for the first time. You’d decided to name it after one of your all time favorite literary characters. You were so nervous in your meeting with the mall real estate manager, wearing your only nice dress; your bank statements and business plan neatly printed out in a folder. 

Luckily the woman you met with, Jill, was a fellow book lover who’d been crushed when the couple that owned the bookstore had decided to retire after their lease ended last Thanksgiving. Your fantastic credit score, sensible attitude, and consistent employment for the past seven years convinced her to take a chance on you. You had just enough money to squeak out a deposit and dashed over to the bank immediately after your meeting to get the money order and to work out a business loan.

The fierce satisfaction you’d felt when you turned in your two weeks notice at Dalton Books later that day had been short lived. Soon it was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of fear as you looked at your miles-long to do list. 

It was a wobbly start, but eventually you were able to find your footing. Luckily one of your friends from the bookstore had quit a couple of months ago, fed up with Jason, and was still looking for work. Melanie was a few years older than you, smart as all get out and the energy and enthusiasm of a high schooler.

Together you navigated hiring an additional six employees, contacting publishing houses to set up merchandise orders, and working with contractors to give the store a face lift. Blessedly, all of the original fixtures were still in great shape and there were no major repairs to do. 

Now the day is finally here. 

As the minutes count down to nine o’clock you and Mel run around making sure everything looks perfect. When the clock hits nine you nervously unlock the gate to the mall. You take a quick look around the store and feel a surge of pride at what you’ve built and go over to the CD player behind the counter to turn on the radio. 

“This Is How We Do It” by Montel Jordan is just starting when you turn the dial to your favorite station. You smile to yourself, it’s one of your favorite songs, and decide to take it as a good omen.

Moments later a mom comes in with a napping child in a stroller. You greet her and she smiles in response, heading for the mystery section. She’s shortly followed by a group of older women who head for the fiction section, discussing what to choose next for their book club. An older gentleman with a cane gives you a gruff ‘hello’ and walks over to peruse the racks of newspapers. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, your worst fear – that no one would come – is already alleviated. The ladies in fiction call over Melanie, asking for some suggestions and she gives you an excited grin as she walks over. You smile widely back at her, turning to the entrance as a new person walks in.

Your eyes go wide when you realize it’s the incredibly good looking man from the music store next door. Today his hair is dyed an electric blue, tousled up in messy waves. You’re struck all over again by how attractive he is as his intense eyes meet yours.

“Hi!” you say, wincing at how enthusiastic you sound.

He laughs. “Hey, how’s it going? I figured I should officially introduce myself. I’m Minseok and I own KMS Music,” he says and sticks out his hand.

You shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” you say, and give him your name in return.

“So, has anyone checked out yet?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.

You laugh and check your watch. “In the two minutes we’ve been open? Not yet. Why?” 

“Perfect,” he says with a smirk. ‘I’ll happily be your first customer.’

He looks around at the nearby display table and grabs the first book he sees. He sets it on the counter and you both laugh when you see the title – The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Walker, the inspiration for the upcoming romance movie starring Meryl Streep.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to choose something else?”

“No, I’m sticking with my choice. Who knows, it might be my new favorite book,” he says ironically and you laugh as you ring him up. 

You stick the receipt in the book and hand it back to him. “Thank you for being my first official customer, I really appreciate it,” you say sincerely, meeting his eyes.

He takes the book under his arm. “Any time. I’m just over there if you need anything,” he says and gives you a nod as he walks back through the mall.

It’s a steady, but successful day and when you finally get home you flop onto your bed. You fall asleep almost immediately, filled to the brim with happiness.

August 9, 1995

Minseok wanders up and down the racks of CDs, straightening things he’s already straightened twice before. It’s a warm summer evening, an hour before closing, and the mall is practically deserted. 

He turns to walk back to the register and he instinctively looks over at your store. Without meaning to, he’s begun to feel quite protective, wanting to make sure things are going well for you. He’s only owned KMS Music for two years, but it still makes him feel like a grizzled business veteran in comparison to you.

When he surreptitiously peeks over into your store he sees you at the counter, one hand cradling your head while the other anxiously sorts through a massive stack of paperwork. You look like you’re on the verge of tearing your hair out. 

He’s taken three steps toward you before he catches himself. He shakes his head, wondering what he was thinking. He runs a hand through his hair, the messy strands falling into disarray once again.

Just be cool, casual. Ask her if she needs help, he tells himself. Looking around the store he confirms that nothing needs his attention. Alec is at the counter, stickering boxes of new merchandise that came in this morning. 

“Hey Alec, watch the store for a bit, I’m stepping out,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the mall. Alec gives him a dramatic thumbs up and goes back to pricing, his head bobbing along to the music.

Minseok walks the distance to your store, praying he’s not going to be just another interruption to you. Your assistant manager Melanie is helping a customer choose a mystery novel and another employee who’s name he doesn’t know is organizing some journals against a display wall. He walks over to the counter and leans against it, placing both hands on the smooth surface.

“How’s it going?” he asks, resting his elbows on the counter and regarding you.

You look up at him with a small smile, tilting your head in your hand and sighing dramatically. “Oh, fine. It’s just – I thought I had such a good accounting system set up. But I can’t get anything to add up and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to sort it out.”

“Want some help? I can’t say I’m an accounting genius, but we’ve got a pretty good system going at the store and I’d be happy to take a look,” he offers, hoping he doesn’t come off as too enthusiastic.

“Really? I don’t want to keep you from anything, but that would be amazing. Even just a second set of eyes would be fantastic,” you say, looking relieved.

“Totally. We’re pretty slow tonight so I’ve got all the time in the world,” he says, shrugging.

“Thank you, Minseok, I’d really appreciate it,” you say and turn to Mel, who’s now shelving some new releases nearby. “Hey, Mel. We’re going to attempt to tackle this paperwork debacle. You mind keeping an eye on things?”

“You got it boss!” she calls and you smile. 

It’s obvious the two of you get along well. He’s happy that you’ve got a good crew around you, impressed with everyone he’s met the few times he’s come in. Picking up the pile of receipts and paperwork you nod your head back to the office and Minseok follows you.

He stops abruptly. “Hang on, if we’re digging into a pile of numbers we’re going to need some reinforcements,” he says and holds up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod and he walks back to the music store, heading straight for his office. He snags his trusty boombox and walks back through the store. He stops by Alec on his way out. 

“I might be a while over there, if I’m not back by ten are you good to close up?” he asks.

“Sure thing,” Alec says, snapping and giving Minseok two finger guns. 

Minseok laughs, walking back into the mall. Alec might be a bit eccentric, but for all of his quirks he trusts him completely. Entering your store, he walks behind the counter, following the direction you’d gone.

He walks down the short hallway and finds you in the office at the end. There is indeed a pile of paperwork on the desk. Several large, neatly organized piles. You’re sitting behind the desk, hands spread out, looking ready to go into battle. 

Minseok rolls up the sleeves on his shirt as he sits down across from you. He sets up the boombox on the desk and hits play. “We Are The Champions” by Queen starts and you look up and give him a genuine smile.

“All right, what are we working with here?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

At 10:15 Mel comes in to hand you the keys and the daily cash and paperwork from the registers, saying she locked up. She wishes you both luck with the ‘money crapstorm’ and leaves for the evening.

It takes two hours to sort everything out. Two hours of Minseok’s questions and your answers. Two hours of you surreptitiously sneaking looks at him. Your mouth practically waters every time you take in his chest, visible over the delicious V of his shirt; every time his arms flex as he flips through papers.

After two hours you’ve finally got it all sorted out. A few small mistakes had been the culprit. A batch of accounts payable receipts that got mixed in with the accounts receivable, a stack of vendor invoices had been stuck in a personnel file, and a week’s worth of paychecks that didn’t get properly accounted for. 

He helps you bundle everything up and finally at 11:25 you shut the light off and head out. You unlock the gate and you both step into the mall. After you lock the gate behind you and turn to see that KMS music is dark.

You open your mouth to ask about how his store got closed, but he beats you to it. “Don’t worry, Alec has his own set of keys to close things up when I’m not here,” he says with a wry smile.

You can’t believe how much time and effort the gave up to help you sort this out. Full of gratitude, you lean forward and give him a quick hug. Your arms wrap around his strong back and you lean your chin briefly against his shoulder. 

He lets out a breath in surprise at your enthusiastic movement. One of his arms comes around your back, holding you close for a moment before you both pull back.

“Thanks again, Minseok. I really appreciate it,” you say, blushing, trying to look anywhere but at his face.

“Don’t mention it, I’m happy to help,” he says. You walk in companionable silence to your cars and after he makes sure you’re safely inside, he walks over to his own, giving you a quick wave.

December 24, 1995

Christmas Eve, five in the afternoon. You quickly finish up the paperwork, delighted that the mall closes early tonight, excited about spending the day with your family tomorrow. You’ve been so busy with the store it feels like ages since you’ve had a proper catch up with them. 

You let Mel go an hour earlier, so she could make the train to her boyfriend’s parents for the holiday. Walking a lazy lap around the store to make sure it’s empty of customers, you jingle your keys in time to the beat of “Waterloo,” your favorite guilty pleasure song.

Satisfied no one’s in the store, you lock up and start the closing paperwork. It was a packed day, everyone doing some last minute shopping before the holiday. You finish up as quickly as you can and head back to the office to put everything in the safe. After turning off the lights as you go, you step up to the counter to quickly turn off the stereo before heading back through the gate.

You head out the south entrance by the department store, wondering if it’ll still snowing like it was this morning. Out in the cold air you wrap your coat around you and cross your arms, trying to keep in any warmth. 

Flurries of snow are falling around you and you squeal to yourself with excitement. It usually snows a bit in the winter, but it almost never sticks. Today must be your lucky day because there’s a solid three or four inches on the ground. You take a few steps out onto the sidewalk and spin around, watching the flakes fall onto your palms.

You close your eyes, laughing in delight. You’re so lost in your amusement that you don’t see Minseok until it’s too late. 

You back into him and in the tangle of limbs you both go down onto the thankfully softened sidewalk. He ends up on top of you, looking at you from above, his hands splayed on either side of your head to hold himself up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?” you ask, voice high with anxiety. He brushes the hair out of your face with a hand, smiling down at you.

“I’m fine. Though I have to say it’s been a while since anyone swept me off my feet,” he says and you both start laughing.

After a few moments the laughter dies out, but you both remain where you are. Your awareness is drawn to his hard body pressed against yours; you can feel his heat even through the layers of clothing between you. The urge to arch up into him, to remove any space that exists, rises in you. 

His dark eyes bore into yours, holding you in place. He leans down, an almost imperceptible movement, and your lips part in anticipation. Suddenly he blinks and pulls back, shaking himself, muttering an apology. He stands up fluidly and holds out his hands for yours.

In one swift movement you’re on your feet again, and though nothing has changed in the scene before you. It feels like your whole world has shifted on its axis. He brushes the snow off of himself and you copy the movement, wiping off the flakes attached to your coat and jeans.

“Have a great Christmas,” he says, his voice lower than it was just moments ago, before turning and walking away.

“You too,” you say. 

Several moments pass before the cold seeps into your skin and you finally remember where you are. Christmas Eve, heading home. Right. You bite your lip as you scurry to your car, unable to tear your mind away from what almost happened.

February 13th, 1996

Sighing, you lean your head back and roll your neck, trying to ease the tension. Another busy Saturday at the mall, the rain driving everyone indoors yet again. It’s the first time you’ve had a spare second to step into the office to grab a drink of water and take a breather. When Mel walked in to start her closing shift you were so grateful you could have kissed her.

Your stomach growls loudly, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since oh, maybe eight this morning. You look down at your watch and realize it’s now two o’clock. 

You grab your wallet from your purse and head out for the food court, checking to make sure that Mel and the staff have things flowing well before catching her attention and mouthing, ‘getting food, be back,’ at her. She nods at you and pouts, rubbing her stomach. You laugh and give her a thumbs up.

When you step into the mall you see that KMS Music is even more slammed than you are. You seem to remember that a huge hip hop album was due to come out today and the crowd in KMS does seem to include more than the usual punk and classic rock enthusiasts Minseok seems to attract. 

You take a few steps into the store and look around, standing on your tiptoes. Minseok and Alec are at the registers along with one of his newer hires Samantha. Some other employees are working the lines, making sure everyone has what they need to check out quickly. It doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime.

Backing carefully out of the store you head to the food court toward Barada Pizza, your favorite. Now that the lunch rush is over you’re to the front of the line quickly. One of the co-owners Chanyeol is at the register and he gives you his signature grin. 

“Bookworm! How’s it going? Crazy Saturday, huh?” His cheerful voice and his silly nicknames for everyone never fail to put you in a good mood.

“Doing great today Channie, how are you and Soo doing?” you ask. You can see Kyungsoo in the back, working his ass off like usual, moving pizzas around in the large stone fire over in the back, his face pink from the oven’s heat.

“Same old, same old, you know how it is. What can I get for you? The usual two slices of the veggie special?” he asks and you marvel again at how he always remembers your order.

“Actually I’m picking up a whole one for the store, we’re pretty slammed today and Mel’s pretending she’s dying of hunger,” you say and bite your lip, knowing that what you’re going to ask next might set off gossip. “And while I’m here, Minseok’s store is crazy today. What kind of pizza does he usually get?”

Chanyeol gives you an appraising look before his sweet face breaks into a grin. “My boy’s a purist, just plain cheese.”

“Perfect, I’ll take three large cheeses please,” you say, looking anywhere but at Chanyeol’s knowing stare. You always figured that he’s more perceptive than he lets on and wonder if he’s picked up on how you feel about his close friend.

“All right, bookworm. Three large cheeses coming right up,” he says, his voice absent of teasing for once.

Ten minutes later you’re carrying the piping hot boxes back through the mall. You swing by the bookstore and drop one off in the break room, letting everyone know that lunch has arrived. You dodge Mel’s curious expression as she watches you walk back out into the mall toward KMS music.

The crowd is still going strong, only slightly smaller than it was twenty minutes ago. Normally crowds freak you out, but after almost a year of running your own store you’re much more confident. You hold the pizzas above your head to avoid bumping into anyone and begin making your way through the mass of people. 

Finally you break through at the register and emerge near the gap in the counter that leads toward the back hallway. Alec’s register is closest to you and he lets out a dramatic gasp when he sees you.

“Bless my heart, are those for us?” he asks, licking his lips. You smile and nod. “Hey, Minseok, where can we put these?” he calls over to his boss.

Minseok looks up from the customer he’s helping and he does a double take, his jaw dropping slightly as he realizes what he’s seeing. He hands his customer her receipt and holds up a hand to the next customer, saying someone will be with her in a moment. He snakes his way along the register toward you, calling to one of his other employees, Devon you think his name is, to take his place at the register.

“Are you an angel? This is incredible, follow me,” he says, taking the top pizza from you and leading you along the hallway. 

He makes a quick right turn into a sparse but lived-in break room. He sets the pizza on an old circular dining table and then takes the one from your hands and puts it on top. 

“Thank you so much,” he says, turning to you. “It’s been like this since we opened at nine and we’re all absolutely starving. What do I owe you?” he says, reaching back for his wallet.

You quickly wave him off. “No, this is my treat,” you insist, putting your hands on your hips. He gives you a sardonic expression and you know he’s not going to take no for an answer. 

You throw your hands up and start backing out of the room, an amused grin lighting your face. He follows you down the hall and you both re-enter the store maintaining eye contact. His expression becomes serious and he reaches out a hand to quickly touch your elbow. 

“Thank you, I meant it,” he says, dark eyes holding yours.

You nod and step back out into the crowd, reluctantly breaking from his scrutiny as you turn to leave. You hear him switch places with Alec, taking his spot at the register so the eccentric young man can go eat first. As you head back to the bookstore you add his dedication to his employees to your mental list of reasons that you’re horribly, achingly in love with him.

April 27th, 1996

Melanie looks up from ringing up a customer. The time is 12pm on the dot and like clockwork you come out from finishing paperwork in the office, check with her that she’s good to cover lunch, and head toward the music store. 

Every Monday since “the day of the pizza” you’ve wandered into the music store with feigned casualness. And every Monday at noon, like clockwork, she watches Minseok find a reason to be shelving near you, drawing you into conversation. 

Sometimes just for a few minutes, sometimes for the entire hour. Those days you rush back into the store and grab a granola bar before going back to work, a megawatt smile on your face.

When she glances up a few minutes later, there you are. Standing by a rack of CDs, not paying them any attention, talking animatedly while he listens intently. She chuckles to herself and goes back to work. 

Maybe one day you’ll both realize how you feel about each other, she thinks, hoping she’s there to witness it. 

She and Alec have a bet going about how long it will take one of you to admit your feelings. She bets that you’ll be the first to confess, but he has money on Minseok breaking first. Alec thinks it will be sometime this summer, while she just hopes it’s sometime this decade.

July 14th, 1996

Today he’s joking with a customer when you walk in, a regular that you recognize. A tall man with a brightly colored Mohawk and a leather jacked with studded shoulders. Minseok throws his head back, laughing. It’s a high, throaty sound you love. You wander up and down the aisles, hands in your pockets, trying to feel out what you’re in the mood for today.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, suddenly appearing next to you.

“Good, the usual Monday, you?” 

He shrugs and tilts his hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ gesture and you laugh and nod in agreement.

“I’m looking for something new today. Trying to branch out from my usual ABBA,” you say. “Got any suggestions?”

He laughs and stares at you from under his lashes. “You know I have thousands of suggestions. You’ll have to narrow it down a bit for me.”

“Surprise me,” you say playfully. “Dealer’s choice, anything you want. I trust your taste.”

He raises his eyebrows at the praise. He rubs his hands together. “Ooh, a challenge. All right, let me see,” he says, his sharp eyes running up and down the racks. 

“Here, try this. It’s a little funky, a little rock, very chill. Check it out, let me know what you think,” he says and hands you the CD. There’s a pink cloud of smoke on the cover, leading to what looks like a subway station. The Velvet Underground – Loaded.

You take the disc and move to walk to the register. “Looks interesting, I’ll take it.”

His hand darts out to lightly grab your wrist. “No way, it’s on the house. I’ll only make you pay for it if you say you don’t like it,” he says in his usual acerbic tone.

“All right, fine. But only if I can lend you one of my favorite books in return,” you say and poke a finger to his chest.

“Deal,” he says. For you he’d read the Encyclopedia Britannica, or the phone book, he thinks. 

You give him a sweet smile and walk back to the bookstore, studiously reading the track list on the back of the disc. He shakes his head to himself, marveling at how much he likes it when you listen to his favorite songs. How much he looks forward to these Mondays with you.

He can practically hear his friend Chanyeol’s voice in his head, calling him a wuss for not just sucking it up and asking you out. But he’s content to have you in his life in any way, not wanting to risk what he has now.

September 30th, 1996

He sits across from you in the food court, watching; his eyes constantly leaving the pages of the book you lent him, drawn to you instead. It’s not that the book isn’t interesting, it’s just that he finds he's always paying attention to you these days, attuned to your frequency every time you get near. 

Three tables separate him from you, but it might as well be a hundred since you look like you’re in another world all to yourself. Reading a book, resting your cheek in one hand while you flip pages with the other. Your lunch lies untouched next to you, ignored as your eyes hungrily scan the page.

He wishes it was his hands on your face, thinking he'd never be able to stop if he started touching you. He imagines running his hands through your hair, tracing his fingers along your jaw and down your neck. Maybe his touch would earn him a blush, a sight he's only seen twice, but both times almost brought him to his knees.

"Hey man, you ready to go?" Chanyeol's loud voice asks from above, startling him.

He quickly looks away, hoping you won't catch him watching. "Yeah, lets go,” he says, gathering up his stuff and heading toward the pub in the food court after Chanyeol.

He can't resist a look back, just a quick turn of the head. You're still enamored with your book, a pleased smile now adorning your face. Something you read must have made you happy. He feels his mouth turn up in response. Just knowing that something gives you such pleasure makes him feel like everything’s right with his world.

January 11th, 1997

You’re straightening displays in the window while you wait for your friend to meet you for lunch. You spot Minseok coming down the mall from the food court. His hair is slicked back up into a retro style, a long silver earring in one ear, his favorite tight leather jacket hugging his body. 

You bite down on your lip, studiously focusing on your task to avoid staring too long. He makes you painfully aware of how long it’s been since anyone but your cat Chewey shared your bed.

You blush to yourself. Friends of yours claim that the nineties is the second coming of the sixties. A new wave of free love; empowered women who aren’t waiting on a man to choose them, happy and free in their sexual independence. But you’re very aware that while you’re thrilled for them, it’s just not your style. They call you old fashioned and jokingly tell you you’ll be waiting for eternity if you’re looking for someone like Mr. Darcy. 

It’s not that you want some Regency hero to ride up on a horse and save you, you’re doing just fine by yourself, thank you very much. It’s just that every time your friends try to set you up with someone your mind wanders back to a certain man instead and they just don’t seem to measure up.

“So, have you told him you’re in love with him yet?” a cheerful voice teases in your ear. 

You jolt in surprise and turn around to face your friend. She’s standing there grinning at you while you frantically look around to make sure no one heard her. You give her a disapproving frown and grab her hand, pulling her toward the food court. Once you’re far away from your store you release her and turn on her with your best angry face.

“What if someone had heard you?” you demand, fighting a smile, knowing that you won’t really be able to stay mad at her for long.

She twines her arm in yours and pulls you toward the tiny vegan restaurant in the food court. “Welllll if he’d heard, you it might have forced you to do something about it. Babe, this is the nineties, you can just ask him out. He seems like the type to respect a strong, forward woman,” she teases, pulling on your arm to shake you out of your terrified expression.

“Ha ha. Can you imagine me having the guts to ask him out? Have you even seen him? What would Mick Jagger want with… with Pollyana? No, I think Mark Twain said it best, ‘it is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool that to open it and remove all doubt.’”

She gives you a playful shove as you get in line for food. “Oh, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Umm, hello. We work right next to each other. If it went bad I would feel so awkward I’d have to move to Alaska to escape. No, thank you. I’ll happily exist in my fantasy world where the men are nice and safe and best of all, fictional.’

You sigh and resist the urge to look back at the music store, just in case. ‘Anyways, enough about me and my desolate love life, how are you? How’s the job search going - are you still temping?” you ask, desperate to move the conversation away from your pointless longing for Minseok.

“God, don’t remind me. I’m on my fourth assignment this month alone. I don’t know how much longer I can take it,” she says, pouting.

“You know, I heard Sinful’s looking to take on someone to help out for a while with Valentine’s Day coming up. It might not last too long, but the hours are solid and Yixing’s a friend. I could put in a good word for you if you want?”

“Really? That would be fantastic! Anything to get a few solid weeks of paychecks under my belt. I’d appreciate it so much,” she says and squeezes your arm in gratitude. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you say. ‘It’s what friends are for.’ Finally the line moves and you and your friend step up to order. 

January 13th, 1997

“For the love of everything holy, dude. Will you just ask her out already?” Chanyeol says, exasperated, leaning over the counter while Minseok totals receipts. “You’re killing me here.”

Minseok sneaks a look across the mall to where you are bagging up the money at the register, sticking the bag under your arm as you gather up your paperwork. He shakes his head and gives Chanyeol a rueful smile. 

“No way, she’s totally out of my reach. What would she want with a punk like me?” Chanyeol holds up a hand and opens his mouth to object, but Minseok cuts him off. “And before you say anything, that wasn’t a sleight against myself. She’s just… she’s all Jane Austen and I’m Boo freaking Radley. As you so delight in pointing out, I’m a cranky hermit who’s incapable of normal human interaction.’ 

He watches you brush your hair behind your ears and he knows you’re running through your closing checklist in your head. ‘She deserves the world, and I’m nowhere near romantic or thoughtful enough to give it to her,” he says emphatically.

“All right, I’ll leave it alone. For now. But I still think you’re underestimating yourself and how good you could be together,” Chanyeol says, throwing his hands up and going back to reading his comic book.

You step out into the mall and slide the gate closed, locking it into place. Chanyeol sees you approaching and gives you a big wave. “Bookworm! How’s it going? You’re coming to Baekhyun’s party tonight right?” he asks, drawing you in for an affectionate one-armed hug. 

Minseok narrows his eyes at Chanyeol over the top of your head and pointedly looks at his hand around your back. Chanyeol gives him a teasing look, but still releases you a second later.  

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m on my way there now. You’re both coming right?” you ask, directing the question to Chanyeol but focusing your attention on Minseok.

“Oh for sure, I’m just waiting on my boy Min here to hurry the hell up so we can get a move on,” he says, spinning his hands to indicate speeding things up.

“Awesome! Well, I’ll see you both there,” you say brightly and head toward the parking lot.

Chanyeol gives Minseok a knowing look but doesn’t say anything. 

A few minutes later Minseok’s finally closed the gate and put away the money. Chanyeol hits the lights and they exit through the front doors out into the parking lot. They both turn at the sound of your frustrated groan. Your car hood is up and you’re staring at it with a look of dismay. 

Chanyeol smacks Minseok on the shoulders and points. “Me thinks there’s a lady in need of your services,” he says with a grin.

Minseok turns to Chanyeol, trying to grab his arm, but he dances out of the way. “Sorry amigo, I’ve got a party to get to. And you’ve got a date with destiny,” he says, giving his friend a wry grin.

Minseok sighs and starts off in your direction. Crossing the parking lot he tugs on his jacket, straightening it out. He rubs his hands on the sides of his jeans, willing himself to appear more together around you than he is and hoping you can’t see how unnerved you make him. 

He can’t help but think how cute you look, lips pouted, hands on your hips, your head cocked to the side as you study the mystery that is your car engine.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, sticking his hands in his pocket in an attempt at casualness.

You whip your head up and smile when you realize who it is. “Minseok, oh thank goodness. I’ve tried starting it a billion times, but it just keeps making this grinding noise.” You let out a sigh. “I know how to change the tires and the oil, but this is way beyond my limited knowledge.”

He steps as close as he dares, moving next to you to peek into the hood, illuminated by the streetlight above you. He peers inside, taking in all the wires and pipes. 

He lets out a laugh. “Well, unfortunately I don’t know anything about cars. But I can give you a ride to Baekhyun’s party and then drop you off at home tonight. In the morning I’d be happy to pick you up and you can call my friend Jim from the store. He’s a mechanic and he’d be happy to drive over and take a look at it tomorrow,” he says looking hopeful.

You reach over and touch his arm. “That would be perfect, thank you.” You close the hood and go around to your passenger seat to grab your purse and jacket, locking the car. “Lead the way.”

He opens the door for you when you reach his car and you slide into the dark leather seat with a word of thanks. He tries and fails to stop his mind from imagining that this is the beginning of a date. 

But still, he hopes. That someday he’ll get to sit close to you at a restaurant, his hand finding your thigh under the table. That he’ll get to hold your beautiful face in his hands and kiss you goodnight. That he’ll get to ask you all the questions he’s been dying to know the answers to, discovering all the little details of your life that are still a mystery to him.

“Everything okay?” you ask, looking up at him with a curious expression.

Shit, he thinks. He nods and gently closes the door. He gives himself a shake as he walks around to the driver’s side. You can do this, he tells himself. 

He slides in and closes the door. Moving to start the car he notices you’ve got your hands full with his large CD case, curiously flipping through and analyzing his collection. This could be any night, you two together, about to head out on the town, carefully selecting the evening’s soundtrack. He doesn’t let himself acknowledge how much he desperately wishes it were true.

When you notice him watching you give him a sly grin. “It’s like seeing the man behind the curtain. What does Minseok, renowned music expert, listen to in his personal life?” you say, obviously enjoying yourself. 

Handing him the case, eyes bright, you ask, “will you show me what your favorite is?” 

He sighs and leans over, flipping a few sleeves until he finds what he’s looking for. He notices your intake of breath at his closeness and swallows around the lump that’s risen in his throat. He slips out a CD and switches it for the one in the player. The CD starts and he skips to the sixth song. 

The drums start and you tilt your head as you try to place the song. Then a smooth, beautiful voice starts singing, accompanied by a jazzy guitar. Your mouth parts in surprise. You’d expected the classics; Rolling Stones, Queen, Nirvana maybe. Anything but this sensual, soulful song. The sound wraps around you in the enclosed car. As the singer hits a high note you close your eyes in appreciation.

He feels like his heart is trying to leap out of his chest. You look so beautiful, your face a mask of pleasure as the strains of his favorite song wash over you. Your full lips and profile highlighted in the swath of light coming into the car from the streetlight. 

He takes full advantage of your closed eyes to drink in your face. He told Chanyeol he wasn’t romantic, but somehow you’ve twisted your way into his heart. He wishes he had the words to express how you make him feel, he’d write you song after song if he could.

The song gently tapers out and you open your eyes to meet his. The next song starts but neither of you are paying it any attention. 

“Who is this?” you ask in a voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the spell cast by the song.

“Marvin Gaye. Trouble Man,” he answers, ducking his head. “Probably not what you were expecting?” he asks, looking back to you, a fierce desire to know how you see him.

You giggle and shake your head. “Definitely not what I was expecting. But I like it. I feel like I’ve gotten to see a side of you I wasn’t expecting,” you say softly.

“Rock will always have my heart, but Marvin speaks to my soul. No pun intended,” he says with a lopsided smile.

You open your mouth to say something but a car starts across from you, sending light flooding around you. It’s Kyungsoo from Barada. He gives you and Minseok a quick wave and then turns his head to start backing out.

“Well, we should probably get going. God knows if I leave Chanyeol in charge of the music it’s going to be Oingo Boingo on repeat all night,” he says and turns to back out of the space, anxious to leave so he doesn’t do anything dangerous with you so near. 

Like pull you close to finally learn what you taste like.

Minseok walks out from the kitchen holding two cups of beer and stops short. The man who owns the chocolate shop, Yixing he thinks is his name, is talking to you now, holding a cup in one hand and leaning in to speak to you over the noise. You're smiling and nodding, and he feels like his blood has gone ice cold.

"What's wrong with you?" Alec asks, suddenly appearing next to him, already tipsy. He follows Minseok's gaze to where you and Yixing are talking. He laughs, a high sound, and smacks Minseok on the back. "Dude, you are so oblivious."

Minseok turns to regard Alec, wondering if his unspoken fear has come true and you are seeing someone else without him realizing it. "What, are they together or something?" He asks, feigning disinterest.

Alec laughs again and shakes his head. "No. Jesus, you really don't know? Okay my man, when you go back over there just watch her face, all right? Trust me," he says in a patronizing manner that would bother Minseok if he wasn't completely focused on you.

He starts walking over, moving around groups of people talking, not paying them any attention. When he breaks through the mass of people he approaches you and Yixing. You turn your head to look at him. It's like the sun has come out, he thinks. The bright pleasure on your face when you meet his gaze, your mouth turning up at the corners; a smile just for him. 

A second, two, you watch him, and then you look down. A blush blooms on your cheeks and you bite your lip, quickly glancing back at him before returning your attention to Yixing. He stops himself from sighing in relief. Could Alec be right? he wonders. Do you somehow feel the same way?

When he comes up to you he hands you the cup, giving you a warm smile. You take the cup and wave a hand at Yixing. "Minseok, do you know Yixing? He owns Sinful and I think I've convinced him to hire my friend for the Valentine’s rush," you say with a pleased smile, voice giddy with excitement.

Yixing reaches out a hand. “Good to meet you, I love your store. You’ve got a great selection,” he says to Minseok. He shakes Yixing’s hand, nodding in thanks.

“Just tell your friend to swing by any time I’m open with her resume. I’d be happy to meet with her. Sounds like she’d be perfect,” he says to you before nodding his head in parting and heading back into the party.

Minseok joins you in leaning against the wall and starts regaling you with the story of his latest run in with a crazy regular of his - a teenager who always tries to make off with a CD under his arm. You easily slip into a flow with him, discussing your businesses, the patrons of the mall, the books and movies you trade back and forth.

Some time later the opening beats of “Dead Man’s Party” start playing and Minseok groans. He looks over to the CD player in the corner and of course finds Chanyeol closing the Oingo Boingo case. It doesn’t matter that it’s either way too early or far too late in the year for the song, Chanyeol loves it anyways. The couples dancing in the center of the living room aren’t even phased by the change in vibe and start shaking their heads in time to the funky beat.

Chanyeol grabs a girl nearby and drags her onto the dance floor. She and Baekhyun are always laughing and joking together at the theater whenever you and your friend stop in to see a movie on the weekends. You’ve gotten to know them pretty well through various run-ins around the mall in the past few months. 

Her head tips back with laughter as Chanyeol spins her around in an uncoordinated mess. Minseok rolls his eyes, but watches them with a content smile.

Looking around the party, you realize how many people you actually know here.

 Yixing is in a discussion with Junmyeon, the owner of Guardians, nearby. Both gesturing emphatically as they argue their points. Alec and Sam from KMS are doing a shot of some awful looking green liquid with some of the staff from Barada while Kyungsoo looks on skeptically, drinking a soda. 

Baekhyun comes charging onto the dance floor, dragging another girl with him. You can’t remember her name but you’re pretty sure she recently started working at the clothing store adjacent to your bookshop. 

She cracks up at Baekhyun’s dramatic and awful dance moves, bending over, holding her stomach she’s laughing so hard. You smile suddenly, thinking that you couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to know.

You’re not usually the type to dance in public, but your good mood is demanding that you get in on the action. Setting down your cup you hold your hand out to Minseok. 

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?” you ask and raise an eyebrow at him. 

He sighs like it’s a huge burden but then gives you a sardonic smile, sets down his drink, and grabs your hand. It’s firm warmth wraps around your hand as he leads you into the fray. He finds a spot in the middle of the crowd and you stumble into him as Chanyeol comes spinning past with his partner, bumping into you.

His arm wraps around your waist to steady you and you give him a smile in thanks. You realize abruptly how close you are. It would be nothing really, to lean forward and press your lips to his. You pull yourself back to a more appropriate distance, mentally shaking yourself out of the thought. 

The next song starts up and soon you and Minseok are twisting and shaking along with the beats.

He looks so much less intimidating this way, his wavy hair going off in all directions. His expression is joyful and open as he dances wildly to make you smile. Chanyeol makes another lap around and sees his friend on the dance floor. 

He gives a loud whoop and thumps Minseok on the back, yelling, “that’s my boy!” as he twirls his partner.

After the album finishes Minseok rushes over to the CD player to start something else before Chanyeol can put Dead Man’s Party on for a second time. A minute later everyone cheers as the opening beats to “No Diggity” start playing. 

Minseok meets your bewildered expression and gives you a wry smile. You laugh, knowing how much he loves to surprise you with music you aren’t expecting.

He makes his way back through the crowd to you. His gaze turns intent, tilting his head down to watch you through his lashes, sending a wave of heat to your core. He pulls off his leather jacket and sets it on a couch. In his dark jeans and tight black shirt he looks good enough to eat. You involuntarily swallow and look down quickly to pull an invisible speck of dust off your black dress.

When you look back up he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. You put your hand back into his, your other arm finding his shoulder as his hand slips around your waist.

He steps close to you and you both start moving in time to the smooth beats. Being this intimate with him might very well kill you, you think. You look anywhere but in his eyes, desperately trying to avoid the fierce desires battling inside you; not sure which is stronger, the need to speak the words in your heart or to beg him to put those glorious lips of his anywhere on your body.

You shake your head with amusement. What is this party doing to you? The heat from his nearness, the smell of his subtle cologne, the sensual music. After a few songs you start to feel like you’re drowning, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. You slip a step, feeling unexpectedly lightheaded.

He pulls you back to scan your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes to take in your flushed cheeks. “Want to get some air?” he asks, raising his voice over the music. 

You nod and lean against him as he leads you through the crowd to a room with two leather chairs in front of a television, filled with video game systems.

He gently helps you into one of the chairs, sitting in the other and scooting close, keeping his arm securely around your back. You rest your elbows on your thighs, holding your forehead in your hands while you take deep breaths.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m not drunk – I think I might be getting sick though,” you say and groan.

“No need to apologize, can you wait here for a moment? I’ll go get our stuff and I can take you home,” he says and rises to stand.

You grab his hand and squeeze, drawing his attention back to you. “Thank you,” you tell him earnestly. 

He squeezes your hand back with a smile and goes through the hallway to retrieve your coats and bag.

Minseok comes back quickly and helps you into your coat, walking you back through the party with his arm firmly around your back. You stop to say goodbye to Baekhyun and Chanyeol who both give you sympathetic waves and tell you they hope you feel better soon.

The drive home is quiet. You give Minseok your address and he leaves the music off so you can rest for a bit, curled up against the side of his car while he drives. He pulls up to your house and hesitates, seeing that you’ve fallen asleep. Time stretches out as he wonders what to do. 

He wants to drive straight to the hospital to make sure you’re okay, but he logically knows it’s probably one of those twenty-four hour bugs that come and go all the time as a side effect of working with the public.

Eventually he puts the car in park and gets out, walking over to your side. He eases the door open and props you up with his hands, one cupping your head and one on your arm to stop you from rolling. You open your eyes blearily at him. 

“Do you think you can walk inside or would you like me to carry you?” he asks, holding you gently.

You blink a few times and seem to come back to yourself. “I can walk I think,” you say, your voice thin and scratchy. 

With his help you get up the steps and inside the house, dropping your purse on the couch and shrugging out of your coat. 

“I’ll be all right, I’m just going to go straight to bed and get some sleep. Thanks so much for your help Minseok,” you say with a weak smile.

He hesitates, wanting to make sure you’re okay. But he tears himself away before he does something really impulsive, like demand to spend the night so he can check on you. He pulls out a crumpled receipt from his pocket and walks over to your dining table to grab a pen. 

He writes down his name and number and leaves the paper for you. “There’s my number, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, okay? Still want me to drive you to work tomorrow or do you think you’ll be too sick?” 

“No, no. I have a good immune system. A little sleep and a few big cups of orange juice in the morning and I should be good to go. Promise. How does eight forty sound?”

“I’ll be here,” he says and walks over to the door. 

He looks back and you give him a sleepy wave as you shut the door. He watches through the top narrow window as you head down the hall. He gently shuts the screen door and heads back to his car, feeling like he left part of him behind.

January 14th, 1997

The morning dawns clear and bright. He’s already been up since six in the morning, unable to sleep most of the night; torn between worrying about you and trying not to remember how good you felt in his arms. 

Finally at 8:22 he can’t take waiting anymore and heads out to his car. Of course he gets there too early, it only takes six minutes to get from his place to yours. He circles the block aimlessly for ten more minutes to kill time before finally parking out front of your apartment. He practically sprints up the steps to your door, pausing to calm his breathing before knocking.

Several moments pass before you finally open the door. He takes in your disheveled appearance. Hair unbound around your shoulders, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and pajama pants, carrying a handful of tissues. 

You lean against the door frame, your nose red. “You know, everyone always complains about how easy it is to get sick working in a mall and here I thought I was immune to it,” you say, pouting.

He smiles sympathetically at you, that overwhelming desire to take care of you rising again.

“Just give me a few minutes to pull myself together?” you ask, eyes closing involuntarily as you try and stand up on your own without the support of the door.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he says, rushing forward to steady you. “Can anyone cover for you today? I don’t think you should try to work.”

You wrinkle your brow as you try to think through the fog in your mind. “Um, well Mel could probably come in early and I just finished training Nathan on closing duties,” you say through your sniffling.

“Perfect, why don’t you give them a call?” he asks, stepping into the apartment and shutting the door against the cold weather. 

He walks you over to your couch and gently helps you sit down. The phone is lying on the side table and he hands it to you. A few minutes later everything is sorted out and you drop the phone onto the couch with a sigh of relief. Glancing up you find Minseok staring at you with an intent look on his face.

“Okay, how about this. Why don’t you take a hot shower while I run out to get some supplies? What symptoms are you having?” he asks, scanning your face and body.

“Hmm, let’s see. My whole body just feels achy and weak. I’ve got a fever, I think. I can’t really tell with all the congestion going on,” you reply with a pout.

“Got it. I’ll be back in about half an hour, okay?” he says.

You want to object, to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about you. But you’re too tired and sick, and you honestly can’t remember the last time you let someone take care of you, so you just nod at him and manage a small smile. He heads out and you drag your aching body into the bathroom and start the shower.

When he comes back, twenty nine minutes later, he’s carrying four shopping bags. You’re laying down on the couch, bundled up in your pajamas with a towel wrapped around your head. He comes over to kneel down at the coffee table and starts unpacking the bags.

“I wasn’t sure what you had, so I kind of bought everything,” he says pulling more and more things out. 

Ibuprofen, cold medicine, cough drops, throat spray. More packs of tissues. Several different colors of Gatorade. A large to-go container of what smells like chicken noodle soup. A couple cans of ginger ale. And selection of VHS tapes from Blockbuster.

“Do you want to eat something?” 

You nod weakly in response. He digs around in the bags until he finds a spoon. He pops the lid off of the soup and slides it over to you before twisting the cap off of a yellow Gatorade and setting it next to the soup. He comes and sits beside you on the couch, holding the towel out of your face while you eat and drink.

The soup is delicious and warms you up straight away, the Gatorade gives you a burst of energy. When you’re finished he waves a hand to the array of medicine in front of you. 

“So, first off - have you taken any medicine today? And if not, what’s the biggest pain point at the moment?” he asks, his hand gently rubbing your back.

“I took some Tylenol, but that was last night, I haven’t had anything today. The worst of it is the congestion, and this awful sinus headache that won’t go away,” you say, rubbing your temples.

“Got it. Let me grab you some water to take this with,” he says, grabbing the bottle of bottle of cold medicine and unscrewing the cap. 

He stands up and walks into your small, bright kitchen. He finds the glasses on his second try and brings you a tall glass of water to take the pills with. Once you swallow them he rejoins you on the couch, shaking out a fluffy blanket and putting it over you.

“There’s something my mother used to do when I got sick that felt like it helped. Do you mind if I try it?” he asks.

You nod weakly and he eases your head into his lap so you’re laying down, gently taking the towel off your hair and setting it on the back of the couch. You feel incredibly warm and safe, resting on his thigh. 

His strong hands start rubbing your temples and you sigh at how good it feels. He eases his way through your hair, rubbing your scalp, slowly making his way to your neck. The combination of the medicine and his gentle massage eases the pain and you can feel yourself falling asleep.

You curl up against him, moving your head to get more comfortable. In your impaired state you don’t think before you speak. “Would you sing to me?” you ask dreamily, your voice sounding far away.

He sighs and you hear him quietly mutter, ‘only for you,’ to himself. 

“What would you like to hear?” 

“Mm, anything you want. I love your voice,” you say.

He thinks for a moment and then starts humming. “Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance. With the stars up above in your eyes,” he sings quietly. You smile as his gentle voice lulls you off to sleep, singing one of your favorite songs off of an album he’s shared with you.

When you wake up the sky outside has gone dark. You turn your head up and see that Minseok has fallen asleep against the side of your couch, your head resting on his hip. You don’t feel all the way better, but the headache has subsided and you’re able to breathe fully again. And, most incredibly, you were having a lovely dream where he was singing to you.

You giggle to yourself. Like he would ever sing to you; he’s told you he absolutely hates singing and always refuses to come to karaoke when you invite him along with you and your friend. He wakes up at your quiet laughter, blinking his eyes as he processes where he is.

“Sorry I woke you,” you whisper, leaning up off him and settling into the back of the couch.

He rolls his neck, rubbing his face in his hands. “No problem at all. Wow, what time is it? Sorry, I guess I fell asleep too,” he says and smiles sheepishly at you.

“Goodness, don’t worry about it. You deserve it after everything you did for me. Seriously, Minseok this is amazing. Thank you so much,” you say, moved by how sweet and kind he is.

You stand up and turn on the light next to the couch. Walking gingerly over to the over to read the digital clock, you are shocked to see how late it is. “It’s six twenty. Wow, we really slept the day away huh?”

He opens his mouth to speak but a loud grumbling sound from his stomach cuts him off. “If you don’t have any plans, how about I order us a pizza and we watch one of the movies you brought?” you offer.

“That sounds perfect,” he says, pleasure lighting his features.

You spend the night watching Clerks and splitting a large pizza, half plain cheese, half veggie. When he finally leaves around nine at night you’re feeling much better already. He insists on leaving all the medicine ‘just in case’ and arranges to pick up tomorrow morning for work.

You fall asleep in bed with a satisfied grin on your face, filled with gratitude at the fact you have someone as amazing as Minseok in your life.

May 20, 1997

Finally taking a break from the busy sale day celebrating your second anniversary, you’re seated in your desk chair, feeling rebellious with your feet propped up on the desk. It pays to be the boss, you think with a smirk. 

You look over at a soft knock on the door. Mel enters, holding a package wrapped in colorful purple paper, a simple white bow on the top.

“What’s that?” you inquire.

“It just came for you,” she practically squeals, joy coming out of her every pore.

“Okay… and? Is it a delivery?”

“Nope. And you’ll never guess who just brought it over,” she teases, holding the package above her head and bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I’m not guessing, just give it to me,” you say with a laugh, holding your hand out.

“Okay fine, I’ll tell you. But can I watch you open it?” she pleads, putting the package on the desk and holding her hands out in front of her in prayer. Her over-the-top excitement makes you laugh.

“All right, all right. Fine!” you say and she claps happily.

“It was Minseok,” she says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

Your breath catches. The past few months you’ve been desperately fighting off your growing feelings for him. That day he’d taken care of you had seriously done things to your heart and it had been hard to keep up your Monday conversations without fantasizing about him as a permanent fixture in your home and your life.

You unravel the white ribbon and peel off the paper carefully. You go slowly, partially to annoy the heck out of Mel, mostly because surprise is such a rare element in your life and you want to prolong the delicious moment of curiosity as long as possible.

You pull the paper away to uncover a small stack of CDs, still in their protective packaging. You gasp, one hand reaching for your chest without realizing it, as if preemptively trying to protect your reckless heart for reading too much into the gift.

Jagged Little Pill - Alanis Morissette, the first CD you ever bought from him.

ABBA Gold, the CD you play over and over at closing time, distracting yourself from late night paperwork.

News of the World - Queen, the CD he played when you spent that long night sorting through the paperwork debacle.

Loaded – The Velvet Underground, one of his favorites that he suggested to you.

Dead Man’s Party – Oingo Boingo, the CD you’d danced to at Baekhyun’s party.

Another Level – Blackstreet. You blush remembering how he’d looked at you as he walked through the crowd, his eyes full of something you’d wildly hoped was desire.

Trouble Man – Marvin Gaye. He’d said that album held his soul and for such a badass punk it seemed so incongruous, but when you looked back and saw his eyes, endless and deep like they’d experienced a hundred lifetimes, you knew he was even more than you’d imagined him to be.

The last three CDs stump you. 

This Is How We Do It - Montel Jordan. You ponder for a moment and then remember; that first morning you opened. It was playing on the radio while he made your first purchase ever, you’d taken it to be a good omen. 

Van Morrison – Moondance. You purse your lips and think back. Yes, it was one of the dozens of CDs he’d lent you and yes, it was one of your favorites, but you couldn’t figure out why he was including it.

Nearly giving yourself whiplash, you sit back suddenly, hand flying up to cover your mouth. Coming to you as if from a long forgotten memory, you hear his soft voice singing the title song to you. The darkness of the room and the fog from your sick state had made you think it was a dream.

What if it was real? you wonder, heart skipping a beat at the thought.

The last one is Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd. You tilt your head in confusion, flipping the CD over to the back and scanning the track list. With a rush it comes back to you. That cold, rainy night in February, more than two years ago; walking into his store, searching for angry music.

The first time you met him “Money” had been playing over the speakers. You can’t believe you remember that after all these years.

If he remembered that too, if he was giving you these, maybe he’d been paying as close attention to you as you were to him all these long months. You shake your head, trying to rip out that silly hope before it grows roots in your mind. No, he’s just good at knowing his customers, his friends. He’s just naturally observant, you tell yourself.

Flipping through the cases again a piece of paper slips out between two of the CDs and falls to the desk. It’s a faded receipt. You can just read the name of your bookstore and the date and time. May 20th, 1995 9:04 am. The Bridges of Madison County. You gasp. You can’t believe he’s kept it this long. There’s two lines of words scrawled on the bottom of the receipt in his hurried, messy writing. Just two lines, but they completely undo you.

Happy second anniversary. I’ll always be there for you. Any time.

You stand up suddenly, moving to the door, only to stop two steps later. What’s your plan? Go over and confess your undying love for him? Mel steps over to you, turning you towards her, unable to wait any longer.

“Don’t leave me hanging babe. I know they’re from Minseok, but what do they mean? Why do you look like you’re about to pass out? And is it a good thing or a bad thing?” she rambles, eyes darting over your face like the answers are written on your flushed skin.

You force yourself to walk back to your desk and sit down, setting the pile of CDs in front of you. Propping your elbows up on the desk, you interlace your fingers in front of your mouth, thinking.

You breathe out a big sigh. “It might just be a thoughtful gift from a friend. Or it might mean… everything. These albums are so personal to me, to him,” you say softly. “To us.” 

You put your head in your hands, gripping your hair tightly to stop yourself from sprinting across that short twenty feet and into his arms to bare your heart to him.

It’s Schrödinger’s love story, one path where you do the brave thing and another where you chicken out and don’t act on it, remaining in this limbo forever. 

But you can’t sit here forever, staring at the CDs, wondering. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that by the time you finally look up from the stack on your desk Mel is gone and the door is gently pulled to.

A line from one of your favorite childhood books whispers through your mind. Courage, dear heart, you think and smile to yourself, your mind made up.

“Screw it, I’ve got to know,” you say to yourself and push back in your chair, standing abruptly.

You scurry down the hall back into the store. You find Mel at the registers ringing up a small line of people, patiently waiting with their merchandise. You distantly acknowledge the line of people, pleased that the sale went well, confirming once more that this was the right path for you. But a larger part of you is carried along on a wave of purpose.

You dash by Mel and she looks up. Seeing your excited face, your nervous grin, she instantly knows where you’re going. She gives you a thumbs up and calls out “Good luck!” as you rush past.

It’s only twenty feet but the distance feels enormous, your mind swirling with the possibilities. You stop in the middle of the mall. What if he turns you away, embarrassed at how much you read into the gift and your friendship? What if he’s already in a relationship and he’s just such a private person he’s never mentioned it? 

What if, what if, what if. 

Another voice rises up in your mind, demanding the others be quiet. After a lifetime spent reading and quietly observing others you’re ready to do something brave. Something else brave, you remind yourself, turning to look at the bookstore with pride. You can do this, you tell yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straighter, prepared for anything, filled to the brim with love and hope. You resume your walk across the tiled floor and into the music store, the soft strains of a Beatles song playing overhead, reminding you that all you need is love. 

Turning toward the counter you see Alec lazily flipping through a magazine. You hurry over and put your hands on the counter, causing Alec to turn and look at you.

He regards you thoughtfully before giving you a lopsided smile, shaking his head. “Lordy, you two are so alike, it’s hilarious,” he mutters. “If you’re looking for Minseok he just left, he went that way,” he says pointing out the front doors to the parking lot. 

“Go get him, girlie,” he says and chuckles to himself.

Too nervous to even speak you just nod furiously several times before your body carries you toward the doors. You put your arms out in front of you to push the door open as you rush forward at full speed. Stumbling outside, you gasp in the cool air and frantically scan the parking lot for his figure. 

There, up ahead, just unlocking his car. You’d recognize his leather jacket anywhere. You dart into the street, dodging an oncoming car that honks angrily at you. You wave a hand in apology behind you as you sprint forward. His name rises in your throat.

“Minseok!” you call, and he turns around in your direction. 

His surprised expression quickly turns worried as he takes in your flushed cheeks and fast pace. You rush up to him and he catches you in his arms, holding onto your elbows to steady you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, eyes concerned.

You breathe deeply a few times to calm your frantic heart. “Everything. Nothing. I mean - I got your present,” you say, watching him closely.

He ducks his head and gives you a shy smile, so unlike his usual confidence. “Oh, right. Well, it’s a big day. Most businesses don’t make it two years and yet here you are, still kicking ass. I wanted to do something to commemorate that,” he says.

You could just leave it at that, you think. Tell him thank you for the support and the friendship and the sweet gift and go back inside. But your newfound courage won’t let you cop out now.

“Minseok… did you sing for me?” you ask, voice urgent and full of feeling.

He doesn’t need you to clarify what day you mean. He blushes and looks off to the side, nodding once, twice. He looks back to meet your eyes and nods once more, slowly. 

You bring your hands up to his cheeks, joyful tears filling your eyes, and lean in to swiftly press a kiss to his lips. You linger there for a moment before pulling back. His hands come to rest on your hips, his expression shocked.

You rush to explain before you lose your nerve. “Thank you, Minseok. Thank you for helping me out so many times. Thank you for the sweet gift. Thank you for taking care of me when I was sick. I know that what I just did and what I’m about to say might change everything, but I want you to know that I’ll always be your friend if that’s all you want.” You inhale sharply, steadying yourself.

“But I have to tell you, I think – I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve never said anything since I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I had to tell you, even if it’s just this once. I love you, Minseok,” you say, finishing in a rush. “I love you,” you repeat softly. 

You take a deep breath and let it out, dropping your hands to his arms, waiting for his reaction.

A triumphant looks comes across his face and he winds an arm around your back. His other hand slides up to cup your face. “Thank God,” he says, his voice thick with feeling. 

He pulls you flush up against him and kisses you fully, slowly moving his lips along yours. You move your hands up into his hair, finally, finally getting to see what it feels like. His hands grip your hips, holding you close as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip. You both moan as his tongue slips in to stroke yours. 

The reality of him is better than any fantasy you could ever have come up with, you think in a haze.

“Ha! I knew it! You owe me fifty bucks!” someone yells from the direction of the mall. 

You and Minseok break apart to see Mel and Alec standing there. Mel is doing a happy dance and Alec is reaching into his wallet with a disgruntled sigh.

“Did you bet on us?” you call out to her, laughing in disbelief. Minseok laughs next to you, the sound vibrating through his chest against yours.

“Yes, but don’t worry, I won!” Mel calls back, poking Alec in the chest before dragging him back inside, brandishing the bill in triumph.

You look back at Minseok, confused. “I guess we were only good at hiding our feelings from each other,” he laughs.

“Wait, how long have you liked me?” you ask, breaking into a grin at the realization that he actually feels the same way. “Holy shit, you like me?”

He tilts his head back and cracks up, both at hearing you swear for the first time and out of sheer joy that you return his feelings. He brushes your hair back and holds his hand to cup your face. 

“I don’t just like you. I love you too,” he says in a low voice just for you. He leans in to give you another lingering kiss. “And as for the when, I’d have to say it was probably that Christmas Eve you ran into me that I realized it.”

You drop your jaw. “No way. That’s when it hit me too. I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to get here,” you say, blushing.

“But the important thing is, we’re here, together,” he says and you grin, looking back into his eyes. “Want to get out of here?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

You nod. “Let me just grab my stuff,” you say, grabbing his hand. “Come with me?”  

It’s a loaded question, walking inside hand in hand would let everyone know how you feel about each other. You’re not sure if he wants to be so open with it yet, and you want to let him decide without pressure from you.

“Any time, baby,” he says easily, squeezing your hand and pulling you back toward the mall.

June 20, 1997

He waited two years for you; more than that if he’s counting the time since you first met, which of course you both do. He has something special planned for this weekend - well the “weekend” you share, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Two days, just the two of you in his apartment. He doesn’t plan on either of you leaving the bedroom the entire time.

The two of you have kept it mostly PDA-free at the mall, but today you’re doing things to his willpower - wearing his leather jacket over a slim fitting purple cotton dress, your hair in his favorite braids. The combination of sweet and sexy is driving him wild every time he catches a glimpse of you in breaks between customers.

He loves it when you borrow his things, loves seeing little pieces of himself taking up space in your world. It’s only fair since you’ve already invaded his life and his heart completely. A polaroid of you now lives in his wallet. It’s from a late brunch you had together last week. Your hair in a messy bun, throwing up two peace signs, giving him a wide grin.

He keeps an ABBA CD in his car for when you’ve had a stressful day and need cheering up. He imagines Chanyeol endlessly laughing if he saw the candles Minseok bought for the dining table for last Tuesday night when you cooked dinner together. But he couldn’t care less. Besides, he’s already dreaming of making you his forever, officially.

On his lunch break yesterday, while you were tied up with a delivery issue, he snuck over to Simpson & Sons Jewelers and nonchalantly looked at rings. Just a quick glance between the necklaces and earrings, wondering to himself what style you might like. 

He’s waited more than two years, and it still amuses him that you’d felt the same way about each other almost the entire time. He’s in no rush, but now that you’re his, he’s playing for keeps.

He looks up from shelving a new shipment of LPs to see you standing up on your tip toes to grab a book for a customer. Your dress rides up dangerously and he groans softly to himself, feeling all his blood rush to his cock. He glances down at his watch - 12:01pm. Perfect, he thinks and carries the box of LPs back to the counter. 

Alec is training Sam on ordering, arguing back and forth about every step. They pause their bickering and look up as Minseok approaches.

“I’m heading out for lunch Alec, you guys all right here?” he asks, knowing Alec will be patiently waiting for his turn right at one o’clock.

“Right-o boss, we’re all set here,” he says and Sam gives him a dry look. Minseok chuckles to himself as he walks over to your store, happy that he found someone who’s more than a match for the unique challenge that is Alec.

Mel’s ringing up the customer you were helping and she gives him a wave when he walks in. He nods in return and scans the store for you. He finally spots you tidying up displays around the back. As he approaches you he grins, savoring the feeling that you’re finally his as much as he’s always been yours. 

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You yelp in surprise, whipping your head around to see who it is. Laughing when you realize it’s him you spin in his arms and give him a discreet kiss, eyes shining with joy.

He pulls you close for a longer kiss, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin at your lower back. “Mm, what’s gotten into you today?” you ask in a low voice.

“Hmm, you’re tormenting me with that dress today, and I think I have to do something about it,” he whispers in your ear. 

You raise your eyebrows in question and he pulls you through the store to the back hallway. The second you’re past the counter his hand slides down to cup your ass through the fabric of your dress. You giggle and glance behind you to make sure no one’s watching. 

The two of you slip into the office and he kicks the door shut behind him as soon as he’s through, locking it with one hand.

He leans back against the door and pulls you flush up against him, claiming your lips instantly. You slide your hands along his waist and up to his sculpted chest, relishing in the fact that you’re now able to touch his amazing body whenever you want. You lick his lower lip, sliding your tongue inside when he opens for you.

His hands find your ass and he rocks his hips into yours, mimicking the back and forth movement of his tongue. You moan into his mouth; a high, breathy sound as you feel yourself rapidly getting wet in response to his touch.

His fingers drop to the hem of your dress, caressing their way up to slide under the edge of your panties. You pull back, meeting his eyes that are dark with desire. 

“Here? Minseok, I-” you start to say. One of his hands moves down and begins stroking your aching clit, drawing a whine from your throat. Your eyes close and you grip his shoulders to stay upright.

“I’m game if you are,” he says, and when you open your eyes he’s giving you a challenging look.

You think about objecting, but his hand dips lower and he sinks a finger inside of you. You lean closer and rest your forehead against his shoulder, breathing rapidly. “Oh, fuck it. Please, I need you,” you whimper as he slips a second finger into you.

“I thought you’d never ask, honey,” he says roughly and slides your panties down your legs in a fluid motion.

You walk backward to your desk, watching him hungrily through your lashes, kicking your panties off. You lean back on the desk, spreading your legs wide for him. He unbuckles his belt in a rush, then reaches into his back pocket for a condom, tearing the wrapper. 

He settles himself between your legs and you laugh. “Prepared, were you?”

“Around you? Always,” he says, pulling out his dick and rolling the condom on. 

His hands grip your hips, tilting you off the edge of the desk and easing the tip inside of you. You let out a loud moan and clap your hand to your mouth, wincing at how loud you were. He chuckles darkly and grins at you, delighting in how eagerly you respond to him.

You wrap your legs around his waist and lean back onto an elbow, keeping one hand on your mouth to stifle any noise. He thrusts into you, sheathing himself in one motion, biting his lip to contain his groan of pleasure.

He pulls back and slams into you again, setting a rapid pace that has your eyes rolling back. You rock your hips into his, meeting him thrust for thrust. You bite down on your finger, already close to finding your release, amazed at how quickly he can affect your body. His eyes widen when he sees you bite down.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. I’m already so close. The things you do to me,” he says with a grin in-between breaths, shaking his head in amusement.

One of his arms comes around your back to keep you upright as the other comes around to resume his attention to your clit. Your vision goes white as you reach your climax, a strangled moan leaving your mouth. He slams into you, drawing out your orgasm, before releasing himself inside of you. 

You reach up to hold onto his shoulders, resting your head against his chest as you both catch your breath. His head comes to rest on top of yours, holding you close. Once you’ve calmed down you lean back to look at him, giggling as you take in his messed up appearance, knowing that you must be in a similar state.

He grins down at you, tilting to kiss you gently on the lips. “I think we’re going to have to do this more often,” he says with a raise of his brow.

“Any time, baby. Any time,” you say happily.

[shooter-nobunagun]

Love me tonight 4

//Mature content; nsfw

“A, Adam...” Sio couldn’t help it; tears welled up as she scrunched her face, doing her best to not break down yet again but Adam only patted her hand and handed her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted. “S-Sorry...I-I didn’t mean to get all emotional again...”

“It’s alright; I think it’s been quite an emotional day for both of us,” he stroked her arms lightly. “Seriously though; if you’re not in the mood for any romantic shenanigans, then we should just stop and get some rest. There’ll be other opportunities, later on.”

Would they? ‘Who’s to say we’re even going to have time for a nice date after this? Just because we found Asao-san doesn’t mean our enemies are going to take a break...’ And more morbidly, there was also the lingering fear that something could happen to either of them before that chance came; it wasn’t about dying a virgin or something trite like that, but the events of late had taught her to relish the present, instead of always trying to control the future.

“Sio...?” Adam blinked in surprise as the girl started toying with the straps of her nightgown, as if she were thinking of taking it off. “You’re, uh...”

“...Maybe I’m being the selfish one here, but I...don’t see why we can’t continue. Er, to do, it. I mean why not? Uh...that’s not to say, if you don’t want to right now...”

Adam bit his lips, shaking his head in mild amusement. “No, you’re not selfish at all...if anything, I want to say I’m the selfish one, for hoping you’d want to continue. Nobody’s stopping us from doing what we want.”

A nod. “Right. So, uh. How...do we do this.”

The two stared at the sheets as an awkward silence descended the room. Neither had much ideas on how to begin; sex ed class (and in Adam’s case, smut) had given them some basic understanding and theory, but when it really came down to it Adam found himself struggling on how to take the lead, or if he even should.

“I...well, to be perfectly honest I’ve never done this before,” he gave an embarrassed laugh, but it seemed to break the ice as Sio let out a small giggle herself. “So, we should just...do what we feel like...and go from there. After all, I’ve come to realise, neither of us are much good at sticking to plans.”

“Mmn...it sounds silly, b, but I’m...actually kind of glad this is your first time, too...n, not that it would make a difference but...I feel if we both learn together...that makes me less nervous...” Secretly though, she was glad they would be each others’ firsts; Sio liked to think she was fairly open-minded, and truthfully, even if Adam did have a girlfriend in the past it wouldn’t have mattered—but somehow the thought of him being with someone other than her filled her with a gnawing discontent.

“Then let’s continue where we left off.” Just before their lips met again though, Sio felt herself being pushed back, this time by Adam. “Wait, sorry...I’m so sorry, but it just occurred to me we should probably use...” his face turned red with embarrassment, “...a condom. Or some other type of protection...last thing we need is another incident...” He gave her a sheepish glance. “I suppose it’s a bit much to ask if you have any...”

Ah. A rubber. Sio’s lips split into a nervous grin. “Er, um, n, no...I thought, you’d might have some...s, since, you’re a guy and all...n-not that I mean anything by that it’s just I thought this stuff is pretty standard for guys to keep around—agh!” She grasped her hair in frustration. Why did she always say things without thinking it through? “N, Not that I’m insinuating you think about sex all the time or anything like that—”

She heard Adam trying not to chuckle at her reactions, which only made the sniper turn even redder. Of all the things she’d read about when it came to ‘the first time’, somehow none of them ever mentioned how awkward it could be. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that real life is never like what I imagined...’

“Well, I guess if we don’t have a condom, it’s not the end of the world; there are other methods we can use, like a morning-after pill,” Adam mused quietly, “though if we do go that route I’d better make a note so we don’t forget tomorrow morning—”

“—W-Wait, I just remembered actually...now that you mention it, I am on birth control,” the sniper mumbled shyly, face blushing a dark pink. Adam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “It, it’s not what you think it’s for—after I joined DOGOO, the doctor recommended I be on it to help regulate my...y’know, ‘time of the month’ so it wouldn’t get in the way when I’m fighting...and it also helps decrease all the crappy stuff that comes with it...” Sio buried her face in the pillow; somehow, frankly discussing her PMS symptoms was more embarrassing than figuring out contraceptives.

A hand gently patted her on the shoulder and her eyes peeked up to see Adam quirking a grin. “Ah, that’s fortunate for us then; if you’re already taking it regularly, we won’t even have to worry about anything tomorrow.” Slowly he lifted the sniper up from the covers, Sio shivering as his fingertips brushed against her shoulders; all of a sudden her skin was much more sensitive, goosebumps erupting even though she wasn’t cold at all.

“You know...I’m glad we met; that day in Taiwan, no matter what I said back then...I think, I was already captivated from you by the start,” he gave her a hapless grin. “Only I was too much of a stubborn bastard to admit it.”

“Well, and we were kind of in a desperate situation...but even then, even though you were all scary with that giant knife, I couldn’t help but think, ‘wow, that’s pretty cool...’”

Adam threw back his head and laughed. “Cool? I’ll take it as a compliment, I guess.” Slowly he palmed her face, fingers running through those snow-white locks of hers. “I can only hope I’ll continue to be ‘cool’ for you, Sio Ogura.”

And without another word he kissed her, deeply this time. Sio felt herself tilting backwards, allowing him a better angle as their lips parted, and to her surprise she found herself welcoming his tongue against her own, even though she despised Newton’s greetings.

‘It really is different when you do it with someone you love...’ Sighing, her fingers tangled into his silvery locks, relishing how soft and fine they were. For someone who carried himself in such a rough manner, Sio was pleasantly surprised to discover that Adam took decent care of himself, if only so she could selfishly appreciate how good it felt to touch him. Not just his hair, but even his skin—which, pale as it was, felt unexpectedly smooth and warm beneath her fingertips. As their lips and tongues continued to tangle with each other, Sio became bolder; hands now grasping his shoulders, then his arms, marveling at the steel cords of his muscles.

It was strange to be concentrating so intently on his physical features, but she wouldn’t deny the excitement coursing through her body. The thrill of touching him at last, feeling him so intimately...they weren’t doing anything major yet, but already the sniper felt her body flushing with a heady sort of pleasure, her mind descending into a haze that caused her to think less, instead going with whatever felt right. Adam’s hands were wandering all over her torso as well, as she started to lift the edge of his shirt up--to see if the rest of his body really was as warm as she imagined.

“Whoa there, you’re more eager than I thought,” a husky whisper, Adam grinning suggestively as Sio blushed. “Not that I mind...not at all...I’ve always liked this side of you.” He leaned back slightly and took off the t-shirt, and she couldn’t help but gasp a little at the sight. Of course she’d seen him shirtless before; that one time she accidentally walked in on him changing (and subsequent peeks before/after battles), but this time he was allowing her to look, letting her gaze wander shamelessly. Pale, alabaster-white skin that she was sure would be warm to the touch, though here and there were signs of scarring—especially the jagged gash on his left side, a mark of their first encounter in Taiwan. Her eyes slid to his pecs and she couldn’t help but almost hide her face with her hands. ‘Whoa, men have nipples too...I-I mean, I know that, but still...’ They were a slight pale-pink, the tips starting to form into buds from the sudden chill. Sio gulped as the very air seemed to be crackling with unspoken tension and all of a sudden something inside her pulsed to life.

Damn, he’s hot. Sio felt her entire body heat up and her heart beat faster. Even before she admitted to herself she liked Adam as a person, she couldn’t deny her physical attraction. With broad shoulders, a well-defined jawline and (she knew from experience) strong arms that were perfect for holding, it was a wonder nobody else got him first. He was tall and well-built, with muscles that seemed etched into place—her eyes widened ever so slightly as her gaze settled on that toned six-pack, Adam smirking a bit at her gaping reaction.

“Like what you see?”

Without thinking Sio nodded, slack-jawed until she realized she was drooling. “Yea—h-huh? U-Uh, I-I, I mean...” She blushed heavily, wiping her mouth and Adam chuckled.

“Don’t be shy, squirt. I recall you certainly weren’t that time you just walked straight in and stared.”

“Th-th, that was an accident! I-I’m not that shameless,” she mumbled, “or a pervert...”

“Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind if you were,” he moved closer and Sio blushed even harder, “I love all of you, Sio Ogura. Even the pervert side.”

She whined in protest, which only made Adam smile wider. Those burgeoning feelings had been scary at first; the sniper confused as to how someone who constantly argued with her could also make her so hot and bothered at the same time, but eventually she’d come to enjoy the sensations, albeit secretly.

Now though, there was no need to hide those feelings any longer.

“C, Can I...touch you?”

Emeralds blinked at her slowly, Adam a bit startled at her forward request. But it was that sincerity that made him love her more.

“...Sure, Sio.” To encourage her, he took her slim hand and placed it against his chest, her maroons wider than saucers as those fingertips brushed the skin, as if not believing this was happening. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I, I’m...not afraid,” she murmured, almost in a trance as she traced his skin along every crease and muscle, forming invisible patterns. Warm, so warm... Slowly she pressed a palm against his chest, feeling the steady thumping of his heartbeat. “Whoa...”

Adam didn’t say word; instead he simply let the sniper touch her fill, watching her quietly as her face lit up with wonder. It was amazing, really, to see her fascination at merely exploring his body; to touch and see for herself what he was like underneath everything, literally. Her fingers were hesitant at first, tracing with feather-light touches that almost made him laugh, but as her curiosity continued they were more confidant: smooth strokes against ridges of muscle, trails of heat along his collarbone, and when her nail just lightly grazed his nipple he let out quiet grunt, Sio looking at him in surprise.

“Oh! I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

“No, no…I’m fine. It’s not painful…it feels, quite nice, actually.” What Adam really wanted to say was that her touches were turning him on, but he didn’t want to scare her off or seem crass. Still, it was getting harder to hold his breath steady; certainly she could feel the increase in his pulse as both hands now wandered all over, Adam quietly gritting his teeth to suppress a moan.

“Nng...” As her hands ran over a second time however, Adam couldn’t stop his voice from coming out. “Ah…”

The sniper stopped, startled at the noise he was making, but then she noticed Adam’s expression. It was one she’d never seen before; with heavily lidded eyes that were almost closed, his emeralds a deep green with a healthy blush spreading across both cheeks. If she didn’t know any better, it was almost as though he were…embarrassed?

“U-Uh, Adam…are you okay?”

He nodded, though Sio noticed his breathing was shaky; as if he were trying to restrain himself. “Y-Yeh, don’t…I’m fine, squirt. Just…your hands, they feel…quite good…” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “...Mind if I...return the favor?”

“Eh…eh? A-Ah, I-I, uh…uh huh…” Sio turned ten shades of red in the span of a few seconds, the butterflies in her stomach now coming back with a vengeance. Touch…me? For some reason the concept seemed entirely foreign to her, even though she was doing the exact same thing to him. The idea that he really wanted to feel her skin, to see her true self…a bit awed at the realization, the sniper nodded silently, slowly lifting up her nightgown and, before her courage faded she flung it off, suddenly incredibly nervous as her arms hugged her modest chest, now sitting in nothing but her underwear. “U-Uh, um…I, is this…okay?”

So cute.

The way she was avoiding his gaze but still trying to look at him, cheeks painted a rosy flush as her arms crossed her petite chest. It wasn’t a secret the sniper had one of the flattest busts out of everyone at DOGOO; but right now, to him, she was perfect. He didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until he let it out; Adam wanted to get her to open her arms but was afraid of forcing her too soon. Instead, he settled for gently brushing down her shoulders, fingering strands of her locks that were now as white as his own.

She’s so small—

His hands are so large—

Not sure what to do, Sio simply sat there as Adam smoothed his fingertips across her skin—again, the contrast between them seemed to stick in her mind: how much larger his hands were yet they felt incredibly warm; the gentleness with which he touched her, even though she knew he could decapitate an Object in a blink of an eye. ‘Like light and dark, or two sides of the same coin’, he told her once shortly after Nightingale was revealed. Before she knew it her own hand took his, and without any hesitation placed it against her breast.

“Uhm…” Adam was at a loss for words; no matter the situation, the sniper never failed to surprise him. Not only did she bare herself but she was the one encouraging him now, his hand enclosed around the soft, silken mound of her petite breast. “You’re amazingly soft…” A calloused finger ran over the raised pink nipple, marveling at how it reacted to his touch. Especially the way her breast fit so perfectly into his palm, with just a bud of pink at the end that stiffened the more he touched it…swallowing nervously, Adam shifted his legs slightly, hoping Sio wouldn’t notice the bulge that was starting to form between them.

“Is…are they, okay? I-I’m…sorry they’re so small…” A slight stutter peppered her voice as the sniper turned her head, eyes averted as she stared into her lap. ‘What if he prefers someone like Newton’s, instead of mine…’

“…I beg your pardon?” The mood took a backseat as Adam stared at the sniper in disbelief. “What in the world are you apologizing for Sio? There’s nothing wrong with you.” His hand traced from her nipple to the scar that now sat across the otherwise flawless skin, his brows furrowing slightly at the sight. It was healed up now, but the memory of that day was still fresh in his mind. 

“They are definitely not too small…I think, honestly, they suit you quite well. They’re cute. You’re cute.”

Sio squeaked, face a bright red as Adam quirked an eyebrow, though secretly she was pleased he found her attractive. She squeaked again as he started fondling the peak, surprised at how warm it made her feel. 

“Th, thanks...that makes me happy, you know? I’ve always thought, I’m just a below-average girl...I certainly don’t have any assets worth mentioning, so...to hear that, you think I’m c, cute...I’m glad,” she whispered shyly, tucking a strand of white locks behind her ear. “I, I never thought I’d be able to...well, be with someone as good-looking as you...”

There was a nervous chuckle from the man, who was now looking away with a blush. “Funny you say that...I know for a fact some people think my eyes are too downturned, or that I look like the Ripper himself when I scowl.”

“Ah...” Come to think of it, she did hear Galileo offhandedly refer to Adam as “Mr. Droopy Eyes” one time, but she didn’t even notice it. “Well, for what it’s worth...I’ve never noticed it. W-Well, except that maybe you are kind of...intense...when you’re angry. But, your eyes,” Adam stilled as she reached up and cupped his face, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of green before. So, vibrant...”

Her breath was warm, the air sweetly scented with something distinct. Before he could even respond she leaned forward and closed the gap, kissing him deeply. Time seemed to stop and flow all at once as he automatically welcomed her into his arms, holding her tight as their lips moved in sync. Now that her nightgown was gone, the bare heat of her skin pressed against his chest; her nipples occasionally rubbed against his and he shuddered each time it happened. One hand wound behind her head to push her closer, deeper and as the girl fell into his embrace, his chest rumbled with pleasure.

So soft. Every part of her he could reach was warm and smooth against his hands, the girl tangling his strands between her fingers. Even though she felt so small and delicate in his grasp, Adam knew her inner strength was more than enough to carry both of them. Her arms wound tightly behind his neck, the girl somehow having shifted in the last few minutes so she was now sitting firmly in his lap.

“M-Mmnn...A-Adam...” Each time their breaths grew short, there was only a brief pause for air before they swept up into each other again. Their tongues tangled with each others’ as their hands swept all over. Her skin was delightfully warm and smooth, her curves giving in just slightly as he pulled her tight. A full, heady pleasure was working its way through all his senses—he felt himself growing stiffer as they kissed, and though he was embarrassed that Sio would soon sense his erection, a part of him wanted to show her—proof, of how intense she could make him feel.

‘There’s...something hard pushing against me...?’ For a second Sio thought she’d moved too far, but a quick glance told her she was still seated squarely between his legs. ‘Wait, between his legs...’ Her eyes grew wide as she finally came to the realization.

“A-Ano, Adam... You, your uh, um...” She blushed heavily, looking away nervously as she tried to but failed to finish the sentence. “Is that...um...” The sniper twirled her hair around one finger, looking at anything but his face or that...thing...

Instead of answering her however, he merely thrust upwards slowly, eliciting a gasp from the girl as she felt the full stiffness of his arousal. “Hnn...what do you think, love?” He thrust again for emphasis, the sniper squeaking a bit this time as the tip dug into that warm junction between her legs.

“I-I, u-um—ah—!” She squealed again as Adam started thrusting very slowly, up and down; the sensation was both foreign yet delightful, sending a rush of heat throughout her entire body. “Nnng...it’s...ah...” Too embarrassed to admit it felt good, Sio buried her face against the crook of his neck, instead. “Mmmn...”

Despite having no experience, she certainly caught on quick. Within a minute she started rocking her hips, trying to match his own clumsy rhythm. “S-Sio...” Adam didn’t finish his sentence before groaning deeply, pulling the girl deeper into his lap. “Feeling good?” His large hands firmly gripped her round bottom, relishing the soft, yielding flesh. 

“Ah...uh, uhn...” Sio could only nod shyly, but there was no mistaking the heat simmering in her belly. ‘I-It feels...good, rubbing against it like this...’ It was hot and stiff, and even through her underwear she could feel it brush against her most sensitive spot, causing her insides to tighten in a most pleasing manner. His hands felt good, too; one arm wound around her waist to support her, while the other brushed soothing patterns against her breasts. The heat from his body penetrated through to her very core, yet she couldn’t seem to get enough. Their tongues continued tangling as their bodies started moving in sync, Sio tasting him all around as he wrestled against her lips. The faster she pushed her hips, the better it felt—and it seemed to be the same for Adam, given the moans that were quietly vibrating against her lips.

“Sio...can I...” He pulled away, gasping for air as the girl did the same. “Your knickers...” A single finger pushed down the waistband and she knew what he was asking.

“...Only if I can do the same, Adam,” came her quiet response, Adam nodding in agreement. In one smooth gesture, her slender fingers slipped underneath the elastic and firmly gripped his shaft, Adam letting out a slight cry from the sensations.

“Guh—!” His hips instantly jerked upwards on instinct, before he forced himself to remain calm. “N, Not so hard...” No more words came out as the sniper stroked him inside his boxers, gently exploring his entire length and thumbing the sensitive, swollen head that was already leaking precum. “Ooohh...” Her hand was small, but it gripped him so perfectly as she deepened the strokes, Adam gritting his teeth as his erection throbbed with pleasure. A tight tripwire was being wound inside him, moreso after the sniper started gently teasing his nipples again with her free hand.

‘Am I doing okay? I must be...’ Her cheeks flushed with an intoxicating pleasure, Sio now aroused by Adam’s reactions. As Jack the Ripper, he could mow down wave after wave of EIOs without breaking a sweat. She’d seen him continue fighting even when he was covered with blood, and now he was being undone by nothing more than her slender hands and delicate touches. Something slippery leaked out of the tip and she stopped briefly, rubbing the clear fluid between her fingers.

“U-Um, Adam...is this, normal?” Was it sperm? ‘But I thought that was white and sticky, not clear...’

“Nnng—huh? Oh, that’s,” Adam heaved a deep breath, muscles still trembling from her ministrations, “it’s...precum. Not sperm, if that’s what you’re wondering...”

“O-Oh, okay...sh, should I, keep going then?” Even as she said this the sniper continued rubbing the tip, taking advantage of the precum’s natural lubrication to slide his foreskin up and down, then over the bulbous tip that was practically throbbing in time with his pulse. The muscles in his thigh twitched from the sensations, the one finger inside her waistband now withdrawn as he grew lost in the pleasure she was giving him.

“U-Uh...I, I...” Adam wasn’t going to last much longer; the sheer amount of pre-ejaculate leaking out was a sure sign, nevermind the tight ball of heat that was about to burst from his groin. His cock gave another twitch as her fingers gently rubbed the edge of his foreskin, digging around the sensitive tip curiously. “Hnng—s, stop Sio, that’s enough for now...”

“Oh! Sorry...” She sat back as Adam breathed hard, his erection creating an obvious tent within his boxers. Still rubbing the remains of his precum between her fingers, Sio wondered if it was similar to the dampness now seeping between her own legs; she had her panties on, but just by crossing her thighs she felt the moist fluids accumulating down there. “Do you want to take a break?”

Adam furrowed his brows. On one hand, he was very close; but on the other, it seemed a bit pitiful to come first. In all his dreams and fantasies, their first climaxes would be together, right at the same time—though reality was making it very clear that would not be the case. 

“Not particularly; it’s just...I’m quite close to, finishing...”

She did the head tilt thing again, a puzzled expression on her face. “Finishing...? Finish what?” How did you even know you were, well, done?

Adam almost let out an exasperated sigh, but held back just in time. This girl, sometimes... “...Climax, Sio. Or y’know, an...” he took a deep breath, “orgasm.” He sincerely hoped Sio knew what that was; otherwise things were going to get real awkward, real fast.

Her eyes grew wide as saucers, which was all the answer Adam needed. “O-Oh...r, right, of course...” She let out a nervous laugh. “B, But um, isn’t that the whole point? What’s wrong with...c, climaxing? I mean, it feels good, right?”

He nodded. “Yeh, it is...but for most guys, once we...finish, we have a bit of a ‘cooldown’ period, so to speak. So if I come now...I won’t be able to do it again for a bit.” The sniper nodded slowly, as she digested this information. “And...call it selfish, but I was hoping we’d be able to...experience it together.” 

His face was as pink as she’d ever seen, his brows completely raised instead of being furrowed into his signature scowl. It made him look much younger for a change. And cuter. He was so adorable when he showed his sincerity, the vulnerability that made up the human side. Sio couldn’t help but giggle slightly, which only caused Adam to blush harder. 

“O-Oy, what’re you laughing at...I’m being serious here...”

“N-No, I’m not—sorry, it’s just...you’re soo cute, Adam...” The sniper tried her best to stop smiling so broadly. “Th, that’s so...that’s so sweet of you...um...” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to regain a more serious expression. “Honestly, I don’t mind; just being together like this...is more than enough. Like you said, things never really go according to plan; so why stress about it?” She scooted closer, gingerly poking the tip through his boxers and Adam hissed through his teeth.

“Besides, this’ll feel good for you, right? If you need a break, so what.” As she said all this, her hand dipped back inside and gripped him firmly. It was hard and throbbing against her palm, but also soft and extremely hot. The organ twitched as if it were alive, Sio’s eyes growing hooded as she drank in the sight of Adam reacting as she slowly sped up her strokes. A strange ache was growing between her legs, but Sio ignored it as she slowly eased herself into his lap, her hands continuing to move all the while as small gasps and moans started emitting from the man. Even though she wasn’t the one receiving pleasure, just watching his reactions—and knowing she was giving it to him—gave her goosebumps and sent shivers throughout her body. ‘Whoa...I can’t believe something so simple can make him feel so good...and his expressions...’

Adam’s breath was coming in shorter and shorter pants; at times it seemed like he stopped breathing entirely, before letting out a cross between a whine and a sigh. “H-Hnnng...! Nngg, S-Sio...” So his fantasy of them coming together was a wash, but at this point Adam couldn’t care about anything other than how good it felt—how soft and dexterous her hands were, the way she carefully paid attention to certain areas that felt especially pleasurable... The sniper’s solid weight on his legs was a welcome warmth, Adam barely able to keep his eyes open at this point as she shyly leaned forward, and gave just the tiniest flick of her tongue against his nipple. “Gah! Y, You...”

“Does it feel good?” Adam could only nod, watching with hazy emeralds as the sniper tucked a long strand of pale hair behind her ear. “I’m glad...” Her fingers continued along his length, smooth and steady as his groin started tightening and a familiar tingle forming in the pit of his stomach.

“O-Oh...god...!” The first waves were coming, faint for now but he knew the big one would break soon. His boxers and Sio’s hand were wet with precum, letting the sniper stroke and pull his foreskin easily, especially over the sensitive tip—he groaned softly as another throb of pleasure pulsed through him, but Adam managed to hold back. “Mnnn...uhhn, uuh...” His muscles were pulled tight and twitching, Adam feeling the contractions building around his groin. He tried to tell her it was close, that within the next couple seconds he was going to cum but the words remained stuck in his throat. “I-I—nnng...!”

He stiffened and lurched forward, Sio too startled to even do anything other than watch as Adam quivered intensely and his hips jerked upwards in rough, uneven motions; a hot, sticky liquid spilled all over her fingers inside his boxers, and even without looking she instinctively knew he’d ‘come’, and it was his seed she was feeling. Adam was panting with long, deep gasps, his heated breath fanning her neck as he rested slightly against her petite frame. The sniper felt incredibly flushed herself, still unsure of whether she could remove her hand, and so she settled for gently patting him on the back, as the other slowly stroked him just a bit more.

“Nng—! A-Alright, that’s enough...” Adam winced as he very slowly unwound her delicate fingers from his softening penis, which was currently incredibly sensitive. “Fuck, that was, that...” He heaved another sigh as Sio combed out his hair, the relaxing afterglow phase overtaking his senses as his vision blurred slightly and his hearing grew muffled. 

“Okay, you definitely need a break,” Sio remarked drily, especially as the man tilted back against the headboard in a dazed manner. “Shh, just rest for now, Adam. We have all the time in the world.”

Her pets were soothing to his tired body, Adam nodding vaguely as he relaxed against the pillows. That’s right, just because he came first didn’t mean he couldn’t satisfy her. After all, there was more than one way to show his affections towards her... Eyes opening, he sat up with a bit of a start, Sio jumping at his sudden motion. “Oy love, c’mere,” he motioned with his hand and she crawled towards him, before he pulled her into a warm hug. “That was amazing; now, I’d like to return that favor...”

“Ah...Adam? You sure you don’t need to rest a bit more?” The girl eyed him with an uncertain look as they swapped positions, the sniper now reclining amongst the sheets. "You just said guys have a cooldown period...”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to just sit around doing nothing. I haven’t had my turn yet to make you feel good,” he smirked and his point teeth showed slightly, “or did you think there was only one way to do this?”

Sio blushed, uncertain what he meant but she definitely wanted to find out. “I...w, well then, I’ll leave it to you, Adam. I’m in your hands now...so, please take care of me.”

He knew the sniper meant it in the most innocent and sincere of manners, but, as Adam realized, she also had a penchant for saying unintentional double entendres. Despite coming a few minutes ago, he could feel his pulse speeding up, that familiar rush of heat starting to flood his body. He licked his lips as he silently vowed to definitely take good care of Sio; with any luck, by the time she was finished he’d be ready again.

“Of course...Sio. Your wish is my command.”

[somekindofseizure]

When the Ink Dries Part VII

Explicit//Thank you to the @icedteainthebag, without whose critique and insight this piece would not exist, and the lovely, generous @gazeatscully for eagle eye beta’ing//WARNINGS: There are many sensitive topics in this story, too many to name.  Message me or ask a friend if you want to know about a particular trigger.//Thank you to all my readers for being patient and to the new ones, welcome. (But head on back to read the rest first.)

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Chapter 17

 Stella’s numberless clock kept its wire-rimmed watch like a grade school teacher as Mulder waited alone at the breakfast counter, hands folded like a child trying to prove his virtue.  He’d lived a life of perpetual self-imposed broken-heartedness; now here was the silver lining.  When bad stuff really happened, stuff outside the control of his paranoia, his imagination and his self-loathing, he could withstand it, was built for it, had been stockpiling resources for years.  Or at least, this is what he hoped as he clasped his fingers together a little tighter and thought of Stella’s expression as she walked out the door - swollen and slightly wet, like a bath bubble waiting to burst.  

 He  stole a glance at the spot Scully said she’d put the pill bottle for the third or fourth time since she’d pointed it out.  This small and otherwise insignificant object, one he hadn’t even known existed a half hour ago, had suddenly taken on immense significance.  Stella Who Storms Out was intimidating and bold, swinging a coat around her shoulders and clicking down the hall to leave him and Scully flinching in their uncertainty on the bed.  But this bottle he’d never even seen retroactively transformed the moment.  She’d picked up that bottle on her way out and become Stella With the Scars Up and Down Her Thighs, Stella From the Bathtub Incident, Stella We Have to Wait Up For.  

 A possible reprieve: maybe Scully had made a mistake; maybe she thought she’d put it there but actually put it somewhere else?  He considered searching the flat, but he knew it’d be futile.  Scully always knew where she put a thing.  Her side of the file cabinet was alphabetized.  Her keys were in the dish, unless they were in her coat pocket, but she always knew which it was.  Her socks came marching out of the laundry in well-drilled pairs.

 Out the window, the drizzle breathed at the glass, a misty sort of rain they didn’t even bother to qualify as rain here, but it’d be enough to mess Scully’s hair out on the porch.  He could hear her periodically jingling the set of keys she’d grabbed in the foyer, but he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.  There was nowhere to go.  They were on Stella’s turf here, foreign territory.  Somehow, it had never come up before - the idea of visiting her in England.  Perhaps it’d seemed impractical, perhaps they’d been selfish, perhaps Stella really just happened to be one step ahead of them all the time, always on her way to them before they could think to be on their way to her.  Now it seemed entirely by design:  the day would come when she wouldn’t want them to know where the fuck she was.  She’d been aware all along that sharing her life with them meant giving them leads she might later regret.  

 He took an umbrella from the corner behind the door and popped it up over his head as he stepped outside and sat beside Scully on the stoop.  Stella’s perfume wafted up under the dome of shadowy navy blue fabric and he wondered if she spritzed her things with the overtly feminine bottles he saw in the bathroom, or if it was an accident they smelled like this, a sin of proximity.  Surely, Stella had changed perfumes over the years - even the current bottles she had came round and angular, jagged, prismatic, choked with ribbons round the neck, so many for one person - but somehow the scent of her had always seemed constant.  Dark, floral, and vaguely spiced.  In his mind, the umbrella today smelled exactly like the scarf he’d run through his fingers the week he first met her.

 As he stepped outside, Scully bit a straggling piece of dry skin off her upper lip, body pitched forward over splayed knees, hair clumping and separating in ways he knew would drive her crazy if she had the luxury of being driven crazy by such things.

 “She’s just blowing off steam somewhere,” he said.  “I’m sure.”  Tiny drops of water ticked the plastic protecting them from the most fragile precipitation available to planet Earth.

 Scully nodded, her nose pink and wet around the nostrils.  Cried-off mascara tire-marked her cheekbones.

 “I know she’s a person who… she can be a little reckless.  But she knows how to handle herself,” he further surmised.  

 She looked at him with heavily hooded eyes.

 “Do we know how to handle ourselves?”

 No.  They’d been mishandling themselves, and each other, for years.   Mulder had sometimes looked at other couples in their comfortable domestic routines, people he passed picking up grated cheese in the grocery store or arguing over who should drive home, with pity - they could not possibly love each other as much and as deeply as he and Scully did, no one could.  But maybe with less love, he thought now, they’d have messed it up less.

 “We know how she is,” Scully continued.  “We know how she is about… about sex.  And do you know what happened?  The Spector guy?”

 “I do.”  He’d googled after seeing Stella’s bruises.

 Scully’s voice started to waver so that he could hear the love wheezing in and out of her heart, escaping the narrow strangle of her throat.   “How could we just... use her like that?”

 Mulder tried to rewind by a few hours to the moment he’d watched Scully and Stella walk up the stairs, trailing weed and wine and something else he’d allowed himself to view as mysteriously, mystically feminine.  He couldn’t remember how he’d thought sex would solve things, he couldn’t remember what he’d thought, if he’d been thinking at all, if the date-y tenor of the evening had reduced him to thinking about nothing more than sex.  He liked to think of himself as having deeper motives, of being above such crassness but then again, he’d once been a guy who received twenty percent off postcards from nine hundred numbers at Christmas.

 “I don’t know,” he said and stared at the side of her face.  He could tell she was trying to swallow away a sob, squinting and straightening her eyes to focus through the blanket of nighttime wetness.  This is what she looked like truly in pain.  This is what she looked like when she hated herself for a hard-fought decision.  This is what she looked like faithless and lonely and fearing for someone she could not single-handedly protect.  This is what it would have looked like when he left.

 “I’m so sorry,” he said.  She shook her head no.

 “It’s more my fault.  I’ve made things such a mess.  So dysfunctional.”

 “Not for this.”

 She looked at him as though this were not the time for any other subject - it wasn’t - but he’d been using that excuse, and excuses like it for too many years.  And she’d let him.

 “I’m sorry I left you with our son.”

 Scully’s face turned to granite, her body still as stone, as though she’d been poured into a mold of the position she’d up til then been choosing of her own will.  Had he really never simply apologized?   Could that be?  

 “I should have stayed.  Or I should have taken you both with me.”

 “Well, you were scared that - that --”

 “Yeah.”  There was no point trying to let her finish it, explain it.  He’d been scared to raise a child, that he’d ruin it.  He’d been too much of a coward to even face up to that fear.  The rest of it, the murderers and government conspiracies, the outside dangers, were maybe real and maybe not, but they’d certainly been convenient.

 “I was scared too,” she said and he placed a finger over her lips, trying to protect her from getting to the next part, the part where she took the blame for giving William up for adoption.   Her lips closed like a gate at his skin, and after a moment of considering resistance, pursed into the shape of a kiss.   He tucked his hand into his pocket, as if to preserve that kiss for later, some time he could better appreciate it.  

 “Have I ever really apologized before?” he asked.

 “I don’t know.  I was too angry to hear it if you did.”

 They both gazed down the walkway, their chins turning at a similar angle toward the small spattering of stars marking victory in the fray of fog and light pollution.  He stretched an arm around her and she sank heavily into the crook of his armpit, the way she used to do when they’d take walks near their home, or even when they were just friends and he was teasing her about something.  There was nothing to laugh about tonight.

 “She’s okay,” he said with foolish authority, glad for once that he was an easy believer.  He could not have lied to her right then.  “She’s okay, I promise.”  

 He kissed her hair, rubbed his nose in the oily zigzagging patterns of her scalp, these sandy copper pathways he knew like a shortcut home.  The London water didn’t strip it quite as clean and the rooty smell made him think of the scuzzy motels they’d slept at, the times she’d skipped showers just to spend twenty fewer minutes in a place she hated.  Her hand inched like a spider across his shirt, and her head lolled as she weakly lay her body like a flag across his torso.  They waited like this, hiding in plain sight as the sense of danger passed and he began to formulate a plan - they’d see if they could get a track on her cell.  They’d call the hospitals, just in case.  And probably Stella would walk back in the door in the middle of all of that, shake off her jacket with a stale Scotch-and-soda buzz, roll her eyes at them for making drama out of nothing.

 Inside, the phone rang.

 *

 Her eyes feel glued to one another across the bridge of her nose.  It’s a sticky and peeling feeling, that of a rotting synthetic compound holding her bones barely in place.  Her eyelids are gauzy and weak, letting in light, colors of a crime scene at first and then white, a blinding, stunning, bad news kind of white. There are voices, abrasive and inquisitive and instructive and she remembers something factual, useful amongst so many useless observations - her phone is broken.   It feels good to know at least this much without having to wait for someone to tell her.  

 Something else.  They’re at work on her body, these people, and she doesn’t like it.  She’s never been the kind of person people make a project out of.  She’s been in ruins as long as she can remember.  Paul Spector was the most recent to chisel the paint job, but others had been fucking with the foundation from the beginning.  None has ever been able to do the kind of damage she can do herself.

 There’s pressure, hands - or is that a machine - on her body, and she’s melting in the hot blast of satin-in-sunlight white and it’s her wedding day.  Twenty-one years old, she walks the aisle like a plank while people stare in their best suits and frocks.  She watches the carpet disappear beneath her feet as the drop approaches, feels everyone listening lustily for the splash.  She doesn’t want to smile but tries to look regal, at least - they want her to be beautiful while she falls, this much has been made clear to her since the day she was born.  And then she looks at Henry standing there, waiting for her with a smug smile and a tear in his eye and she well knows what a mistake looks like, but she’s seldom met a mistake she wasn’t willing to make.

 A sound - deafening, fate-splitting, a chorus of screeching machines - and she’s in Bridget’s beat-up Corolla, catching a ride home from the swimming pool, her daddy’s old BMW dying its British automobile death back in the car park.  She can’t bear to call a tow for it, not yet.  Bridget is comely and kind, eyes that shine like patent leather, a stranger who pats her old Japanese workhorse on its sturdy chest, says I like driving something I know will never let me down.  Stella says Well, where’s the joy in that.  The way Bridget laughs resonates with her as strong the engine under her toes.

 And then an American car and an American girl, and she’s thinking it’s the safest ride she’ll ever take.  Straight and straight-laced and separated by a continent’s worth of water.  But Scully persists like weather, warm and cool at once, gathering strength over the Atlantic year after year, waiting to be given a first name.  

 Stella, the doctors plead.  Stay with us, they say with their hands pressing on her chest, something poking down her throat, something squeezing her hand, pinching her skin.  Stay they say - it’s what everyone says when they’re trying to change her, make her  worth the effort they’ve spent.

 Stella.

 Stella...

 *

 “Stella?”

 Mulder swung faux-casually around the doorjamb.  She was awake, looking out the window as the English sun crept up, feeble and sage in its seniority.   The light fell sharply on the tops of her hands and across her face, threading shadows under bones and between tendons that made her look, for once, her age (and then some).

 He’d already been to see her once, twelve hours ago, after the first phone call - the one from the hospital administrators.  But Stella had been unconscious then.  The nurses had simply been trying the land line, hoping Stella didn’t live alone, hoping to find a worried husband or teenage son or boyfriend.   

 Yesterday had been relatively easy.  He’d had Scully to lead the way and Scully knew her way around a hospital cot.  She’d gone in alone when they first arrived, and he’d watched her whisper into Stella’s ear like an adult talking to a tantruming toddler.  He knew in desperate times, Scully became a magical thinker, a bargainer: if she promised enough goodies, Stella might come to her senses.  

 The doctors had assured them she was okay, and no one trusted doctors like Scully did, but the way she’d patted Stella’s chest, listened to her breath, taken her pulse, all in slightly manic succession, you wouldn’t have known it.  They’d wanted to keep Stella for a psych eval once she was awake.  He’d had to squeeze Scully’s hand to keep her from protesting in the name of Stella’s sleeping pride.

 Alone with her now, he was nervous, unsure how much responsibility he should bear for all this, and if not responsibility, animosity.  If he were Stella, he’d want someone to hate - and it was better him than herself or Scully.  He wasn’t sure if this was a suicide attempt or something less acute, but he’d been there a few times himself and the only thing that had ever stopped him was the fear that he’d fail at that too.  She looked at him, but only obliquely, turning quickly back to the window.  Her hello seemed like it was meant for someone who wasn’t there.

 His fingernails dug into the lint at the bottom of his pockets as he struggled not to show any discomfort.  He waited, paced in a semi-circle in the moat of linoleum between Stella’s bed and the empty one.  What was he doing here?  What was he doing alone with her?  He wished Scully were there.  He wished he’d taken Stella’s advice already, gotten his plane ticket back, started trying to get his life together as he’d been instructed to do.  He almost said as much out loud, but finally Stella tilted her head toward him ever-so-slightly, her bleary grey eyes blinking like they were trying to summon back the color.  It was a universal expression, or at least one that Scully also happened to have in her repertoire, a look he wished he had learned to identify years ago.  You can go, but I’d rather you stay.  

 He came around the other side of the bed, the one she seemed to prefer looking at, and sat down, pecked his mouth against his clamshelled hands.  “You look like you could use a drink, kiddo.”

 “I’d love one.”  Her voice was like chalk on a sidewalk, dry and smooth and vanishing.

 “Well, let’s see,” he said and tugged the IV bag.  “This is all we’ve got on tap.”  For a moment, it looked like she was going to laugh but then her face folded like a piece of tissue paper, and there was a polite pop of pained air from the back of her throat.  

 “Let’s go find something stronger,” he said.  “Passed your psych evaluation, high-five.”

 She shook her head irritatedly, looking more like herself as she did so.

 “They have to discharge and give me my clothes back.”  She grimaced.  “God, I don’t know if I want to see my clothes.”

 “You actually weren’t wearing them when they picked you up.”

 “How did I get here?”

 “You dialed an emergency before blacking out.”

 “How responsible of me,” she seethed, then began to swear on the exhale.  “Jesus Christ, did they know my fucking ribs were broken when they pumped my stomach?”

 “Scully would be able to answer that better.”

 She closed her eyes, for the first time showing the embarrassment, the humiliation he’d heard in her voice over the phone.  Come alone, she’d begged.  He’d been so delighted to hear her awake that he’d already waved Scully over.  The conversation that had followed in Stella’s foyer had not been fun.

 “She honored my request?” Stella asked.

 “Yes,” he said, trying not to hesitate.  He was pretty sure Stella could guess what kind of scene it had caused.

 “Is she going back to America?”

 “You want to make her cry, you do it.  I’ve done it plenty myself.”

 “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

 “She’s seen it, she was here for hours.  She’s seen worse.   She’s seen me worse.  Although… you might look worse because you’re paler and smaller, it comes off more pathetic.”

 One half her mouth almost grinned - almost.

 “So she’s going to be there when we get home?”

 “Yes, tied to the chair where I left her.”  It was just barely a joke.  “She’ll still be very hurt and somewhat furious, but probably too happy to see you on your own two feet to tell you that.”

 “Fuck,” Stella whispered, as though just remembering some new unfortunate detail in this series of very unfortunate events.  “Did I wear heels?”

 “I don’t know, but I’ve never seen you in anything else.”

 She nodded again and several moments of silence passed.  Her breath sounded like a faltering window fan and the corners of her eyes twitched as inhales turned to exhales.

 “We were worried, you know,” he said.

 Her deep-set doe eyes shifted downward.

 “How long will it take for them to come?” he asked.

 “I don’t know.”

 “Want me to go get you some sneakers or flip flops or something while we’re waiting?”

 She wet her lips with two swipes of tongue that only made them redder and rawer.  He’d grab her a Chapstick while he was at it.  

 “Yes,” she said, as though no one had ever offered to do something like that for her before.

 *

 It was half past midnight in the sleepiest big city in the world when Scully skipped down the wooden staircase like a woman late for an appointment.  He waited, unmoving, one arm pillowing his head, pressed against the sofa arm.  His feet were similarly dug into the other end, packing him in tightly so that his knees bent up in the middle like a warped two-by-four.  Stella had clearly not bought this piece of furniture with the idea that she might ever want to have a man sleep on it, and come to think of it, why would she?  Scully stood at his feet with her hands on her hips, her formal short-sleeved peach-colored pajamas setting off the pink in her cheeks - anger or an orgasm.  Considering the circumstances, he assumed it was the former, although where Stella was concerned, one never knew.

 “Can I watch TV here?” she asked.  “I can’t sleep.”

 “She snap at you again?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Sure,” he said.  She  looked at the flat-screen, sighed.  “Whats’a matter?”

 “She never set it up.”

 “You want me to play man of the house?”

 “I took my contacts out.”

 He got up, patted the couch for her.  

 “It’s too small for me anyway,” he urged, masking his delight with grumpiness.  Scully in her pressed pajamas watching movies with him.  Stella safe and alive in her bed.  Maybe his standards had been lowered by recent events, but it felt like a good night.

 “She likes baths.  I thought it would make her feel better.”

 “Maybe she doesn’t want to feel better yet,” he said, fiddling with some wires.  He turned the set on and found a remote, clicked.  BBC.  Another BBC.  Another.  How many fucking BBCs did they have?  “How many of these do they need?”

 “It’s fine,” she said.  She made room for him on the couch but he grabbed a throw pillow and blanket from the chair and set himself up on the floor beside her.

 “Go ahead, get comfortable,” he said and she took the direction to heart immediately, snuggled down into the couch cushion, this thing that had just moments ago been cramping his style suddenly looking deep and soft and marshmallowy around her tiny frame.  He lay down on the floor, his head just below hers, and pretended to watch the news along with her for a few minutes.

 “Was it hard for you, the idea of me sleeping up there with her?”

 He rolled over.

 “Not so long as I know all she’s doing is yelling at you.”

 She gave her sloe gin-fizzy smile, the one he’d always found particularly worth treasuring all the more for how quickly it vanished.

 “Am I incapable of doing this?  Caring for someone?” she asked and he wondered if he had ever loved her more.  “Why am I always failing at it?”

 “You’re not failing, Scully,” he said softly.  “We’re failing you.”

 Her forehead wrinkled like she might cry and she hung her hand down the side of the sofa.  Behind him, crisp accents spoke of international atrocities with such poise it bordered on indifference.  It occurred to him that almost everything that was ever done in America was a pale imitation of what was done here.  

 He hooked his fingers under her dangling ones and played them like piano keys.

 “I don’t know that it’s so dysfunctional, you know.  I mean, maybe the whole sad threesome idea.”

 An embarrassed sniff, her eyes closing on the long blink...

 “But you know.  The whole thing.  There’s a lot of love here.  More than most people have.  What’s dysfunctional about that?”

 And then the tears streamed down her cheeks onto the expensive brushed cotton fabric of Stella’s dollhouse-sized, cheerleader-sized, jockey-sized sofa.

 “Thank you, Mulder.”

 He kissed her hand before she took it back to wipe her eyes, tuck it under her face, and pretend to watch the news again.

 *

 The next morning, he folded his blanket and quietly placed it on the chair, careful not to wake Scully as he climbed the stairs like a man going uninvited to the queen’s court.  His back groaned from the beating it had taken in his sleep.

 The bedroom door was closed, but he knew Stella didn’t sleep much.  He rapped on it with one knuckle, summoning his confidence.

 “Come in,” she said froggily.  She was staring at the ceiling, looking like a captive in her own house.

 “What are you doing?” he asked, taking the liberty of perching himself next to a potted plant on the windowsill.  There were layers of grey and white and beige silk and cashmere draped over her desk chair and almost every edged surface of the bedroom.  He would’ve expected her to be neater.

 “Thinking.”

 “I ordered you a new phone.”

 “Thanks.  I could have done it.”

 “I know that.  But I did it.”

 “Would’ve given me something to do.”

 “Stella.”

 “What?” she snapped, at least looking at him now.

 “I know you don’t like this, needing people, helplessness.  I’m going to go back home, and it’ll be fifty percent less of that shit to deal with.”

 She took a deep breath, a sigh, winced.

 “I’m being an awful bitch, I know that.”

 He sealed his lips and raised his eyebrows.  Not the word he would’ve used, but yes, he’d been planning to get around to an accusation to that effect.

 “It’s just… it’s embarrassing.  I did this to myself.”

 He waved his hand in protest.

 “No need, really.”

 She looked appreciative, rubbed her ribs with the heel of her hand either to self-soothe or to check they were still there, he wasn’t sure.

 “What about Scully?” she asked.

 “I’ll tell her I’m going when she wakes up.”

 “No.  I meant take her with you.”

 He communicated this was out of the question with a simple look and she stared back up at the ceiling, recalcitrant in her icy brand of stoicism.

 “Why don’t you just let her love you?”  Stay he’d meant to say, but now he guessed the two words almost always meant the same thing.

 She looked back at him, eyes blooming like violets.  The pigment had restored itself to the couple of places on her face it normally existed and he recalled the day they’d talked on the hotel bed, the day she’d climbed into his lap and held his gaze, sunk her lips, pillow-soft and syrupy with liquor, into his.

 “Because I don’t want to become you,” she answered matter-of-factly.  He cocked his head to encourage her to explain.  “You just let her love you and love you and love you.  There’s no end to what she’ll give.”

 His eyes burned.

 “You don’t think I deserve her?” he asked.

 “That’s not what I said.  It was just an answer to your question.”

 The tension hung in the room like a contagion and she broke it by naming the scene he imagined they’d both always think of when they had tension between them.

 “That time I tried to fuck you?” she asked, seeming to read his mind.  “Why didn’t you?”

 “I felt like I was betraying her.”

 “That’s the difference between us.  You felt you owed her when you didn’t.  I can’t feel I owe someone even when I do.  She needs that.”

 He nodded.  Maybe.  He wouldn’t presume to know what Scully needed, could never read her like that, no matter how well he knew her, not like she could read him.  All relationships required some inequalities to make them work, and this seemed to be one of theirs.

 “So you have to get your shit together,” Stella finished.

 “I’ll try,” he said. “But you have to try too.”

 One side of her mouth quirked upward, amused.

 “And then may the best man win?”

 “Something like that.”

 He pushed himself up from the windowsill and made for the door, but Stella interrupted, unexpectedly opening her arms.  Her ribs were too sore to contract her torso the little bit that was needed to sit forward, so Mulder had to peel her lower back forward in order to hug her.  Her body felt as though she might break at the slightest infraction.  But he knew nothing was further from the truth.

 *

 He pressed his forehead to Scully’s the next morning in front of the refrigerator as he handed her a glass of orange juice.   He’d brushed his hair back, shaved again, put his duffel by the door.  He wanted her to feel like he was going off to become someone better than whom she’d left, and he thought he was making a good show of it.  He rested his hands on her shoulders, smiling a little as his fingers drifted halfway down her back.  She loomed so large in his life, he tended to forget how small she was.

 Just past the concrete arches that separated the rooms, Stella sat sipping tea in the armchair, her first foray down the steps since she’d been home.  She’d said she wanted to see him off and he’d known this meant she’d be there to distract Scully in that hateful moment of silence and uncertainty that always follows a significant exit - the kind of exit you’re not sure will ever reverse course.  The idea of Scully in need had given Stella back some of her kindness, her generosity.  But now, as Scully put her hands on either side of his neck, two warm starfish sticking to the sandy stubble left by Stella’s cheap disposable razor, he wished she weren’t there.  He felt both selfish and selfless for feeling this.

 Scully kissed him gently, insignificantly, on the cheek.

 “Take care of yourself, Mulder,” she said and though Stella knew everything wrong with him, and maybe more, he was embarrassed that she could hear.  Scully’s lips trembled a little, chapped and parted, the upper lip unconsciously sneering the way it did when she didn’t try to tame it into a smile, frown, or pout.

 “Stop being silly,” Stella said hoarsely without looking at them, barely the outline of a sentence and still with the authority of a general.  “Kiss him goodbye.”

 And Scully did kiss him - steadily, sturdily, tongueless and guileless on the strong upsweep of an inhale - he could only hope it wasn’t goodbye.

(click below to continue)

Chapter 18

[leonawriter]

To Change A Sombre Morrow (chapter nine)

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Genesis, Angeal, Cloud... Hollander.

Summary: Communication is key. Sometimes people are trying to help, and sometimes, they really... aren’t.

...

Angeal found him once he had made a strategic retreat back to his own rooms.

Having arrived still with his coat blackened in places and in a bad mood, he'd been blessed with the sheer amount of people who had suddenly found somewhere else to be, and he had showered, leaving his shoulder free of bandages for the first time in over two weeks, made a quick report to Lazard, pointed out that he'd not arrived yet by the time Hojo's alarms had gone off for something being wrong at the reactor, he'd had every right to be exhausted. 

But instead of kicking his boots off and collapsing onto his bed for a few hours, there he was, sitting on his old sofa with his coat in his lap and a heavy duty needle and colour-matched thread in his hands. 

"Well. That's not something I'd ever imagined you doing in your down time."

Genesis' hand slipped, and he swore when the needle jabbed his thumb instead of the leather. Now that he knew that his degradation hadn't truly stuck as he'd thought it had on his return to the past, it wasn't as much of a disaster as it could have been, but the anxiety of wondering how much the new wound would take to heal caused his heart to skip a beat.

A single Restore should have cured most of what he'd suffered in the reactor, but Vincent had been vocal about how much had been needed. Which was aggravating, which made him question why he was doing this, rather than handing it in to be repaired professionally, now that he could in fact do that, but...

"I had to learn," responded eventually, once he'd accustomed himself to Angeal's presence again and managed to get back into the flow. "You understand."

They couldn't exactly expect other people to fix the clothes they'd ripped apart when their wings had burst forth and they'd either forgotten or been unable to make allowances for anything in the way. 

He smiled, bitterly, at the remembrance of how it had been him and his own damn words that had caused Angeal to gain his wing - wings, there'd been two of them, though still on the same side - in the first place.

"Actually, no. I can't say that I do." Genesis stilled. Remembered that of course Angeal wouldn't know. This Angeal hadn't been through that. Idiot. "But fixing things is a useful skill to have."  If only fixing the rest of this messed up situation I'm in was as easy as fixing my coat, then perhaps I would call it a skill. "By the way, what caused that?"

Angeal motioned to the tear that Genesis was still mending. It was a good thing he'd already changed into a different set of clothes, or Angeal would have the other hole, the one in his shirt, to worry over as well.

"Nibel dragon," he lied, not meeting Angeal's eyes as his attention was back on his work. "The same reason why the coat is burned in places."

It wasn't as though the dragon he'd accepted the mission to go out there in the first place for hadn't been fearsome in its own right; it simply had not, however, been enough to cause as much of a challenge as some of the monsters he'd faced that had been mutated by Sephiroth's will. Even as he was, it had been perfectly manageable for a SOLDIER First Class of his calibre.

Angeal seemed accept the story however. Which was a relief.

"All right," Angeal said. "You look like whatever you faced back there, you..." he sighed. "Just, so long as you know you can come to me if you need to get anything off your chest. Sometimes dealing with things on your own isn't the only honourable thing to do. That's what we have friends for." 

Genesis' hands stilled, but he found himself unable to say anything in response until Angeal had already left, at which point he held his head in one hand, knowing that the rest of the tear would have to be put off, given the way his hands were now shaking.

If you knew what I have done, and what I know - about us both - then you wouldn't say such things. It might be better for both of us if I never tell you. 

Visions - memories - of Zack, broad-shouldered and with Angeal's Buster Sword a central part of his silhouette, came into his mind. A symbol of his failures. 

Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul, pride is lost... would you still consider yourself a monster and throw yourself on another's blade if I weren't trying to turn you against everything you once stood for?

He found it ironic, that he could still grieve a man lost long ago when he could walk out into the corridor and be face to face with him within a matter of minutes.

The tear in the leather was fixed before he could be called back into the public eye, to paperwork and meetings. Just the same as how he had always been frustrated with his inability to do more delicate work when he had made his first attempts years ago now, the repair was serviceable, but clearly visible even from a distance, and especially so if one knew that there was not supposed to be a jagged line of crimson thread, made all the more obviously out of place by how his coat had no other scars to it.

Back when he had first learned, it had been out of necessity, since it was hardly as though anyone else around would fix an ex-SOLDIER's clothes. And a coat that recognisable would be a liability, to take to an outsider. So he had learned. Because it was - had been - one of the few things he had thought to take with him, that he'd been able to and wanted to keep, when he'd left.

...

"You know, you don't have to keep going around in that tattered old thing. The world's hardly all that friendly to Shinra anymore, but there's places and people who don't care, for one reason or another."

They'd been walking down the streets of Kalm, and although it was broad daylight and the glow in their eyes from the mako in their blood wasn't so visible, people still looked at them - both of them - with suspicion.

"I'm offended. You think so little of my handiwork?"

"Huh?" Cloud's eyes had widened at the fact that Genesis had, indeed, made the repairs himself. Ducked his head and looked away. Genesis had wondered far too many times how this hesitant person so lacking in self-confidence could be the same one who had saved the world multiple times, and then defeated him, too. "Sorry."

Genesis had sighed, irritated. 

"No, you are right in one respect. It has seen better days. But it is also useful like this." The place where his wing came out at, he had left open, having tired of having to seal it closed each time he'd flown, was an inches-long buttonhole hidden under the length of his hair. Other places, he'd added pockets and pouches for useful items and materia. "And besides, I set aside my pride as a SOLDIER once already. Dressing as anything else would feel like - pretending to be something that I am not."

Angeal would ask me where my honour had gone, I'd imagine, he'd thought to himself. 

"Well, I was never really in SOLDIER," Cloud had said, and there was none of the pain or regret that usually coloured the words. This time, at least. "But... pride like that. It reminds me of him."

Genesis hadn't said anything to that. It had been clear who'd been meant by it. Zack was someone they both had in common, after all.

It would be a while before either of them spoke again, and when they did, it would be because yet another person had given the two of them a look Genesis had used to connect mostly with the way people reacted when his forces had gone into a town - suspicion, distrust, sometimes outright hatred, and a healthy dose of fear. All of which had been, in retrospect, completely warranted.

"They look at you the same way they look at me," he'd remarked bluntly. "Don't they know who you are?"

Cloud had stopped in the middle of the street, and his expression when Genesis had turned back to face him again had been flat acceptance. It had been odd, in a strange way, the way in which that expression now reminded him uncomfortably of Sephiroth.

"I'm no-one special." Which was a blatant lie if ever he'd heard one. "They look at you and they see Shinra, they don't care if you were in it just for the money, or because you thought you could do some good, or if you enjoyed it. They don't care if you saved the world. Shinra damned us all, and I'm not going to resent them that."

And Cloud had given him a look, much like Sephiroth had done sometimes - though at the same time, it was completely different, completely open and at the same time, so very hard to get a read on - and started walking again, leaving Genesis far behind and trying to catch up, trying to understand what had just been said.

He had always associated 'hero' with widespread adoration, the way that Shinra had made Sephiroth into a hero, the way that the hero was beloved of the goddess and all he met.

The idea that this, too, was a simple fantasy was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet at the same time there was some heavy part of his heart that had already begun to understand that this would be the case some time ago. 

...

He felt fingers grasp at his arm through the leather of his coat as he was walking down the corridor to his office, and it's only the disorienting, lurching feeling of knowing that he isn't there as an intruder or fugitive that reminds him of when he is, that holds him back from slamming Hollander into the wall.

It's a close thing, though. Very close. He still brushes the hand away a little more forcefully than he usually would with the non-enhanced, and feels dark satisfaction from the way Hollander winces.

"This had better be important."

Never mind that he suspected he knew exactly  what this was about. 

The scientist's eyes narrowed, watching him warily as he shook out his hand - and those were things he could see more clearly now, in ways that he'd been blinded to before. Hollander had never had his interests at heart; it had always been about his own selfish desires... and his own need need to survive above all else.

"You think just because you went off like that, no one would figure something was wrong, is that it?"

I was right.

"Nothing is wrong."

"Your friends certainly thought there was something up, the way they were worrying."

And that is just the sort of low blow that would have me come crawling back to you, time after time. The constant, steady stream of Hollander telling him, time and time again that he was the only one that could possibly save Genesis, could possibly figure out how to find a cure.

"Oh, and I suppose that you were worried as well, were you? Save your breath," Genesis said, lips twitching into a snarl.

Hollander had the gall to shake his head, as though Genesis was simply some unreasonable child. Knowing the scientist's role in his very existence, perhaps that was all he would be viewed as - until the day came when Genesis no longer needed to pretend to love the Shinra Company like he had done before at this age, and Hollander could find himself with Genesis' Rapier through his chest for crimes he clearly had every intention of still carrying out.

"I don't think you understand just how serious this is - if what seemed like it should've just been a minor injury was bothering you so much back then-"

"You don't seem to have been listening to a word I've been saying." The words came out dangerously low, his wing just itching to be released and spread itself for extra dramatic effect. "I had an infection." True enough, if Jenova could be considered a virus. "I got better. And now, you and your concern are... unnecessary."

How long had he wanted to say those words, to see the reaction on this man's face, when he revealed, even in as thinly veiled a way as this, that he had found the cure that Hollander had been unable to in all his years of searching? 

The look of shock that he'd been after was tempered by doubt, but Hollander was shaken. 

Perhaps a normal infection, a normal wound, could be healed with time and enough healing magics, but degradation...

"Went to someone else, did you?"

Genesis rolled his eyes. Not in the way you're thinking of. You never did take the concept of the Gift of the Goddess seriously. Why would you now? 

He turned his back on Hollander, pointedly turning himself back in the direction of his office. 

"Infinite in mystery is the Gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky."

He only made it a few paces away when Hollander's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"That's it, isn't it? And - your coat. Interesting place for a repair job."

For a terrifying moment, Genesis' blood turned to ice, and he forgot to breathe. It had, after all, been Hollander who'd known that the results of Project G would be prone to mutation. He hadn't even seemed entirely too surprised to see a wing sprout from his back, only citing curiosity that there was only one.

They stood there, Genesis knowing that his reaction was all but a complete admission, and Hollander unwilling to give any ground, seconds stretching by for far longer than they had any right to, before a Second Class came racing past, knocking the tension out of the air and letting Genesis breathe again as well as pick up his feet to keep moving.

It doesn't matter what he knows or doesn't, he reassured himself. All that does, is that he knows that I will not be going along with whatever he says, just because he thinks that he has some form of power over me. 

...

AN: For reference, Hollander is completely barking up the wrong tree on everything other than his suspicions that Genesis was degrading, and also that the repair is hiding the existence of some form of mutation.

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

Month of Drabbles Day 2: Sleepless Nights (New Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony)

Summary: No matter how hard they tried, the survivors would never forget the killing game and the friends they never had.

Words: 1628

Warnings: Alcoholism, mentions of death, suicide, self harm, and graphic depictions of violence. Also DRV3 endgame spoilers.

When he has nightmares, Saihara screams.

         Maki would clumsily roll out of bed and stumble into his room on the other side of the hallway. Usually, Yumeno would already be there, violently shaking Saihara’s shoulders and yelling for him to wake up. By the time Maki seats herself on his bed, Saihara would be awake, gasping and muttering names like “Akamatsu-san” or “Momota-kun.” Yumeno would be patting his hand and whispering words of comfort that never had any use. Usually the best thing to do was to wait for Saihara to calm down by himself, however long that would take.

While they waited, Maki would lay her head on Saihara’s pillow and put her arm around him, while Yumeno snuggled in to bury her face in Saihara’s chest. The fake detective held on to Maki’s hand with one of his own, and squeezed Yumeno’s body to his with his remaining arm, clinging onto both of them like a lifeline. Their apartment would be silent save for Saihara’s shaking breaths and empty pleas for the girls to kill him. Yumeno and Maki would never ask for the contents of his nightmares, nor would they reply to his requests to die with anything more than silence. They would talk about things, sure, things like theories on what their old classmate’s real personalities were like or if Kirumi Tojo ever ate a tide pod or if the three of them were ever really in love with Akamatsu, Chabashira, and Momota. They had no need to talk about Shinguji’s skin melting in a steel cauldron or Gonta spraying blood from his lips or the way Shirogane’s blood and guts splattered-

Maki held Saihara tighter. The three of them would always stay like this for hours, until they woke up in a tangle of limbs in the morning. Maki would sneak away with a splitting headache and rush to the bathroom to vomit, but Saihara and Yumeno would always be in the kitchen to welcome her with breakfast when she got back.

~

When she has nightmares, Yumeno cries.

If she’s aware enough, she would try to muffle her sobs behind a pillow or her comforter. Nevertheless, Saihara is a light sleeper when he’s not trapped in one of his nightmares, and no amount of alcohol to Maki could block out the sound coming from the paper-thin walls of their apartment. Maki would always step through the opened door of Yumeno’s bedroom to find Yumeno already sitting on Saihara’s lap, her crying into his shoulder and him combing through her hair with his fingers. Maki would take Yumeno’s hand and gently pry her fingernails away from the new scratches the smaller girl had surely made on her arms by now.

One night, Maki surprised herself when she found a tune escaping her lips. After a few verses, she realized that it was a lullaby she never learned from the orphanage she never lived in. Yumeno’s crying stopped momentarily as she turned to stare at Maki in shock. Then she buried her face in Saihara’s shoulder again and adjusted their positions until Yumeno’s head was resting right against Maki’s chest. On the other side of the false mage, Saihara gave Maki an amused look and the pseudo-assassin replied with a look of her own that forbade Saihara from ever doing the same.

The next morning she untangled herself from Yumeno’s arm and Saihara’s legs and staggered to the bathroom to throw up. Mornings were always the worst.

~

Maki doesn’t have nightmares.

She thinks that she used to have them when she and the others first moved in together, but she hasn’t had any dreams since she discovered the liquor store a few blocks down the street. Saihara and Yumeno try to stop her from drinking too much, but Maki has enough money won from the killing game to replace the whiskey that her friends pour down the drain. Just because Saihara and Yumeno couldn’t bear to stop their own nightmares didn’t mean that Maki shouldn’t when she clearly had the power to. The other survivors had no right to stop her from taking off the edges of the sharp, twisted world.

It wasn’t as if the others didn’t have their own escape. Maki didn’t need to have her sleeping pills taken from her because she took twenty in one dose and slit her wrists after like Saihara did a few months ago. Maki didn’t have layers upon layers of jagged red lines running down every limb from fingernails or paper clips or whatever moderately sharp object that Yumeno somehow got her hands on today. She was facing dizziness and hangovers with the possibility of a damaged liver. Saihara and Yumeno had no right to judge her for that.

One night, Maki was staring out her window with a heavy glass bottle in one hand. She had lost track of what time it was but had decided to go to sleep as soon as she finished the bottle. Saihara and Yumeno had both gone to bed early.

The stars were bright in the sky. They formed shapes that Maki herself never bothered to study. She wondered if Gonta would recognize them, if he could see them now. Momota definitely would. He would probably point out every constellation and tell Maki all the myths and fables surrounding them, whether she wanted to or not.

When she closed her eyes, she was back at the trial grounds. The stars left afterimages on the insides of her eyelids. They shone just as brightly as they did every time she exited the trial grounds after the execution of one of her “classmates.” She wondered who died this time. Was it Akamatsu, strung up and crushed by an audience’s expectations and by a piano lid at her final recital? Was it Tojo, sliced open and falling from her hope and desperation and into a cold hard ground? Was it Shinguji, boiled alive by the flames of his misplaced passion and the flames of a suicidal robot? Gonta, stabbed in the back by the friend he thought he could trust and stabbed through the front by an abomination of nature conjured up by a psychotic bear? Momota, with a smile on his face and blood on his lips as he faced the vast expanse of his (false) lifelong dream?

Or was it herself, Saihara, and Yumeno, as they watched the world and their lives crumble around them? As they watched the disappointed Shirogane burst into a mess of pink under a block of stone and Kibo explode in a burst of light brighter than any hope the mastermind and her writers could ever offer in their stories?

Maki lifted the bottle to her lips again and found that it was empty. Ignoring the promise she made to herself earlier, she stumbled to the not-so-secret stash of whiskey in her closet. As she took a new bottle back to the windowsill to drink, she tripped and the bottle shatters on the floor. Maki swore and pounded her fist on the ground, driving shards of broken glass into her palms.

She tore at her hair and wailed. Why was she still here? Why, after the other thirteen had gone, was she still allowed to sit in this lonely apartment, drowning out her sorrows in tears and liquor? She should have died in the school along with the rest, body crushed under rubble. This new world had no desire to mould itself to fit Maki Harukawa inside it. It would have been better if she had died in a world where she belonged rather than live in one where she did not.

The door to her bedroom opened, and Saihara and Yumeno’s faces poked in, regarding her curiously. Saihara mumbled something about getting the first aid kit and Yumeno stepped into the room to take care of Maki.

Yumeno guided Maki to her bed to sit while Saihara cleaned up the broken glass and spilled alcohol. Maki thought she could see Yumeno slip a shard of glass into the pockets of her pajama pants, but didn’t pay much mind to it. She ran her fingers over the deep grooves on Yumeno’s arm, careful not to press too hard in case there were fresher cuts that haven’t completely healed yet. The texture was comforting.

Saihara brought the first aid kit and stayed with Maki while Yumeno went to find the key to the padlock on the kit that Maki placed there to keep Saihara from reaching the giant bottle of Tylenol. He ran his fingers through her long hair, which was greasy and dirty from weeks of not washing it. After Yumeno returned with the key, Saihara gingerly cleaned the small wounds on Maki’s hands. Yumeno offered her a glass of water.

It was strange, having people care for you like this when they had no reason to at all. Maki was acutely aware of how out of place everything was. It wasn’t fitting that Saihara and Yumeno should fuss over her so much when no one ever had before, both in her fake memories and real. It wasn’t fitting that Maki would feel herself caring about these two, about their well being and their thoughts about her, when she hasn’t cared about anyone else before. Was this newfound compassion a remnant of the killing game?

Maybe it didn’t matter that she was out of place in this world. Because Saihara and Yumeno were out of place too. Together, the three of them could create their own little world to exist in. A world without killing games or robot bears or adoring fans crazed with bloodlust.

Maybe they could just create their own world. Their own world to live in during those sleepless nights.

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Thirty-Four: Ajax

Still Not the Creepiest Way I’ve Been Hit On

             Getting hit by a car wasn’t originally on Pax’s bucket list, but he decided to add it and a happy checkmark on his mental record.[1]

           He had run away from the fight, leaving the steam, flames, and storm behind. Percy and Leo were too enraptured to notice him. Well, Percy probably noticed, but whole flaming taco torpedoes deal was a bit distracting for him.

           Flaming Taco Torpedoes: a great name for a band, and a great name for both the best food experience and worst bathroom experience of your life.

That’s when the Paxmobile sidelined him, taking him off his feet and onto the pavement. Breaks squeaked. A familiar voice shouted, “Cho!” from an open window. [2]

           Pax wanted to wallow in misery and whine, “Ow!” loud enough for Croesus’s son to hear, but got a half a second of wallowing before almost getting stomped.[3] Pax rolled to the side to avoid a golden hoof. He found himself between the Paxmobile’s front and a distressed automaton donkey’s rear. One definitely ready to kick.

           “Holy Titans—Ajax! Help!” a voice called beside him. Jack was trying—unsuccessfully—to scoot away from the hooves using his jaw.

           For an instance, Pax didn’t feel like he could move again. Weirdly, hit by a vehicle wasn’t in his repertoire of things he was mentally prepared to handle. He snatched Jack’s head by his hair and rolled them away from Luke the Donkey’s shuffling feet, hearing a pancake-smashing pang from where his head had been.

Pax stayed crouched on the ground panting as Jack blathered, “—barely hit us. How am I supposed to write a sonnet about that?”

           The driver’s side door slammed shut and Axel took two long strides to them.

           “Ajax—that—that is you,” he said.  

           Axel knelt beside Pax and cautiously ruffled his hair, which showed a strange amount of resistance. Pax didn’t understand Axel’s confusion until the caramel locks fell all over his arms and shoulders.

           He was still Calypso.

Pax opened his mouth to speak but felt like his words were made of too many marshmallows—normally an awesome problem if he wasn’t struggling to express himself. Finally, he managed, “I think I look like a pretty princess.”

           “Yea,” Jack complained, “And like someone I used to bang. It’s weird and uncomfortable for everyone.”

           Pax tried to laugh that off. He knew he should change back, but the thought of it made him tremble. How easy would it be someone else forever? To walk away and create a new identity, complete with a cool back story and costume change.

           A chilly breeze wafted the scent of flames to him. Trees had collapsed. Windows on nearby houses had shattered. Panels had ripped off. Shingles were aflame. Pax hoped their cab driver had gotten out of here okay and wasn’t a sizzling pile of demigod collateral.

           “I wish I could make rainbows appear,” Pax said. He stared through Axel’s firm expression. He thought about the tears that spilled down Leo’s cheeks, the ones that evaporated immediately into the night air, about how Leo had screamed in pain. “Or be really awesome at weaving. Or make people want to party. I—I h—hate being… I hate being able—”

           Axel pulled Pax into his shoulder with one arm.

           Pax choked on a sob and clutched at his brother. As he wailed, he felt the hair along his shoulders recede, becoming lighter until his normal jagged length returned. The cute work jacket morphed into a sweater and bronze breastplate. He was him again. Just a stupid, horrible godly thing that… that was meant to…

           To hurt those I love the most.

           No wonder Axel was going to play pin-the-dagger-in-the-demigod with Pax’s hand.

           “Aw, my boys just need to hug it out. Axel, Ajax, pull me up against your shoulders to simulate cuddling,” their decapitated friend requested.

           “Nope, we’re good,” Axel answered.

Pax had to agree. As desperate as he was, he just found his line on where he’d go for affection: corpses or undead things.  

Axel withdrew, making Pax want to cry more. He ruffled Pax’s hair again, puffed up his cheeks, and popped them.

           “Why did you hit me with your car? Was it because of the Reyna-condom thing?” Pax asked. As far as he was concerned right now, there were plenty of other reasons to hit him with a car, but he figured that’s the most likely one for Axel. After all, Axel was too awesome a driver to do so on accident without some major distractions.

           Pax glanced over Axel’s shoulder towards the van, noticing how a stalk of corn had sprouted through the open driver door.

           “Euna—” Axel started uncertainly, apparently willing to overlook the Reyna-condom thing in Pax’s current pathetic state.

           “—turned into corn,” Pax finished for him.

           “Something is wrong with her,” he said.

           “I’d be upset too if I were turned into corn. That would be like reverse engineering for our people.”

           Axel scolded. Before Pax could dodge, Axel snagged his ear and twisted it.

           “Aye! Okay! No mercy for the sacrilegious!” Pax whined. His voice almost sounded normal again, only cracking once with physical pain instead of emotional.

           “We need to get out of here to meet up with Calex and Merry—before others come for us,” Axel said, “It shouldn’t take too long to get to camp since we can use… donkey travel.” Axel looked annoyed at having to say it.

Although Pax knew Axel was trying to distract him, he wondered how often Axel said stuff like that to distract himself.

Not that someone like Axel would ever need to pretend everything was okay since he could warp reality with his sheer awesomeness… but in a universe where Axel was less perfect, Pax wondered how often Axel kept a poker face when he felt like the world was crumbling.

           Axel shifted like he was going to throw Pax over his shoulder. From the way Axel’s arms shuddered, Pax had a strange feeling Axel would struggle to lift a kitten right now due to battle exhaustion.

           “Don’t try to pick us up. You’ll kill all three—“ Pax paused to stare at Jack. “Two of us? Jack, are you dead? Should I consider you dead again?”[4]

           “I don’t know,” Jack admitted, then proceeded to use that grating gurgle of a voice to sing the lyrics to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. If Jack had shoulders, Pax knew he’d have shrugged.

           The Pax brothers helped each other stand up. Pax felt sore from the car hit, but not Hercules-punched-me-sore. It was more like a little car love tap. Something Pax felt like Hephaestus would do to Aphrodite if he could.

Axel hesitated, then picked up Jack by his dirt-smeared red hair.

They needed to build Jack a carry case. Or at least a towel. Pax could imagine it now. “Nice pet carrier. Is that a cat inside?”

At least they’d have the best Halloween prop ever.

           They shuffled towards the back of the van, listening to Jack as he supplied some entrance music.

           Before Axel opened the doors, Pax could hear Euna’s icily tight voice, “—to wear off by now. It won’t stop though. It’s so loud—it’s too loud—”

           When Pax saw the inside, he gasped.

           The far corner of the interior, behind Axel’s driver seat, looked beautiful, or as beautiful as a beat up utility van’s interior could look. The carpeting near Euna’s feet was covered in mosses, ferns, and flowers. Vines had wrapped wildly about her legs, torso, and Backbiter’s scabbard, like nymphs had given her a makeover. Pax couldn’t tell that Euna was sitting on a bench until she slammed her fist into the frame with a solid crunch. Some of her moss indented to show where she’d damaged metal structure under the cushions and plants.

Her legs were pulled up against her chest. Her other hand covered her ear. There were pieces of bent precious metal littering the moss in a circle around her. Her black hair trembled with each of her twitches.

           Kally was in midstep towards her, one hand clutched tight to her chest, like Euna had tried to bite it when Kally reached out.

           The look on Alabaster’s face said he’d slap Kally if she tried to pet another rabid demigod. Well, he would, if his hands weren’t decorated in the world’s most expensive blocks.

           Relief washed over his and Kally’s faces when they saw Pax, making Pax feel the tiniest bit fuzzy and less dead on the inside.

           “Ajax, rouge satchel. Vial seven,” Alabaster instructed before the fuzziness could fully settle.

           Pax’s muscle memory kicked in before his brain did. As he hopped into the van, he could envision the Witch Boy’s ingredient cabinets at Camp Othrys. All the powders, preserved skins, miscellaneous liquids, and bones had been color and shape coordinated since his little half-Mayan lab assistant could barely write his own name let alone read Latin nomenclature. Back when Pax had a place in life, had a full family, and all he had to worry about was how he and Matthias were going to prank Prometheus when the Titan kept predicting every whoopee cushion and paint bucket that they set up.

When Pax regained focus of the present, he had his hand in one of the satchels around Alabaster’s neck, and was withdrawing a rounded vial with two dots and a bar along the side.

           A vial of pills.

           Pax stepped towards the trembling daughter of Demeter. “Euna, these will make you feel better.” He paused. “Or kill you.” Pax glanced back at Alabaster. “These are going to make her feel better, right?”  

           “Ajax,” Alabaster growled.

           “Right, question after potential crisis.”

           A vine snaked from Euna’s leg to snatch the vial away from Pax. Apparently, she was on the act now, think later train with whatever was “too loud.”

The vine squeezed the vial until it shattered into her palm. She caught some of the raining pills.

           “Only take two,” Alabaster snapped.

           Pax hoped she’d heard before she tossed her head back. No water necessary.

           The pills worked fast.

           Euna went rigid for a moment. Then her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed back into the plant-filled bench, her black hair spilling across her face. Her skin seemed to glow dimly in the van’s yellow light.

           Kally hesitantly took a step closer to Euna, putting a hand up to Euna’s forehead.

           At Kally’s worried glance, Alabaster said, “They’re a derivative of the formula I use for Ajax’s sleep darts. I’ve been using them for my studies on the effect of lucid dreaming on prophetic dreams, so I can immediately plunge into uninterrupted REM sleep for an hour. Think demigod-powered Nyquil.”

           “So, this is the best time to draw on her face?” Pax asked, knowing this was an opportunity he should not take lightly.

           “Ajax,” Axel snapped from outside.  With a much more inclusive and less chastising tone, he added, “We need to leave. Everyone settle in.”

           Pax wanted to ask about the urgency, but he could hear what Axel meant. The steam, flames, and hurricane had stopped behind Alabaster’s house. Everything had gone quiet.

           “Vroom vroom,” Jack agreed. Although he couldn’t turn to see, his eyes darted in the direction. “I call shotgun.”

           As Axel slammed the back door shut, Kally stared after them. She took a seat on the tiny part of the bench still poking out of Euna’s plants. Her movements were slow, like she’d tried to carrying a grizzly bear before realizing grizzly bears weren’t for bench pressing.

           “Why is he still with us?” she asked softly. She bent down to pull something out of her messenger bag. From the slow movement, Pax guessed she’d gotten the coolest injury someone could get from a battle: a pulled back muscle.

           When Kally withdrew a medical kit that Will must have given her, her eyes watered. “I saw what he did to Annabeth and Piper when I dragged Frank and Jason over—“

           The driver’s door shut. From over the seats, Pax watched Axel set Jack’s head in the passenger seat, then paused to debate on a seatbelt.

“Please, it was only mono for Annabeth,” Jack said from the other side of the seat. “It looked like you’ve been healing people though. So you are one of my siblings—”

           “Jack,” Axel growled, deciding against the seatbelt.

           Although Axel feigned mild irritation, Pax knew how scary Jack’s awareness was. It made Pax want to hug Kally and make her a safety bubble of teddy bears and a soundproof safe room.[5]  That was probably the only thing the Fates had left to dangle in Pax’s face. Please don’t hurt my not-girlfriend, Pax thought. She was the only one remotely adjusted in the group and they needed someone who was properly freaked out by a talking head.

           “I can behave myself. She’s a friend or a lover or something, right?” Jack asked.

           “Flash,” Alabaster said softly, “If you do anything to her, I’ll bring your punishment from Tartarus here.”

           Jack made a choking sound.

           As though Alabaster hadn’t threatened him with whatever his eternal nightmare was, he continued, “Kally, you said Euna had droplets that invoke godly powers?” Alabaster went from looking like he wanted to strangle Jack to his I’m-fascinated-at-the-expense-of-my-life face. Pax loved that face. It meant he could get away with stupid stuff. “I’m impressed how her mind and body can handle that. I wonder if she’s acclimating.”

           “Acclimating?” Kally echoed, eyes widening with alarm. She withdrew ambrosia squares from her messenger bag and some unicorn draught from New Rome, handing a cube to Pax and painfully leaning forward to give one to Axel. She pointedly ignored Jack, who was now humming Hysteria.

           “She said it wore off faster last time,” Alabaster said with a shrug. His hands and feet were still encased in metal. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and—although Alabaster tried to hide it—confusion. Pax knew Alabaster well enough to see that he hadn’t had enough time to process everything, from the Pax brothers being alive, to why Jack wasn’t dying, to going towards Camp Half-Blood… which Alabaster probably didn’t realize yet.

           Pax was very willing to not point out their destination. As the van began to accelerate, Pax flopped down onto the bench beside Alabaster, aware Alabaster would be too tired to move away when Pax nudged him with his knee.    

           Pax set Nietz’s cage on the ground and opened it, hoping the weasel would frolic out. Instead, Baller scrambled over, evoking a soft call of delight from Pax.

           The weasel hopped around Pax’s feet once, then dove after Nietz, nipping and biting at his unconscious brother’s ear to no avail.

           “Nietzsche…” Alabaster frowned in concern.

           When it became clear that Nietz was nonreactive, Baller bit him and dragged him across the van floor towards Pax and Axel’s trunk by the front seat. Beside it, Pax could see Axel’s surplus army jacket was on the floor, with Hunnie curled in the center. Baller deposited Nietz next to the other unconscious sibling.

           “I don’t have enough energy to help them…” Alabaster muttered.

Kally’s teary eyes were scanning all of them, either taking inventory of who was the most injured, or trying to figure out which of the Triple A Chimera was the hottest. Clearly Axel.

“You’re doing that thing,” she said, examining him, “You… Pax?”

Pax jumped. The end of that first sentence was, “where you stare really seriously.” He couldn’t have people taking him seriously. He’d start crying. His cheeks would puff up and he wouldn’t look nearly as adorable.

“So, you evaporated Hazel. That was cool,” he said to Alabaster, keeping his voice even. Ways to distract both of them!

“I banished new shadows from appearing on or near my property. She needed to either fight us without feet, or she had to completely shadow travel away,” he explained robotically, “I almost performed a similar spell to keep Lamia’s essence from reforming, so I already had the mechanics of the incantation worked out.”

Kally paused when she went to hand Alabaster an ambrosia square and realized he didn’t have mobile fingers to take it from her. Alabaster glanced over at the movement and saw the problem. Kally blushed; Alabaster looked puzzled.

Pax thought about the two of them sitting at a café in some fancy European town, sipping tea while Alabaster circled mistakes in a scientific journal and Kally hashed out the details of a chapter.

Pax reached out for Kally’s wrist and pulled her carefully into his lap.

Old people¸ he thought while trying to work around her injured back.

“Pax—” Kally protested. Her blush intensified when she was unable to catch her balance.

“What are you doing?” Alabaster asked, annoyed at the invasion of personal space on the bench.

Once Pax had Kally comfortably against him, he nuzzled into Alabaster’s shoulder. “It’s called sharing,” he said. All he’d wanted all night was a hug from someone that didn’t try to kill him in dream land. This would suffice. “Didn’t either of you go to kindergarten? Besides, at this rate, you’ll both scream in horror the first time you accidentally hold hands. And it will be an accident. It’ll be worse than that time I told Morpheus to give Axel a sex dream with Reyna.”

They were entering a highway. Axel missed a gear shift, the van jerked, and Pax could smell burnt clutch from the back. “You asked him to do that?!” he demanded.

“Yep,” Pax said, trying to sound proud instead of numb. “For your birthday.”

“Wow—Axel,” Jack piped up, “Alabaster’s dream was right? Ramirez? And you never told me? Have you two—”

“No,” Axel snapped, scowling at Pax in the rearview mirror. Pax forced as much of an impish smile as he could manage. “We’re not talking about this, and you’re never to talk about Reyna like that, and it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s over.”

Jack laughed. “All that time of you rejecting girls, boys, monsters, and gods I sent your way? Na-uh. Our chaste warrior falls to the sweet blessing of Eros’ kiss, and you think I’m going to but bite mine tongue at such a celebration?”

“Jack, I’ll throw your head out the window.”

“No, you won’t. You missed me too much.”

“I’ll find Matthias’ playlist and play dubstep the entire way back to camp.”

“You wouldn’t dare, foul demon.”

While the two in the front argued, Alabaster had leaned down and bit the ambrosia square out of Kally’s fingers. If Pax had to guess, purely to spite him.[6]

In an attempt not to evolve the art of embarrassment into a new, more powerful emotion, Kally went to work cutting Alabaster’s sleeve off so she could attend to his wound. Although Pax’s presence made the process slower, they worked around him without complaint. Whether from exhaustion or kindness, Pax was happy for the proximity.

Pax waited patiently to see which of them would break first.

It was Alabaster. Pax could see him become conscious of how close he was sitting to Kally and Pax before he asked, “Wait—mono? You had the opportunity to kill Annabeth, and you gave her the kissing disease?” He looked at the seemingly empty passenger seat for distraction.

Instead of singing to heal where Hazel had slashed Alabaster’s arm, Kally very pointed started to stitch him up. Not gently either.

Yea, their whole group needed some real talk time about the whole killing Percy and Annabeth thing.

“I’m not gonna kill Luke’s creepy crush,” Jack chastised, “Besides, it’s like a two for one deal. A few months from now, Percy will be obnoxiously exhausted and sick. And—if recent Tartarus fanfiction is correct—so will Jason.”

“Oh, Percy and Jason are not a thing.” Pax felt bad ruining Jack’s plan, but he figured Jack ought to know now. “I once smacked Percy’s ass when I’d morphed into Jason and you could tell he wasn’t into it.”

“Ajax—why—” Alabaster started to ask. He shook his head in disgust. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It did make sense at the time,” Kally meekly assured, finishing up the stitch. She put some gauze and medical tape over the wound. “I’ll sing over what’s left once I’ve attended to everyone else and rested a little from healing…”

She trailed off. Pax knew she was going to say Frank and Jason. The thought of her trying to ignore Frank’s nudity should have brought cupcakes and happiness to Pax’s heart.

Kally glanced down at Pax, frowning.

Pax forced himself to give that devilish smile and wink. “I can take off my clothes if you need to do a full body exam.”

Kally blushed, probably thinking about the time he streaked through New York, then shook her head. “Will everyone be okay?” she asked, standing up from Pax’s lap.

Reluctantly, he let her get to her feet. Kally stretched, wincing.

The pain Pax and Leo shared kept threatening to resurface. That kid of Hephaestus deserved a medal, not a child of Strife rooting around in his head. “Does ‘okay’ include future therapy, hours of hug sessions, and a lifetime of regression on self confidence? Because if it does, then maybe. With 65% in the positive direction,” Pax said, puffing up his cheeks and popping them.

Quieter, she asked, “Are you okay?”

He knew she wasn’t asking if he was injured.

If they were alone, Pax would have burst into tears right there, curled up in her lap—an impressive feat considering their current placement—and begged her to hold him. He was pretty sure he’d never screwed up more than he had tonight.

But he didn’t want Alabaster to claim he was faking it, and he didn’t want to explain to Jack why he’d rather curl up with Kally—a hot chick that wasn’t a decapitated corpse—and he didn’t deserve to have Kally touch him.

Alabaster saved him from turning into a puffer fish of sobs. “Why did you leave the protective barrier around the house?” Alabaster asked. The tone wasn’t angry. More the I’m not mad, I just want to know how you did it, that he used when Matthias and Pax broke into the laboratory for prank supplies. “Does it have to do with that mark on your neck?”

Mark? Pax followed Alabaster’s glance and touched the bruise on his neck. Whatever it was hadn’t healed yet, even with his extra godly blood.

           Icy fingers slipped over his.

           Pax almost screamed, thinking the abominable snowman had somehow snuck up on a moving vehicle and bust through the wall in the stealthiest explosion possible.

           Then he felt the warmth of a blanket settle over his legs, one composed of newspaper articles about world catastrophes. The article on his left knee showed a picture of a dead baby panda at some zoo.

           Pax felt like someone had scooped out his heart and crushed it. Well, the tiny reserve of his heart that hadn’t been crushed by the rest of the night. He opened and closed his mouth.

           Alabaster yelped in alarm when something slipped between him and Pax.

           “Have you heard about how Zeus hung Hera over the pit of Khaos, when he learned of her attempted treachery? Even the gods fear the abyss of nothingness and nonexistence,” a familiar voice cooed like a lullaby.

           Pax choked on his own breath—a stupid feat, but impressive within the world of stupidity.

           A girl leaned forward off their bench, one hand stretched back along Pax’s shoulder and one to Alabaster’s, so she wouldn’t fall forward, though it looked more like she was suspended by two chains. Those black locks—streaked with white, red, and purple—were shorter and jagged again, twisting back in chaotic spirals. She wore a leather jacket. A crowbar and a sledge hammer appeared at her feet.

           Atë ignored both of them, her face angled at the slumbering form of Euna.

           Euna mumbled in her sleep. The vines wrapped around her legs unraveled and lifted, hovering like charmed snakes between the daughter of Demeter and the Goddess of Mischief and Ruin.

           “Atë,” Kally hissed. She snatched one of Axel’s throwing sticks off the wall and aimed it at the goddess. “What do you want?”

           “Wow—Kally, put the stick down,” Pax said, his voice coming out a whisper. “Axel will hurt you way more than Atë ever could if you break that thing.”

           Atë shrugged listlessly and tugged Pax’s hand so she could sit upright. Alabaster flinched and scowled as she did the same to him. Smoke still curled off her from her little appearing trick. “Euna asked a question while she was sleeping. It would have been rude not to answer.”

           “I can’t see!” Jack complained, “Is the intruder hot?”

           “It’s Atë,” Axel growled, glaring at her in the rearview mirror.

           “That didn’t answer the question,” Jack grumbled.

           Atë released Pax’s hand and shoulder, sliding her fingers down his bronze breastplate and under the blanket. She dug her nails into his knee. “Don’t go to Camp Half-Blood,” she said, “Lapis sent me. She said you and Axel shouldn’t go back. A chicken lizard told her—”

           “Kukulkan,” Axel snapped.[7]

           Pax wasn’t sure what to expect from Atë. Maybe a, “Sorry for using you to kill Will, cause massive chaos, and trap Nico. Here’s a Reese’s Stick.” That would have been nice. He hadn’t expected her to act as a convoy for his siblings.

           “So, Lapis gave you a stickynote, a high five, and you poofed? No strings or massive chains attached?” Pax asked. “Just out of the goodness of your… whatever organs you have?”

           Atë turned to Pax and stared at him with those blank, red eyes. If she hadn’t… acted how she had earlier, he might have thought he’d stunned her into silence. “She traded the favor for information,” she said.            

           Pax was scared of what kind of information Lapis would have that Atë might want, other than Axel’s workout schedule. She could get a lot of money for that from the nymphs at Camp Half-Blood.

           “Let me take a guess: your mom doesn’t want any of us to go back to Camp Half-Blood?” Kally asked. She took a step back towards Euna, and Pax saw her glance at Backbiter’s scabbard. She was probably debating if she could get it to use Atë’s choker as a cut here line.

           “No.” Atë tilted her head to one side and Pax could feel some of her hair tickle his ear. Part of him really wanted to shove her off the bench. Part of him wanted to cry and whine a, I thought you liked me! and knew pushing a goddess was a bad idea.

           Pax went to shove her off the bench.

           Atë caught his hand. Without revealing any strain, she continued, “Python would be disappointed if you weren’t there, Kally. Euna needs to come to camp. If rumor is correct, she’ll find the answers to some of her questions at Hera’s temple. Jack can come. You can roll his head into Cabin Seven and see who sings the last note. But… Alabaster…”

           She turned towards him. “Are you excited to sit outside the camp that has banned you for having thoughts and for wanting to teach others how to have thoughts?”

           Although Pax couldn’t see Alabaster with Atë between them, he could envision his friend tensing. Atë leaned forward to tap her nails in a walking motion along Alabaster’s restrains. As the goddess’s fingers left the metal, the material tarnished, cracked, and fell away.  

           She continued, “You and the rest of Chimera could go on a play date while you’re waiting. I’m sure there are some nymphs you can hunt down to gather ingredients.”

           “The Association Against Sorceral Subjugation banned nymph poaching in the 1980’s,” Alabaster said evenly. Pax could see Alabaster flex his freed fingers.

           “As they should have,” Axel said sternly from the front.

           Pax would rather fall on another nail than hear that argument again.

“Now, Atë, I want you out of my car,” Axel growled.

           She kicked her feet out, letting her ankles crack against the base of the bench on the backswing. “You are almost at camp. I should leave. After all, children of Strife always hurt those we love the most, especially the more we’re around them.” She frowned and stared at the floor.

           Pax wanted to ask her if she wanted some polish and a rag to rub it in more. He already knew how much he’d hurt his friends.

           Instead, she leaned over and kissed Pax where she’d bit him previously. When Pax gasped, he found himself inhaling her smoke as she poofed away.

           In her place, there was a small box wrapped in her newspaper blanket. It rattled with something inside.

           They sat in stunned silence for a moment, the van’s interior feeling too exposed. Pax wished he had a magical poof ability to avoid unwanted, inevitable questions. Kinda like those trap doors evil villains always kept in offices.

           “Um, Pax, isn’t she your sister?” Kally asked. She set Axel’s throwing stick back on the wall. Her tone was too careful.

           “She’s only my half-sister,” Pax mumbled, pulling at the sides of the newspaper blanket. Maybe he could hide under it.

           “We’re only half-siblings,” Axel said, giving him a concerned glance in the thin slit of the mirror.

           Pax sighed. “I want to wink at you so desperately as a joke, but it just feels too weird.”

           “Ajax, I consider myself a very patient and understanding man when you consider our upbringing,” Axel said, “But, if you ever wink at me in that context, I will beat the incest out of you.”

           “You didn’t—” Alabaster started.

           “Nope. I said nope,” Pax said quickly, opening the box to keep from looking at everyone. “I was a good little boy and told her she had no manners since she hadn’t brought me—”

           Inside, there were pastry sweets. Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them: they were from his Chiich’s pastry shop. He’d recognize the smell anywhere. Beside them were a bundle of black orchids, the flower his father used to keep all over the club as a reminder of their home country. Lastly, there was a tiny ball of poof staring up at him with panicked, beady eyes. The furry black thing dashed out of the box, fumbling onto the floor.

           Baller’s head popped up from his nest. He dashed after the new intruder.

           They bolted around the van.

           “What is that?!” Kally demanded, scrambling back onto the bench beside Euna.

           “It’s a chinchilla,” Pax explained numbly, “She even gave me a live one.”

           Alabaster pulled his knees up to sit pretzel style on the bench beside him. Cautiously, he withdrew a note from inside. “That’s a low bar, Ajax,” he pointed out before opening the card.

           A voice recording played of Atë saying, “Lo siento muchísimo.”[8]

           Pax flinched at the apology. He reached over and opened and shut the front a few times, making it go, “Lo s-L-L-Lo sient—”

           Alabaster batted him away. He made a face and went to shut the card.

“What does it say?” Pax asked.

Alabaster frowned, glanced at Axel’s seat, then back at the card. He bit his lip. “I wanted to stitch the recorder inside the chinchilla, like one of those Build-A-Bear toys, but Lapis said you would like this more.” He swallowed. “Now you can open this each time I hurt you. And… and it has a heart with her name beside it.”

Pax tried to respond. He wanted to get excited about naming the chinchilla something awesome or about having a tasty piece of home to eat and visualize the way his Chiich would scold them for swiping sweets from her stand.

But he felt too nauseous to eat.

All he could do was pull his legs up against his chest. He thought about how easily Atë restrained his hand when he tried to push her off the bench. He clutched at the sweater under his armor, the one depicting weasels eating humans.

           Maybe Atë was once like him. But everything kept going wrong, over and over, and she stopped feeling like she was made out of cuteness and fluff and forgot how to give others her cuteness and fluff.

           Maybe he deserved to be with someone like her.  

           Warmth encased his side.

           Pax wanted to squeal until he smelled the smallest hint of eucalyptus and mint—Kally’s shampoo. She squeezed onto the bench beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Although she was trying to be sneaky, Pax felt her other hand slip along his back to tug on what was left of Alabaster’s sleeve.

           Pax could feel her tears when she nuzzled into him.

           Alabaster’s fist crushed around the card. Pax wanted to yip in protest—that had been a gift. But the crumbled paper was already on the ground, giving another obstacle for the weasel and chinchilla to dart around.  

           Pax really hoped Baller was trying to say, hi and not nice night for a snack.

           Alabaster shoved the box down afterwards, shaking up the flower and pastry arrangement. “Hades damn it all,” he grumbled. When he leaned forward, putting an arm around Pax and Kally and his chin on Pax’s head, Pax could feel how he fumed and trembled with anger.

           “You know you can’t kill the chinchilla, right?” Pax squeaked. “It’s not Harvey’s fault that Atë chose it for a gift.”

           “We can get one of the satyrs to give it a nature’s blessing to assure it returns home safely,” Kally suggested.

           “Most animals raised in captivity will die in the wild,” Alabaster pointed out.

           “I’m sure some younger cabin members will take care of… Harvey,” Kally said.

           Listening to them talk around him eased some of the tension in Pax’s stomach. He didn’t realize how tightly he’d clenched into a ball, but tried to become less ball-like by snuggling more into them. After a moment, he managed a smile and said, “You know, Atë gave me the sweater I’m wearing too. Are you going to undress me with the power of teamwork?”

           The van decelerated to a stop. At first, Pax thought Axel was parking to hop in the back and yank his ear off.

           Instead, Axel opened his door and paused. Pax could hear him sniff the chilly early morning air as it drifted into the car. Then he popped his cheeks.

           “What is it?” Jack asked.

           Alabaster and Kally sat up. Even Euna stirred.

           Axel inhaled deeply and sighed. When he glanced over the seat rest, Pax could see how exhausted he looked. “It’s Reyna. She’s here. And so are the Romans.”

 Thanks for reading guys! At least you now know Pax survived >>’’ We’ll get to Percy and Leo’s side a little later.

Also! Excitement on this front! For those of you who aren’t on a website that says how many chapters there are: I’m writing the last one this weekend! :D There will be 43 in Attrition of Peace, though I’m hoping to keep the word count below Blood of a Mayan. (It’s already too long T.T) Once that’s done and I finish some school application stuff (*cries* real life), I’m going to hash out some of my writing requests (don’t think I forgot you Calex-meets-his-awesome-step-mother-request :D)! Thanks for sticking with me so far guys!

Footnotes:

[1] The original start for this chapter was in Axel’s point of view with,        When they slid into the Paxmobile, Axel still wasn’t sure they’d made the right choice.

           When a talking head and demigod slammed into the hood of the car, he knew, regardless of the rightness of the choice, at least it didn’t result in Pax’s death.

[2] I am so tired of doing exposition and character building scenes in the Paxmobile. That’s why it disappeared for a full book. I’m straight up going to blow the damn thing up soon. Say goodbye to your home weasels! MUAHAHHA!

[3] His most famous son is deaf.

[4] A question I often get from friends and family when I get into writing moods.

[5] “Preferably covered in pictures of scantily clad Alabaster and Pax boys. You know. In case she gets bored.”

[6] Jokes on Alabaster. You know Pax has no problems with polygamy.

[7] This is hinted at in the second book. Lapis is the only Pax other than Ajax that can call upon the Vision Serpent. More on this—in proper mythological context—in the Pax family’s standalone story.

[8] I’m so sorry.

[insanityclause]

When coronavirus closed the theaters on March 12, there were still 16 shows left to open in the Broadway season. Audiences will get to see some of them later, others probably not — but what of the more than 20 plays, musicals and miscellaneous offerings that had already faced the press? It seemed unfair not to celebrate them, so on Friday, just after it was announced that the Tony Awards will not go on as usual this year, we sat down (in cyberspace) to devise a Tonys of our own. Naturally, we made our own rules.

BEN BRANTLEY Well, Jesse, even in a season that’s 16 plays short, there’s still a fat if imbalanced roster of intriguing shows. Have we ever before had such a preponderance of jukebox musicals that might qualify for Best Musical? The good news is that some enterprising minds managed to inventively retool the genre you once described as the “cockroach” of Broadway.

JESSE GREEN The cockroach has evolved! “Jagged Little Pill,” “Tina: The Tina Turner Musical,” “Girl From the North Country,” “Moulin Rouge!” and — since we’re playing by our own rules here — even “American Utopia,” the David Byrne show that was deemed ineligible for the real Tonys, are all jukeboxes, all worthy and all eligible for ours. Maybe not quite all worthy.

BRANTLEY Perhaps it’s appropriate then that the last show to open on Broadway was the most unorthodox of the “jukebox” shows. I use quotation marks here because that label seems too confining for “Girl From the North Country,” the Irish playwright and director Conor McPherson’s work that uses the songs of Bob Dylan to imagine life during the Great Depression in Duluth, Minn. The more I think about “Girl,” the more innovative and haunting it seems to me.

GREEN For me it took some time, and the show’s move from the Public Theater to Broadway, to appreciate how McPherson was deploying the music in this musical. The songs do not function the way songs normally do; they never address the situation at hand, and sometimes even contradict it. Yet in that gap, poetry grew.

BRANTLEY For me, “Girl” deals with the ineffable and unsayable through song in a way that makes it the most religious, or at least spiritual, show on Broadway. I have found this aspect of the show stays with me, as an oddly comforting reminder of the hunger for communion in this time of isolation. But moving on to matters closer to profane than sacred, what about another mold-breaker in a very different sense: “Moulin Rouge!,” based on the Baz Luhrmann movie about la vie bohème in gaslight-era Paris.

GREEN Here was a case where the gap between the story, such as it is, and the musical materials — found pop from Offenbach to Rihanna — did not produce poetry. For me it produced a headache.

BRANTLEY Ah, I had a swell time at “Moulin Rouge,” and I thought the far-reaching songbook became a kind of commentary on how such songs form the wallpaper of our minds. And then there was “Tina,” which was more business-as-usual bio-musical fare, although illuminated by a radiant, cliché-transcending performance by Adrienne Warren as Turner.

GREEN The creators of musicals really offered a sampler of ways to respond to the jukebox problem. “Jagged Little Pill,” built on the Alanis Morissette catalog, made the smart choice of abjuring biography and instead attaching her songs to a new plot (by Diablo Cody) that grew out of the same concerns and vocabulary. Or perhaps I should say “new plots,” because it is not shy with them. There are at least eight story lines.

BRANTLEY To be honest, this was the show that gave me a headache, because it was so insistently earnest in its topicality and, even when it was trying to be funny, humorless. So, of the new musicals (and we haven’t touched on “The Lightning Thief,” your personal favorite) what would you give the premature Tony to?

GREEN The one that wouldn’t be eligible: “American Utopia.” Joy and sadness bound to each other through David Byrne’s music and Annie-B Parson’s movement: What else do you want from a musical, even if it’s just a concert?

BRANTLEY I loved “American Utopia.” I think, though, I’d have to go with “Girl From the North Country,” but I wouldn’t have predicted that after seeing it in London two years ago. I find more in it every time I revisit it.

GREEN Despite all the Best Musical possibilities this truncated season, only one, “The Lightning Thief,” had a new score. Yet most of the offerings sounded new anyway, the result of terrific arrangements and orchestrations. I’m thinking especially of Justin Levine’s magpie-on-Ecstasy song collages for “Moulin Rouge!,” Tom Kitt’s theatricalization of post-grunge pop for “Jagged Little Pill” and Simon Hale’s excavation of the deeply layered Americana in Dylan’s catalog for “Girl.”

BRANTLEY Here, I’d have to say it’s a tie between “Girl” and “Moulin Rouge!,” each a remarkable accomplishment in a very different way. As for best revival, the undisputed winner is Ivo van Hove’s divisive revival of “West Side Story,” but that’s because it is, remarkably, the only musical revival so far.

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GREEN I liked “West Side Story” better than you did, Ben, perhaps because I wasn’t reviewing it. I lapped up the new things it wanted to show me (while also hunting for the old things it wanted to hide from me) and didn’t worry about the elements that laid an egg. (“Gee, Officer Krupke.”) Its evocation of innocence and hopelessness felt more like real life now than I’ve experienced in previous revivals.

BRANTLEY I concede the point intellectually. But the acid test for me with theater — and musicals in particular — is how much it makes you feel. And to borrow a lyric from “A Chorus Line,” for the most part “I felt nothing.”

GREEN I admit it was odd that there were no obvious breakout performances in “West Side Story” — which brings us to our first lightning round. Who wins our Tonys for leading actor and actress in a musical?

BRANTLEY Best Actress: Adrienne Warren, for “Tina” (though Karen Olivo in “Moulin Rouge!” is pretty fab, too). Best Actor: Jay O. Sanders in, perversely, a non-singing role in “Girl From the North Country.” You?

GREEN Same. I think we are having a socially distanced mindmeld. Will that also be the case with the nine new plays and four revivals that opened before March 12? With one exception, the revivals were not as thrilling as the full slate promised to be.

BRANTLEY For me, the winner is Jamie Lloyd’s spartan, merciless revival of Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal,” which brought harsh clarity to the work’s emotional ambiguity.

GREEN And ambiguity to the play’s harsh formality — its semi-backward construction. It was certainly the best “Betrayal” I’ve seen, yet I hold out some love for the revival of “Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune,” which in retrospect turned out to be a farewell to Terrence McNally, its author, who died last week. I felt that Michael Shannon and Audra McDonald did it, and him, justice.

BRANTLEY It was certainly a reminder of his shrewdness and compassion. I was perhaps a little too conscious of the Acting, with a capital A. But it was a welcome addition to the season. For Best Play, we have a far more varied field, no? I suspect we’ll agree on the winner here, the season’s great iconoclast.

GREEN Yes, “Slave Play,” by Jeremy O. Harris, wins on sheer disruptive energy, even before considering its intelligence as playwriting, its knockout production (directed by Robert O’Hara) and its fearsome challenge to renegotiate race in America.

BRANTLEY But for all its shock value, what made it a wonderful play — as opposed to just a bracing exploration of dangerous ground — was its heart. By the end, you felt so completely the pain of its characters, all trying to navigate the perhaps insuperable hurdles of interracial relationships.

GREEN I think “The Inheritance” wanted to be that kind of play, too: a story of intimate relationships yet also a gay manifesto with the multipart heft of “Angels in America.” It got the heft, anyway; “Slave Play” ran 120 minutes; “The Inheritance,” 385.

BRANTLEY “The Inheritance” certainly gets points for ambition — and for the fluidity of Stephen Daldry’s production. And might I put in a word for the prickly comic abrasiveness of Tracy Letts’s “Linda Vista,” a lacerating anatomy of toxic masculinity disguised as brooding charm?

GREEN I liked what “Linda Vista” wanted to do but found it flabby. Perhaps straitened times demand slender plays. Certainly, the other new drama I greatly admired was whippetlike: Adam Rapp’s “The Sound Inside,” an existential mystery wrapped in a literary one, or vice versa. Among other things, it allowed Mary-Louise Parker, as a Yale writing instructor, to deliver a Tony-worthy performance. And now that “How I Learned to Drive,” the other play in which she was set to star this season, has been postponed, she doesn’t have to compete against herself. Is she our winner?

BRANTLEY I am going to declare a tie between her and Laura Linney, who gave a very subtle, and emotionally transparent, performance as the title character of “My Name Is Lucy Barton,” adapted by Rona Munro from Elizabeth Strout’s novel.

GREEN I buy that. But let’s not forget Joaquina Kalukango in “Slave Play,” Eileen Atkins in “The Height of the Storm,” Zawe Ashton in “Betrayal” and Jane Alexander in “Grand Horizons.” It was a very strong semi-season for Best Actress in a Leading Role.

BRANTLEY And for Best Actor?

GREEN The real Tonys decreed that Paul Alexander Nolan was eligible for his “supporting” role in “Slave Play,” but in my Tonys he’s a strong candidate for “leading.” Still, I’ll go with Tom Hiddleston, in “Betrayal.” Or at least he wins in my newly invented category of Best Use of the Lack of a Tissue. His facial leakage was Vesuvian.

BRANTLEY He was superb — and a reminder of the cathartic value of the tears of others in theater. Of course, there’s so much to cry about now in terms of opportunities lost this season. But I’m not writing an elegy for, or even a definitive summary of, this season yet. It will be fascinating to see how it reincarnates itself, won’t it?