#its crazy how something like this i’m going to cherish until it falls apart cost the same as mediocre food delivery

[fullmetalwindbreaker]

yea im thinking thats hard as fuck

[lookingforodysseus]

The Usual

A/N: SO, I usually don’t post stuff like this, but the wonderful @startrekkingaroundasgard​ had a 2K writing challenge about tropes and no one had taken the coffee shop AU yet, which I thought was a shame and a disaster, so here we go. Hope you enjoy :D

Tony had always thought he would despise working in the service industry. Given the amount everyone around him complained about it, he had expected he would be trying to commit harakiri with a milk frother within the week, since whatever Hades had in store for him would be less bad than dealing with one more person who pronounced cappuccino wrong.

And yet, now that he's here, he's enjoying himself. The coffee shop, called Impresso Espresso (insert forced laughter here), is across from a college campus, so most of his customers are caffeine-addicted students, hands shaking and eyes wide open from either too much Redbull or too much cocaine (it's a toss up at this age, really) and their professors, with under-eye bags so large they can put all the assignments they still have to mark in them, leaving their hands free for a carton cup with seven shots of espresso. Tony enjoys winking at all of them and trying to make them laugh, every smile a reward better than the free coffee that comes with the job.

During the classic afternoon lull, when the students are in bed and the professors in class, Tony puts the mechanics degree that put him deep in debt but didn't provide him with a job due to his well-meaning but obnoxious demeanour to good use by upgrading the ancient coffee machines, that were apparently purchased in the late seventies, max- or maybe modern technology just isn't as great as people often make it out to be.

Tony's manager, Matt, captain of the American football team who likes his coffee like he likes his math problems, simple, watches this thirty-something man become increasingly comfortable in a coffee shop populated mostly by those ten years younger or older than him with a mix between amazement and amusement. Besides, the coffee machines, that previously took ten minutes of gentle conversation with an increasingly impatient customer to create something as simple as a cup of tea, can now whip up a doppio in a record-holding 17.8 seconds, according to Tony. To Matt, it just feels like approximately 20 seconds, but, apparently, the exact time is of great importance to Tony, who, one night during midterms season when the coffee shop is open 24/7 to accommodate all the students pulling all-nighters, calls Matt at 3 am to announce he has shortened this time to 17.7 seconds. Apart from that hiccup, though, Tony is a good employee and Matt is satisfied.

On a dreary Thursday in February, one of the other baristas asks Matt: "Have you seen the professor around, lately? I feel like it's been awhile since we've had a queue of 20+ people- do you think he's ill?"

Matt smiles. "Don't worry about him, he's at a conference. He told me about it last time he was here, right before he told me off about not stirring his coffee correctly, or putting too much syrup in it. I'm not sure what it was that time, but it was clear he wasn't happy."

The barista laughs. "Is he ever?"

Tony, who is leaning on the counter, watching the students run by, text books over their head, more concerned with protecting their haircut than the $200 the book cost them, hears the comment. "Who are you talking about?" he asks, intrigued.

"Just this crazy customer who comes here a lot," Matt says. "He teaches something very scientific and complicated, and his order is absolutely ridiculous. You should be glad you're first month here has coincided with a four-week conference in Silicon Valley he had to go to. He's a nightmare."

Tony laughs. "Oh come one, he can't be that bad."

Matt rolls his eyes at the other barista, pulling off her apron now that her shift has ended. She waves at the two men behind the bar before exiting the coffee shop, the door being held open for her by a customer just about the enter the shop.

The customer enters the cafe, his eyes gliding over the neon Impresso Espresso sign behind the counter like he is disappointed still no one has realised what a horrible idea it was to put it there. Behind Tony, Matt sighs. "That'll teach me to speak of the devil. That's him, the professor. You take him, you've never had to suffer through his demands."

Tony steps up to the register just as the man reaches the counter. He is wearing thick, black glasses that almost completely hide his grey eyes. The top button of his checkered shirt is undone, but it doesn't look on purpose, more like he just forgot there was another button before he finished dressing himself. His large, black cardigan is wrapped around his body like a blanket. He is younger than Tony expected, for a professor being invited to month-long conferences. He also doesn't look like someone who has an order complicated enough to make his colleagues this bitter (pun intended).

When the man opens his mouth to place his order, Tony expects the other employees to have pulled a prank on him, expects the man to just order a black coffee, and maybe, maybe, make a joke about the colour of his soul. Instead, he hits Tony with this beauty of a coffee order: "I would like a latte, but instead of only milk, I would like half milk half hot water. The milk should be equal parts almond and coconut, with an extra dash of soy. Stir that exactly two and a half times clockwise. Then, add in a full glass of skimmed milk, that has been frothed for exactly 12.5 seconds, shake it up with ice, pour half of the drink out, and heat the other half up again, which needs to be stirred twelve times anti-clockwise at a temperature of 63 Celsius or 145.4 Fahrenheit. Take it off the heat at 98.7 Celsius or 209.67 Fahrenheit. I would like three and a quarter pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup, seven packets of sugar, two pumps of caramel syrup, make sure to add that in after the sugar, otherwise you ruin the taste, and .4 pump of hazelnut. Then, I would like some cocoa powder, pour the coffee in with ice and shake it up again. I would also like whipped cream on top, but then please shave it off again, so there's only a little bit of whipped cream left. Pay with card, please."

Tony's mouth falls open. "You're kidding!" he exclaims. Behind him, he hears Matt snicker. The man begins to explain the importance of each individual step to the flavour of the beverage, but Tony interrupts him: "That's my order!"

A smile forms on the man's face, grey eyes sparkling. "Finally, someone with good taste around here," he says, giving Matt, whose jaw has slammed through the floor of the coffee shop and is currently making its way to the centre of the earth, a side eye. "You'll know the crucial timing of the stirring, then."

Tony nods. "Of course, of course," he says, with a stern face, fully aware of how important these things are. One of the reasons he had decided to start working in a coffee shop was that he would finally be able to make this order perfectly for himself. He can't believe another person with a brain as small as a human's has been smart enough to realise this order is the only way coffee is anything near drinkable. "Name?"

"Bruce," the man answers, and Tony hits the buttons on the register to allow the man to pay for his drink, even though he believes that thinking like that should be rewarded with a free coffee, before writing Bruce on the cup in his squiggly handwriting.

A solid twenty minutes and 27 grumbling people in line behind Bruce later, Tony presents the coffee with a flourish Shakespearean actors would be jealous of, putting a lid on the take-away cup before sliding it across the counter towards Bruce. "Oh, I don't need a lid," Bruce says, and pulls on the lid. However, in his enthusiasm, Tony has pressed down a bit harder than was fully necessary, and, no matter how much Bruce pulls, the lid is not giving way.

Tony snickers. "Well, someone's got muscles that would give the Hulk a run for his money."

Bruce laughs, too, and pushes the cup back towards Tony. "Can you do it?" Tony easily takes of the lid and slides the now lidless cup to Bruce. With a smile and a nod of his head, Bruce exits the coffee shop.

Over the next week, Bruce comes back twice a day, once in the early morning, and once for a pick-me-up in the middle of the afternoon. Tony learns his schedule quickly enough, and ensures he arrives a bit too early and leaves a bit too late for his shifts, so he can be there to make Bruce's coffee. He doesn't ask for the man's name anymore, instead scribbling Hulk, No Lid on his cup, something that amuses Bruce, which is only indicated by the sparkle in his eyes when he reads it. Most of Bruce's emotions seems to be conveyed through his eyes, and Tony starts making subtle alterations to his order depending on the look in them- an extra shot of coffee if they're especially tired, some more syrup when he's looking down, and some extra milk when Bruce's eyes are dull, in replacement for Tony's wish to put his hand on his stubbled cheek and his lips against his forehead to soften the pain he sees hiding behind the grey clouds in Bruce's irises. He knows Bruce notices, when his eyes regain some of the sparkle Tony had seen that first time they had met after he takes his first sip, thanking Tony with a simple nod of the head and a half-smile, which Tony cherishes more than the few coins Bruce drops in the tip jar whenever he visits the shop.

They talk every time, sharing jabs and ideas, words and looks, until Matt has had enough of it. One particularly rainy afternoon in March, he punches Tony's arm in a way that's soft for a quarterback such as Matt, but hard for a skinny 5'9 guy like Tony, and he has to take a side step to prevent himself from falling against one of the coffee machines.

"When are you finally gonna do something about that, man?" Matt asks. Tony raises an eyebrow, innocence painted on his face. It's as much of a forgery as most of Da Vinci's paintings, though, and Matt knows it. "You kids have been flirting under my nose for over a month now," he continues, ignoring the fact that both of the men he's talking about are at least ten years older than he is. "You need to make a move, dude. Now!"

Tony gestures at the window, where Bruce can be seen crossing the street to the college campus, coffee in his hand. "He's gone, Matt," he says. "What do you want me to do? Go after him?"

Matt nods enthusiastically. "That's exactly what you should do! Run after him, ask him out! Don't be such a wimp!" He pulls Tony's apron over his head and pushes him towards the door.

Tony struggles against Matt's indisputably superior physical strength. "I never took you to be such a romantic," he says. "Might harm that cool image you've got going on."

Matt snickers. "You're not talking your way out of this one, Tony," he says, opening the door with one hand and pushing Tony through it with the other. "Now, go!"

With not much other choice, Tony runs across the road, waving at the sleek black car that almost hit him, driven by an extremely annoyed-looking red haired woman who seems to have half a mind to simply step on the gas and run him over. He makes it across the street in one piece though, and yells: "Bruce!"

The other man is so shocked by someone yelling his name that he promptly drops his coffee cup. He spins around, hands risen next to his head as if showing he has no weapons. His wet hair is plastered to his forehead, and his navy blazer darkens where the rain hits him, since he isn't wearing a coat. Neither is Tony himself, he realizes, now that the rain is making his white T-shirt quickly turn see-through. "It's just me," Tony says.

"Oh, yes. Did I forget something?" Bruce pets the pockets of his blazer.

Tony shakes his head. "No, I eh… I…" He has always been a man of words, but now, faced with a nervous, drenched professor whose coffee is spilling all over the pavement between their feet, he doesn't know what to say. "Can I buy you a new coffee?" he asks, hating the clenched way his voice comes out of his mouth. "Maybe we could, you know, talk. Somewhere else than in there." He gestures at Impresso Espresso, where Matt is grinning broadly behind the windows. "Somewhere he can't see us."

Bruce smiles, with both his eyes and his mouth, and Tony has to resist the urge to run back and high-five Matt. "That would be nice. There's a decent place just up the road." He gestures in a vague direction, and Tony isn't sure which road he's indicating, but he doesn't care. He would follow this man to a coffee shop three cities over, if he really had to.

When they walk into the shop, water forms small pools by their feet, and a single, bored barista is leaning over the counter. The neon sign behind her reads Cool Beans Coffee Bar. Bruce sighs. "Do all coffee shops have those?"

Tony laughs. "Federal law requires it. That's top secret, though, don't tell anyone."

Bruce mimes locking his lips and throwing the key away, and, grinning, the two men step up to the counter. Tony eyes the other man. "The usual?"

Bruce nods. "The usual."

[attina-the-responsible]

Rake ‘Em ‘Cross the Coals ~*~ [Fatina]

In which Paul wakes up one morning in late April, very, very confused...

@paul-patts, @pretty-perdita

[tw -- anxiety, minor physical confrontation, lots of yelling and fighting]

Further Reading {in order}: Poor Unfortunate Souls #justbrothings Two Can Keep a Secret Just a Token, Really. A Trifle.

PAUL: The sunlight was what woke Paul.

He stirred, those bits of consciousness sliding back to him slowly, little by little. It wasn’t enough for him to open his eyes, not at first. It was just enough to acknowledge that he was conscious-- that it was morning and he’d need to get up to grab breakfast before he had to get the twins ready-- that the weight of Attina was on his other side, a thought that made his lip twitch and his toes curl a bit-- bare in the air. She’d stolen some of the covers last night, hadn’t she?

It was that slight shiver from the October morning that made him roll toward Attina’s weight. Without opening his eyes, he slid his arms around her, burying his face in all that hair, which would smell like flowers--

It didn’t smell like flowers.

That was when Paul’s eyes snapped open and he saw blonde hair, not red hair. He saw a white clean room that was not his own room, not his apartment at all. This wasn’t where he’d been just the night before. This wasn’t-- his kids weren’t just in the other room, safe in their crib--

That wasn’t Attina slumbering next to him at all. It was Perdita.  

His heart leapt into his throat and Paul yelped in Perdita’s ear.

��What the fuck!” shouted Paul and he jumped out of bed, nearly falling over as his foot got tangled in the covers. He put a hand out to catch himself against the wall, his head spinning as though he’d had too much to drink.

PERDITA: Last night had been normal. The new normal. The one where some nights, Paul crashed at Perdy’s (more nights than not, these days.) The babies had slept mostly through the night. Patrick had woken around 3, which meant his sister wasn’t far behind. Two warmed up bottles of water with a bit of lemon and they were back to sleep in under thirty, like clockwork.

And now, Perdita was looking to sleep in until at least 9 o’clock.

She was awake, though, her body trained these days by the rising sun, one ear out for her children, but the bed was warm and comfortable and she wanted to pretend as long as she could. Exist in that familiar stillness, with Paul’s steady breaths at her side, for as long as she could.

When the bed shifted and Paul snuggled up behind her, Perdita let out a breath that morphed into a smile on her lips, feeling content. Her hand slipped over his, which rested on her stomach, and she thought that she could lie there like that for the rest of the morning and be perfectly happy.

Of course, in this fucking town—you could never rely on something like that.

So, instead, Paul yelled loud in her ear, making it ring and then made a fool of himself springing out of bed. Oh, Perdita could throttle him. She was going to skin him alive. He’d be lucky to not be neutered when she was done with him.

Rolling over in bed, she blinked her eyes open, already set in a sharp, icy glare.

“Will you shut the fuck up? You���ll wake up the babies,” she snapped at him, her own voice quiet and sharp. “The fuck is your problem?”

PAUL: The fuck is your problem?

The fuck was his problem? The fuck was his problem? His problem was that he was not where he was supposed to be: in his bed, curled around Attina, his babies in the other room. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to vomit, staring at Perdita, half-dressed, as she glared at him like…

Paul didn’t know what the end of that sentence was. His head was reeling. He didn’t know what was going on, he couldn’t remember. He tried, reaching back to the night before, trying to find the moment where he’d had his first drink or decided to go out to a bar or… anything. But there was nothing in his brain as he grasped for those imagined explanations. There was only Attina, and trick or treating and the stupid horror movie they watched and then… nothing, until right now.

Paul had never been that blacked out before. He felt like he was falling, no where to land. It frightened him and his fear lashed out.

Because there had to be a villain and it couldn’t be Paul. He wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have-- he had been moving on.

So it was Perdy’s fault. She did this to him. She made him do it.

“The fuc--the fuck is your problem?” he snarled back at her. “What the hell, Perdita? You drug me now or something-- you’re really that jealous?! You-- you’re-- psychotic!” He spat, and stumbled away from the wall, looking around desperately for his shoes. He spotted his jeans tossed over a chair and he lurched forward, grabbing them so he could put them on as quickly as he could.

PERDITA: Suddenly, Paul was looking at her like she’d grown a second head.

(There was a part of Perdita who was truly, deeply offended by this and by what he said. Was that what he really thought of her? Drunk (cursed? whatever the fuck was wrong with him) words, sober thoughts. Did he think she was psychotic? That she would ever actually drug him? (And, more deeply, was it true? Was she psychotic? Was that something that she would do? What levels would she have stooped to, to sabotage any relationship Paul had? Did that make her crazy? Crazier than she was with her PPD?)

(Of course, she wouldn’t reveal any of this. Of course, her face remained stony.)

With a groan, Perdita pushed her face into the pillow for a moment and then she pushed herself up and sat up properly. She glared at him, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Jesus, the hell is going on with you?” she said, squinting at him.

(And another part of her was worried—thinking back to what Roger had said. Roger had said Attina was a mermaid. Roger had said that Paul had no memory of this. And now—Paul was acting like he…didn’t remember the fact he was with Perdita at all.)

“Me, the jealous bitch? Think that’s that fishwhore of yours,” Perdita snapped back at him. “She’s obviously done something to you. Not me.”

PAUL: Paul got his trousers on, nearly falling over as he did, but managing to regain his balance. His fingers worked the buttons shut, all the while his brain raced through the same blank spots as before. He would remember going home with Perdita, he would remember if they had done anything, he would remember. But these desperate rationalizations were just that: desperate. They were potentially lies, too, that he was telling to himself. Because what-- he thought he was noble? He thought himself better than Johnny? Better than Simon?

With Attina, maybe he could have been.

Attina. The name struck him between the ribs. Theirs was still such a young relationship, the rosy kind of comfortable love that Paul had finally allowed himself to want. They were so close to so many firsts. They’d already had so many. He couldn’t let it go now.

Whatever he did with Perdy, she wouldn’t ruin it, not like she already ruined him (he was ruined before she found him.)

He’d fix it.

He glared at her, grabbing his jacket from the door hanger too. “Fuck you. Seriously fuck you, Perdita, you stay the fuck away from me-- and Attina. Don’t come near Attina. We’re happy, alright?” His voice trembled more than he wanted it to; he wanted to sound strong, vicious, but he was frightened instead, tears in his eyes. “We’re happy, I’m-- finally happy. You-- leave us the hell alone!”

And Paul stormed out, slamming her door behind her-- rough enough that the babies did wake up in the other room (babies? But how could the babies be here too? What was going on? Had he brought them here… what day was it, was it even November 1st?!)

He stumbled past the crying, nearly tripping on his shoes in front of the front door. He grabbed ‘em, but didn’t bother to put them on. He just opened the front door and escaped, ignoring Perdita calling him.

He ignored her all the way to Tina’s place, where he’d just been, hadn’t he? Just last night, right? He didn’t know, couldn’t check, had no idea where his phone was, what time it was, what-- day. Paul pounded his fist against Tina’s door anyway.

“Tina! Tina!” he hollered, his other hand splayed on the door. He peered into the eyehole. “Tina, it’s Paul! Please, open up, I-- I-- I need you-- please! Tina!”

ATTINA: Attina was getting ready for work.

She was not thinking about Paul Patts at all. This was a blessing, because he had infiltrated her thoughts like a sideways scuttling crab. And, not even because of the fact that he knew her secret. The sea witch was a great many things, but she wasn’t one to go back on her end of a bargain. Attina had seen that with her own two eyes. No, even through all of it—the cheating and the revealing of her secret to someone else—Attina still held a flame for Paul Patts.

Because she was an idiot.

The fucker had cost her the memories of her mother. Possibly the most cherished thing to her, that was not physical.

Which was why now he was banished from her thoughts, a nail in the coffin. If she never saw Paul Patts again, she would be a happy woman. As happy as a woman with no memory of her dead mother could be.

That was, until the pounding started on the door.

It stole Attina’s breath from her lungs and she jumped, hitting her knee on the underside of the vanity she was sitting at. Her make up was half finished—eyeliner without mascara, her foundation still setting. No lipstick.

Who was at the door? Who could be knocking that frantically?

Was it someone for her sister?

Attina’s heart was beating fast and furious in her chest.

Tina! Tina! It’s Paul!

Her heart seized in her chest. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she got up, and she went to the door. It was rattling on its hinges. The doorknob jangled. She peeked through the peephole without touching the trembling door.

It was Paul.

“W-what do you want?” she called, watching the three padlocks she had on the door rattling. She was safe. She’d locked them this morning after Andrina left. Eighteen times each, until her fingers were sore.  

PAUL: She hadn’t unlocked the door.

Paul’s stomach dropped. If everything was alright, she would have unlocked the door. She wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have opened it and drawn him in, and seen the panic on Paul’s face and known what to do. Even if Attina had just held him in her arms, that would’ve been enough to help recenter him. But everything wasn’t all right-- and he didn’t even know how badly it was all wrong. He didn’t know what to apologize for. He didn’t know, he didn’t know, he didn’t know. And the more he tried to remember, the wider the black hole became, sucking in all the things he thought he was certain about.

Like, hadn’t yesterday been Halloween? Wasn’t he the fireman and the kids dalmatians? Hadn’t they watched that horrible movie together?

Did Paul dream up those details? Was there another fight he was forgetting and why was Perdita insisting they were together?

Question upon question sprouted from the cracks in his brain. He was going to choke on all of them.

Paul pressed his hand against the door, taking in a shaky breath. It did little to stop the tears, to push down the panic.

“Please, Tina,” he said, his voice breaking. “I--I need you. I dunno what’s going on. Please, I didn’t--I didn’t mean-- whatever I did, I didn’t mean, I, I can’t remember, please, you have to-- I love you,” he pleaded, and his hand slipped down to the doorknob, but it was still locked.

ATTINA: Attina could hear the awful shake of Paul’s breath as he inhaled it and her stomach curled. She’d never heard him sound like that. Part of her had been worried that he’d somehow found out about Roger (but how, Paul didn’t know to look for something missing?) and that he was here to—do something to her.

But, at the sound of that pathetic breath through the door, she was just—confused.

Her own brain felt foggy, like she couldn’t quite remember something. The memories were like a shadow in the corner of her eye. It was her mother, she remembered. Her mother that Ursula had taken from her. Instead of feeling upset, there was just this emptiness inside of her. She was as deep and wide as the ocean, all the emotion just falling into it.

Though, her heart gave a pang at Paul’s words.

I love you.

Nothing about what he was saying made sense, but Attina heard those words and a part of her wanted to believe them so—so badly.

Her hand fell to the doorknob. Her other one, though shaky, unlocked the two deadbolts that they had installed on the door.

She opened the door enough to see him, but not let him into the apartment. Her brow furrow.

“Paul, what are—”

“You!” came a shriek from down the hallway and Attina jumped, eyes snapping down the hall, as none other than Perdita Faye—make-up-less and otherwise disheveled—stormed towards her with all the furious accuracy of a lightning strike.

Attina froze in her spot, not even remembering to close the door until it was too late. Perdita was upon them and as Attina tried to close the door, Perdita got her hand around the frame and forced it open easily. Attina’s strength was nothing compared to the furious woman.

Attina stumbled backwards and Perdita took the opportunity to leap, jumping towards her and grabbing her shirt hard enough Attina heard the seam rip, some of her hair caught in the grip too, which pulled enough to hurt. She put her hands up and whimpered, feeling tears coming to her eyes at once.

“What did you do?” Perdita snarled.

“I-I-I—” Attina stuttered, trying feebly to pull away.

PAUL: The door creaked open, just enough for Paul to see Attina’s face. She looked frightened of him. Like he was a villain. Like he had already broken her heart. And Paul didn’t understand because he couldn’t remember doing that-- how could he not remember breaking someone’s heart?

He would remember. Even with girlfriends from the past who he’d barely known, the relationship barely a relationship, he remembered ending it and the look on those girls’ faces, whether angry with him or disappointed. Paul carried all of them with him, each one another link on the chain, a reminder that he had to do better next time. He had to love wisely or risk turning out like one of his brothers.

Attina looked at him like he was one of his brothers. Paul’s face crumpled, and he reached out to try to push the door open and fix this--

Perdita barged past him before he could.

“OI!” he snarled. Perdy toppled into the room first, grabbing at Attina and making her cry out. Paul was fast on her heel and he grabbed Perdita at the waist, yanking her off of Tina. “Get the fuck away from her, you-- crazy--bitch--” Perdita struggled in his arms, elbowing him in the gut hard enough for Paul to grunt.

He released her, but only so he could get between Tina and Perdita. “I told you to stay away from us. It’s over, Perdita, I--I don’t care, whatever I-- did, I -- I don’t want you. I’m with Attina.”

ATTINA: You know, Attina only had a very slight understanding of this situation. She only knew vaguely more than Paul and Perdita did. There were things her brain was still trying to fill in. Why was Paul still acting like he was in love with her? Why was Paul acting like nothing had ever happened? What had she done wrong? She’d done it all right.

The sea witch had tricked her.

And now, she was going to pay for it. Possibly with her life.

Perdita’s nails dug into her skin and when Paul pulled her away they raked down her collarbone, making her cry out.

She watched in wide-eyed horror as Paul pulled Perdita off of her. The woman’s hair flew around her face, which was turning red as she struggled and growled like some feral thing.

Attina had never been more terrified.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?” Perdita screeched, pressing right up against Paul, her hand over his shoulder like she could grab Attina’s heart in her fingers and pull.

“I-I-I—”

“Paul! Get—off of me! She did something to you, not me! She’s the psychotic bitch. THIS BETTER BE REVERSIBLE!” she screeched. “He has CHILDREN, you fucking fish.”

Attina’s heart dropped into her stomach at that and she burst into wretched sobs.

PAUL: The air was full of screeching, screaming, crying. Paul could barely think through the noise. But that was good. Because his brain was useless to him and Paul had accepted that, for better or for worse. There was no remembering, whether he had to blame Perdy for that or himself. There was no remembering. There was nothing he could do to change the past few days. He didn’t even know how many.

Didn’t matter either.What mattered as he was awake now. He needed to try, desperately, to salvage his relationship with Attina before Perdy took that away from him too. She had already taken so much.

So he stayed planted firm in front of Attina, determined to protect her. He’d force Perdita out with his bare hands.

“DON’T speak to her like that! DON’T SPEAK TO US AT ALL!” he shouted back at her. He took a menacing step forward. “You leave now, or I’m calling the police, I told you not to come near us, I warned you-- so LEAVE.”

ATTINA: No one had ever looked at her with the same amount of fury which Perdita looked at her with.

It was as if suddenly all that ire had sucked back inside of her and Attina could see it burning behind her blue eyes. Somehow the silence after Paul’s shouting was even more terrifying than when Perdita was reaching out at her like she was going to scratch her eyes out or choke the life out of her. She looked like she was going to explode and kill her and Paul both.

Attina was shaking like a leaf, and not even Paul’s protection was soothing because it was—it wasn’t at all natural or true. He didn’t really want to protect her. For some reason…he still thought—he loved her. He thought he loved her. He thought they were together. He was acting exactly like Paul and not at all like Paul and that sinking feeling was back, like Attina was being taken into a riptide.

Her breath came out shaky. “Paul,” she said, her voice wobbling.

Perdita made a hissing sound behind her teeth. She didn’t move, though her lip curled in a smirk as Attina flinched at the sound.

“W-what—what day is it?”

PAUL: All the noise got sucked into the air and evaporated: the yelling, the crying, Paul’s own hoarse voice. Paul watched as that change moved across Perdita’s face. He had seen that careful control a thousand times before. Perdita could be raging, spitting mad, and next second, like she’d flipped some switch, she held her anger serenely-- like it was the source of her power.

It often was.

He saw her do this now and Paul’s lip curled up to snarl at her again. He had plenty more hot-fire rage to pull from to melt her down. He’d not let her say another word--

But it was Attina who said his name, the word shaky breath, barely louder than the silence. He turned his head to look at her, his face contorted with his panic and worry and anger all in equal parts. He didn’t want to scare Attina. He knew Attina was fragile. She was so much like his mother, he saw these flashes of it in her eyes and it was always like she’d turned something on in Paul. He didn’t want to be another loud, angry thing, not to her. He’d always wanted to be safe for her, the way that she felt safe to him.

And so he already felt destabilized when the question came on the heel of his name. The black hole in his brain yawned wider. What day was it? What-- day?

He still couldn’t remember anything. Nothing but Halloween.

“It’s-- I--” he stuttered. He looked at Perdita again, then back at Attina. The anger was wiped off his face. Now he was just confused, scared-- lost. “It’s--yesterday was Halloween. Right? We--we were here, Attina, I-- I don’t remember leaving, I, I dunno what I did,” he admitted, rubbing at his wet eyes. “I--I-- I’m sorry, I, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

ATTINA: Perdita’s eyes narrowed at her over Paul’s shoulder, but she remained silent. Stoic.

Somehow, that didn’t make Attina feel any better, but she couldn’t pay attention to Perdita. She had to pay attention to Paul. See if her theory was correct. She really, really hoped it wasn’t. Ursula had warned her that the price would be steeper this time around. That memories, minds, were a tricky thing. Unpredictable, she had said.

Halloween, Paul said and Attina’s heart plummeted.

“Halloween?” shrieked Perdita, all that fury spilling out of her at once, cutting over Paul’s confused, wet voice. “Paul, it’s almost fucking May. What the fuck did you do?” Perdita growled, taking another step towards Attina.

She shoved Paul out of the way this time. “She fucked with your head. Did something, because she doesn’t want people to know she’s a mermaid.”

Perdita spat the word.

Attina felt faint. She didn’t know how she was still standing. She was a shell. Put her up to your ear and you could hear the ocean.

“I-I’m sorry,” Attina eyes welled with tears.

Perdita scoffed in disgust. “That’d be too easy, you dumb bitch. Don’t you know how much better blackmail is? Your daddy is on the board, isn’t he?” She tilted her head, that smile of hers sharp. “I’m sure we can think of a few petitions we need passed. Money allocated towards keeping people like you out of the public.”

She looked at Paul, glancing up and down once, her face crumpling slightly, brow folding over in concern. “Paul,” she told him softly, her voice surprisingly gentle. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry. Come—come home with me, yeah? The babies are there. We’ll call Roger. Figure this out.”

PAUL: May.

Mermaid.

These two words washed over Paul, one after the other. He couldn’t even absorb how much time he’d lost before the second one smashed him into the rocks. He felt floored, ripped open, scrubbed raw. He felt the way he had in the days after Perdita leaving him, those black hole days where the only thing Paul depended on was his hangovers. He knew exactly how to control those: how much alcohol to drink to pick him outta the headache and send him meandering down the street, smiling like a dope, tears still in his eyes.

This was the hangover at the beginning though before any medicine. It was the crash down, his stomach turning so fast, head spinning. He wanted to crouch and vomit all over her floor.

May. That was six months. His babies were-- his babies were almost two. Six months meant he missed Christmas, missed Easter, missed Tibby’s and Anita’s birthday. Was he still at the firehouse? Why was he with Perdita? How did that happen? Why couldn’t he remember? Where’d it all go?

Memories were the thread that held a person together. They had to go somewhere. If they didn’t exist, then how was Paul supposed to be Paul?

Paul looked back at Attina now with all that horror plain on his face. Before, she’d looked at him like a stranger-- now, he looked at her like she’d just put a knife to his gut. This was all because of some secret, Perdita said, about her being a-- a-- mermaid. Is that why they broke up? He found out and now, she trusted him so little she tried to erase him?

“Attina?” he said dumbly, pleading like a kid. Perdita pushed past him and he was left with her name on his lips: Attina.

The rest of Perdita’s threads were too far away for Paul to grasp. Cold sweat gathered at the base of his neck, everything eerily calm and quiet around him. Only when Perdita turned back to him and said his name again did Paul blink for the first time in a while.

She looked at him… the way she used to look at him.

It was something he remembered. And so it was all he had.

Her-- and his kids.

“My kids,” he uttered. “I--I want to see my kids. Perdita,” the name slipped even more desperately from his lips than Attina’s had. Six months gone of his kids, six more months lost. The tears sprang to his eyes and he ducked his head fast, his feet moving before his head could catch up with him. He had to get out of that flat as fast as possible, he had to run away from this morning, from the six month hole inside himself.

He just wanted to see his kids. Hold them. Kiss their foreheads. And maybe, when Patch smiled at him, or Penny grabbed his finger, it’d trigger something-- and he’d find everything that he’d lost.

[mafiabosstsuna]

angst prompt: Hayato in love with an s/o who’s in love with Tsuna.

Why is this happening?

He had only meant to seduce you and then throw you away as soon as the Tenth was safely married.

So why is this happening?

Why can’t he get you out of his mind?

His feet took him towards your usual place. The place where you would usually be as you watched the Boss from afar and just as he expected there you were. Staring like a lost puppy at the man Hayato would give his life to protect.

It was sickening, it was pathetic! It was… everything he had ever wanted.

It had been quite a simple chore; it wasn’t even big enough to be called a mission. But nonetheless the importance of its completion was something Hayato himself had determined as of high priority. He had to do it even at the cost of your sorrow because when it came down to it, if he had to choose between you and the man he owed his loyalty to he would always choose the Boss. He would always choose Jyudaime.

He really could hardly blame you for falling in love with Sawada Tsunayoshi.

His Decimo was a great man. Powerful and weak. Both cruel and kind. He had the ability to hold anyone’s heart in his hand to either cherish it or break it all at the same time. And Hayato was merely a pawn who made sure that man would suffer no unnecessary grievances.

And that was what you are.

Jyudaime was set to marry a person of quality. A worthy partner to continue the Vongola line. Your pitiful looks of longing was nothing but an inconvenience and Hayato decided he would have to beat it out of you no matter what the cost was.

He took you out of the office and made you operate on the field. Make sure that you were out of the mansion as much as possible. Of course, since he felt responsible for you he made sure he was monitoring every move you made; making sure you were safe despite the risks you keep taking. And whenever you came back he made sure you reported in front of the Tenth and his fiancé, timing it so that you would catch the Decimo and his soon-to-be-bride in as many compromising scenarios possible. Hayato made sure to tell you with relish and detail about the theme of the wedding, where the honeymoon was going to be, how much Jyudaime loved his fiancé…

It was cruel and effective. You were smart enough to understand that Hayato was doing all of this on purpose but you kept silent. He knew how you would try to hold in your sobs after you can’t take it anymore and lock yourself in the bathroom to sob your heart out and Hayato let you, feeling a vindictive kind of justification in what he was doing. Because he was doing all this for the sake of the Tenth.

But it seemed to matter what he did or how much he tried there was no erasing the love and tenderness locked in your eyes whenever you beheld the Tenth. If Jyudaime was not so stubbornly in love with his fiancé Hayato was sure even the brunette would have no choice but to notice the adoration in your gazes. And no matter how cruelly he treated you it seemed that you can’t hate him. You even go so far as to make sure to see to his little comforts like his coffee and making sure he ate on time. All the while sobbing bitterly behind closed doors every time he played that cruel game on you.

Hayato should know how hard you’ve cried. He stood outside your door every time.

It drove him crazy.

He then thought it would be brilliant if he seduced you himself. he could always dump you later after the Tenth was married.

But ever since the both of you came back from that mission where the both of you had to act like a pair of honeymooners and he had experienced what it was to be loved by you― even for a fleeting moment― even though it was just an act… Hayato couldn’t stop wanting you. After that pitiful sampling of your touch and kisses he needed more. He needed everything.

Even now when it was all over he couldn’t stop himself from seeking you out. It was all he could do not to barge into your apartment and demand he stay there! Because now, every night he came back to his own room without you there everything just felt empty. Like you had taken away the oxygen and deprived him of it.

And now here you are again. Staring hopelessly at something you can never have.

It was more than he could stand. He wanted your eyes on him. Right now. He would do anything to have you look at him the same way you’re looking at the Tenth. “Oi.”

He watched as you almost jumped and turned towards him. Your eyes wide as platters and hands trembling as they held on to each other. You sighed in relief, though, and started to calm down when you saw it was only him. “Master Hayato! You surprised me!”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Hayato itched for a cigar. But he promised the Tenth he wouldn’t smoke in the hallways anymore. Besides, you were allergic to smoke. “You turned your reports in yet?”

You smiled slightly. “Of course.”

He smirked a bit when you blushed. Thank the Lord you weren’t as oblivious as he thought. But then again how could he blame you? He had practically thrown himself at you all throughout the mission. Behind closed doors where your front as his loving new bride faded away he walked around practically naked virtually offering himself to you.

He scowled at the memory of your rejection.

He frowned when you looked out of the window saw the Boss romancing his fiancé and Hayato listened as you sighed in heartbreak. The sound made his chest feel as though someone’s fist has squeezed out his heart.

“Why don’t you… join me for coffee?” he asked. This must have been the tenth time he had asked you out since you came back from your mission together. Each time your response had been the same. Each time was a crack in his sanity as his days of emptiness and wanting you continued.

“Maybe some other time?” you replied softly. Your longing eyes still not able to tear themselves away from the couple down in the garden. “I would… like to stay here a little longer.”

Hayato would normally just walk away. Normally he would give up and respect your wishes but… he dreamed of you last night. Of coming home, calling your name and finding you in his kitchen making his meals. How you greeted him with a sweet kiss and a smile. It all felt so damn real he woke up reaching out for you only to hold onto emptiness. And when he found out it was all a dream it was all he could do not to go crazy.

He already teetering on the edge of logic as it is and it would only take one more push to leave him falling.

“He’s never going to love you.”

The bomber watched you freeze and slowly turn wide, frightened eyes towards him. He gritted his teeth against the compassion he felt at the fear he saw in them. He didn’t want your fear; he wanted your love.

“I-I…” you looked away and smiled nervously. “I don’t know what you mean―”

Hayato caught your hand as you turned to move away and cruelly shoved you against the window where the couple downstairs were kissing.

“See?” Hayato hissed. His eyes wide and his whole body trembling in eager desperation and anticipation, his words breathless. His mind teetering on the edge of madness as he waited for your agreement. “He’ll never love you! Whatever it was you were hoping for; whatever it was you wanted you can’t have it! He’s in love with someone else!”

He watched your reaction from the glass window that separated you from the other couple but watched no heartbreak; no tears or shock. Just a sad little smile coupled with a tenderness that tore at Hayato like razor sharp claws. “I know.”

He heard no anger, no betrayal, no heartbreaking wails or sobs. Just a resignation and understanding so deep he couldn’t even comprehend it. And it broke him.

Hayato’s aching arms wrapped around you from behind and pushed his shaking body against your back. He shoved his face and buried it in your hair so deep he wanted to drown in it and never come back up. You had damned him and he didn’t care. He just wanted to crawl under your skin and die there.

“You can have me,” he was begging and he knew it but he didn’t even care. He wanted you to know. Maybe if you knew you would have no choice but to accept him. Maybe if you knew you would realize that you loved him back. “Me! Have me! I’m all yours… I’ll let nobody else but you touch me! Just take me. Want me! Please.”

He didn’t care if it takes him forever… He didn’t care if it took a lifetime… He won’t stop holding on to you until you can love him back…