#its all bittersweet nostalgia tonight sorry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nobodyeverasked · 3 years ago

Text

true colours; huang renjun

(10,554) words - large

summary ➣ Y/N and Renjun, two lost boys who found safety in each other, tread upon unsteady ground as they struggle to save a friendship that seems to have been slipping from their grasp without them even knowing.

genre ➣ angst (+ fluff)

requested - 👍

note ➣ This is ending 3 of 7 in the dear dream series. Same as all the other stories, this ending takes place right after the prologue, following your choice, and is in the same timeframe as other endings such as suburban superstar (Jisung) and champagne problems (Jeno).

Like the last two endings, the prologue is good for a little bit of context. However this ending can stand on its own, so if you just want some Renjun content, then happy reading 💛!

-: ✧ prologue — mark - renjun - jeno - haechan - jaemin - chenle - jisung ✧ :-

.・゜-: ✧ :- .・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・. -: ✧ :-゜・．

Ending 3 of 7

Y/N sighed into his phone screen as it seemed to kick up this pretentious, cool ivory glow of its own. He looked at Renjun’s text, reading the words but not the sentence, and squeezing himself between every space in the letters, he felt as if his chest deflated. The fond laughter that threatened to bubble up in his throat as his gaze rose to the avocado and grandma emoji that hovered near his best friend’s name, it dissipated in an instant as he scanned over the text one more.

‘Hey I’m really sorry we couldn’t hang out. I’m still free tonight to make up for yesterday.’

It was only one line, but Y/N couldn’t help but read between them. His head pulled him in every direction, spreading him thin over the chorus of thoughts that crooned bitterly in his ear. He wanted to text him back, to say something, anything. But he just couldn’t figure out what just yet. He felt wrung dry of air, worn of breath before he even took another one as he realized how quickly Renjun’s smile fell through nowadays. Sometimes it couldn’t even weather a gentle springtime breeze, the subtle sweetness of the morning dew being carried away by the wind being too much for him sometimes.

He didn’t know why Renjun was so sorry all the time, as if he was pleading guilty to a crime he didn’t commit, to pay his debts before he had someone to owe to. Renjun hasn’t done anything but be that light perched at the very center of Y/N’s empty, barren sky. That mess of silver curls atop his head always seems like the breath of relief that assuages the darkness, his laughter was the sand that split the tides of old memories that kept resurfacing on Y/N’s shores.

Shooting up and slinging his bag over his shoulder, Y/N knew what he had to do. Sitting here, pretending to sift through biology notes and convoluted questions, doing nothing but watching the sky with envy and wondering what the quiet it seemed to hoard all to itself felt like. It’s not doing him any good. No good for Renjun either...

All Y/N would be doing was letting the golden twines of the sunlight tangle him up and remind him of how it’ll never feel the same ever since Jisung severed their tapestry of cherished moments and keeps twisting the knife.

All those nights they seemed to burn away effortlessly, they’re nothing but a collection of shrivelled ashes in Y/N’s hands. Worn to dust with the faded stars he forged between their interlocked pinkies that the entire world seemed to be wrapped around.

Whenever Y/N was foolish enough to leave himself alone with his thoughts, everything would come back to him. Every big picture and every tiny nuance of every single thing that he and Jisung did together.

That nostalgia that always creeps up on him and leaves a bittersweet sting on the tip of his tongue, he’s grown numb to it. He never sees it as special anymore, the bliss that those moments used to bring him, the light that the sunshine would sing in shimmers against his skin. It was nothing but an empty dream and an empty feeling.

He’d always ask himself how everything changed so quickly. From squeezing in for room at his bedroom’s bay window to sitting there all alone, missing all the glimmers in the starlight that Jisung would point out for him and forgetting to thread the indigos together with his empty hands. There’d usually be something there to fill them, Jisung’s touch that’d eclipse his whenever they laced their fingers together, that’s what it was. Now, nothing’s the same. Y/N’s left to wonder what happened. Where did everything silently snap between them? Where did they unravel? Would Y/N even had a say in it if he was in the right place at the right time?

He still knows nothing, this entire year and a half spent wading helplessly through a dimly lit void of perpetual loneliness and longing. This is where he ended up after his fall from grace, after Jisung cut away the twines of the moonlight that bound their futures together.

The landing below… Y/N never knew that it would hurt this much…

Y/N slipped out the open classroom door with a stumble as he fought back against the shadow that’s been looming over him for far too long. Hovering over his shoulder and grinding his desperate attempts to rekindle his hope into the ground like worn cigarettes, That shadow only appeared as soon as the promise Jisung and Y/N made to be each other’s light snapped in two.

Y/N’s been left helpless, left to blindly stumble over fragments of memories lost to faded laughter and an unread text. And it’s only ever seemed to be Y/N who feels as if a part of him was missing, as if he’s the only one who’s ever pledged fealty to the moon, as if he’s the only one who thought that their sleepless nights on Y/N’s roof - Jisung’s arms wound around him like the starlight that hung over them - ever meant anything.

After leaving the classroom, YN was so consumed by his thoughts that he barely noticed the weight that lingered on his shoulders, and as soon as he gave it his attention, he couldn’t quite shake it off. It ran through his chest, leaving his thoughts stumbling behind him, his breath wrung dry and paper thin. It bore this intense, suffocating heat to it, leaving ashes to scatter across Y/N’s skin and dig under like an itch he can’t scratch away.

It was as if someone was watching him take his final steps out the classroom, hoping he’d trip on himself and kick up the leftover sunlight that settled between the tiles.

Y/N could only feel its burn finally fade as he made his way further down the hallway, the pale overhead lights seeming to chase it away.

Shaking his head as he rounded the corner and pushed through the stairway doors that led right to his locker, his weak attempt to wade through the shoulders-deep tides of his feelings was all in vain. It started to leak through the cracks in his resolve, but Y/N just tried to focus on where Renjun would meet him. His locker seemed like the best bet, the place they both gravitated to during every spare period, where they waited for each other whenever they had plans before classes started, and where they planned to meet for half-assed coffee-runs before one of them needed to cancel.

Y/N pushed the door open and winced at the shrill echoes of its metallic whine, squinting under the golden sunlight that fell upon him in swathes through the windows. In the distance - just around the corner where he’d always bump into a quiet, illusive, leather-clad guy who never fails to seize his stare for a little too long - Y/N could see a slumped silhouette carving out its shape in the amber glow of the emerging evening sunlight.

The tapping of tattered, white trainers against the ashen floors strumming a faint melody of dull clicks down the hallway; the folds of a sweater vest two times the figure’s size eclipsing the edges of their shadow. A fray of messy hair spun into gold under the shimmers of the light streaming in through the hallway and settling into the grooves of the tile they were restlessly scratching at whenever they weren’t hunching over the phone in their hands. Only one figure hidden in the shine of the sunlight could ever get a small smile to creep up at the corners of Y/N’s lips.

Huang Renjun was exactly where Y/N expected him to be.

The sigh of relief that broke free from Y/N’s chest as he recognized exactly who it was stirred the fidgeting of the shadow in the hallway. A sliver of a hum escaped from them, and they pushed themselves off the ground and shuffled forward into one of the strips of light laid upon the ground.

“Hey…” Renjun’s voice was soft and tentative like it always was as he opened his arms up and greeted Y/N with one of their ceremonial hugs. The way his shy smile ignited the copper dapples against his skin as the trees outside the windows rustled to a silent breeze, it made Y/N want to smile too.

“Hey.” Y/N looked down to see Renjun’s lit phone screen as he pulled back, idling on the text he sent Y/N almost five minutes ago. He wondered how long Renjun was anxiously wearing away at himself, waiting for Y/N to respond. How long he was going to wait or how long he was willing to wait for three coyly bouncing dots to appear on the other end? It made Y/N’s stomach twist up. “Sorry if I kept you waiting…” Y/N trailed off, the bitterness of his guilt as it crept up on him making his throat feel hollow and coarse.

“No please, don’t worry about it.” Renjun stepped out of Y/N’s way so he could reach his locker, stealing a quick glance down at his unanswered text to Y/N before taking a soft, but sharp sigh and tucking his phone in the back pocket of his corduroy trousers. “The floor was pretty comfortable, actually. I felt like a king.” Bringing himself closer to Y/N as he tucked his textbooks into the top shelf of his locker, he rested his chin on Y/N’s shoulder.

Feeling the beginnings of a nice conversation die off and outlive its glory, it never fails to make a bittersweet smile slowly grow on Renjun’s face. Their conversations have been like that quite a lot nowadays, gone before it’s there, silent before the noise is made, and always disappearing on them; leaving footprints of quiet, strained laughter in the sand.

Part of Renjun just thinks he’s not trying hard enough, that if Y/N’s not laughing or stepping outside their realm of contemplative silence, then he’s not happy.

It’s like Renjun loses his concept of object permanence, if Y/N’s smile isn’t there, then neither is his joy - something Renjun always wants to make Y/N feel. Especially after the year and a half they’ve had together.

At least the gentle sweetness of Renjun’s homemade tea still clung to them, still persevered even in the dying breaths of their attempts at passing conversation. Renjun sometimes wonders if it’s still practically sewn into the fabric of the cardigan he gave to Y/N on Christmas, the one that always carved out Y/N’s silhouette in the ivory streaks of the winter sunlight and made the luster in his smile practically blinding.

The way the daylight shattered and fell around them in little diamonds on those afternoons where they’d shed their jackets and shuffle around in the layers of snow by the courtyard benches. Renjun could never forget the melodies of Y/N’s laughter on those days where they had nothing but each other. They haven’t had that a lot since they met - moments of purely each other - and he wonders if Y/N’s songs ever weave into the air for other people as well.

The longer Renjun laid his head on Y/N’s shoulder, the clearer were those memories of holding onto nothing but the warmth of that cologne that Renjun wore on one monotonous, spring day. How Y/N tossed aside his compliments about how good it smelled, he could’ve never imagined that it’d wrap itself around their conversations every day.

Y/N never thought about it after that, though, it was simply just a reoccurring colour in the sky. He grew familiar with the comfort it brought, as he’d always take his sleeve between his fingers whenever Renjun wasn’t there in the back corner of some history classroom to look over the fields behind the school.

Maybe Renjun thought about it a lot more than he did, though. Maybe he started wearing it every single day after that because of one, seemingly neglected comment that Y/N made as they playfully shouldered each other down the hall. And maybe, just maybe, that the smile that was left plastered on Renjun’s face the entire day was something that brought him up when everything was stacked against them and wearing them down. Y/N wondered how many of those thoughts, emotions and memories he glossed over, and how many might’ve been Renjun’s guiding lights or beacons in his times of darkness.

“Can I ask something?” There it was, that tension, that needless, suffocating feeling rising in his chest once again. It leaked into the fissures of all their conversations, and all Y/N wanted to do was tear through it and stop Renjun’s trying smile from fading so quickly nowadays.

Renjun nodded, his hum of agreement turning to one of satisfaction and settling to the floor as Y/N brought his hand up and scratched tenderly near his nape.

One of the few things Y/N noticed, Renjun would always scratch the back of his neck timidly whenever he was nervous. Y/N wanted to send something, any sort of signal to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t want him to be on edge all the time.

“You know you don’t have to make up for anything, right? There’s nothing to make up for.” Y/N said as he closed his locker gently, turning around as Renjun dismounted his chin from Y/N’s shoulder. The notches in the floor took Renjun’s interest again, a sheepish shimmer wandering briefly over his eyes. “I’m just saying, Junnie. I’m not an obligation or anything.” Y/N shrugged to himself, thinking about how to continue. But he just caught his breath as he saw Renjun slowly lift his gaze again.

“I-I know…” A thick, pungent uncertainty that stuck to their skin ran thick in Renjun’s voice. “I just wanted to make sure you know that I want to spend time with you.” As Renjun’s words escaped his lips at a trickle of a pace, Y/N realized how much he needed to make up for. Not Renjun. Him.

Y/N was always bothered before he was engaged, he overthinks and hyperfixates before he’s available, and he always lets Jisung steal his first thoughts before Renjun does. Before the person standing right in front of him does. Someone who isn’t here, someone who left him is the first person on his mind; the silvers of Y/N’s and Jisung’s lost horizons and the whispers that have stayed dancing there always greet Y/N in the morning before he reaches out to catch the butterflies Renjun left in his stomach the afternoon prior. He can’t keep thinking like this, he can’t keep thinking about Jisung. He’s gone and Renjun’s here. The only words of Jisung’s left to linger in Y/N’s head were remnants of broken promises, where Renjun’s been painting over them with careless whispers and cheeky laughter of his own.

All these deluded fantasies, these vague concepts and wishes Y/N’s chased down all the sidestreets he and Jisung used to explore and strip of their novelty, inch by inch. Those stars in his hands have died already, and he needs to finally put them to rest before they collapse.

“You do a really good job at making sure that I know that….” They began to walk down the hallway and Renjun welcomed the arm that wound loosely around his shoulders. You don’t owe me anything… Y/N thought to himself as he looked at Renjun, a tightness in his slightly scrunched features relaxing the moment Y/N sent him a little, reassuring squeeze. “So… How d’you wanna waste our day away?” As ideas began to surface in Y/N’s mind, he just remembered the impending doom of his English midterm. But he felt a little bit of security as he realized that he hasn't even been assigned a partner yet.

Renjun gave it some thought. There were so many things he wanted to do with Y/N, so many things they have yet to do or even talk about. It brought a smile to Renjun’s face, how much of the starlit sky they have yet to overturn and how far they have yet to explore. But he couldn’t help but bite back a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite identify.

“I heard your English class has a midterm starting tomorrow, so how ‘bout some painting at my place! We could destress a little before then…?” By the end of his offer, Renjun’s voice stood as nothing but a shred of a whisper, and when he looked up to Y/N’s contemplative stare toward the front exit doors, he couldn’t help but hold his breath. Renjun knows Y/N’s parents are off for business, and maybe, if he’s lucky, Y/N could stay over for dinner and conquer a twilight with him. They haven’t done that yet, and had an entire day to themselves. Granted, they’ve been on the other end of each other’s phone lines when the sun went down, but Renjun wants to feel the lavender flush of a new dawn against his skin with Y/N next to him.

They’ve been so close to breaching that threshold recently, and Renjun finally wants to take that big step in their friendship. He wants to be for Y/N what his old friends were, he wants to be just as connected to Y/N as Jisung was…

Hopefully… Renjun can only hope…

“That sounds like an amazing idea.” Y/N smiled as his eyes drifted from Renjun and over to the hand that played with his, fingers weaving and unweaving between his and draping from the one he rested on Renjuns shoulder.

Renjun knew so much about Y/N, like how painting helped him destress, how going on mid-afternoon walks at the most impractical times helped him think, and how filling up the spaces in the sky with his words helped him slow down. Renjun just seemed to get that, get him. He was always there to listen, always right next to him on those stray, cobbled paths on the edge of the school’s lot, always shoving his studious habits aside and offering to sneak with him into the art classrooms with Y/N during spare periods. He always puts himself forward and goes out of his way to help Y/N stay out of his own.

Y/N didn’t know that much about Renjun, however, or at least about his habits. He doesn’t know whether it’s because Renjun’s never been quite the revealing type, always keeping things close to his chest even when he thinks their heartbeats fall on the same wavelength. Or maybe it could be that Y/N just never tried hard enough to peel back the surface to notice; Renjun just always seemed so perfect, so nice, so gentle and generous. The only thing he got every now and then was nervous, or at least that’s what he showed.

Y/N swallowed back the questions that left a bitter taste on his tongue. He didn’t want to submerge himself in more doubt than he already put himself in.

“Okay!” Renjun said with a chuckle. He sounded relieved, as if he was preparing for the worst. “Cool.”

As soon as they pushed through the front exit doors, the clangor from the baseball field overwhelmed the finally comfortable silence that surrounded them. Their figures could be seen in the distance, blurs of red and white, kicking up sun-stained, copper sands, all shrouded in a haze of rough and coarse shouting. Even from afar, that voice sounded so familiar, and clawed its way under their skin in such a distinctly ravenous and merciless way.

Renjun didn’t even need to think that hard in order to find the scars from the morning, the scars that Jeno left in both of them with his ‘fake best friend’ comment. They still haven’t healed since then, from when they were under the furious spark in Jeno’s eye, that glint in his triumphant, cocky smirk as he said it and his squared shoulders, propped up by the egotism that followed him everywhere. Y/N and Renjun have been under Jeno’s burning spotlight numerous times, more so now since they’ve tried to find their voice and push back against him.

But their familiarity with Jeno’s wrath didn’t make it hurt any less, didn’t remedy the burn any quicker or didn’t stop the ache whenever he plucked at their heartstrings and left them to tangle.

Now, their quiet was anything but comfortable, though, as Jeno’s remark began to whip up in a whirlwind that careened through both of their minds. Chaos weaving between every spare second their thoughts had to themselves and shadowing every small step they made out of the school gateway and down the street to Renjun’s house. Maybe if they turn back and head to the science block where everything happened, the sparks lit in the air between Jeno’s grinding teeth and clenched jaw could still be seen if they look just right.

“Jeno just said that to get under our skin…” Renjun said, as if to convince himself.

A uniform understanding washed over them. Y/N knew exactly what Renjun was talking about, even if his voice was frail enough to be carried away by the gentle breeze that brushed against them.

Y/N looked over to see Renjun with his shoulders firm, breaths short and quivering. He wasn’t surprised that Renjun was just as shaken as Y/N by what Jeno said, if not more. Jeno said to them, straight to their faces and staring right into their weary eyes, that Y/N and Renjun’s friendship was nothing but a farce. A claim of loyalty built on a house of cards that’s already fallen over. Renjun is nothing but a placeholder for Y/N’s expectations.

“Exactly, because he’s an asshole whose only goal has been to make us feel like garbage…” Y/N would be flat-out lying if he said Jeno’s remark didn’t hurt him. “Him getting under our skin? That’s what he wants, Renjun, and I’m not gonna let him do that…”

With Jisung standing right behind Jeno, shielding himself from the blow, it’s like Jeno was waiting for this opportunity, to tear down whatever Y/N and Renjun have built, brick by brick. He knew exactly what to say to completely dismantle them, cast their doubts right over their heads like shadows and do it all with his signature sneer.

It made Y/N think. It made him think too hard. About everything he’s been doing, whether he knows what he’s been doing or not. All of the subconscious expectations he’s been placing on Renjun’s shoulders, the weight he’s let Renjun carry himself and himself alone while Y/N receives what Renjun strains himself to give.

What if Renjun’s already crumbled, His desperate attempts to fit into the Jisung-sized hole in Y/N’s heart resulting in nothing but more of Renjun’s flames flickering out? Y/N never meant for that, he never wanted that. He wants Renjun, he wants only Renjun.

A small shrivelled voice, deep in the pits of Renjun’s stomach where all his misgivings lay, suggested that there was some truth in Jeno’s words. But it faded away and fizzled out before Renjin could recognize it’s echo.

“He’s such a dick…” Renjun mumbled. He didn’t want to talk about it more than they already were. Lending power to Jeno’s already strong words would just send him and Y/N tumbling like stone. “I’m not going to let him tear us apart either. I’ve got you too.”

“I know…”

Jeno always had such a habit of plunging so deeply into the doubts Renjun thought he buried so long ago. Uprooting them and leaving him in tangles of ceaseless self-contemplation. All the things he’s been trying to do for Y/N, all the things he’s given to Y/N, sometimes out of a sheer desperation for Y/N to see him like the best friend they’ve both wanted - for Y/N to reclaim and for Renjun to finally obtain - has it really all been in vain?

Renjun shook the thought off his back. Y/N appreciates him, he likes Renjun for Renjun. He’s been trying to be the Jisung that Y/N’s silently laments about losing for the year and a half they’ve been friends. How Jisung makes Y/N feel, Renjun never wants him to continue like that. Lulled into a half-woken state of self-loathing and sadness and anger and regret. It just made Renjun want to try harder, to prove himself. He’s Y/N’s best friend, and he doesn’t want to lose Y/N, not like Y/N lost Jisung. He wants to be there for Y/N, he wants to be the best friend that Y/N deserves. But what does that give him?

It gives him a weathered heart, worn and tired under the pressure of not knowing what he wants, not knowing what Y/N wants. It gives him a constant worry, hopes running from his hands, slipping through his fingers as all he wants is for them to build a world of their own, not to be held down by the gravity of everyone else’s.

Those afternoons sitting with Y/N at their favourite picnic table, where they plucked the flowers from where they bloomed under the shadows of the seats and tucked them behind each other’s ears as they attempted to study together. The more Renjun thought about it, the more he could feel their lilac petals wilt and fade; drain themselves of colour. He could feel everything fading, cutting itself down, hours of nonsensical conversation on park benches at dusk shifting to fleeting moments in an instant as they turned the corner and stood at the bottom of Renjun’s driveway.

With a subtle nod from Renjun, who tried his best to hide his thoughts behind pressed lips and an averted gaze, they made their way up the walkway. The marigolds lining his front lawn seemed like amber stars in a jade green night as the copper sunlight filtered in as shards through the trees.

Renjun chuckled quietly at Y/N’s awe when he paused and crouched down to get a better look at the deepening of the colours at the ends of the petals. Whenever their conversations grew stiff, Renjun would always talk about how, one day, he’d bring Y/N to see the marigolds that bloomed by his house during a super short time in the season. They always missed the flowers’ full bloom by a hair whenever Y/N offered to walk Renjun home, and Renjun just had to spend that springtime listening to the chatter between the wind and the grass all on his own.

Now Renjun gets to see it, just before he unlocks his front door, a chipped, off-white wooden gateway, a blank page against the desk where they can finally start writing their own story. Renjun’s only been over to Y/N’s house once to finish a science project before Renjun switched out of that class to move up a level. Renjun remembered the ocean of blue so well, how Y/N’s bedsheets rippled around him as they both jumped on his bed and did anything but work until the last few hours of the day.

The burn of the emerging starlight that ran down his back, Renjun could never forget the way that felt. Y/N caressing his spine teasingly when they complained about having back pain after hunching over their textbooks for ‘too long’. It’s like Y/N held its shine in his very hands.

Renjun wondered to himself when his mom picked him up that night, just before they could call ‘operation sleepover’ an unqualified success, if anybody else has gotten the opportunity to feel like that, to feel what he felt whenever Y/N set his pulse alight with the little touches they shared.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” Renjun brought Y/N out of his trance as he shot up from the flowers and shuffled over to where Renjun was. With a playful nudge to Y/N’s stomach, Renjun let a chuckle carry itself away in the breeze and eased himself through the front door. “I’m really glad you got to see them…”

With the contemplative hum that left Y/N’s lips in response and circled around them, it wasn’t too long until Renjun realized that it wasn’t just about the flowers.

“I love how one of our aspirations this year was literally to look at flowers…” Y/N let his voice weave into the silence of Renjun’s empty house as he was let in. He kicked off his shoes and waited in the front foyer for Renjun to do the same. His slightly bitter laughter at the mundanity of everything he’s done with Renjun so far mixed with a shyly surfacing giggle from Renjun. Renjun’s flickers of laughter made Y/N’s smile feel a little bit more real as he followed Renjun through his front hallway. Y/N wondered, though, how much time they would have wasted away building memories if he just wasn’t so ignorant and complacent in Renjun’s struggle - one he’s noticed far too late. Instead, they’ve actually wasted time, pages and pages of half-finished and barely started stories dyed with the pale golds of an emerging evening that was just waiting for them. “We’ve stooped so low.” Y/N pushed out a chuckle, trying his best to find a gap in his thoughts as he just absently watched Renjun shuffle around in his kitchen, most likely to get some stuff for their painting session.

“The lowest, we’re threats to society.” Renjun poked his head out into the doorway where Y/N could see him better, his head of silver curls bouncing with every one of his animated movements and shedding the shimmers that they held as the sunlight streaming in through the windows cascaded down his back. Y/N shared a brief chuckle with the back of Renjun’s head before something caught the corner of Y/N’s eye. A glint - nearly as bright as the shine in Renjun’s smile on the days they accidentally wore the same colours to school - coming from Renjun’s living room.

Y/N stepped back to get a better look, a fond smile overtaking him as he peered in and saw a picture he never knew existed perched by a bay window. He wanted to see the irony in all of that - Y/N and Jisung shared so many memories in Y/N’s very own bay window. He wanted to let an eerie sigh trickle from off his tongue and reminisce, but he’d rather keep the sweet shine of his smile between his teeth instead and focus on what he has.

It was a snapshot of one of few days Y/N made sure to never forget, one that stayed in his head forever. It was their very first ‘museum date’, Y/N and Renjun grinning in front of a grand, ivory building with the reckless abandon of the early afternoon sunlight caught in their hair. One of the only fun field trips of the school year was being set free past the rolling hills of this boring, old town, the only rule put on them being to meet back at the museum by dark.

Y/N’s smile took flight in soft laughter as he remembered how Renjun hounded a passerby to take a photo of them, and how the only annoyed look they could muster at his cute, pleading smile was covered up by some sort of vicarious pride as Renjun bounced up to Y/N and brought him in with an arm around his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way…” Y/N mumbled, half-distracted.

Y/N looked back on that day, where they looked at the past, but not the past Y/N was used to reliving.

He wondered if Renjun struggled to keep his eyes off the sights like Y/N did.

Y/N couldn’t keep his eyes off Renjun that day either.

The way his wool beret flopped to one side despite him stopping every five seconds and adjusting it with a whine, how Y/N always managed to pick him out of the crowd with his brightly patterned sweater whenever Renjun got sidetracked by a piece he scoured the entire building for. The bliss Y/N felt burned to the touch in the most satisfying way.

Even when Renjun left Y/N a little frustrated after leaving him at every turn to inspect his favourite artwork, he made up for it with a bunch of hugs on the bus ride home and a study session at the cafe - all coffee on him. Y/N made sure to get a lot of coffee.

Renjun saw Y/N through the kitchen archway, craning his neck into his living room. He stopped what he was doing - filling up a few red solo cups with some water - and shuffled over to see what Y/N was smiling so brightly at.

Stepping closer, he saw Y/N’s grin fixed on a picture that Renjun just recently put up in his living room, and then shone a smile of his own. His chest swelled with pride and burst into sparks of happiness. He was glad Y/N was as sentimental about that day as he was.

“Me neither, now let’s head upstairs and cross looking at your cute flowers off our bucket list.”

Y/N flinched to the sound of Renjun’s voice and wondered if Renjun caught him staring. Posturing his hands on his hips, a sarcastic tone assumed his coy expression. “I wonder what could possibly be next for us?”

“Maybe we can finally get a life, touch some grass? Stay up past eleven? Really live wild and free.” With a shrug and a cheeky smirk, Renjun placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Before he could get too lost in the shattered sunlight caught in Y/N’s eyes, though, he remembered that he still had things to get. “Just make yourself comfortable in my room while I fetch the painting stuff.” Renjun said with a nod toward the stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

Y/N left the main level and bound up the stairs.

The creaks in Renjun’s floorboards that could be heard in the ceiling just above him, that’s a symphony he’s already memorized, but he wondered if it would sound any different with Y/N humming along with him one day. Maybe that day could be today.

Taking in the silence around him, Renjun paused over the sink, every trickle of the lukewarm water running down his hands and limp fingers digging into his skin as a realization washed over him in a gentle sheen of the copper sunlight.

The tension that he was always so scared of, it wasn’t leaking between the gaps in their conversation. There weren’t any gaps in their conversation. It was just normal, for the first time in a long time, he could just look into Y/N’s eyes, share a smile with him and even a little bit of laughter. That was a feeling, a moment, that Renjun could get used to, as the last thing on his mind was the simmer of all his self-consciousness that’d lurk under all of his thoughts.

He turned the tap back on, the sigh of the water as it hit his skin and the cups he was filling drowning out his hopeful thinking. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted what they just had. It’ll only make his goal farther from his reach.

Maybe telling Y/N about how he felt all the time, about what he was thinking could give them more moments like that. He just needs to bear his secrets under the sunlight, sing them into the sky and watch them get carried away by the breeze that eased past the tree-line. It was what Y/N deserved, Renjun’s honesty, and he was keeping it from him with such an earnestness that made him question if he even deserves to see Y/N’s smile like that.

Y/N can’t control the way Renjun thinks, why he thinks the way he does. Maybe that’s what Renjun needs Y/N to understand on the days where he thinks that Y/N won’t get it. That’s because he doesn’t.

All that stressing and Renjun’s actually never told him why he’s always acting so tense. Why Renjun feels like he needs to make up for everything and why he always feels like Y/N’s about to slip from his grasp.

Y/N just hasn’t been given the opportunity to listen…

Renjun took a deep, sharp sigh and shook his head, scratching away his thoughts as he collected all of their things and made his way upstairs.

A calm, tentative quiet wove itself between the two boys as the sky wore itself down and the silver brandish of a moonlight horizon darkened the sky. The starlight that leaked through the window ignited this soft, jovial glow under their skin, the glimmer of which caught Renjun’s stray stares every now and then when he looked up from his work over to Y/N. He had this small smile etched subtly on his features, and everything felt silent, comfortable with the whispers of their brushes smoothing against the canvases.

They were both curled on the floor Renjun pressed up against the footboard of his bed, and Y/N spread out in the center of Renjun’s room, shifting every now and then on his hardwood floors to get better angles to approach his work. Renjun didn’t bother to notice how much time passed by in the nonchalant stillness between their breaths, at least until he thought too hard. The air around Renjun soon grew thick, suffocating, as if it was trying to beat and squeeze something out of his chest. Something Renjun didn’t even know if he could put into words yet.

The thoughts have been circling his head relentlessly since they started painting, and they decided that their moment of peace lasted long enough. Renjun opened his mouth once to speak, but nothing came out but a silent sputter.

With a deep breath into the blues and purples artfully smeared against his canvas, nearly stripping the colours from it, Renjun tried one more time with a tug on the sweatshirt he changed into. He didn’t know if he was ready, but he needed to be so he could finally put all these doubts, all these stirring inhibitions he kept so close to his chest, to finally be put to rest.

“Hey, can we talk…?”

Renjun’s voice cut through the surface of the silence and snapped it in two. Y/N turned his head with a hum of acknowledgement, lifting his gaze to follow Renjun’s voice and following his timid hand gesture to scoot closer to him.

“Yeah of course.” Putting down his brush and hiding a groan as he felt tiny streaks of red and yellow paint somewhere on his cheek, Y/N met Renjun halfway and sat crossed-legged - copying Renjun - in the near-center of the room. Their knees were touching, and as they just looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, everything felt as if it were revolving around them, bending to their gravity. “What’s up?”

This was what it was supposed to feel like… Renjun felt a simmer under his skin that was palpable, practically pooling in his hands as a surge of confidence burst through him. It was brief, but Renjun’s never felt anything like that before. It made him feel alright. Renjun knew that Y/N would listen to him, Y/N was always a good listener, but something that used to linger as a weight in his heart wasn’t there anymore, and now he wasn’t holding himself back anymore.

“Jun…” Y/N sensed Renjun’s hesitance beneath everything else. Those habits that he’s always failed to pick up, they’re now running through his memory, a memory he never knew he had until he looked hard enough. He took Renjun’s hands, letting their entwining fingers rest between them, and shone a small smile of reassurance as he could almost feel Renjun release the breath he knew he was holding.

Still thinking, and taking his time in the light of Y/N’s patient gaze, Renjun played idly with Y/N’s fingers, the colours in their touch mixing.

If there’s anything about their friendship that they’re both certain about, it’s that they’ll always have time to find a diplomatic solution. They’ll talk it out for as long as they need to, at least for as long as Y/N and Renjun were willing to stand on a street corner by Renjun’s house until their legs grow tired or until the sunset’s colours dye their favourite park bench. Maybe, if Renjun says what he wants to say, what he needs to say, they could make more memories that won’t lose themselves in the moonlight.

“I just… I feel like I need to get something off my chest, but I don’t know how to say it right…” Renjun started, swallowing dryly. Looking into Y/N’s eyes, how attentive his delicate grip on Renjun’s fingers was, the devils on his shoulder chanted to him how patronizing it was. He shut them up with a sigh, though. He needed this, both of them deserved this.

“Then say it wrong.” Y/N could see all the thoughts that were endlessly tumbling through Renjun’s head, he just wanted Renjun to say what he was thinking, tell him how he felt. He doesn’t need to manufacture things with Y/N, he never did. “If I’m being honest, you look like you’re thinking too hard all the time… Like not acting ‘off’, but…” Trailing off with a sigh, searching for his words. The mixture of confusion, realization and surprise in Renjun’s expression lended Y/N the thoughts he needed to continue. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me until you have the perfect idea of what to say…”

Renjun relented with a sigh. He doesn’t know how Y/N manages to see right through him at times. “I know, I know…” His gaze slowly rose again to see Y/N’s eyes still on him, it was comforting, but only slightly.

“Okay, good. ‘Cause what kind of friend would I be if I placed that kind of expectation onto you…?” Y/N caught himself in his words, holding his breath in a vice as he looked up to Renjun, who remained unmoved. At least on the surface.

“I…” Renjun felt so fragile, as if a gust of wind from his open window and a single dance of the thin, white drapes in his room would knock him off his balance and render him nothing but ashes to seep into the notches of his floor. That feeling fleeted quicker than he thought, though, as he looked down to see his blues and purples grow more red and yellow, Y/N’s fingers smoothing against his.

Renjun took a breath, he could feel something like a sob clawing up his throat, but pushed it back. He prepared himself for everything he was about to say, wrong or right, his words together or fallen apart. He was preparing himself.

“I’m just so tired all the time…”

Y/N could feel this sadness bloom in him, tightening in his chest as he heard the falters in Renjun’s voice. He thought about it, but to hear it, to hear all the life and colour and brightness sapped from Renjun’s precious heart as he forced those words out with the slivers of his breath. He could feel something break off and twist in his heart.

As soon as the words were out of Renjun’s mind and past his tongue, he could barely believe them himself, as if the sounds didn’t make sense, but it was true. He was so tired. Tired of being worried, worried because he was tired.

Renjun wedged his teeth into his lip, he could feel his breath crumbling, tears briefly catching his vision in a blur. Even the hands on his, slowly smoothing against his knuckles with a calming rhythm. It was helping, but it also wasn’t.

“I’ve just been under this constant stress whenever I’m around you, that I need to uphold the memories of Jisung that I know you still think about.” Jisung’s name felt coarse on Renjun’s lips, bitter as he bit it back. He was the last person Renjun wanted in his head, Jisung and everything he’s put them through are the reasons why he feels like he has to live up to so much why he needs to replace all the bad things with his good things. “Losing him and everything that your friendship meant, I know that’s a pain that won’t go away overnight.” Seeing how deflated the very thought of Jisung made Y/N feel, and how that misery and that emptiness left Y/N’s heart in pieces for him and Renjun to gather up on their way to their first period. All it did was make Renjun feel like he was never enough to make Y/N feel anything else, or any better. “I tried to reclaim that time he threw away, I wanted to be close to you like he was. I just…” The harder Renjun tried to steady his voice, the more difficult it got. It felt like it was slipping right out from under him. “I thought that’s what you wanted, so I wanted to give that to you, and I was so worried that if I was anything but, then you would leave me…”

“Renjun…” Y/N didn’t know what to say. He knew he'd been acting complacent in Renjun’s struggle, but he never knew how heavy the burden truly was. Even when he felt Renjun hold onto Y/N’s hands tighter, it still felt like they were slipping.

Renjun’s voice barely breached a whisper, a shadow of his sobs that tore through the silence that followed them.

“I’m just really, really, really tired… I want to be myself, but I don’t know if that’s what you want. I didn’t know if you were okay with me stepping outside his shadow or if that’s what my purpose was…?” Renjun could feel a flush scorch his cheeks as he watched Y/N’s firm expression falter, his eyes wavering with this glimmer of sadness and regret. He wanted to raise his hands up and wipe the tears that he felt threatening to trip over his lashes, and the ones he could see piling in shimmers in the corners of Y/N’s eyes too. But he didn’t want the colours in their still entwined hands to dye their tears. “I’ve never had a friend as close as you before, and I wanted to keep what we’re having, what we’ve had… I’ve just been alone for so long, so when someone as loving and thoughtful as you came along and wanted to be with me…” He just let them fall, let them carve rivers into his cheeks and drip down his chin. Y/N was just about to scramble to wipe them with his sleeve, but Renjun just took Y/N’s hands back on his own and squeezed them. He hated the way they burned, but he needed this, he needed to say this and to feel this. He smiled through his sadness as he looked back at Y/N. “I just clung, I held on so tightly that I didn’t let you breathe - until I couldn’t breathe either…”

A dreadful, bitter silence overtook them. How could Y/N have let this go on for so long? How could he have let Renjun treat himself like this, how could he treat Renjun like this and let him feel this way?

“Junnie… I should’ve noticed everything sooner…” Y/N finally decided to break the silence, his own voice weak under the pressure of Renjun’s quiet, suppressed sobbing.

“No. Y/N…” Renjun tried his best to blink away his tears, but Y/N’s quivering lip was nothing but a shifting blur. His hands shot up to hold Y/N’s face, but he flinched back with a shrivelled sigh, the paint still stained his hands. “I didn’t tell you, I didn’t expect you to know.”

“I don’t need you to tell me for stuff like this… I just needed to be a better friend.” Y/N buried his head in his sleeve-covered hands, a heavy sob oozing between his blush-stained fingers. He could feel Renjun’s pain tangling them up, making the emerging moonlight that streamed through the window feel like shards of glass against his skin. “I just needed to notice, and I noticed everything too late…”

“Y/N, don’t say that.”

Y/N shook his head, not letting Renjun’s words of humility and forgiveness sink in right now. His regret bubbling at the back of his throat, Y/N struggled to choke out anything, until a hand reached out to him and brought one of his back between him and Renjun. “I should’ve given you the reassurance you needed, told you that everything was alright so you didn’t have to worry… I'm so sorry…”

Renjun knew that Y/N wasn’t the one who made him feel this way, it was just the fact that they never talked about it. They were both lonely in their own ways, and they attached themselves to each other for support - any small semblance of light they could find to guide them through what felt like an endless night.

Despite everything Renjun felt, everything he was trying to do for Y/N that left him spent before he could afford anything. Y/N was still a good friend to him, he just never knew what he needed to say until it was too late.

“I just needed to know that everything was okay. That I was doing a good job…” That’s all Renjun needed, to just be taken into Y/N’s embrace that he’ll never grow tired of and to be told that everything was okay. That he’s doing good, that nothing's wrong and that he wants Renjun there. Renjun just never knew how to ask for that. He didn’t know if he deserved that because part of him thought he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t doing a good job.

Y/N leaned in and took both of Renjun’s hands. “You are… You really are. I promise I’ll never let you feel like anything less…” Renjun was everything to him. The fact that he’s been letting Renjun slowly slip from his grasp until now and not even knowing? He didn’t know what kind of friend that makes him.

He wants to be a better one, he knows that.

“Y/N…” Renjun could feel his voice beginning to piece together, bit by bit. “You mean it…?”

“Yes. I don’t want anyone else. I want you, Renjun. I only want you.” Y/N shone a grin through his tears, its shine making Renjun bare his teeth in a wide smile of his own. Without Renjun, Y/N doesn’t know what he’d do. “You’re always there, making me feel loved when I thought love lost all its meaning. I just… If it’s not too late, I wanna show how much I truly appreciate you.”

The moment Y/N let his held breath out from between his teeth, everything seemed to freeze. Y/N and Renjun caught in each other’s pensive stares, drying tears framing their smiles. All the both of them could do was just sit there, hand in hand - thinking, wondering, relieved, glad, maybe even still a little stressed. Y/N didn’t know how much he’d have to do to reclaim Renjun’s time just like Renjun tried to do for him, but he’s ready. He’s ready to do everything he can to make sure that Renjun never has to worry, that he never has to feel like a traitor to himself with every word he speaks or as if he doesn’t belong whenever they find home in each other’s eyes.

It took a moment for Y/N to catch notice of the blur of a movement that flashed in front of him. Not until he felt something heavy begin to drip from his cheek and saw the paintbrush between Renjun’s fingers, dripping with blue and purple paint, did he finally find the strength to push his voice out. Renjun beat him to it, though, his eyes claiming a coy, devilish sparkle and his words stinging with this sarcastic lilt.

“You got a little something…” Renjun leans over to feign wiping it away, planning for another strike of paint to blemish Y/N’s skin, but Y/N flicked up a brush of his own, a few flecks of paint smattering against Renjun’s cheek. “YOU DID NOT JUST-”

“Oh.” Y/N backed away slowly, preparing himself for another one of Renjun’s attacks as his assailant prepped another strike of violet in his brush. A playful giggle made its way from Y/N’s growing smile. “I surely did.”

Everything now hung still in a different way, the starlight suspended in the air and the lilacs that bloomed in the creases of the night sky billowing in through the open window. Nothing made a sound but the shifting of the dancing drapes, and nothing stirred. Not even a waver between their stare could be seen.

“Vengeance will be mine!” Renjun yelped as he leapt toward Y/N, brush in hand and with a sinister smile in full bloom on his lips. Y/N tried to take another step back, but he fell victim to Renjun’s gentle shoves and teasing nudges against his sides. He felt thick swathes of paint streak his neck, his cheek, his jaw - all sticking to him like honey - but he couldn’t help but let his giggles fly free and circle around them. He never knew Renjun could put up this good of a fight, but he wasn’t just going to let him win.

Y/N pushed a little too hard, though, and before he knew it, he had Renjun under his hands, pushed down by the shoulders to the floor that rang with its own mocking laughter as Y/N’s gaze hung triumphantly over him. Heavy breaths ran dry on their tongues, and their marbled scars, reds, yellows, blues, purples and all the colours in between glimmering under the shine of the silver light coming in through the window.

“Fine~ you win…” Renjun whined, and a silence soon overtook the room, their heavy breaths filling the space between them. Y/N had Renjun’s waist between his legs. But as their respective grins and pouts faded into something they couldn’t quite determine, Y/N couldn’t lift his hands from Renjun’s shoulders.

They moved up instead, settling in the curves of Renjun’s neck like pieces falling into place, wet paint on his hands following the curves and edges of Renjun’s neck and jaw.

Renjun tried to laugh it off, laugh this off. The stillness between them that dangled right in their faces. But he couldn’t.

He was still breathless, the air ripped from his chest as he stared at the light Y/N held in his eyes. He looked so happy, so elated yet at peace. It was like he could finally recognize him. If this was how beautiful Y/N looked when he was finally free, then Renjun wants to have him like this forever. No thoughts weighing down the flush in his cheeks or dimming the shimmers in his smile, no worries breaking the symphony of his laughter.

Nothing in their way…

Everything, the colour in the room and between their hands, the thoughts in their heads, and the air in their chests. It was all gone the moment they entwined their lips. Right now, there was only them.

They could feel the weight of all their doubts and inhibitions melt from their bodies as they let themselves sink deeper into each other’s gravity. Renjun reached up to Y/N’s shoulders, colour-stained fingertips painting tapestries against his skin and smudging the hair he tangled between his fingers. He brought him closer, even closer, until he could feel the beat of Y/N’s heart burn through his chest and reduce all his feelings to the shimmers draped in starlight between them.

There was no safer place to be, Renjun’s touch sailing on the streaks of colour against Y/N’s waist, Y/N treasuring the skin under his hands, worshipping at the altar between Renjun’s teeth. Their safe haven, everything they want and need, is right here.

Y/N’s thoughts were nothing but a blank canvas until the colours that lined Renjun’s hands stained him with their memories. And as he could feel the rippling sparks that sang between their lips, he couldn’t help but smile into Renjun’s kiss. He could feel a pale blue flush wash over his ashen skies, the longer the velvety rhythm between their lips echoed in the back of his throat. He thought he’d have to get used to the shadows that blocked his sunshine until Renjun split his rolling clouds with the daybreak between their lips.

Everything rushed back in a flood of feelings as they pulled back to take a breath. The silence between them, the air still left ripped from their chest and the pair of intertwined hands that laid on the floor next to them. It spoke their truth for them, and said everything they couldn’t.

“Y/N, I…” Renjun tried to speak, only empty husks of half-said words tripping over his tongue as Y/N leaned forward to nudge Renjun’s forehead with his.

Y/N slid a hand under Renjun’s sweatshirt and worked his touch up to Renjun’s chest. His heart felt like it was skipping beats, leaping and bounding over the song of their hoarse, still breathless laughter.

“It’s okay, catch your breath…” Y/N whispered with a giggle, kneading his hand into Renjun’s skin. He shone a smile when Renjun’s hands settled on his waist. He’s never felt more at home, caught in the light Renjun held in his touch, dyed with the colours that still stained his fingertips as he sketched slow, gentle circles into Y/N’s sides. “I like seeing that I can make you speechless anyways.”

Renjun’s caresses came to a stop and a pointed, awestricken shine took over the glimmer in Renjun’s eyes.

“You’re so-” Renjun couldn’t bring a growl of frustration, even a fake one, from his throat as one shift in Y/N’s touch against his skin sent him spiralling. Y/N always meant a lot to him, but these touches… Now, they mean so much more. Giving in to his thoughts and the fire that still burned in his heart, Renjun let them slip out with a deep breath. “You’re so beautiful…”

“Junnie…”

The weight of Y/N on Renjun’s hips, it didn’t feel like anything else he’s borne before. It wasn’t like the burdens he’s carried and could never shed. It was never like the shadow of his worries that would always cast out his shine.

He just felt grounded, a shooting star brought back down to earth by the gravity of the guy he’s been revolving around for so long. Stardust on his skin, laid in shimmers everywhere Y/N touches. That’s how Y/N makes him feel.

“Should we go to bed like this…?” Renjun gestured to the paint-sullied skin of his stomach and chest and then traced his hand against the streaks of colour that flourished along Y/N’s body. Y/N hummed and leaned into Renjun’s touch with an airy chuckle, Renjun stringing a laugh of his own along with it.

Y/N tugged at his sweatshirt collar. He doesn’t necessarily think that sleeping with drying paint on his body is the cleanest or most comfortable thing ever. “All messed up and covered in paint? Aren’t we gonna you know, stain like, everything…?”

“I didn’t see you caring this much when you spilled an entire pizza on my bed.” Renjun lifted a skeptical eyebrow and watched as Y/N practically crumbled under his gaze. Seeing Y/N in shambles as he stumbled over his words, Renjun could get used to seeing that.

“I thought we weren’t talking about that anymore!”

Renjun could remember everything clear in his head as if it were yesterday. It was noon on a weekend, the glow of the evening sun a vivid ivory against his light grey walls. They thought it was a good idea to put their school bags on the ground right next to where Renjun knew they would be stepping. Everything was a red-orange blur the moment Y/N skipped through Renjun’s bedroom door with a pizza box in hand. But what wasn’t a blur was their feeble attempt to clean it afterward.

Ever since, Y/N could never go near the pizza place just west of the school. He could feel its bad omen and the ear-piercing shriek Renjun let out that day every single time they got close on their walks to the plaza across the street. Renjun said he’d live it down, eventually… But Y/N was a fool if he ever believed that.

“Well guess what, we are! How do you even spill a pizza? It’s like sixty-percent solid!” Renjun threw his hands up in the air, still confused about what actually happened. Maybe it was a ploy to get Renjun new bedsheets…

He brought his dramatically waving arms back down to wrap around Y/N’s shoulders as he postured up from Renjun’s waist and laid down, leaning into Renjun’s chest and soaking in the warmth of his embrace.

Y/N propped himself on his hands to let his face hover just enough over Renjun’s that they could taste the afterglow of their kiss between their teeth. The glint in his eyes is mischievous and coy. “How do I spill it? ‘Cause it’s forty-percent fluid, bitch!”

“You-” With a rough groan, Renjun took Y/N by the back of the neck and flipped them over, taking pride in the yelp he heard come out from under him. He caught their hands in a knot and tied them above Y/N’s head, pinning him to the colour-stained hardwood floors. Watching a sly smile grow and bloom on Y/N’s face as he nudged Renjun’s nose with his own, and feeling the giggle Y/N buried in his neck… Everything just felt perfect. “You dummy, I love you.”

“I love you too…” Y/N’s words hung by a thread of the starlight draped between them.

Renjun didn’t notice what he actually said until Y/N said it back, with that light in his eyes and that shimmer in his smile that Renjun could never take his eyes off of, that he could drown in for hours, days on end until the sky lost its colour and the leaves changed theirs. The warm embrace of belonging, this was a new feeling, but a great one, one that he knows will never go anywhere as long as Y/N’s here, stuck in his orbit just as much as he’s stuck in his.

Everything just felt easier now, it felt right. And as a twilight haze swept over the room, claiming whatever slivers of silver moonlight were left with them on the floor, Renjun thought about him and Y/N. How they can create new stories, carve their names into skies that were always supposed to be theirs and theirs alone, just like the stars did every night. Time is theirs to reclaim now, every second with Y/N is precious, painted golden by their touch.

They weren’t going to waste a single moment.

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darkwritingsnshit · 4 years ago

Text

Things Change 2

Warnings: This will turn into a dark fic, not sure when but it’s coming. Please do not read if you’re under 18, or are uncomfortable with dark characters, kidnapping, noncon, asshole characters.

It was hard to pass up an invitation to Asgard, especially such a personal one. The idea of going back to the palace filled you with such bittersweetness. Asgard was as much your home as Vanaheimr, and it had been years since you’d seen its gleaming halls. Even so, you had not been back since the death of the Allmother, the woman who raised you there, you knew there would be an emptiness that would never be filled. Still, you were glad for the invitation. Painful as it may be, Frigga deserved to be honored and it was time you paid your respects, as well as reuniting with old loved ones.

Two moons were more than enough time to get everything together, making sure your home would be waiting safely when you came back. You became excited, the years had slipped by so quickly, it finally struck you that you had not been back to your childhood home for nearly 50 years. You were excited to see what had changed, and to reunite with Thor and Loki. The only drawback was that your attire for Vanaheimr was practical, pants and skirts for working outside, your hands were rough, your clothing was dirty. You were able to find one dress for court, though you hoped that your old chambers still held more court appropriate clothing.

The moons came and passed quickly, before you knew it you were preparing to depart for Asgard. Taking a last wistful look at your home, the trees in the orchard, the gardens and stream, you walked to the end of the lane and turned your eyes skyward.

“Hiemdall, I’m ready to come back.” That was all it took for your world to flash with bright lights, feel a twist in your stomach, and land right next to Hiemdall whose golden eyes were focused on yours intently.

“My dear, you’ve changed so much.” Hiemdall extended his hand which you took to stand back up, the Bifrost always seemed to knock you down when you got where you needed to be.

“Really?” You asked him. True you had changed much in the last few years, but you didn’t think it was that obvious.

“Yes child, you’ve grown. Both inside and out, I can see it in your eyes.” Nothing got past Hiemdall, even when you weren’t trying to hide anything. It was true, he saw everything.

Turning to cross the bridge, you shook your head in a double take of what laid before you. No longer was it a rainbow bridge to the Bifrost, instead it crackled with black and white static, an electrical charge hanging in the air. The kingdom seemed overcast, and dim.

“A soldier here will escort you to the palace my dear.” Hiemdall gestured to an armored soldier who had stepped forward to guide you.

“I’m quite alright Hiemdall, I know my way to the palace,” you replied, shaking your head.

“I’m afraid it’s not a request my lady,” Hiemdall sighed, “the Allfather has ordered an escort to anyone entering or leaving Asgard.”

Confused at the allocation of soldiers in the palace, you looked to Hiemdall but he offered no more information save the slightest shake of the head.

“Very well then,” you replied, and let the Asgardian soldier lead the way.

The very air felt different, the energy was wrong you decided, the landmarks once familiar now changed with time, gold giving way to shadowy silvers, even the tiled walls and murals had been changed. Asgardian soldiers outnumbered the citizens you passed. Silence filled the once bright marketplace, save a fountain gurgling quietly to fill the void. No laughing children or bustling chatter, in fact you hadn’t heard music since you had left Vanaheimr.

When at last the sullen soldiers had walked you to the throne room, you were unprepared for what you saw behind the thick double doors.

Odin had replaced what was a double throne for himself and Frigga with three large thrones, the middle rising above the others. What had been beautiful paintings of the royal family, the prosperity in the realms, victories among friends and celebrations of love had been removed. Instead, bearing down on the room were visions of death; the Allfather leading his sons into a bloody battle, severed heads of Jotun and beasts being slayed. The seating along the walls had been removed, forcing anyone who entered to stand, and to make room for giant skeletal heads of monsters that Odin or his sons had no doubt slain. The sight took your breath away.

“My dear!” Odin’s voice boomed and echoed through the halls. “Come closer child, it’s been too many years.” He opened his arms for an embrace as you hurried down the hall to pay your respects.

“Allfather,” you embraced him warmly as he looked you over.

“My child, are you eating in Vanaheimr? You’ve grown so tall and thin, yet you’re more beautiful than your mother was.” Odin’s words were meant to made you happy, though it was hard to feel joy when someone compared you to a mother you didn’t know and couldn’t picture.

“Not to worry dear, we have arranged an incredible feast for tonight, and we are sure to get you full of food and ale, are we not?” Odin looked over his shoulder to his sons who nodded in enthusiasm. “After quite a journey, surely you would like to rest and retire before tonight’s feast?”

You nodded readily, the entire facelift of Asgard was hard to take in at once. Both the brothers stood after Odin had released you, both seemed to stand taller than before, yet there was no spark of amusement or love in their eyes.

Thor had indeed changed more than Loki; you may not have recognized him if not for his seat at Odin’s right hand. One of Thor’s eyes was now a golden orange, drawing your eyes to his. His hair drawn back and braided, he looked like a warrior taking council, ready to charge back onto the killing fields. Even his armor had changed; no longer plated and studded with iron, he wore what you recognized as Elvish mail, their magic making all of their armor impervious to weapons, over Odin’s old breastplate that the Allfather had worn into battle for at least a thousand years. You saw no Mjolnir in his hand but something new, a dark battle axe that looked too heavy for even the Mighty Thor to wield.

“Sweet sister,” Thor approached you, hand on your shoulder before giving you a tight hug. “It’s been too long without you home with us. We are overjoyed to have you back.”

You had to crane your neck to get a better look at his bearded face, his Asgardian height surpassing your smaller frame. Loki stepped forward and bowed with a smirk, taking your hand in his with a kiss.

“You look very tired; will you allow me to escort you to your room?” Smirk still present, you nodded.

“Should the Allfather permit it, I would like to rest before our feast tonight.” Your eyes meeting Odin’s as he smiled and nodded.

“I shall send for you when it is time to feast my dear,” Odin let you know as you departed his hall with Loki.

“I’m glad you came,” Loki kept a hold on your hand after leaving the throne room.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” You asked, the steps to your chambers were second nature now, you could make the way with both eyes closed.

“I wasn’t entirely sure,” He admitted, “though I did suspect you would pay us a visit.”

“With such a personal invitation, how could I refuse?” You looked at him with a smile before becoming more somber. “We never really had a chance to honor Frigga, did we?” Loki’s face drew into a frown, the events surrounding her death had not led to the most inclusive or honorable funeral. You knew everyone involved still felt bad about how the events had unfolded.

“I’m happy you’re holding a feast for her. She deserved more than what we managed when she died.”

“She did. She does.” Loki replied, no longer a jest in tone.

Approaching your chamber, Loki pushed at the door and the locks clicked open. It was exactly as you remembered, a wave of nostalgia nearly knocking you over. How had your room remained untouched after all those years? Even the book you had left on your mattress was still in its place, though nothing was dusty or looked neglected. It was as if someone had kept your room spotless, without moving a single piece of furniture or fabric.

“Loki,” you began.

“Odin insisted no one move anything, but to keep it as it exactly as it was when you left it. He lost his wife, and his daughter not soon after. Mother’s room looks the same.” Loki told you.

“Oh,” you exhaled with pain in your chest. “Loki, I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t want him to think he was losing me, I just… I couldn’t be here anymore. It hurt.” Now you felt terrible. You hadn’t stopped to think how leaving Asgard may have affected Odin, though you saw just how blind you had been.

“I know.” Loki’s tone was clipped. “We all hurt. He kept waiting for you to come back though. He wanted to let you heal, but he missed you, he needed you.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You weren’t sure what could be said, what could make anything better.

“It’s alright, you’re back now.” Loki shook his head and gave you a smile. “I’ll send a maid to attend to you before the feast.”

“Loki, I haven’t used a maid in years, I don’t need one now!” You insisted.

“You haven’t been back to Asgard in years either my dear, some things don’t change.” He leaned close and gave you a kiss on the cheek before closing the door to leave you in peace.

#My writing #my works #dark!loki #dark!loki x reader #loki x reader #dark writings #Dark fics

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1dfangirls35 · 4 years ago

Text

Voir Dire (N.H.) A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love.

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

twenty-six

Kelsey was back on Niall's couch, her body sinking into the plush grey cushion. Being back at Niall's place felt different this time. Bittersweet nostalgia mixed with memories she'd rather stay hidden.

Niall was in the kitchen cooking dinner, the scent of roasting chicken and sautéed garlic drifting into the living room. He'd went all out for their first official date since getting back together, decorating his dinner room table with a black tablecloth and lighting a single romantic candle in the center of the table. He wanted the night to be perfect. He needed the night to be perfect- because he wasn't sure if their fragile relationship could handle any more obstacles.

"Smells good," Kelsey mused, as Niall emerged from the kitchen with two wine glasses in hand, handing one to Kelsey before taking a seat beside her.

"Hope it tastes as good as it smells," Niall laughed, taking a sip of his wine. He set a hand on Kelsey's knee, his fingers tracing circles on her skin. "Missed having you here," he murmured.

"Missed being here," Kelsey replied, smiling as Niall planted a kiss on her forehead. They stayed there for a minute, Kelsey's head tucked into the crook of Niall's shoulder. Niall's arm wrapped around Kelsey. Both reveling in the ability to be near each other once again. But the moment is temporary, as the timer goes off in the kitchen signaling the chicken needs to be taken out of the oven, and Niall reluctantly rose from his seat to make his way back to the kitchen.

The evening still felt a bit like a dream to him. He couldn't believe Kelsey was actually here, back in his house, back in his arms. He also couldn't believe that he was nearly ready to start his own record label and break his contact with the record label he had dreamed of working with for years. When dinner was ready, Niall pulled out Kelsey's chair for her at the table before she took a seat. Kelsey filled her plate. Niall poured them each another glass of wine. There's the low hum of music in the background. In the dimming evening light, Niall couldn't help but notice the way Kelsey's face glowed under the candlelight.

Kelsey watched Niall from across the table, his face concentrated on gracefully slicing his chicken. She wondered how she had went without him for all these months. Because this moment, sharing a candlelight dinner with the man she loved was more perfect than she ever could have imagined.

Perfection was short-lived, however, as Niall's phone began to vibrate on the tabletop next to him, bringing them both out of their thoughts. He ignored it at first, tapping the button to silence it without even bothering to see who was calling. Niall looked up at Kelsey and muttered a quiet "Sorry", before bringing his attention back to dinner.

The vibration stopped momentarily, then began to vibrate again. Niall let out an exasperated sigh, flipping the phone over to see Krystal's name on the screen. He hesitates slightly before picking up the phone and bringing towards his ear.

"Hello?"

"Niall?" Krystal's voice was frantic on the other line, and Niall felt his pulse begin to quicken. "I think something's wrong."

"What do you mean?" Niall stood from his place at the table abruptly, his feet beginning to pace. Kelsey tried to read Niall's face to see just exactly what was going on, the furrow in his brow signally something concerning.

"I've just started getting some cramps. I think it might be something with the baby," Niall could tell that Krystal was crying now, her voice audibly shaking.

"Hold on, hold on. Where are you? Are you at home?" he tried his best to keep his voice calm and steady, but even he could hear an element of panic in his words.

"Yes," Krystal said quickly. "I don't know if I should go in? To the hospital?"

"Well of course you should," Niall replied quickly as if there was even a question. "I'll come get you. I'm on my way."

Niall hung up the phone abruptly, and began rushing around the kitchen trying to find his keys. He nearly forgot Kelsey was sitting at the table in him until she came up beside him and grabbed his arm.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her own voice displaying some panic.

Niall nodded quickly. "I don't know..." he hesitated for a moment, trying to think of what exactly he should say. A voice in the back of his head telling him that Kelsey wasn't going to take kindly to being ditched at dinner for Niall's other woman. "I'm sorry, Kels, something's going on with the baby. I've got to go to the hospital with Krystal. Finish dinner without me, I'll be back soon."

And with that Niall rushed out the door, leaving Kelsey standing in the kitchen, trying to process what exactly just happened. She walked back over to the kitchen table, her chicken now looking a lot less delicious and the candlelight dinner seeming a lot less romantic. She took a seat, before putting her head into her hands.

How quickly she'd forgotten that Niall was not hers alone anymore. And he wouldn't be hers alone ever again. The reality of the situation began to set in. Niall having a baby with Krystal wasn't some simple complication to their relationship, it was a whole other relationship in its self, one that required time and effort, and unfortunately for Kelsey, would always take the precedent.

He hadn't even hesitated. He hadn't even asked if she wanted to come with. In fact, Kelsey was almost positive he'd forgotten that she was even there the moment he realized something was going on. Kelsey felt her stomach turn.

Suddenly, she'd lost her appetite for dinner. She brings her plate over the the large stainless steel sink, setting it inside with a clink. Then she slowly climbed the stairs to Niall's bedroom. Kelsey made her way to the wooden dresser in the corner of Niall's room, opening the drawer to find one of Niall's grey t-shirts. She slides out of the black dress she'd purchased for the evening, not bothering to pick it up from its pile on the floor and pulled on the shirt. Then she slid under Niall's covers, hoping that if she closed her eyes for long enough, this night when feel like a dream again instead of the beginning of a nightmare.

*******************

It's 11:13pm when Kelsey heard Niall's car pull in to the drive again.

She listened as the door from the garage opened. Niall's voice echoed into the house as he entered, followed by another higher-pitched voice. Krystal.

Kelsey's mind raced with any reasoning as to why Niall would bring her back her. Had he already forgotten that Kelsey was here? Had he so quickly forgotten about their romantic evening in, the one that had so quickly been ruined?

Kelsey began to grow irritated. Maybe this had been part of Krystal's plan all along. Maybe she knew that Kelsey was here and didn't want Niall to spend time with her.

"Kelsey?" Niall called out from downstairs, but Kelsey doesn't feel like responding. Instead, she continued to lay in bed, her body facing away from the bedroom door. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, she wouldn't give her frustrations the opportunity to make themselves known. That would be better for both of them wouldn't it? To forget this night had even happened.

As they entered the house, Niall directed Krystal to the guest bedroom on the first level. He hadn't wanted to bring her here, but after the ER visit she was still very anxious, and he knew that being alone tonight wouldn't be good for her or the baby.

Everything was fine with the baby- thankfully. Just some cramping, the doctor had told them, normal as the baby grows and the uterus begins to stretch. They had gotten an extra ultrasound out of the visit though, and Niall couldn't believe how much the baby had grown since the last time they'd gotten to see him. Him. It was a boy, the ultrasound tech had told him today.

Niall thought he would feel relieved, that everything would be okay. Instead, his worries had shifted back to Kelsey, who he had abruptly left on their evening in. He hoped she would understand why he needed to be there, and why he had brought Krystal back here.

When Niall got to his bedroom door, he saw Kelsey's body, curled onto one side facing away from him, her chocolate hair sprawled across the pillow. He climbed onto the bed, setting a hand on her shoulder gently. "Are you awake?" he asked, his voice just louder than a whisper.

Kelsey hesitated for a moment, before responding. "Yes."

"Are you upset with me?" Niall asked, but he already knew the answer.

"You tell me," Kelsey stated rolling over to face him and folding her arms in front of her chest. Her lips closed in a firm line.

"I'm sorry I missed dinner," Niall said softly. "But it was an emergency. I wouldn't have left if it wasn't. You know that."

Kelsey stayed quiet, her face blank. For a moment, she considered simply biting her tongue and keeping all her concerns locked up inside her head. If she stayed quiet they could go to bed and keep the night from being totally ruined.

But the night was already ruined. And this wasn't something that would happen once. This was something that would happen again and again over the course of Niall's future child's life. She sat up in the bed abruptly and Niall can tell by the look on her face that she's not about to say "it's okay."

"Are you sure about that? Because you seemed really quick to answer her phone call. You didn't even hesitate. You didn't even say, 'hey, I'm having dinner with Kelsey, you know the girl that I'm supposedly in love with," Kelsey's words were sharp.

"That's not fair Kelsey," Niall sighed. "You know I love you, it's just..." Niall scratched his head. "We are having a baby you know. Things like this are going to happen. Emergencies are going to come up. Krystal's never done this before, neither do I. We are still learning."

"I get an emergency, Niall. But why in hell would you bring her back here?" Kelsey's voice raised in volume. "Did you think to yourself, you know what I've already ruined my girlfriend's dinner, might as well ruin the whole night while we're at it huh?" Kelsey spat.

Niall felt a pang in his chest. He hadn't intended to make Kelsey upset. He was just trying to balance things. He was trying his best. "I..." he paused, knowing that no reason he gives for bringing back Krystal was going to please Kelsey. "I was just trying to be there for her. I'm really sorry that I ruined our night. It won't happen again. I promise." He tried holding Kelsey's hands, his eyes pleading with her that this wasn't something he planned on repeating.

"Can you promise that? Can you really promise me that you aren't going to drop everything for her when she calls?"

"I'll try to be better. We have to set boundaries. The time that we spend together is important to me. You are important to me. I don't want you to ever feel like you are second choice, because you aren't. Not at all. You are my girlfriend Kelsey, you always come first."

"And what about when the baby comes? Who do I become then? The evil stepmother? The weird aunt?" Kelsey was yelling now, and Niall worried that Krystal would hear them from downstairs.

Niall began to see that this conversation hadn't only been triggered by Krystal's call, but had been brewing for a while. It was Kelsey's worst fears being brought to light. Her coming to terms with exactly what this relationship would look like once another person entered it.

"Of course not Kels," Niall replied. "I just...I don't want you to feel like the outsider." Niall was at a loss for words. Because what could he really say? He couldn't expect her to jump into this role of parenting if she didn't want to.

"Are you even sure it's yours?" Kelsey asked, finally speaking what had been on her mind since she first found out about the baby.

"'Course it is," Niall didn't hesitate.

"Do you have the paternity tests to prove it?" Kelsey challenged.

Niall stared at her blankly. There'd never even been a question that it was his. He shook his head.

"You've got to be kidding me Niall, that's the first thing you fucking get!" Kelsey shook her head in her hands.

"Krystal wouldn't lie about that. If there was a question about who the father was she would have said." Niall's irritated now too. Kelsey always jumped to conclusions when Krystal was uninvolved. It was like she was unable to see Krystal as anything but a villain.

Kelsey sighed, knowing that this was going nowhere. Niall was too trusting- and that's probably what had gotten him into this whole situation in the first place, back to the very first contract. She looked at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. She could tell he's remorseful. She wanted more than anything to lean over and kiss him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that this was just a minor disagreement. She wanted them to go downstairs and have those brownies she'd baked last night for dessert and come upstairs and snuggle up on his chest to watch The Office on Netflix.

But she couldn't do it. And Krystal and the baby weren't a contract that could get waived or a record label that could be left. This couldn't just be ignored if they wanted their relationship to work. And Kelsey wanted it to work, she wanted it so badly to work. Maybe that's why she'd failed to see how much Niall being a baby daddy would impact her own relationship with him.

She sighed, lowering her voice back to a normal tone. "Niall, I love you. This doesn't change that. And I know you are trying to do the right thing. I know you are trying to figure things out too. I really thought I could do this. I really thought I could handle it, but after tonight... I just need some time to figure out my place in all this." She stood up, grabbing a pair of sweatpants out of Niall's drawer and sliding them onto her bare legs.

"Where are you going?" Niall questioned.

"To Becca's. I need to think," she moved towards the door.

"But this was supposed to be our night. This was.."

"Niall, this hasn't been our night since you chose to pick up that phone," Kelsey snipped. She didn't wait for Niall's response before opening the door and making her way down the stairs.

"Kelsey wait!" Niall exclaimed, but he's too late, Kelsey's slammed the door shut with a wall-moving bang.

Niall climbed down the stairs towards the kitchen, trying to comprehend just how his perfect night had ended so badly. Instead of being met by Kelsey, it's Krystal that stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her face was pale, scared almost, and Niall instantly regretted bringing her back here to get involved in this mess.

"Sorry, I was just getting a drink," she muttered, averting her eyes before Niall could say anything else. And as she walked away Niall wondered just how much she had heard.

Tag List: @awomanindeniall , @ihearthemcallingforyou , @niall-is-my-dream , @stylishmuser , @thicksniall

Three Chapters left guys! (And can you believe I have them almost all written)

#writingby1dfangirls35 #voir dire #nh #niall horan #niall ff #niallff #1dff #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan ou #niall ou #niall x ofc #secret relationship #fake dating #one direction

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milfgritty · 6 years ago

Text

not what we used to be | s. knight

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ word count: 1.8k ❀ ⇢ genre: angst

things change, people change. and it hurt to realize that so did your feelings.

⇢ posted: 04.05.19 . | . masterlist

Taking a deep breath, you steeled your resolve.

Meet up at our usual place? You hurriedly typed, fingers trembling just barely. Eyes scanning over the text had you almost backing out and deleting it but this was something you’d been thinking about for a while. It was something you had to do, regardless of how it made you feel.

Quickly hitting send, you turned off your phone and pocketed it as you continued down the path. You knew it was just adding pain to the wound by doing this at your spot but at the same time, it felt only right.

Before you and Spencer had started dating, the two of you discovered a small path at the park that led to a small clearing cut through the middle by a running stream. You dubbed it your spot and it was only natural for it to become used for nearly everything. If you failed a test, it was the clearing. If Spencer was feeling overwhelmed with hockey, it was the clearing. When Spencer finally asked you out after the two of you pined for years, it was the clearing with battery powered lights meticulously hung throughout the trees.

When you were agonizing over where to do this at, the first place that came to mind was your spot. It was only fitting, being a staple of your relationship over the years.

Deep down, you were aware that the reason you were getting there early was due to the off-chance that being bombarded with all of the memories would change your mind. Only when you broke through the hanging tree branches and peered around, nostalgia filled you but so did a sense of finality.

Heaving a loud sigh that mingled with the sound of trickling water, you cut across fallen branches and settled down onto a large worn rock overlooking the stream. A breeze that wasn’t present a few minutes ago danced along what skin you had left bare, the sun only just beginning to set under the tops of the trees. Pulling your knees up and hugging them to your body, you laid your head down.

The familiar sounds reminded you of simpler times. Of when you and Spencer would escape from reality and seek comfort in the other, whispering soft promises that you now knew would become empty.

And it was all because of you.

A tear fell and you brushed it away, barely acknowledging it as you took in everything that you would be ruining after tonight. The crunching of footsteps broke you from your thoughts. Peering over your shoulder, you locked eyes with the newcomer.

“Hey,” Spencer said softly, smiling without a care in the world as he made his way over to you. Your chest gave a painful clench but you ignored it and returned the sentiment.

“I got a bit worried when you didn’t return my text,” he told you while he sank down next to you, nudging you gently.

Tilting your head in confusion, you pulled your phone out with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh,” you muttered in surprise, seeing the texts from him. “I didn’t even notice them.”

He nodded in understanding. “Yea, this place does that to you, doesn’t it?” he replied, staring into the running water. He was so relaxed, his legs sprawled out and dangling off the rock as he leaned back onto his hands. It clashed so vividly with your curled up form, the scene looking odd to anyone that would peer into your hidden world.

You gave a hum of agreement, eyes drinking in the sight of him. The colors of the setting sun danced along the panes of his face, his eyes now closed and oblivious to his surroundings. Your breath caught in your throat as tears flooded your eyes, knowing that you would be the one to ruin this.

And out of everything that’s happened so far, it was the sight of him so carefree and at peace that made you pause.

“This is nice,” Spencer broke the silence, unaware of your internal turmoil.

The self-inflicted pressure weighing down on you was too much, you realized as you choked back a sob. “Yea,” you agreed with a thick voice, closing your eyes and pressing your face into your knees, “Yea, it is.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer asked, catching onto the emotion present in your voice and pulling himself up to face you. Clenching your eyes shut so tight it was almost painful, you decided that you couldn’t prolong it anymore. You carefully lifted your head up and stared ahead, avoiding looking at him and his worried expression because you didn’t deserve it, god you didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Finally voicing aloud the realization that had been plaguing you for week washed away any inkling of hope that it wasn’t true. When the thought first appeared in the back of your mind, you banished it. It was crazy, you reasoned. Of course you still loved him, how couldn’t you?

But then you noticed that you no longer felt that lightness in your chest when he laughed. No longer lost your breath when he beamed at you. No longer did you get butterflies when he pulled you into his arms and pressed his lips against yours. No longer experienced that glee when he said I love you, instead feeling burdened that you had to say it back.

No longer did you see him in your future when you pictured it.

And even after that, you tried telling yourself that that was normal. You couldn’t expect the honeymoon phase to last forever, right? It was just a little bump in the road and soon enough you would go back to thinking the world of him, treasuring the time you spent with him.

Except none of that came back. Everything felt empty, felt nothing like it used to.

That was when you were forced to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, that crazy thought was right. It didn’t stop you from having hope, and now that hope was gone.

“What do you mean?”

His voice was weak, confused. The guilt and pain suffocated you, choked you to the point of not being able to get any air into your lungs.

Instead of answering, all you said was a broken ‘I’m sorry’.

“No, no,” you saw him shake his head in the corner of your blurry vision. “You don’t—you said—you don’t love me anymore?” He stumbled his way through his words, heartbreak echoing in them.

Your head shook on its own accord, your eyes closing sending a few more tears cascading down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you gasped out again, it becoming all you were capable of saying.

“No,” he swallowed loudly, staring at you through pained eyes, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t—can’t—“ you tried to get out, not even sure of what you were saying at this point, “I can’t do this anymore.”

A choked breath left your boyfriend, “Can’t do what?”

You knew this was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. “I can’t be with you. Not when I—” you cut yourself off, not able to admit it again.

Spencer stilled beside you before moving to kneel in front of you. “Look at me Y/N,” he pleaded, grabbing at your hands. “Please look at me,” he tried again when your eyes remained shut. Shuttering out a breath, you gave in knowing it was the least you owed him.

A sob left you as you looked at him, his eyes rapidly blinking away tears that you caused oh god. You stayed silent as he took in a breath before talking.

“What did I do wrong, baby?” he asked brokenly, unable to wipe away the tear that dripped down his face. Instead, he continued to rub the back of your hands and you knew it was for his sake as much as it was for you. Pulling one of your hands away, you reached out to brush away the tear track and stroked his cheek.

“You did nothing wrong, Spence,” you told him, your heart aching at the way he leaned into your touch.

He sniffled softly, closing his eyes. “I swear I’ll do things differently this time,” he promised you quietly, frowning with still shut eyes, “Just please, I can’t—fuck. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

Tears left you both freely now. Sobs wracked your body at the sheer pain and anguish that the pair of you felt. It wasn’t fair, why couldn’t you just be happy together? Why did you have to fuck everything up?

You shifted forward, leaning your forehead against his and just taking in being close to him, knowing that this might very well be the last time. The air had a bite to it now, the cold numbing you on the outside. Neither of you paid attention to the chill, too busy clinging to each other, slowly coming to terms with the ending of your relationship.

“This is the best for both of us,” you told him in between crying, pulling back to smile sadly at him. “You don’t—fuck—you don’t deserve being with someone who doesn’t love you as much as you love them, Spence. You deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

His features twisted as he looked down. You had resigned yourself to that being it, of him letting you go in silence as he stayed quiet. Yet right as you preparing yourself to stand up, he spoke.

“Can you just—just kiss me?” he pleaded desperately, “One last time? That’s all I ask. Please?”

You knew you shouldn’t, that it would just hurt you both more. But you couldn’t deny that small part of you that wanted to one more time, just to see.

Cupping his face in your hands, you leaned down to press your lips to his. His hands grasped at you while he melted into your embrace. You both knew that it was the end and poured everything you could into it. From love, to pain, to despair, all the way to the gratitude that everything had the chance to happen in the first place. It tasted bittersweet, that your time together went from bliss to this. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he held tightly onto your waist aware that you would be gone when he let go.

And when it finally ended, he didn’t bother opening his eyes to see you go. Merely let his grasp loosen as his hands fell to his lap. He slumped down on the ground, silent tears falling slowly. You brushed them away before pressing one last kiss to his forehead.

Speaking was too painful for both of you, and so your departure was quiet except for the sounds of nature surrounding you. You didn’t look back at Spencer, leaving him at the place where your relationship had once blossomed and evolved.

And as the tree branches fell back into place behind you, you couldn’t help but hope that he was able to find someone who could love him like you weren’t able to anymore.

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samwpmarleau · 6 years ago

Note

Prompt; elia having a flashback of time when rhaegar used to be nice and write and perform songs for her before anyone else but is distracted when Arthur brings a big teddy bear for her. Sorry if i am being too demanding and flooding your inbox.

She still finds it hard to believe it’s come to this. Today would have been their eleventh anniversary, and now she’s boxing up what’s left of his belongings, the white line around her finger not yet faded from where her ring had been for so long, the ring itself in a box ready to return to him with various other valuable knick-knacks she’d gotten over the years.

She’d thought for a while about keeping it, perhaps to sell, perhaps to melt down the setting but keep the diamond to put in a necklace or bracelet, perhaps simply to retain as an heirloom. Ultimately, she’d decided against it. While it brings her simple regret now to think of how happy it had once made her, she knows the regret could easily become insidious bitterness.

Most of the other stuff is just superfluous crap: forgotten button-downs; a broken watch that neither of them had remembered to take to the jeweler’s; a few of his nice fountain pens. Yet she hesitates when she scrounges through the attic and comes across the keyboard she’d once bought him.

It’s dusty now from disuse, and had been sentimental more than anything else, since he was plenty rich enough to buy himself a grand piano ten times over. But she remembers the times he did use it, and the memories tug unpleasantly at her heart.

He still writes and performs songs so far as she knows, but it’s been years since he did so just for her. He used to do it all the time, for birthdays or anniversaries or when she was sick, or just because. Oh, how spellbinding and soothing his voice had been, how soulful his lyrics. He never declared a song finished until she had offered her thoughts, had heard its tune. Some songs he never performed, even for his own family; the songs were simply theirs. Hers.

They had loved each other once. Maybe it hadn’t been the love that’s in all the fairy tales they told the kids at bedtime, but a love made of respect and friendship and perseverance.

Feeling not quite herself, she plugs in the instrument and begins to play one of her favorites of his, woven to her fingers in muscle memory. Her mother had taught her piano when she was little, but she hadn’t truly taken to it until Rhaegar’s passion for music had encouraged her to try again.

It’s bittersweet, dancing through the familiar chords. He had hummed it when she needed it most, during her difficult labor with Rhaenys and her agonizing one with Aegon and the postpartum depression that had ensnared her for six weeks after them both. During her father’s funeral, when she had to maintain her composure. It had not been the only thing that helped her pull through those trials, but it had calmed her.

The song isn’t particularly long, having been composed early on before he’d perfected his methods, and the final note reverberates around the room like a dirge. She shuts her eyes, trying to keep any further memories of the good days at bay. It’s no use reflecting on those, not when their divorce has been newly finalized and she’s shed god only knows how many tears.

“You play beautifully.”

She doesn’t startle; Arthur had mentioned he would be coming over this afternoon to pick up the boxes and bring them to Rhaegar’s apartment for her. She’s grateful that he had volunteered for the task, for she wouldn’t be able to guarantee her actions or emotions if she were to see Rhaegar face-to-face right now. Even mediation, in which they were reminded in endless detail of the terms of their prenup, had been an utter slog to get through.

“It’s one of Rhaegar’s old tunes,” she answers. “I found the keyboard and got hit by nostalgia.”

Arthur climbs up the rest of the ladder and sits beside her on the floor. “As it happens, I found something, too.”

He holds out a stuffed bear with a polka-dot bowtie. Touched, she asks, “You got this for me?”

“Yeah, I was picking up a couple things for my nephew’s birthday and I saw that,” he explains. “I know the past few months haven’t been easy, so I thought this might cheer you up.”

Elia smiles at his sweetness. “It does. Thank you.”

She hadn’t been certain whose side Arthur would take once she and Rhaegar set their divorce in motion. He had been Rhaegar’s friend first, after all, and some of their other mutual friends had sided with Rhaegar or tried to be moderate, giving a myriad of worthless explanations that in some cases made her wonder if they chose him because they too had those skeletons in the closet.

But Arthur had chosen her, principally citing her own argument–if Rhaegar’s eye was caught by another woman, then he should have ended the marriage then and there, not carried on the deception–and summarily cut ties.

However, that also left the two of them in a weird place. He’d never been just her friend before, and she’d never known him especially well. Sure, they’d had plenty of conversations and had similarities Rhaegar couldn’t properly relate to, like coincidentally having grown up in the same area and thus sharing turns of phrase he didn’t understand and cuisine he couldn’t handle, but they hadn’t really had reason to spend a wealth of time together.

Arthur has helped, though. Not just with his support, but with trying to piece together why Rhaegar may have done what he did, and that it had nothing to do with her. Her pride and self-esteem are nowhere near restored yet, but it’s a start.

“Is this going, too?” Arthur asks, gesturing towards the keyboard.

She ponders that. It had been a gift, an expensive one at that, and she does enjoy playing. Plus, Aegon has already shown a keen interest in music despite being only seven, and she could save this for him one day.

But that would mean that even in such a small way, she would be sharing something with Rhaegar that had been given out of intimacy, and she doesn’t want that. Their children are both of theirs; the keyboard had been for him.

“Yes, please. I’m moving forward.”

“You deserve to,” he says. “Well, I’d better start getting everything loaded. Is the rest all packed up?”

She takes one last look around the room, as she had methodically done previously for everywhere else in the house. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Sounds good. I won’t be long.”

He goes to pick up the first box, when she finds herself suggesting, “Hey, um…I was thinking of making a celebratory dinner tonight. You know, in honor of de-Rhaegaring the place. I’m not really in the mood yet to hear Oberyn eviscerating Rhaegar or anything, and the kids are still at their grandmother’s, so it’s just me at the moment. You’re welcome to join. If you want. It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur looks apprehensive, and she’s not entirely sure why. It’s just dinner, isn’t it?

But the expression is gone in short order. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll swing by once I drop these off.”

She smiles, feeling her mood lift. “I’ll hold you to that.”

#elia martell #arthur dayne #arthur x elia #asoiaf #gotfic #rhaegar targaryen #elia x rhaegar #my fic #compliance: modern au #1nsaankahanhai bkr #i could never be tired of arthur/elia prompts!#i mean right now i'm not taking any more prompts at all because i'm so behind #but i love love love them #so don't feel bad!

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bashfulgnome · 6 years ago

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Seasonal

Happy New Year! I’ve been working on this WIR fic idea for a while and thought it’d be fitting for this holiday. Enjoy!

Felix sat atop Niceland Apartments and looked out over the arcade from his game's screen. Mr. Litwak had draped some colorful strands of lights over a few game cabinets and around the building's front windows, and they cast a cozy glow over his neighbors' homes. The sights and sounds of their celebrations filled the arcade with mirth, and below him his own game's annual party was well underway. Through the open windows he could hear Ralph belting out "Deck the Halls" with Tamora, her men, and Zangief joining in, the Nicelanders and racers barely audible over the festive bellowing. Their New Year's Eve celebration retained some Christmas cheer for the sake of friends who couldn't make it the previous week.

Originally Felix had come up to the roof for some fresh air, but as he sat there alone with his thoughts, he found it far too easy to venture into bittersweet mental territory. His gaze drifted to the one remaining Sugar Rush cabinet and its new steering wheel; its border lights blended seamlessly with the other blinking bulbs around the room.

Its twin has been unplugged quite a while ago now. Most gamers tended to play Sugar Rush by themselves for the glory of setting a new best time without distractions. Litwak decided to sell the second cabinet to a collector who was well-off enough to give him several times what he'd always thought it was worth. It was the last piece she needed for her TobiKomi collection – ever since the company announced its impending closure, she'd explained, the value of their games had started climbing, and she was willing to pay extra then to avoid ridiculous levels of price-gouging later.

As beneficial as it had been to the arcade, all of this did little to reassure Felix. If it wasn't for Ralph getting the steering wheel on time, the remaining cabinet – the racers’ home – would've gone the way of Centipede. Naturally they all knew how precarious their way of life happened to be, but with so many games in the arcade, it wasn't often that such an event would hit so close to home. And right at this time of the year, as well.

"Hey babe, you okay?"

"Oh my land!" He startled a bit before turning around with a hand on his chest. "Ah...'m sorry for leaving the party like that, darlin'. I shouldn't'a had that cheesecake...but I'll be fine."

"I know damn well something's bothering you. C'mon, tell me. You never take leave of a holiday party this long." Tamora's eyes narrowed but her tone was soft, almost as if she was afraid of scaring him away. She took a seat next to him on the ledge.

"I was just...thinkin'. 'Bout the arcade back in the day, and– and all of us."

She wrapped an arm around her little husband. They both wore the sweaters she knitted for them years ago: classic oversized, ugly Christmas sweaters adorned with trees, snowflakes, and gaudy argyle patterns. She'd deliberately made them as ridiculous-looking as possible, but of course he loved them anyway. So much that he wore them for Christmas and New Year's – Why pass up the chance if you took the time to make ‘em? he’d said. Felix leaned into her side and took her free hand in both of his.

"I wish you could've been here back then, Tamora. Everyone was so close-knit because there weren't that many sprites in each game in those days. It was a real special time." He smiled warmly at the memory.

"The fellas over in Berzerk, they had the best laser tag maze you've ever laid eyes on. Whenever we had a day off they'd get everything set up and let folks come in to play." Felix laughed and shook his head. That game afforded him a welcome break from the Nicelanders as they never ventured inside; its disembodied, mechanistic droning of “DESTROY THE HUMANOID KILL THE INTRUDER” terrified them. "That Otto, he was always so happy to have company..."

Tamora's gaze softened; she could sense that her husband was going to take her for a long stroll down memory lane.

"On Saturday nights, Pauline would come down to Tapper's and take song requests. There'd be jazz playin', people dancin'...around the holidays she'd even put up a stage in Game Central Station. She sang carols and we'd all count down to the new year together."

"Imagine Surge Protector getting in on that, huh?" She grinned. "Surprised when I found out that he's the one who decorates the place."

"Oh he loved it! It was really busy every day back then, so he appreciated havin' a break. Some days we had so many visitors that Mr. Litwak set up a TV over by the change machine. That way, all the little siblings who got dragged along and crowded away from the games had something to do when it was rainin' out and they couldn't go mini-golfing. He always said he'd rather have them safe in here than wanderin' around in the streets, even if they weren't customers. Then when they got bigger, they'd come runnin' in, just so excited to finally be able to play with us."

He sighed happily.

"It was just wonderful, gettin' to watch children grow up and knowing that you brighten their day. Some of 'em even told us stories while they were playing."

His smile faltered as he recalled some of what he'd heard from the less fortunate ones – how they'd startle at the slightest noise, the marks on their faces; things that had been lost in the rosy haze of nostalgia until that moment.

"And a few of them...oh, Tammy, I think this arcade might've been the only real home they had. Ralph always did go a bit easier on them, bless his heart."

Tamora squeezed her husband's hand a little tighter. She'd seen a couple of children like that in her six years at Litwak's.

Excited, but quiet and timid. Always looking over their shoulders with their hands in their pockets, clenched around a fistful of precious quarters. They usually entered alone or with a group of similarly-nervous friends. Some days they left the same way. Other days they would be yanked out by the elbow mid-game, heads down, by a seething, red-faced adult who kept up a strained illusion of courtesy with the arcade owner – their facade betrayed only by their visibly-tightening grip on the child's arm – until stepping out the door.

The size of the Hero's Duty console usually resulted in these children ducking behind it to hide if they spotted a parent's car outside while playing. The best the sergeant could do to help was point the FPS bot towards something uninteresting in the hopes that her game wouldn't attract attention.

She glanced down at the worried handyman and he met her gaze with a concerned one of his own. He shuffled closer to her before continuing.

"A few months after we got plugged in, Berzerk was taken away for a couple weeks and came back as Frenzy.” He shuddered at the memory of seeing what looked like a new cabinet rolling through the doors, until he realized what it really was, underneath the blinding orange paint job.

“I thought we’d pick up right where we left off. Everyone looked the same and they were friendly enough but...it wasn't them. We heard later that the joystick kept getting jammed and the game wasn't bringin’ in enough quarters, so Mr. Litwak decided to have his repair people do a conversion kit while they were at it, since he was able to get a discount anyway. They lasted a few more years, but eventually they got swapped for RoadBlasters..." He pointed towards a spot on the floor currently occupied by nothing more than a few singed stains on the patterned carpet.

She let out a low whistle. "Hell of a way to go."

Felix nodded sadly.

"What about Pauline, isn't she still around?" The sergeant pulled up one leg and crossed it under her knee. She knew that woman was lucky enough to hail from a classic game that no arcade owner unplugged nowadays unless there were dire circumstances. Pac-Man and Donkey Kong were among the proverbial canaries in the coal mine, along with Fix-It Felix Jr. – if it ever came to the point where one of them got sold for parts instead of repaired, the arcade was in dire straits.

"Oh she's still here...but a lot of her old hangouts aren't. Her game's a bit lonely, so she went around with Mario and DK and they got to know most everyone who was plugged in back then. Most of those folks' games didn't stay here past 1999 or so – insides burned out, drinks spilled, quarters stopped comin' in. A few didn't make it out in time.”

Tamora winced at the blank expression that briefly crossed his face.

“The arcade really changed quickly in just a couple months. We got a whole bunch of new games to replace the unplugged ones, and the neighborhood that Pauline loved just wasn't the same. She had a tough time with it and didn't feel like singing as much anymore. Not in public, at least."

His voice hitched and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

"This– This time of year just gets me thinkin' sometimes...there's just so much that goes on out there and we can't do a thing about it. I hope those little ones turned out okay. We invited Pauline to the party tonight but she's over havin' a quiet night at Ms. Pac-Man's...I think she's doing a little better now, tryin' to make some new friends. And I hope Mr. Litwak is doin’ all right, too. He's been at this even longer than we have, and...well..."

"I know." She noticed the worry in his features and pulled him closer, planting a kiss on his forehead. The owner wasn't exactly getting any younger, and no sprite in the arcade knew if he had plans to retire or pass down the establishment. He'd never mentioned having any next-of-kin – blood-related or otherwise – either way, and it seemed he planned to run the business he loved for as long as he was physically able.

After that...they had the Wi-Fi router as a last resort if evacuation was inevitable, but from there, nobody really mapped it out any further. Sure, they had plans for who they'd turn to if their own games got unplugged, but the idea of all the games in the arcade suddenly being scattered to the four winds, futures uncertain...it was too much to think about.

"It just feels...wrong for me to even be gettin' so misty over it anyway. I have a home, and a wonderful wife," – he kissed her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers – "and a real swell brother and little Vanny, and so many healthy, happy children who got their home game back, and the last six years have been the best of my life...I'm doing better than ever but I just can't shake this feeling. All those years in the arcade's heyday weren't fun for Ralph. And half that time Turbo was keepin' Vanellope miserable. Q*bert was homeless..."

Felix's voice strained, and his speaking tempo turned frantic. "I-I know that's all in the past, and we worked everything out with Ralph, and the family's all doing great now, but...but what if this is someone's last year? What if I didn't do enough? Even if the motherboard’s good to run another thirty years their screen could still burn out, or gamers could lose interest in them, or someone could get into a fight near the cabinet and damage something, or...or…"

He shook his head, choking back a sob. "I don't know how you do this every day in the military, honeybadger. Keeping it together even if everyone you love could be gone tomorrow and–"

She leaned down and hushed him with a fierce kiss that nearly pinned him to the concrete ledge. He needed to be needed; to worry and help and fix. Tamora knew this well. She'd come down with the occasional virus or two and observed him doting on her in his every spare minute until she recovered. He'd checked in with Ralph each day for the past month in case he was missing Vanellope even more than usual and needed to vent. He made sure to give a hug and word of praise to every single one of the Sugar Rush racers whenever the two of them departed the game after the Random Roster Race to retire for the night. She loved him for it, how much he cared and wanted everyone to be happy – sprite and gamer alike – but at times like these it wore his physical and emotional faculties to the bone.

"Alright, you'd better listen here, shortstack." Pulling away, she held his cherry-red face in her hands, his expression still dazed and eyes wide. He clung to her arms to keep from swaying off the building. Her tone was gentle but firm as she blotted away a tear from his cheek.

"I get it. You know how I feel about regrets and– and being helpless. Hurts like the ugliest slap in the face, the...biggest shot in the chest. It's a self-inflicted wound like nothing else." She inhaled a sharp breath before continuing.

"But take it from me – you do more than enough. You did enough to help the most stubborn ass in this arcade start healing and living outside her backstory." The corner of her mouth twitched into a lopsided smile.

"Tammy Jean–"

"–You showed me that there's always gonna be something to look forward to, even if you have to make it with your own hands. Every year you run yourself into the ground setting up these shindigs. You built a town for the gameless sprites. You've been trying to keep everyone's spirits up whenever anything bad's happened these past six years. You even convinced that miserable carouser to start treating Wreck-It with some respect. But you can't fix everything. Nobody's gonna pull that off. Said it yourself – at the end of the day, what goes on outside here is beyond our control."

She sighed in frustration, and he placed his hands over hers.

"Look, I know I'm not the best at being the optimist in the room. But all we can do is suit up and keep taking our best shot at a moving target. And you can do a lot better at that if you're down in there at the party. If it is someone's last year, make it a good one."

From downstairs, a familiar, sprightly voice suddenly cut through a wave of static.

"SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT AND NEVER BROUGHT TO MIND! SHOULD…wait, Ralph, how does it go again?"

"It– huh. Good question, kid. I usually just hum that part. Hey! Does anyone here actually know this song?"

Felix hesitated, then nodded, and that familiar, cheesy look of pure adoration spread across his face. "Thank you, love."

Tamora pulled him into a hug, running her fingers through his hair, and the last traces of abrasion dropped out of her voice.

"And take care of yourself first, Felix. Never thought I’d say this, but take a cue from Wreck-It and the prez. Just enjoy tonight. Still got the singing, the countdown and the fireworks comin’ up. And you know I’m looking forward to what we’re gonna do at midnight." She pulled back to look him in the eyes with that unique tenderness that was reserved only for the little handyman. "Everyone's safe and we're not goin’ anywhere."

Felix beamed as he recognized those soothing words that had passed between them on so many nights. It made him start to tear up again, realizing how much his words of comfort meant to his wife that she'd reciprocate with them at a moment like this.

"Can do," he replied with a gentle peck on her lips, eliciting a light blush from the sergeant. She laughed softly and smiled.

"Good. Let's go teach those two how it's done."

Hand-in-hand, the couple returned to the penthouse to rejoin the merriment. For that night's celebration, as long as they were all together, all was calm and bright.

–

Tagging my WIR buddies: @ask-icancraft-it @ashleybenlove @sgtcalhouns @allthefixins @coneygoil @kittysfigurines24 @cy-bug

Let me know if you would like your name added to the tags for future fics!

#wreck it ralph #fix it felix jr #sergeant calhoun #hero's cuties #happy new year #my fanfics #fanfics #wreck it ralph 2 #wir 2 spoilers

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iheartmoosiq · 7 years ago

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I HEART MOOSIQ interview : HANDSOME GHOST

We’ve been in love with Los Angeles based indie duo Handsome Ghost for the past several years (revisit some of our past features, here). The pair has liquefied our hearts to no end with their music, which they sometimes describe as “indie-prom”, likely due to the bittersweet nostalgia and dreamy romanticism that oozes from its luscious folds. We’re thrilled that Handsome Ghost is currently on tour for their debut album, Welcome Back. IHM chatted with the dashing duo ahead of their show this Saturday, June 2, at Café Du Nord in San Francisco. Check out our interview below. Don’t miss out on Handsome Ghost’s tour! We’re also GIVING AWAY A PAIR OF TICKETS for their SF show on Twitter! Just head over to Twitter, here, and retweet for a chance at winning, winner announced Friday morning!

I Heart Moosiq: First off, I gotta ask, Handsome Ghost… How’d you come up with a brilliant name that matches the beautifully haunting sound of your music?

Handsome Ghost: Well, thank you. The band name came about back when I was using really heavy effects on my vocals. Ghostly vocals, if you will. The handsome part started as a joke and ended up sticking. I named the band when I was pretty confident that Handsome Ghost would never actually be a "real" band...but I'm happy with the name, I feel like it fits.

IHM: Tim, I read somewhere that growing up Postal Service was a big influence on you. If you could pick one song to describe you or as your anthem, which song would it be?

Handsome Ghost: Yeah, absolutely. Both The Postal Service and Death Cab For Cutie, basically Ben Gibbard's songwriting, were huge influences for me as I was starting to learn how to make music. The first Postal Service song I heard was "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" and I remember being completely blown away. The build throughout the song, the fact that it doesn't follow a traditional strong structure. And at that point those sounds and tones were so innovative, not to mention how perfect the lyrics are. That whole album really moved me, but I'll pick that song because it's the one that introduced me to the band.

IHM: Eddie, I read that you were really into Taking Back Sunday. So same question to you - If you could pick one song to describe you or as your anthem, which song would it be?

Handsome Ghost: I still listen to a bunch of those songs from my pop-punk days. I have a playlist for when I'm driving on tour with everyone else asleep. Just the hits (they're all hits). I'd probably say "Cute Without The E"... So emotional. So so emotional.

IHM: How did you guys first decide to do an Acoustic album and secondly how did you guys narrow it down to those 6 tracks?

Handsome Ghost: Welcome Back took so long to get to where it ended up, but I feel like songs can sometimes be living things. I love how the songs are arranged on the album, but we wanted to offer kinda a companion piece to the album. Maybe hearing the songs differently gives them a new meaning? We chose each of the six songs for different reasons. Some were arranged so differently compared to how Tim originally wrote them ("Shallow City" and "Here's To Endings"), some were really important songs that we felt deserved a little emphasis. "Soft" we had done for the record but it didn't quite fit. But we love the song and lyrically really fit the story of the album.

IHM: This is your first full-length album, but I’m surprised to hear you already put out two EPs over the last several years. Do you look back on those EPs and wish you would have done something differently with the sound or lyrics? Or even something as simple as the process of making those EPs. I think what I’m asking is have you guys refined the developmental process or each EP / Album / Song it’s own journey?

Handsome Ghost: I definitely look back and wish I had done some things differently on those two EPs, sure. I'm proud of them both, and I think they represent where I was at those moments in time, but I feel like we're better now than we were back then. At the same time, I think there's an innocence or a naivety there, especially on that first EP, that is pretty special. I don't listen to my own music (because it feels very awkward) but I know there are some little things on that first EP that I'd probably change now that give it a little charm, if that makes sense. But we're always trying to get better, and if we're lucky enough to make another album, I'll probably feel the same way about Welcome Back.

IHM: If I was a performer I think my favorite song to perform would be one that the audience sings back or the one that blew up. Which song is your favorite to perform that people don’t know so well yet?

Handsome Ghost: Hah yes! It's always cool to hear people singing along. Sometimes you hear someone singing and it's like "daaaaaaammmmnnn....!" I really love playing "Creatures." It's the last song on the album, and one that I think you kinda have to pay attention to. Playing it live is fun and it's also nice to kinda force people to listen to it. hahah. Hopefully it makes people revisit it on the album.

IHM: I see that you guys have performed at some East Coast Festivals like Firefly. Is there any festival or location that you would consider a dream place to play?

Handsome Ghost: As a young man I saw a video of Dave Matthews Band playing at Red Rocks. That's a venue that I would just be happy to see some day. So beautiful.

IHM: Handsome Ghost is from Boston. Here we’re big Warrior fans. We’re actually surprised how far the Celtics have come in the playoffs. Do Celtics fans feel like if they had Kyrie and Gordon Hayward this year that they would be title favorites?

Handsome Ghost: Okay, I have a lot to say about this but I will try my best to keep it brief. I absolutely adore this Celtics team as it's currently constituted. They just play so hard, they're so fun to root for. Even with all the injuries, here they are giving the Cavs (Lebron is my nemesis) a run for their money. That said: Even with a healthy Kyrie and Gordon, I think the Warriors are still the favorites. Even if you play perfect basketball, if the Warriors shoot well they're going to win. They're just dream crushers, what can you say. If it ends up being Celtics/Warriors this year I still think my boys are going to make GS work really hard for it.

IHM: We’re looking forward to your show at Café Du Nord and years of meeting your Celtics in The Finals.

Handsome Ghost: Thanks! Excited for San Francisco. Such a beautiful city.

Thanks for chatting with us, Handsome Ghost! So sorry the Warriors and Celtics won’t be meeting in The Finals after all, maybe next year!

Listen to debut album Welcome Back:

For the rest of Handsome Ghost’s Welcome Back tour dates, click here.

Handsome Ghost: Website / Facebook / Soundcloud / YouTube / Twitter

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purple-spring · 7 years ago

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Where it ends, where it begins - a BH one-shot

Author’s note: This is my first Bughead fic, inspired by this prompt from @raptorlily. Thank you once again to the incomparable @jandjsalmon, whose input, support and friendship have been invaluable in the making of this fic, and to @theladylabyrinth, whose feedback and encouragement have helped me so much.

Summary: Closing night at the Drive-In. Jughead contemplates endings as he prepares to say goodbye to his beloved Twilight. Then Betty Cooper shows up at his door. [One-shot. Canon addition/Episode 4 coda.]

“It was then that Jughead knew, with a certainty that overshadowed everything else that was ambiguous and unsure in his own life, that one day, he would kiss Betty Cooper. Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. But he made a quiet vow of it, promising himself that he would give himself the chance to write himself into her story.”

Fic under the cut, or read on my Ao3. I LOVE hearing from my readers, so please feel free to drop by my asks.

…

At midnight, finally, the last of the stragglers made their way out of the Twilight Drive-In, leaving tire tracks, unfinished popcorn and rubbish in their wake.

Well, there you have it, folks, Jughead narrated bitterly in his mind, the last tatters of this town as we know it.

As he opened the movie projector and lifted out the final reel of Rebel Without A Cause, he had to stop and gave a bitter, hollow chuckle at the irony of it all - screening a film about the failure of the American dream on the last night of the drive-in, which, as far as he was concerned, was Riverdale’s funeral. Sure, the shooting of Jason Blossom was the death-knell for the innocence of this “town with pep”, but this night - in all its unabashed celebration of nostalgia - was its true farewell.

A lot of people had turned out, which was nice. But disappointingly (and predictably), besides everyone ooh-ing and aah-ing over young James Dean, no-one had picked up or appreciated the film choice. Everyone was entertained, sure, but in between all the high school kids making out in their cars and the Southside Serpents hollering at the screen, it was just like any other crappy night at the drive-in.

Betty, he thought. Betty would’ve appreciated it. It was her pick, after all, and the memory of it still enthralled him, made him smile. At the diner, when she’d half-jokingly suggested it, he’d given her no more than a nod and a smile. On the inside, he was screaming.

He shook his head in an attempt to shrug off these thoughts, which were disturbingly becoming more prevalent in the past few weeks. He’d never really paid heed to Betty Cooper that way growing up, because everyone and their dog just assumed that Archie and Betty were destined for one another. It didn’t matter how many other girls Archie hooked up with along the way - these were all momentary diversions in their long march towards Cooper-Andrews endgame. Betty would wait, ever-steadfast, until Archie eventually came around to his senses. They would get married, have three beautiful children and live in a charming house bordered by white picket fences. A true Riverdale fairytale.

Except… Jughead always thought that Betty was better than that. That she deserved more than just to be the final, decisive footnote in Archie’s romantic chronicles. It’s true that they’d become more distant as they grew up, but he still counted her as one of his closest friends. Jughead had been around her his whole life, and knew her well enough to see that one day she’d transcend the depressingly small dreams Riverdale held for her. She was strong, whip-smart, fiery and compassionate. When she got that literary internship, he rejoiced for her. She deserved it. Sure, he listened and empathised with Archie in bemoaning the loss of their friend over the summer, but privately, he was thrilled that she was getting out of Riverdale, even for a little while. Because she needed to know that there was more beyond the borders of their little town, and that perhaps she deserved a little better than what she - and everyone else - expected for herself.

Jughead had known all this, yet still managed to keep a friendly, platonic distance throughout their teenage years. So he couldn’t fully explain this sudden, recent spark in his consciousness of her. Why he was suddenly more aware of his body and the way his face moved whenever she was around. Or why a throwaway movie suggestion over milkshakes echoed more deeply than it should have. Maybe it was her extended absence that summer. Maybe it was even Jason’s murder, which had cast a cold, gloomy pall over Riverdale that made him and so many others want to reach for the warmth and inherent goodness of someone like Betty Cooper. All he knew was that when he saw her for the first time again after summer and she turned around in that booth at Pop’s, he looked and saw things that he hadn’t seen before.

For instance, he saw that Betty Cooper had grown up.

He saw that she held herself with a new steadiness, a steely confidence that caught him off guard. And that her hair looked really pretty in its careful curl and neat ponytail, but that it would also be interesting to see what it looked like when it was out and loose (perhaps when she woke up in the morning?).

More importantly, he saw that her eyes - greener and more arresting than he remembered - took an unusual trajectory away from Archie as they walked into the diner. For as long as Jughead had known Betty, her gaze always rested on Archie by default, whether she was listening to him intently, willing him to look at her, or upbraiding him for something he had done. This time, her eyes looked past Archie and at him. It was a small change, but it startled him, alerting him to a shift in the atmosphere. In his mind, he saw a weathervane turning, signalling the changing wind.

He was not silly or naive enough to think that he completely fell for Betty Cooper that day at Pop’s. He wasn’t even sure that he was there yet, that he could define whatever he felt about her in certain, concrete terms. All he knew was that he was far more aware of her than he had ever been his entire life. And with Riverdale’s slow descent into darkness (and his family’s own descent into brokenness) raging in the background of his life, she was a pinpoint of light that he was in no hurry to look away from.

…

A knock on the door startled him.

He tensed. Anyone knocking on the door of the drive-in’s projector room past midnight was bad news. He glanced around wildly, looking for a weapon, anything heavy he could defend himself with.

“Jug? You there? It’s Betty.”

Shit. He almost wished for the hostile intruder. This was decidedly worse. What the hell is she doing here?

Jughead opened the door. He felt his chest tighten. It was ridiculous and wildly unfair that she stood there, right where the light hit her best. Her beauty made him ache. Then he noticed a faint smudge on her cheek, a slight twitch in her jaw. She’d been crying.

She smiled wanly and held up an empty rubbish bag. “I figured you needed help cleaning up.”

“Hey. Betts.” He stepped outside and quickly closed the door behind him, aware that if she caught a glimpse of his bed and belongings, she wouldn’t let up until he told her the truth about his living situation. “Is everything okay?”

She gave a shaky, nervous laugh. “Um, yeah. It’s been… an eventful night.” His eyes searched her, silently willing her to elaborate. “Is it okay if I take my time talking about it? I’m still a little shaken up.”

“Sure, of course.” He indicated the rubbish bag. “So… this is…?”

“An excuse.” He smiled at her honesty. “A distraction, really. After tonight, I just felt the need to come out and do something helpful. And to pay tribute, of course.” Her arm waved out vaguely towards the screen, now blank, white, empty of imagery.

He couldn’t help but scoff good-naturedly at that. “So, you decided to distract yourself by coming out and cleaning up the drive-in that’s closing down? Polish the brass on the Titanic?”

She laughed. “Really? You’re making a Tyler Durden reference?”

Jughead leaned against the doorframe and cocked an eyebrow at her. “The girl knows her Fight Club quotes, I’m impressed.”

“It’s only one of my favourite movies.”

He smiled and gave her a skeptical look. “Fight Club? Really?”

“Yeah, well, when it’s contraband in your household and you have to sneak it into your room to watch it on your laptop, you kind of develop an odd little affinity with it.” She shook the rubbish bag at him, a little more certain and purposeful. “Anyway, come on, the Titanic’s not polishing its own brass.”

Jughead laughed. “Alright then, but we’re going to need some snacks.”

…

Jughead raided the leftovers from the drive-in snack bar. The kid who was manning it was supposed to have cleared it out by the end of the night, but clearly he thought it would be pointless, given that the drive-in was closing. Jughead grabbed a bag of popcorn, some chocolate bars and a couple of trash pickers for him and Betty.

They agreed to start at one end of the drive-in and walk across together to try and cover the grounds. With all of its lights still on and the signage still buzzing above their heads, the drive-in looked hauntingly beautiful in its neon-lit emptiness.

Betty turned to Jughead as she ripped a Snickers open. “How did tonight go, Jug? I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it. My mom sort of hijacked my plans.”

“It’s okay,” he said. And it really was. Alice Cooper was a piece of work. “It was bittersweet, to be honest. The whole town was there - Serpents included, but you know, still, it was great.” He sighed. “I just wish it didn’t have to take the drive-in closing down to get everyone here.”

Betty glanced at him. “You know the town cares about the drive-in, Jug. We all had great memories here. I did - I watched my very first movie here. I’m pretty sure we all did.”

“What did you watch?” he asked out of curiosity.

“It was a rerun of the Zeffirelli Romeo and Juliet.”

Jughead laughed. “Wow, seriously?”

“Seriously.” She laughed at the memory. “I was 6, and… well, you know my mom. She had grand plans for me and my sister to become cultured. Polly was bored and ended up reading a book, but I actually ended up enjoying it.”

Jughead imagined it - six-year-old Betty Cooper, precocious and already smart beyond her years, her blonde head resting on her little hands as Olivia Hussey and Leonard Whiting declared their love for each other on the play’s infamous balcony. It was, he had to admit, adorable. “Little morbid for a six-year-old, don’t you think?”

“It definitely was, but I was more into the love story. The deaths and the gang warfare completely went over my head.”

“Are you kidding? That’s sort of the whole point of the story, Betts.”

“Was it really, though? The title of the play WAS Romeo and Juliet.”

“Yeah, but then it starts with this morbid prologue that basically spoils the love story for you. ‘Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene…”

Betty smiled and joined him, their voices echoing the over the empty grounds of the Twilight. “From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean –”

“See?” Jughead broke off. “‘Civil blood makes civil hands unclean.’ It’s obvious, isn’t it? Shakespeare’s trying to tell us that that’s where the story’s at. The lovers are just a plot device to teach you the real lesson of the play, which is that senseless hatred is a vile force that can disrupt even the purest, most honest love.”

“Or,” Betty countered, “that even the briefest flicker of love, which lasted all of three days, can be enough to bury an ancient grudge. Remember, the Capulets and the Montagues actually made up in the end. And you didn’t even get to the good part of that prologue - ‘doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.’”

Jughead smiled. This was the kind of literary banter that he could only have with Betty. Archie was his best friend, but the last book they discussed was a Spiderman comic. “Alright, I can concede that point. But you’re an eternal optimist, Betty. I’m a cynic.”

“Cynics don’t fight tooth and nail to keep an old-fashioned drive-in open, Juggie,” she said. Juggie. Her childhood nickname for him. It made him unreasonably giddy. “Or write novels in tribute to their hometown. Face it, you’re a romantic soul.”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “It’s not romantic to mourn endings, Betty. It’s just… human.”

Betty’s face fell. Jughead immediately regretted his scornful tone. Which was odd. He never usually cared how people reacted to his rougher edges. But seeing Betty’s vulnerability at his doorstep earlier opened something fierce and protective in him. He bent his head to catch her eye. “I’m sorry. That was a bit sour.”

“Oh, no, don’t be. I mean, you’re absolutely right - spot on, in fact,” she said. She smiled at him. “And don’t apologise for your sourness. I think I can handle some trademark Jughead Jones sourness.” She playfully poked at his beanie.

Jughead froze internally. She wasn’t normally this casually tactile with him; that was reserved for Archie. Come to think of it, how the hell was Archie still walking around when he’d been touched, so often and so tenderly, by Betty Cooper? The spot on his head where she’d poked him felt electrified.

Betty continued. “But like I said, you’re right. I am an optimist, but there’s still something about tonight that makes me feel like… I should be grieving. Grieving what, I don’t know.” She sighed and sat down on the grass. “Maybe that’s why I’m here.”

Jughead sat down next to her. They passed a few moments in companionable silence before he turned to her. “What happened tonight, Betty?”

In detail, she told him about what had transpired in the Music Room at school with Miss Grundy (or Jennifer Gibson, rather), Archie, Mr. Andrews and her mom. She withheld nothing. He raised his eyebrows when she mentioned breaking into Grundy’s car, was incredulous when she told him about the gun and the ID (he was borderline spluttering when she mentioned that she’d taken the gun home - how could she be so reckless?). She went over the fiery exchange between her mom and the Andrews men, and her subsequent threat to publicly rescind her story on Grundy and paint her mother as the villain. By the time she got to the part where Grundy announced that she’d skip town, Jughead was floored. The girl had guts.

“That’s one hell of a night, Betts. I can’t believe you actually got Grundy to leave town.”

“I didn’t - that was her choice. Admittedly a choice made under duress from my mother, the ultimate bad cop.”

Jughead laughed at that. “Still. You pursued the lead, you found the evidence, and you prevented Archie from getting caught up in a sadder, more tragic version of The Graduate. That’s brilliant.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him - a small, hesitant smile. “It was pretty good, I’ll admit.”

They both fell quiet. He sensed that her heart wasn’t in that self-congratulatory admission. He nudged her knee with his. “So what’s bugging you?”

“Ah. I don’t know, Jug.” She wrung her hands. “I know I did the right thing but… it doesn’t feel good, you know? It’s not something I want to celebrate.”

“Well, let’s analyse. Why did you actually do it? Why’d you go after Grundy?”

“I did it because… I guess, because I wanted to protect Archie. I thought Grundy had him under some sexual spell that prevented him from seeing reason. I thought that he was incapable of thinking for himself because he was blinded by her. But…” She paused and looked out over the Twilight, deep in thought. “What I saw at the Music Room wasn’t some child who couldn’t reason for himself. What I saw was our friend Archie who we’ve known our whole lives, fully aware, making his own decisions, seeing how stupid and dangerous and reckless they are, and continuing to make them anyway.”

Jughead was quiet. It was odd hearing any sort of Archie criticism from Betty. Sure, she’d tell him off for chewing with his mouth open, or not studying for a quiz, but there was never anything like this - a full critique of his character and the decisions he made.

“I didn’t know who that Archie was, Juggie. I felt so distant from him. I felt betrayed, but not by him. I felt betrayed by this illusion of him that I’ve held onto for so long. And it made me realize that maybe what I felt for him was an illusion, too.”

Jughead felt the air go still. As if Riverdale itself was holding its breath. As if the town couldn’t believe that the dream it had concocted of its two golden children was disintegrating .

Betty sighed. “And tonight, this whole Grundy thing, just felt like a sign. That maybe it’s time to let that illusion go.”

Jughead’s felt his chest tighten. His mind was a mess. He couldn’t process what he was hearing. It felt unreal, like it should’ve been playing on the blank screen in front of them rather than right here, in a conversation with a girl that he could not stop thinking about. She was saying words that he’d never imagined her saying, and in turn, he was feeling things that he’d never thought he’d ever feel for her. He felt like he was floating out of his body.

“Jug?” She interrupted his reverie. “Come on, say something. I feel terrible that I’m sitting here saying all this to his best friend.”

Jughead was stumped. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? His mind went blank - blank as the screen before him.

The screen. In a flash, it came to him.

“Betts, you know I’m not great at talking about that stuff. But… I do know movies. And I know endings. Heck, I’m living through one right now.”

Damn it, why was she looking at him so intently? How was he supposed to concentrate on what he was saying? He looked away from her, determined to say what he needed to say.

“You know what I used to love about the drive-in? I loved that me, my dad, my mom and Jellybean could come in here, no matter how crappy it was at home, and suspend reality for two hours. Pretend that there was a better story than the one we were living. Pretend that we were this happy family, that dad wasn’t drinking or screwing up our lives.”

Betty looked at him in sympathy, and reached out to put her hand on his. If he’d been jolted by a simple poke to the head earlier, this felt like an assault on the senses. He tried to ignore it as he went on.

“But then the movie would end. And I’d hate it, because then the fantasy would stop, and we had to go home. I think that’s why I decided to work here. I wanted to preserve that feeling. I wanted my own illusions, too.”

Betty smiled in appreciation of how he neatly turned her own words into his.

“Tonight, I feel like that illusion ended. And you know, it does piss me off, but now I’m free of it. Now I don’t have to stick around and pretend that my life is better than it is. You get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, but that’s depressing, Jug.”

“Hell yeah, it is. But it’s real.”

She was quiet and thoughtful, seeming to turn that over in her mind.

“I guess my point is, sometimes the illusions can just be that - all smoke and mirrors. And sure, they look and feel good, but they stop you from engaging with reality. That reality sucks sometimes, but I need to deal with it at some point, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” Betty nodded, seeming to concede his point. “Maybe we both needed our illusions to end. Maybe now, we can go out there and make our own reality. A better one.”

He smiled. Hearing her say that gave him a sense of peace about the Twilight and about his living situation. He’d figure this out. He always did.

Suddenly he was struck with a flash of inspiration. He got up quickly. She looked at him with puzzlement. “Jug?”

“Come on. I’ve got an idea.”

…

They stood in front of the main circuit box of the Twilight. As the lone worker in the drive-in, Jughead was in charge of turning off the main switch after every show. In his mind, he had already seen himself playing something symbolic over the speakers (“Closing Time” by Semisonic, or maybe something more vintage and defiant, like “My Way” by Sinatra), while turning off the switch and watching the lights go out one last time.

But then he looked down at Betty - his very own Hitchcock blonde and by far the most interesting plot twist in his life - and he knew that he wanted her to be a part of that. Because something was ending for her, too. And she needed to mourn it and mark it as much as he needed to say goodbye to the Twilight.

She looked at the main circuit and understood immediately. “Jug, this is – I mean, you should be –”

“Betts, this place means something to you. Maybe more than you realize.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “You spoke of illusions earlier, didn’t you? Well, maybe this is where they began, at the Twilight, with Romeo and Juliet. Maybe, like you said, it’s time to shut that illusion down.”

“Yeah, but…” Betty smiled and looked off into the distance, as if envisioning her future. “Just because Archie didn’t fulfill that illusion doesn’t mean it wasn’t good.” She exhaled a long breath that she seemed to have been holding in for some time, then fixed her eyes on his. “It’s still a good story, Jug. And I still choose to believe it. Maybe Archie wasn’t meant to be Romeo, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be Juliet.”

It was then that Jughead knew, with a certainty that overshadowed everything else that was ambiguous and unsure in his own life, that one day, he would kiss Betty Cooper. Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. But he made a quiet vow of it, promising himself that he would give himself the chance to write himself into her story. Not just as a friend, or a childhood memory. But as Romeo.

“Juggie?”

He snapped back into the moment. “Yeah?”

“We’ll do this together, you and me,” she said, indicating the switch. “It’s only right.”

Jughead could have fallen in love with her just for that. He was more than halfway there. He nodded and put his hand on the rusty handle. She brought her own hand up, her eyes jumping to his, suddenly conscious. Did he imagine it? A brief flash of awkwardness then her hand covered his - warm, soft, home.

“To endings?” she said, her voice small but assured, hopeful.

He paused, and thought of everything that was ending or had ended in Riverdale. Jason Blossom. The Twilight. The town’s false patina of innocence. His own stability.

And then he looked at her hand covering his, and all of that dissolved into the background, like the final frame of a movie fading to black.

“No,” he said. “To beginnings.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fanfic #riverdale

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soloplayersab · 7 years ago

Text

Waiting for Her to Come Home

by solo player sab

There was something bittersweet about the white, whimsical snowflakes dancing against the black, looming sky.

Tifa Lockhart, remembering to exhale, blinked as her breath took shape in the brisk air, averting her gaze from the sky and shaking her head softly to displace the snowflakes collecting on her brow.

In spite of the endless black sky above, the snow floated down carelessly, meeting a vast, white blanket that gave the ground an almost heavenly glow. So much snow blanketed the streets that it lit every crevice of the dark city.

It was a silent, visual dichotomy; dark, yet bright; lonely, yet hopeful.

A small smile tugged at her otherwise tightly pressed lips as she gazed at the sight and she wasn't sure if it was a smile of genuine warmth or of chilling bitterness.

This walk around the block where the second Seventh Heaven resided was a new routine after closing time for Tifa, and while one would think this time to herself would be a welcome solace, her thoughts – quite frankly – were probably just as rowdy as her boisterous customers.

There was something different about tonight's routine, though, and Tifa knew it.

Sighing, she shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets as she half-mindedly kicked a mound of snow while turning the corner, her footsteps crackling softly under her boots. This was the longest, and therefore her favorite leg of her walk. Every night, she would take her time on this stretch, as two more turns would take her back to the bar; back upstairs; back to her room, which was only across the hall from –

Tifa sniffled as her nose grew cold in the air, wrapping her scarf around the bottom half of her face. She felt a relieving warmth as she breathed into its cloth.

It's not like she was trying to avoid it, she had always justified on these walks. It's just, lately, she was comfortable with being by herself. She had the company of the kids, of course, but otherwise, she was alone. She would get up in the mornings by herself. She would get the kids ready for school, clean the house, run the bar; she lived her life while raising two others, all by herself.

But it was fine, and it was normal, and she was used to it. She had grown used to it.

It had been a few months now since Sephiroth's emergence and subsequent downfall, and although everything seemed to end happily ever after and a certain swordsman was back at the Seventh Heaven, back in her life, Tifa didn't know why she couldn't get used to that.

This is what we all wanted, she mused, her eyes falling to the ground and tracing her footsteps. He's home now. Everything is okay now.

But something wasn't okay and for some reason home didn't feel like home to Tifa. Not anymore.

Cloud Strife had been nothing but wonderful since his return and the kids, naturally, were overjoyed. He resumed Strife's Delivery Service but only took jobs that didn't take him very far for very long. He helped Denzel with his math homework and cooked – with minimal success – Marlene's favorite rice dish when Tifa had her hands full with the bar (Marlene said it was the the thought that counted). He continued to gather ingredients and even helped with serving drinks when things got a little too busy.

Every night like clockwork, however, Tifa would send Cloud upstairs an hour before closing. Nagging him to "rest for his early morning deliveries," she refused to relent until Cloud, with a begrudging nod, walked upstairs silently. It wasn't until she heard his bedroom door close that Tifa was free to resume her nightly routine of cleaning up, locking up, and walking out.

Tifa had done something else tonight, too, but she pushed those thoughts away quickly. Not now, she ruminated. She would deal with that later.

Sighing again, her eyes wandered back up to the sky. It was the same as it always was: the same sky she gazed at while she waited for him upon that well as a young girl in a village long gone; the sky they sat under one evening in the shadow of the Highwind, before that perilous battle; the same sky she gazed at through the window at Marlene and Denzel's bedsides, waiting for him, wondering if he would ever come home...

But he did come home, and everything was okay now. Tifa was glad the kids had convinced her not to convert Cloud's room at the time she had initially intended. They had been right – he came home – and it was convenient that his room was there, waiting for him.

She flinched. Convenient.

That's all I ever really am, aren't I? Tifa stopped in her tracks, the tightness she had felt in her chest bubbling up into her throat as she swallowed slowly, her eyes falling from the sky and her gaze losing focus and dispersing into nothingness.

She was about halfway down the block and she stood silently, staring at nothing, remembering the sight of a younger Cloud who had lost his mind in Mideel.

How convenient was it for him that she didn't, couldn't leave him there? That she insisted on the rest of the group going on without her so that she could stay behind and care for him?

And how convenient was it that she was with him as they both toppled into the Lifestream, and despite her own fear and pain, she single handedly pulled him back to reality?

And as Sephiroth fell the first time, how convenient was it that she had nowhere else to go, but to stay with Cloud and assume a motherly role in this makeshift family they created together?

How utterly convenient was it that she was there, able to pick up the pieces, to care for the kids, for their home, when he left them to find his peace?

Without realizing it, Tifa was walking again, this time with a faster pace as the soft crackling of her footsteps quickened over the thin layer of snow. She turned the corner, swinging her weight with unnecessary force, as if fighting off the burden nagging at her shoulder.

And of course, as Sephiroth fell the second time, how convenient was it that she was still there, able to welcome him home with open arms?

Tifa didn't realize how warm she had gotten. With a frustrated grunt, she forcefully unraveled her scarf from around her neck and quickened her stride down the block. Her thoughts were getting the best of her again, but hopefully for the last time.

Another turn around the last corner and Tifa found herself at the storefront of her beloved Seventh Heaven. All was dark save for a soft yellow emanating through the windows, from the Christmas lights that Marlene had been so excited to hang throughout the bar. Tifa liked to leave these on as she took her nightly walks. The warm hue brought her a strange sense of comfort and nostalgia, reminding her of her childhood.

Fumbling with her keys, Tifa slowly let herself through the front door, holding her breath as she locked it behind her as quietly as possible. This was always the most difficult part of her nightly routine: reentering without waking anyone upstairs.

Once safe, she exhaled and slipped her coat off her shoulders, tossing it onto a nearby chair with her scarf. Standing in the glow of the yellow string lights, she glanced around the main bar area, noting everything was as she left it: high chairs stacked, dining chairs flipped on top of the tables, pint glasses washed and shelved away, countertops wiped down, duffel bag at the bottom of the stairs…

Wait.

Tifa froze as her eyes shot back to the brown duffel bag resting at the bottom of the staircase. Brows furrowing, she tilted her head uncertainly. What in the world…

She slowly walked toward the staircase, crouching to her ankles and cautiously picking up the brown strap of the bag. I thought I left this upstairs—

Her eyes narrowed. Someone was there.

In a flare of motion, the martial artist kicked off the stair rail and launched into a back flip, sailing over the head of the intruder in a brilliant display of strength and speed. Impulse taking over, Tifa wound her elbow back as her foot touched the ground, launching her clenched fist with magnificent force at—

Cloud yelped and ducked, throwing his arms over his face. In that millisecond, Tifa snapped out of her battle instinct, gasped and pulled her fist back before making contact with his jaw. The fighter in her left as quickly as she came and Tifa stumbled backward, pulling her weight in the opposite direction that her momentum was taking her.

"Oof!"

Tifa blinked as she fell clumsily on her bottom, gasping for breath as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She stared up in disbelief at her blonde companion standing above her. The bar was dim but the faint glow of the Christmas lights revealed a sheepish look on his face.

"Really, Cloud?" Tifa gasped incredulously, placing her palm on her rising and falling chest.

"I-I'm sorry – I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Guiltily, Cloud offered a hand and Tifa took it, hoisting herself from the floor as she patted her clothes down, shaking her head and chuckling slightly.

She sighed as she turned to him, "Where did you even come from? I almost decked you – I thought you were a burglar or something."

Cloud shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes falling to the wooden floorboards. "I was checking on the restroom for you," he began, gesturing toward the dark hallway behind him, "Y'know, making sure it was clean." He glanced up at her face and she arched an eyebrow.

"You were cleaning the restroom at two thirty in the morning, Cloud?" Tifa teased with a playful smirk. Just act normal, she urged, like always.

Uncomfortable, Cloud switched his weight from one leg to the other. "I was…looking for something to do while waiting for you to come home," he muttered, staring at the floor.

Tifa's smirk disappeared. She almost missed a beat before quickly blurting, "Oh! You didn't have to wait up, Cloud!" Her voice went up an octave and she chuckled uneasily, "I was just taking out the trash."

"No, you weren't."

Caught off guard, she blinked tentatively at Cloud and his eyes met hers, sternly. He didn't appear to be in any laughing mood.

She swallowed hard. Why did she feel so guilty – like she had been caught for something?

Cloud stared at her with a seriousness that indicated her feeble attempts to make light of this situation were unsuccessful. Without a word, he reached for the leg of a chair resting on top of a table and flipped it upright as he placed it on the floor. Tifa watched as he settled into the chair slowly and heavily, as if he was settling down for an imminent serious conversation…one that Tifa was sure she didn't want to have at this moment.

The brunette took a sharp breath in resistance. In an attempt to flip this situation her way, she smiled weakly and said, "All right, you got me." She exhaled another fake giggle, "I was just taking a walk – a quick breather."

"I know."

Tifa paused again, unsure of where to take this conversation next. She caught a glimpse of the duffel bag on the floor behind him. Was it too naïve to think that maybe he didn't see it?

Faintly, she elaborated, "Sometimes I like to take walks after closing – "

"I wait for you every night."

Tifa's brown eyes widened and her voice caught in her throat.

"Oh."

Her mind raced but her thoughts were incoherent. The jig was up. For weeks she had foolishly believed this time to herself was hers only. Was it every night he waited? Of course, that's what he said. What about that one night– yes, every night. Did he hear her the nights she came home crying? What about the night she came home so angry, she wasn't sure her pillow muffled the thrashing of her knuckles quite well enough? Could he hear her the nights she spent with too many bottles of Corel wine, and stumbled upstairs, drunk and despaired? Yes, yes, and yes, probably. Shit, shit, shit.

Forced smile melting away, her eyes stared into his and Cloud noticed that for the first time in months, her eyes were sober, undisguised.

Defeated, Tifa reached for the leg of the chair closest to his, turning it upright and placing it down facing him. He watched her carefully. Silently, Tifa sat and sighed, placing her hands in her lap neatly, waiting for him to start. There was no way in hell she was going to begin this conversation. If he wants it, he can start –

"I found a packed bag in your room."

Tifa winced. First thing out of the gate, she mused, disappointed but somehow expecting nothing less from this man she's known all her life to say a whole lot in very little words.

Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag and returned to his. "Yeah," she replied, simply.

A momentary silence.

"Why?"

Tifa's stomach tightened and she pressed her eyes shut. This was not supposed to happen. She was never supposed to have to answer that question.

What the hell do you expect me to say, Cloud? Tifa thought to herself, rubbing her temples with her thumb and index finger. That I'm tired of being the smiley, spunky Tifa that I'm expected to be all the time? That I've grown so resentful of you? Of myself?

Stillness engulfed the two fighters as they sat silently in the dim bar, lit only with ironic, cheerful string lights that did little to liven the situation. Despite the tumult invading her thoughts, Tifa couldn't get anything out.

"Tifa…" Cloud was stern, authoritative.

"I'm leaving."

The words came out more simply than Tifa expected. Softly, directly, matter-of-factly…She felt a type of armor forming in her chest as the expression on her face hardened, and she stared into his eyes firmly, as if daring him to respond. Frankly, she knew there was very little he could say, and a part of her was curious to see what he would come up with.

Cloud, however, as powerful as he was, seemed to shrink in his chair as all earlier sternness or authority disappeared from him. His eyes softened, glistening over into a look that was reminiscent of a sad young boy. Tifa was a bit startled by his sudden vulnerability and also a tad annoyed. He was supposed to get angry with her. He was supposed to argue with her. He was supposed to say, 'What about the kids,' and she was supposed to reply, 'That didn't bother you when you left.'

Her hands tightened into fists. Don't look at me like that. Don't make this difficult.

"I…" His voice came out soft, sad, pleading, "…don't want you to go."

Anger and dread washed over her and she glared at him, clasping the fabric of her shirt over her chest as if trying to tear out the anguish that suddenly flooded her heart.

"You…" Tifa began slowly, her voice low and hoarse, "are so unfair."

Realizing he struck a nerve, Cloud leaned forward, holding his hands up in a silent plea. "I- I'm sorry," he blurted frantically, "I know, I'm the last person who can say th—"

Tifa cut him off. "Do you remember what you did when I said those same words to you?"

Cloud stared at her, a pained look on his face. He knew where this was going.

"Nothing, Cloud. You did nothing." She looked away, her eyes focusing on the bottles of liquor shining behind the bar. "Did you even know I said it? I was talking to your voicemail, after all, since it was so easy for you to ignore my calls. Maybe you didn't even care to listen to them." The words almost came out like a hiss.

He slid lower in his chair, his arms falling to his thighs. "I did listen…"

"Why is it that when I say that to you, it's so easy for you to do nothing, but when you say that to me, my heart shatters?" She questioned, more to herself than him. "It's so damn unfair."

Cloud fell silent. Tifa got up from her seat, unable to sit still, and walked to the bar counter top, placing her hands along the surface with her back facing him. She felt tears brimming but she knew she wouldn't cry. She had no more tears to spend.

"Look, I know why you left and I understand. You needed to find peace and I get that," Tifa muttered, calmly, "And it seems like you found it somehow, and I'm so happy for you."

She paused, turning to face him. "But not everyone got that privilege, Cloud."

Cloud slumped over in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He seemed ashamed to look at her.

Tears did not flow but the truth did in all its seething glory. Her honesty startled her at first, but it didn't matter anymore. This was the last time she'd see him, anyway.

"Aerith was my friend too."

Cloud grimaced at the name.

"I had guilt, too. Did you realize that? I feel like I failed her, too. But we had to live to be forgiven. Isn't that what we talked about with Barrett? So I held it together. For you, for the kids –"

Suddenly, Cloud stood, his chair screeching behind him. "And I admired you for that, Tifa," he interjected, a sudden courage overcoming him, "You had such strength, the type of resilience that I never—"

"I'm tired of being strong." Tifa's voice cracked out of desperation.

Cloud took a concerned step forward, his hand half-heartedly reaching for her.

"I just want to be weak, for once. I want to run away, too."

Tifa brushed by Cloud's shoulder and fell back into her chair. She placed her elbows on the table and held her head, rubbing her temples slowly. Cloud resumed his seat across from her, putting his arm on the table and reaching for her elbow. He stopped short of touching her.

She stared down at the table. "You know the worst part of all of this, Cloud?" She shifted to face him, looking him straight in the eye.

"I'm jealous," Tifa whispered. "I miss her, I know I've failed her, but deep down, I'm jealous, Cloud! Do you know how twisted that makes me-" The volume of her voice was rising steadily and Cloud could feel the beat of his pulse ringing in his ears. "-to be guilty of her death yet jealous of her memory? But I can't help it, because when it comes to the one person I have left on this Planet, I will always be second best. And since you've come home, everyday is just a reminder of that."

Tifa took a deep, exasperated breath. "I'm being selfish, I know, but I need this now. I'm exhausted, Cloud. I'm tired of being second best; your fall back. I'm tired of my heart shattering at the fact that I wasn't ever good enough for you."

She stood up, with finality. "And frankly, I'm just tired of being the girl waiting in the background of your story."

With that, she grabbed her coat and scarf from the countertop and hastily put them on. Cloud watched, silently, as she walked past him to retrieve her duffel bag from the bottom of the staircase, slinging it around her shoulder.

Tifa's face flushed. What an overly dramatic exit. But she honestly had no idea how else a conversation like this was going to end.

Turning around, she glanced at the back of Cloud's head. She walked past him, mumbling a plain, "Bye," and headed for the front door.

As she unlocked the bolt and pushed the door open, a soft whimper escaped her lips. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to enjoy her last, slow walk around the block. She was supposed to memorize each crevice of this bar she had worked so hard to rebuild. She was supposed to walk upstairs and kiss the kids goodbye on their sleeping foreheads…

Just as she stepped out into the white powder outside, she felt a hand grasp her wrist and she resisted the urge to react defensively. She turned around to face Cloud's glowing eyes and took a few steps back into the empty street. Cloud let go of her wrist carefully, taking a few steps to follow her.

"Tifa…" He started, but stopped.

The brunette stared at him with large, exasperated eyes. As he faltered, she took a step backward, pivoting in the opposite direction to walk away. Bitterness was lodged in her chest. She knew he couldn't follow her forever.

Seeing her slip away, Cloud took another step toward her, calling, "Wait!"

His voice echoed through the empty streets. Tifa stopped and glanced at him half-heartedly.

"Don't you remember?" He whispered, his breath forming in the air. "It was because of you that I wanted to join SOLDIER…" He trailed off but quickly regained his composure. "And, I ended up getting really screwed up, but—" His voice broke into a cynical chuckle and he shook his head, "—but it was because of you that I found myself again. Because of you I survived through all of this."

Cloud reached for her wrist again, limp in the cold. She was only half facing him, but he pulled her tenderly to him.

"Without you, there wouldn't be a story, Tifa."

She took in a sharp breath as a pang of pain gripped her heart. What was he trying to do?

"I think about Nibelheim a lot, and our promise on that well..." Tifa nodded along slowly, as if saying, me, too. "I was so determined to join SOLDIER, to impress you…but then everything else happened. And I think about how you—" His gaze grew in intensity and he enunciated his words with gentle force, "—you were always there for me. Saving me."

Tifa stared at him, awestruck, chest tightening, wondering where the man of few words went.

Cloud chuckled, "I went away, trying to become your hero…but you ended up becoming mine."

Each word seemed to constrict her heart, one by one.

Cloud took a step back, suddenly realizing how close he was standing to her. Shyness overcoming him once more, he rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze behind Tifa's head at whatever it was that was behind her.

"And you're right, I—I did do a lot of selfish things." He gulped, "I abandoned you and everyone who cared for me. I hurt you so much." Cloud seemed to cringe at his own words, but he proceeded with caution. "But you're wrong about a lot of things, too."

A short silence. All of the words were gone from Tifa's lips as she could do nothing but stand there, snow falling around her, listening.

"For as long as I've known you…you've always been too good for me, Tifa." A blush spread across his face. "You're…perfect. Even in the way you face your demons—your guilt and your anguish." He gestured at the Seventh Heaven behind him. "The way you rebuilt this bar, and how you raise the kids, and the way you take care of me…" As he spoke, his confidence grew and a tint of hope shined in his eyes. "And it was from your strength that I was able to live on."

In an instant, however, Cloud's countenance grew sullen once more. "So when the geostigma got me, it…" His quivering voice faltered and he shook his head with a sudden jerk, "…it just made me realize how imperfect I am. And I couldn't stand to sit here, helplessly, and make you save me again...So I left." Pained, Cloud's expression seemed to beg for forgiveness. "It wasn't about you being second best. It was about me being too weak and undeserving of the only person who matters to me."

Cloud looked at her, hopefully, silently begging her to say something. But heartache, relief, regret, and hope intertwined in a whirlwind of conflicting emotion, and Tifa was paralyzed. She felt as if she was in the Lifestream again, only now it was her who was lost in a discombobulated state of mind, unsure of reality.

"I don't blame you, though," he murmured, then gestured down the street at the path Tifa liked to take, "Every night while I'm waiting for you, I wonder if this is the night you decide to go...and I can't sleep until you're home."

She cringed and cursed herself silently for being so damn readable.

"I knew this night would come eventually, and I know it makes me a hypocrite to ask you to stay, but…" Suddenly, Cloud grasped both of her hands.

She flinched at his touch and looked away. His hands were surprisingly warm in this weather. There was silence again but still, she said nothing.

"Have you forgotten?"

She didn't think Cloud's voice could get any softer, but it did, and it beckoned her gaze back to him.

"You're much more cheerful and strong," he began, and Tifa immediately recognized this reprise of a conversation they had long ago, when they shared a bed shrouded in moonlight. "If you've forgotten the way you were, then I'll be there to remind you."

Back when he had first uttered those words, they had meant everything to her. In the present, she felt a familiar tug at her heart strings. The bitterness held in Tifa's chest began to dissolve, as if the warmth in Cloud's words was a fire melting away the ice. She cursed herself again. This wasn't supposed to happen, either.

"So, please, Tifa. If you need to find yourself, then do it here, at home with me, so I can help remind you."

Tifa's vision began to blur. She was breaking. Shit.

"Please…let me save you, for once."

A single tear threatened to spill onto her cheek but Tifa swatted it away hastily with the back of her palm. She took a clunky step backward away from Cloud, pulling back her hands, the expression on her face despairing and her nose scarlet from the cold. She shook her head vigorously.

Cloud slowly let his hands fall to his sides, a look of defeat dawning on his face. A part of him expected this, but that made it no less painful.

"If you really have to go, then..." his voice continued to quiver, "I'll wait for you to come home. Just like every night, I'll wait for you."

Tifa turned away, her back facing him. Damn it, she thought, frustrated, just walk away, Lockhart. Take a step. You're done with this, remember?

"And just so you know, Tifa…"

She was frozen, unable to move. Walk away. Go. Before he says anything else. There's nothing else he can say.

"I heard you that night..."

Her heart sank. What?

"…and I do. I really do."

Tifa jerked her body toward him, her eyes wide with shock. What is he talking about!?

Reading her mind, Cloud closed the gap between them again, answering, "That night. You had asked me if I loved Marlene…"

Oh, no...

"You asked me something else before that, too."

Cloud's Mako eyes seemed to glow even brighter and Tifa shivered. Suddenly, she panicked; her breathing, scattered and unsteady; her eyes, darting erratically, from Cloud, to the Seventh Heaven, to the sky, to the snow. A sudden frost overcame her and Tifa's arms wrapped around herself, as if suddenly realizing she was standing in the freezing cold.

Sensing her anxiety, Cloud placed a gloved hand warily on her shoulder. He watched for her reaction, mindful of the distance between them. He moved cautiously and gradually, as if trying to catch a butterfly that could flutter away at any moment.

When she did not react, he slowly pulled her into him, his arms engulfing her shoulders in an embrace.

Stunned, Tifa's crossed arms fell between their bodies to her sides. The side of her face rested at Cloud's collarbone and she could hear the faint beating of his quick, steady pulse at the bottom of his neck.

Cloud was overwhelmed with warmth. He held her tightly as if denied this moment for so long.

"I don't think you realize," he whispered, "how much I l—"

"Don't."

He was startled at the faint voice that emerged. It was the first time she spoke in the seemingly endless time that had passed as they stood in the empty street and if Cloud was honest it hadn't sounded sweeter.

"Don't say it," Tifa repeated, and suddenly her arms trailed up his waist, resting in an embrace around his back.

She wasn't sure what overcame her; those words were probably all that she had ever wanted and hoped to hear. But now that the moment was here, she didn't want them said, as if they wouldn't be real, or they would be taken from her the moment they escaped his lips.

Cloud complied and fell silent. Neither of them realized it had stopped snowing, but the world was still, as if they were the only ones alive on the Planet.

Resolve broken, Tifa felt her knees buckle as her strength escaped her. Cloud held her steadily, knowingly, protectively.

The ice was melting, and for the first time in months, she felt the soft flicker of hope's flame glimmer in heart. It twinkled faintly and uncertainly, like the stars that had revealed themselves in the skies above them.

But the hurt was still there and she couldn't deny the soreness she felt in her chest.

As if feeling it too, Cloud leaned in and spoke softly into her ear, "It will take time, but I'll be patient." He squeezed her shoulders, "However long it takes. I'll remind you of who you are, okay?"

Suddenly, Tifa felt a kiss placed gently on her cheek. It was warm, tender, light, signaling the beginning of something. Tifa pulled back slightly and met his eyes. They were firm; determined.

"You really will?"

Cloud smiled – the kind of smile that made her think everything was fine. But tonight, he wanted her to know it.

"Definitely."

In the next moments, Tifa felt as if she were in a trance. Before she realized it, Cloud was leading her, slowly, back into the Seventh Heaven. Tenderly, he took the strap of her duffel bag off from her shoulder and placed it at bottom of the staircase. Gently, he took her coat and her scarf and led her by the hand to her chair. He scurried behind the bar and fixed her a cup of tea, caringly placing it in on the table surface in front of her.

He tended to her carefully, as delicately as she used to tend to his wounds in the aftermath of the many battles they faced together. But for all Cloud knew, Tifa was wounded right now, and he would handle her with the meticulous care she had always used for him.

Then, he was leading her upstairs, ushering her into her bedroom and looking away as she changed. As she crawled into her covers, Cloud sat at her bedside, touching her hand. She asked him to lie with her and he obeyed, settling into the empty space next to her and feeling comfort in their shoulders touching. They hadn't lied together like this since before he left, and it was the first time in a long time that either of them had a restful sleep.

In the days that followed, Tifa continued her nightly walks, but this time with Cloud at her side, holding her hand, keeping her warm.

On the nights when snow fell, they both took a moment to stop in the middle of Tifa's favorite stretch, watching the light and the darkness above them.

There was something bittersweet about the white, whimsical snowflakes dancing against the black, looming sky.

But as she gazed at the sky, Tifa didn't realize that Cloud was looking at her, waiting patiently.

And he would continue to wait for her for as long as she needed. For as long as she was still hurting, for as long as she still had doubts – in herself and in him – he would wait for her.

And in time, he would help her heal so that her eyes would no longer trail off to the black sky that was her pain.

In time, he would wait for her to find herself, so that one day she'll finally let him say those three words, and she could follow his voice back home.

#cloti #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #fanficion #ffvii #final fantasy vii #fanfic

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