#legitimately i found a notebook while cleaning last month that was just like.

[rindomness]

i think the thing that makes me most powerful as an artist is the fact that i have kept copies in some form or another of almost everything i have made since i started and thus whenever the imposter syndrome is hitting i can look at the literal piles of sketchbooks and notebooks and binders i keep the physical copies of my work in and go oh yeah. ive been working at this for like ten years. and then it just goes away.

anyway i absolutely recommend this as a strategy no matter how cringey it might seem keeping visual evidence of skill progression is an incredible tool against imposter syndrome. voice in your head can't tell you you're faking your skills if you can pull out a literal record of your skill growth against it

[what-stop-the-presses-rly-means]

Anonymous

Davey Jacobs x gender neutral reader modern au

Warnings: slight swearing

———————–

I sighed as I doodled little flowers in my notebook. It had only been two hours since my shift started, but it felt like ten. When I applied for this job at the campus library I was thrilled. I would get to work with books, be in a quiet and calming environment, and I could work on homework in my down time. What I had not been prepared for, however, was the sheer amount of boredom I’d be feeling. I did the reading for my classes and got a jumpstart on my research paper. There weren’t many people in the library today so my job was to sit here and wait. Now I just wanted something, anything remotely exciting to happen.

As if some deity had answered my prayers, a familiar boy walked through the front doors. I watched Davey make a beeline over to a shelf, face looking determined. It made me smile. Whenever he was on a mission, it was like nothing else mattered, he focused solely on the task at hand.

I met Davey when I first started working here a couple months ago. He came to the library almost every day for one reason or another. At first it was just offhand comments about the books we were currently reading or whichever classes were kicking our ass. After a while, the conversations lasted a little longer and became a little more personal. (I learned that he is the third generation of his family to go to this school, he’s switched his major four times because he’s so unsure what he wants to do and he’s afraid to let his family down if he picks the wrong one, and that he has a younger brother that he absolutely adores.) And now, even though it hasn’t been said out loud, I would call us friends. Sure, we haven’t talked outside of the library, but that was fine, I liked it this way.

Thinking he’d probably take a while, picking the perfect book, I leaned over my notebook again. This time, as if my hand had a mind of its own, I was doodling hearts all over the paper.

Then a soft voice startled me out of my reverie. “Excuse me, Miss. I’d hate to distract you from the work you’re so incredibly invested in, but I’d like to check out a book.” I looked up at Davey, who gave me the most charming smile, and couldn’t help but smile back.

“What? And actually do my job? Who do you think I am?”

He laughed. “Careful. Draw one too many hearts and someone might accuse you of being in loooove.”

I rolled my eyes. “And wouldn’t you just love that? Is your life so devoid of anything exciting that my possible love interest is entertaining to you?”

“You know very well that both of our lives are devoid of excitement. Why do you think we spend so much time in the library?”

“Rude! I happen to work here. What’s your excuse?” He blushed a little bit.

“Books can be exciting. They’re full of adventure and action. The most incredible stories come from places like this.”

I reached out and patted his shoulder. “That’s all fine and good, but just make sure you don’t use that line on anyone else. They may not appreciate it as much as me,” I laughed.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, can I check out this book so I can walk away from you and never come back?”

“Oh honey, you could never leave me if you tried. But yes, you can check it out.” He kept his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Okay, let me guess.” I narrowed my eyes at him and pursed my lips, pretending to think. This was a little game we played every time he selected a book. I guessed correctly about half the time. “I’m gonna guess you picked out a book for AP Literature because you’ve been worried about your grade in that class. Shakespeare, obviously. And I’m gonna go with Romeo and Juliet. You know the story, of course, but you’re gonna spend hours trying to ‘read between the lines’ to fully understand the story before you write your paper.”

He gave me a bewildered look. “How… did you know that?” I leaned back with a satisfied smile.

“Because I know you and you’re not too hard to figure out. Some people like to use the power of seduction to impress people. I like to use the power of deduction.” After a moment, the smile dropped from my face. “And now that I’ve said that out loud I realize how dorky that sounded so I take it back. Also, I saw you walk over to the Shakespeare section so it wasn’t a difficult guess.”

Davey let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh, earning a shush or two from the few people studying. He blushed again and put the copy of Romeo and Juliet on the counter.

“You know, a lesser man would’ve said you cheated. But I’ll give you this one.”

I scanned the book. “Ah, but a greater man wouldn’t have been so predictable to begin with. You know everyone in your class is gonna write about this play, right?”

He put the book in his messenger bag. “Yes, but by the time I’m done I’m going to know the ins and outs of Romeo and Juliet so well, you’ll think Billy Shakespeare wrote the analysis, himself.”

“Well, I hope you’re right. See you tomorrow when you ultimately decide to use a different book.” I wiggled my fingers at him in a wave. He rolled his eyes good naturedly and saluted me.

“Yeah, yeah, see you then.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but the next day was even slower. There were more people in the building, sure, but everyone was doing their own thing. No one wanted to check anything out. To make matters worse, Davey hadn’t come in today. He might be staying away to make a point that I don’t know him that well and that he will stick with the book. But even so, he sometimes came in just to talk.

I needed to calm down. He’s probably busy, like every other student around here. He doesn’t owe me anything. I hadn’t realized just how much I relied on his little visits. It was weird to depend so much on a person that I didn’t even know outside of work. Were there some legitimate feelings there? Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it. He was just the cute guy that talked to me about our shared interests. And made me laugh. And was really sweet and funny and charming. Oh crap.

Well, it didn’t matter either way. He definitely didn’t feel that way about me. I was just someone he could have a nice conversation with before he left to go on and do bigger and better things. All I do is go to class and sit in this chair, waiting for someone to say more to me than, “I’d like to check this out, please.” He probably had a bunch of genius friends who write novels and discuss politics. They probably have exciting, fulfilling lives day-to-day. What’ve I got?

So it’s settled. In the span of five minutes I’ve discovered new found feelings for my non-friend, and then squashed them down as soon as I knew what they were… And I wonder why all I’ve done since I started college was go to class and then the library.

My shift was almost over so I cleaned up my station and walked over to the book return to put away the last of them before I left. Down at the bottom, underneath a large dictionary, was an envelope.

“What the-? Did someone think this was a mailbox?” I picked it up and turned it over. My breath hitched when I saw my name written on the front. Looking around, as if the sender was still going to be around, I sat back down and opened it. Inside was a nice piece of stationary and the handwriting was neat, as if the person took the time to put some care into writing it:

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear-

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows

As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand

And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it, sight,

For ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

That was it. No explanation, no name, nothing. Were they talking about me? It was obviously addressed to me. This had to be a prank. That’s the only explanation. Some asshole saw me sitting here like some lonely loser and thought they’d have a laugh, seeing me gush over some anonymous love letter.

I was about to get up and throw it away, but I couldn’t. What if, by some small miracle, it was real? What if someone actually quoted this declaration of love to me because they actually like me? Could that happen? In real life?

I carefully folded the paper back into the envelope and placed it in my bag as I got up to leave.

—-

I had read and re-read the note a hundred times since yesterday. I still couldn’t believe someone took the time to write it all out and give it to me. I discovered it was a passage from Romeo and Juliet and my mind immediately went to Davey. But there was no way… right? He barely knows me and besides, he probably has a bunch of intellectual girls knocking down his door to even think about me. No, it couldn’t be him. Could it?

“What are you thinking about so hard?” I jumped a little in my seat.

“Do you make it a habit to sneak up on me at work?”

Davey smirked. “All I do is come to the check-out counter and use my inside voice. It’s not my fault you’re probably harboring some big secrets that make you act guilty.” I narrowed my eyes at him a little, deciphering whether or not he was joking.

“What kind of secret would I be hiding?”

He looked a little taken aback. “Like… you want me to guess? Is this our new game? Okay. Hmm. You’re really an undercover assassin that’s been hired to murder anyone who has a late fee?” I furrowed my brow at him.

“I’m gonna go with no. But good guess.”

“Okay, fine, let’s see. Last I saw you, you were doodling hearts in your notebook. You’ve been daydreaming more often. And you’re dressing in a nicer fashion.” I glanced down at the outfit I spent forever picking out this morning. “I’m gonna go with: You have a crush on someone.” I blushed a little, at which he smirked. “You’re not the only one who’s good at deduction.”

I cleared my throat. “Don’t get too cocky just yet. You’re wrong. Actually, you might be able to help me with something.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope and handed it to him. “This was given to me yesterday. Well, I mean, I found it. What do you think it means?” I watched him open the letter and read it, looking for some kind of… something on his face. When he was done, he looked up at me.

“You mean, like, you want me to translate what it says?”

I gave him a bored look. “No… I looked it up on Google, I know what it says,” I mumbled. “I mean, what does the whole thing mean? Why would someone just give that to me?” He handed it back to me with a small smile.

“I’d say I was half right before. Someone has a crush, but it’s on you.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “How can you be sure? There’s no explanation. Just a few lines from a play.”

“I’m no expert, but if someone wrote on and on about my beauty, albeit through the words of Shakespeare, I wouldn’t take it lightly.”

“Okay, but what do I do about it? It’s not like I can return the favor. I have no idea who they are.”

“Just give it time. Maybe they’ll send more.”

“Oh, wipe that smug look off your face.”

“I will when you stop blushing.” I leaned over and hid my face in my arms. “Oh, don’t be like that. It’s cute, in a way.”

I waved him off without looking up. “Just go away and do whatever Davey’s do when they’re not in the library.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “So, drinking unholy amounts of coffee while nitpicking every paper I write because I’m a perfectionist and ultimately stressing myself out so much that I imagine running away to live in the Shire? I’m not scheduled to do that ‘til six.” I couldn’t help the smile that graced my face.

“Actually, I see you running more toward Hogwarts than anything,” I say, looking up at him.

He smiled. “Then I’d just stress over my magical tests.”

“Hey, at least they’d be about magic, instead of algebra or the history of the printing press.”

“Fun fact about the printing press-“

“And I’m leaving you now!” I got up to put some books away as he laughed behind me.

—-

It’s been over a week since I received the note and I had actually started to forget about it. I had given up the little hope that I had allowed myself to feel that I’d receive any more, after the first couple days. Now the note was lying at the bottom of my desk drawer back in my dorm instead of on me at all times. It was time to stop living in my fantasy world and get back to reality. Though it was ironic to think such things when I spent half my time in the library, surrounded by fantasies and did little to stop myself from daydreaming. But baby steps I guess.

I walked in a few minutes before my shift and saw Katherine, my coworker, talking to her boyfriend.

“Hey now, this is work time, not flirty time,” I laughed as I walked behind the counter to set my stuff down. “Hi, Jack.” The man leaning on the counter tipped his hat at me. Katherine turned to me, smiling.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to flirt with Davey damn near every day, but I can’t talk to my boyfriend?”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Wait. Davey Jacobs? You got the hots for my boy, Davey?” I was in the middle of taking off my jacket and paused, looking over at the two of them.

“Yes, Davey Jacobs. No, I do not have ‘the hots’ for him. He just comes in and we talk.”

Katherine scoffed. “You’re being modest. He only comes in when you’re working- I once even saw him walk in, see it was me behind the counter, and leave- and you guys make googly eyes at each other the entire time.”

Jack’s smirk could cut glass. “Oh, I am gonna give him so much shit for that. That’s adorable! I’ve noticed he’s had more of a spring in his step lately. I left my clothes on the floor the other day and he didn’t even lecture me. He’s got it bad.”

“Okay, you’re both crazy, which means you’re perfect for each other.” I grabbed Katherine by the arm and lifted her out of my chair. “Go off and be crazy together now, and leave me in peace.”

“So you don’t want this letter that was left for you in the book return earlier?” She waved a small envelope with my name on it in front of my face. My eyes widened and I’m ashamed to say I lunged at it. She pulled back, laughing.

“First, admit I’m right, then you can have it. You owe me. It’s been killing me, not opening this all day.”

I sat back. “I’ll admit that you have been right in the past and that your powers of perception are brilliant at times, so it’s no wonder you think that you’re right this time.” Katherine glanced at Jack, who shrugged.

“I think that’s the best you’re gonna get.” She sighed and handed it over. It had the same neat handwriting. I was nervous to open it, especially in front of these two, but my curiosity outweighed any nerves. Just like the first one, this note was written on stationary and folded with care. With trembling hands, I unfolded it:

“But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places.”

Again, that was it. No signature, no reasoning for the word choice, no trace of who could have sent it. I let out a sigh and looked up at my little audience.

“Well?” Katherine asked, exasperated. I just handed the paper over to them. “A quote from Harry Potter?”

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Jack clarified. We both gave him weird looks. “Hey, I read! What do you think it means?”

I shook my head. “No idea. The first note quoted Shakespeare and now this.”

“Wait, hold up,” Katherine interjected. “This isn’t the first one you’ve gotten?”

“I mean, it’s only the second. They’ve been anonymously placed in the book return.”

Katherine squealed a little. “Oh my god, you have a secret admirer!” A loud “SHHH!” came from behind her. “Oh, shhh yourself!” She turned back to me. “What are you gonna do?”

“There’s nothing I can do! I have no idea who’s sending them.”

“I’ll bet I can hack into the security footage from the camera outside to see who’s been putting things in the return.” Jack and I gave her bewildered looks. “Hey, I can hack!”

“You don’t need to risk expulsion on my behalf. It’s probably better I don’t know.”

“Let me see the note again.” I handed it to Jack. He ran his fingers around the fancy border of the stationary and a wide grin split across his face as he handed it back to me.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. You’re right, we’ll probably never find out. Anyway, we should probably let you get to work. Come on, Katherine.”

“But-“

“Come on.” He put his arm around her and started walking toward the exit. As he opened the door, they almost ran into someone.

“Oh, hey, DAVEY!” he said exaggeratingly loud. “FANCY SEEING YOU HERE!” Davey stared after them as they left. I groaned as I pulled out my notebooks.

“What was that all about? Did Jack say anything to you? Anything weird? I mean, more so than normal?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” I said as I looked down at my history notes that I had no intention of studying. “He’s always been weird, and he’s dragging Katherine down with him.”

Davey chuckled. “Yeah, but they seem happy. Love, however weird, is in the air. Embrace it.”

“Speaking of that…” I hesitated. Should I talk to him about it? He wasn’t too helpful last time, but his heart was in the right place. Screw it. I pulled out the envelope. “Guess who got another anonymous note? I swear, at this point they seem like clues for a scavenger hunt or something.” I handed it to him. He opened it and scanned the words pretty quickly.

“Hmm, not as eloquent as the last one, but still a fairly sweet message. Why do you seem so upset about all of this? Someone has reminisced about your beauty and compared you to the feeling of love. Isn’t that a positive thing?”

“It is. But I’m afraid to fall too deep into this. There are too many variables that could cause a negative outcome. What if they get to know me and I’m not like what they admired from afar? What if they’re wrong for me? What if it’s a creepy old man? What if it’s a prank and I’m falling right into their trap-“ Davey caught my hands that I had been flailing around and held them gingerly.

“Hey, calm down. In order: If they’re admiring you from afar, then they’re just going to be even more enamored by you once they get to know you. If they’re wrong for you, no harm no foul. But it would be their loss. If it’s a creepy old man, just let him down gently. And if that doesn’t work, call the cops. And if it’s a prank, though I doubt anyone would be so cruel, I’ll kick their ass for you.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “I always pegged you as more of the wise wizard than the knight in shining armor. But I’ll take it.”

“Hey, I’m no Dumbledore.” He gestured to the note. “But I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, be honest, what do you think of this person?”

I sighed. “I don’t know how to feel about them. How can I feel anything about someone who leaves me quotes from books? I don’t know anything about who they are other than the fact that they read and that they apparently find me appealing.” I laughed. “Which should be enough when I think about it. If I had any less self esteem, I’d be theirs in a heartbeat. I just wish they’d be a little more personal. Put themselves on the page. No, what I really wish is that they’d introduce themselves, but I’ll settle for just a little more personalization. That way I’m not just running through the million questions in my mind about them. I have enough to worry about with classes and studying, I don’t wanna have to worry about this too.”

Davey smiled at me sympathetically. “And you deserve that. If someone cares this much about you, it’s the least they could do.” He squeezed my hands, which were still in his.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

—-

Over the course of the next month I’ve received two more notes. They’re always the same: my name on the envelope, fancy stationary, and a passage of some sort. Nothing else. The third note was by Edgar Allen Poe:

“There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.”

And the fourth was from Through the Looking Glass:

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently.”

They were all centered around love and beauty. That was the only common theme I could find. I spent countless hours reading them over and over again, trying to find a link between the authors or a hidden message. I found nothing.

It’s been another two weeks since the last note. This time I really started to worry. Was it really a prank? Or did they just lose interest? I shouldn’t get so worked up about a few pieces of paper that really could mean anything. Like I told Davey, I have more important things to worry about.

I was eating lunch under one of the big trees on the quad with a few friends from class. But I was thinking too hard to actually touch any of my food. I turned to the blond boy sitting next to me.

“Race, you’re a guy, right?” Race paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth, as his eyes darted around for a moment.

“Uh, last time I checked.”

I leaned in closer. “So would you say you understand the ins and outs of how guys flirt or try to get attention from someone they like?”

“I guess so.” He set down his sandwich and gave me his full attention. “What’s up? Has a guy been giving you mixed signals? Because if that’s the case, he’s probably not doing it on purpose. We’re not that complicated.”

I laughed a bit at that. “Kinda? Not really mixed, per se, more like not giving enough signals… sorta.” He gave me a questioning look, so I continued. “I’ve been getting anonymous love notes, if you can even call them that. Just nice quotes from books with no other information. What does that mean?”

Race smirked at me. “Ah, Jack did mention that you got yourself a little secret admirer. Now, this is a little out of my wheelhouse ‘cause I’m more of a straightforward kinda guy.”

“Yeah, no kidding. You hit on me the first day of class.”

“Yes, and you shot me down in a very cruel manner while I was vulnerable putting myself out there. I’m still waiting for an apology.”

“All you said was, ‘Nice ass, what’s your name?’ and I told you, ‘I know, and none of your business.’”

“Yet one week later we were friends. So you gotta admit it kind of works.”

I punched his shoulder. “We’re getting off track here. Am I wasting my time hoping that something could come out of this?”

“That depends on how you look at it. From what I can tell, this mystery person is the only one who can pull the strings on this little thing you guys got going. So you can wait for them to grow some balls and reveal themselves and do what you will from there. Or you can take all of this at face value and accept the compliments, let them brighten your day a little, but move on afterwards. Because you’ll drive yourself crazy if you try to get involved. It’s basically just a waiting game at this point.”

I nodded as I took it all in. “Thanks.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.

“No problem.”

“When did you get smart?” He used the same hand to push me over, making me laugh. I pushed him back.

“Hey now, no violence. Save that for someone who really deserves it.” Jack sat down next to us and turned to Race. “Oh, it’s just Racer. Yeah he probably deserves, it. Continue.” Race flipped him off and went back to eating. Jack looked down at the book in my lap.

“Seriously? You’re reading during your lunch hour? Don’t you get enough of that from class and work?”

“Shut up, this is a good one.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You sound just like Davey. You know, he’s been constantly reading. Every time I see him he’s got his nose in some poetry book. Either that, or practicing calligraphy. I swear, he’s an immortal being from the 1800’s or something.”

“Don’t hate. Some people happen to like the arts. It’s no different than you and your painting.”

He gasped and put his hand on his chest dramatically. “How dare you compare my favorite pastime with your nerdy nonsense! I am not one of you!”

I scoffed and looked back down at my book. “Yeah and you also read Harry Potter so you’re not far from it.”

“Circling back to what I said earlier, go back to beating each other up. You both deserve it.”

—-

It had been a long day. I was ready to go home and sleep for as long as possible before I had to get back up and do this all over again. It was just one of those days. I haven’t talked to Davey in forever because he was busy with schoolwork, and my other friends seemed busy with their social lives. I only really talked to Katherine, but it was only in passing as we switched shifts. But that’s how things go, I guess.

I was about to head out as I heard a faint thud come from behind me. Something was dropped into the return, but it was lighter than a book.

“No… It can’t be…” I peered inside and, lo and behold, there was another envelope. I gently picked it up and read my name. Making a quick decision, I stuffed it into my bag and walked back to my dorm. I’d gotten a bunch of these already, so why was I so nervous to read one now?

I walked in and quickly locked the door. Shucking off my coat and shoes, I sat on my bed and placed the note in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I opened it. Something caught my eye, something new. There was a sticky note on top of the folded note:

“Sorry this took so long. I wanted it to be perfect.” For some reason this made me even more nervous. The mystery person had never spoken directly to me like that before. Willing my hands to stop shaking, I unfolded it:

You don’t notice that you play with your hair when you’re nervous. But I do.

You don’t think people will like you if you talk about books. But I do.

You don’t realize your laugh is the best sound anyone could hear. But I do.

You don’t see how much you’ve changed my life. But I do.

You don’t think anyone notices you. But I do.

You don’t know that you deserve to be loved.

But I do.

I slowly lowered it onto my lap. Did they… did they write this? About me? For me? I had no words. I had said I wanted a little more personalization to these notes, but I never expected this.

My phone buzzed next to me, making me jump. When I saw the caller ID I answered.

“H-Hey, Kath. What’s up?”

“Hey, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Jack? I’m doing fine. What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to make sure everything is good, see if you’ve gotten any more notes. Did you just so happen to get another note today?”

I furrowed my brow. “Uh, yeah… How did you know that?” I could practically see the giant smile on his face. “Just a guess. I definitely didn’t see a particular person put an envelope in their bag and walk with purpose in the direction of the library earlier. Not at a-“

“JACK KELLY!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear as Katherine screamed. There was shuffling on the other end before I heard Katherine again.

“Sorry about that. He stole my phone when I went to the bathroom. Don’t listen to him.” She paused. “Though I do really hope you are getting something out of those notes. And I hope they reveal themselves soon.”

“What are you guys talking ab-“

“Got to go, bye!” And she hung up. I glanced back down at the poem. The poem written about me. The poem written by someone who seems to know a lot about me. The poem that was incredibly sweet and from the heart. But who wrote it? Who’s been sending these notes? Who cared this much about me?

I thought back on the last month. I went over all the information I had about this situation in my head, including my friends’ weird behavior. And then my jaw dropped.

—-

The next morning I got up bright and early to go back to work. I waved to my other coworker as they left and got settled. I hadn’t been sitting for more than two minutes when Davey walked up to the counter.

“What are you doing here so early? You never come here in the mornings.”

“Hello to you, too. Wow, you haven’t seen me in days and the first thing you do is question why you’re seeing me now? That hurts. You wound me.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Hello, Davey. I’ve missed you. My days were unbearable without you. Please never leave me again,” I said sarcastically.

“Damn straight. But if you must know, other than to see your beautiful smile, I’m here to grab a book before I head to my business lecture. I need something to read while I’m not paying attention.”

“Woah, you’re gonna blatantly, premeditatively ignore a lecture? What’s gotten in to you?”

He gave me a little smug smile. “I don’t know, just learning that there are more important things than worrying about grades.” I gave him a disbelieving look. “…Also, I read ahead in the textbook so I already know everything that’s going to be said.”

“Now, that I believe. What are you checking out?”

“What, you’re not going to guess?” He looked at me expectantly with his hands behind his back.

“Sorry, my head’s been all over the place lately. You win this game for once.”

His smile dropped. “Why’s that?”

I fiddled with my hair for a moment. Huh, I do play with it when I’m nervous. “I got another note from the mystery person. You know how I said I wanted them to be personal?”

“Yeah.”

I looked up at him for a moment, and then just handed it to him. He carefully unfolded it and took his time reading. When he looked up, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

“What did you think when you read it?”

“Well, it’s definitely an improvement,” I laughed. “It made me feel special. And it made me feel appreciated and loved. Like I wasn’t just some nerdy student who spends their time reading and doing schoolwork. Like I was someone worth knowing.”

He gave me a small smile. “You seem to really like this person now. Does this mean you’re divorcing me?”

“It’s already been filed. Expect the papers in the mail in 3 to 5 business days.”

Davey clutched his chest dramatically. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to go on without you. Who will give me a hard time when I try to act cool? Who will make fun of me when I get too nerdy?”

I scanned the book he dropped on the counter. “I’m sure Jack will have that covered, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but he’s not you.” I looked up at him. I couldn’t help the blush that spread across my face but I didn’t dare break eye contact. All traces of joking had left his face as we looked into each others’ eyes.

I cleared my throat and held the book out to him. “Here. You’re gonna be late, and you still need to order your morning coffee before you go to class.”

He blinked a couple times. “You think you know me so well.” He accepted the book, making our fingers brush and my heart speed up. “And you kinda do.” He smiled brightly. “See you later.” Giving me his signature salute, he walked outside.

I watched through the window as he opened the cover of the book, eyes widening, followed by a small smile. No doubt reading the note I placed inside:

I thought about what I should write over and over again. I couldn’t decide which book or poem to quote. I wanted to match your eloquence but nothing came to mind. So I’m writing down my current thoughts. We’ve got a lot in common. We both love books, we make the stupidest puns, and we get super stressed when it comes to schoolwork. But we are also both really bad at expressing how we feel straight and outright. So one of us is going to have to break the cycle. Why not me? I really like you, David Jacobs. There, I said it. You don’t need to decode this note, there’s no hidden meaning. So why don’t we cut the crap and skip ahead in the story to the part where we’re finally happy? (Though you can still send me poems. I really do like them.)

Followed by my phone number and a little message at the end: Now THAT’S how you leave a love note!

[svechnikoffee]

take me back to where i belong

take me back to where i belong – nokantrol for @babrielandeskog

words: 6k, last time i checked?

warnings: language & one brief, brief mention of the blackhawks. beyond that, nothing I can think of beyond a gratuitous love letter to whataburger with a side of tyler seguin/jamie benn

notes: a belated happiest of holidays to you, b! thanks for your patience on this wild behemoth of a fic. the holidays are just as good a reason as any to bring together dumb colorado boys and dumb dallas boys, esp over airplanes and biscuits & gravy.

as one of my favorite writers ever, it was an absolute honor to be able to write for you—hope you enjoy!!

title taken loosely from “home” by morgxn, which I only came across after it played in the background of a dylan larkin video haha

It’s dawning on you that you definitely should’ve taken up your mom on her offer of earplugs and a sleep mask as you were hurrying out of the house this morning. It’s been a headache of a day—you’d woken up early to help her cook Thanksgiving lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with your cousins and tickling the little ones while their dads sat around the TV watching football.

You’d even managed to slip away into your old bedroom to FaceTime with Tyler and Jamie, and Jamie’s friend Tyson. He seemed nice enough, though clearly unprepared to meet new people given that he was in the middle of shoveling down a DQ Blizzard when Tyler turned the camera to him. You might’ve been preoccupied with stuffing your belongings back into your suitcase, but you were genuinely relieved that Tyler had found someone to hang out with during the brief holiday.

Tyler had straight up begged you to stay in town for Thanksgiving, claiming he needed your company to get through the loneliest holiday for a Canadian in America. You just snorted and patted his head, which had been in your lap like always, shushing him with a finger to his lips.

“You’re so full of shit, you know that Ty?” He waggled his eyebrows in response. Part of you did feel sorry for him, though. He’d spent last Thanksgiving with Rads “going stag”, as they called it, but the older man had worked out a visit from Makar and his parents over the long weekend and looked like he was going to keel over from excitement. Which wasn’t really a stretch from his normal self, but still.

Last you’d heard, Jamie was having a BC friend visit, and even Jackie had booked an Alaskan cruise with her girlfriends after Tyler insisted he’d be fine on his own. Now, you just feel bad for the poor guy. He’d been taking a break from going out—I’m just trying to look out for my liver, (Y/N)—and you knew he’d be a sad sack and spend the night in with the pups.

So you compromised and took the beginning of the week off to spend with your family in Chicago, and promised Tyler you’d be back by Thursday night at the latest. It all worked out perfectly since he and Jamie didn’t have a game again until Saturday…which brings you to this moment right here, sitting in a darkened plane with the hottest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. And you regularly find yourself around some pretty fucking beautiful people. Klinger still won’t tell you what he uses for his skin.

The worst part about flying from Chicago to Dallas is there are never any direct flights with a legitimate shot of you getting on. You can’t complain, considering the fact that working for an airline means you fly for free, but after a jam-packed day like today, you’d like to put your feet up and skip the layovers.

Luckily, the flight you’d managed to get on flew through Denver without a plane change, which meant you were peacefully out for the count while the second batch of passengers got on. You’d been on so many flights for work within the past few months that falling asleep was just second nature to you now. Plus the luxury of a window seat? Score.

Of course, things don’t always work out like they should, so you were jolted from your nap with a loud snort and slurp before spotting the straight up god sitting at the end of your row. Seriously, you’d taken enough flights to know that meet-cutes just didn’t happen, but here you were now.

The blond man has his reading light on, which is a definite faux pas in your mind, but you pause at the fact that he’s actually reading a physical book. Not just any book at that, but you recognize the dark purple cover and intricate detailing of one of your favorite reads of the year. He must notice you staring, because he just turns the page and smiles before asking, “See something you like?”

You blush and scrub at your cheek before realizing the man hasn’t even lifted his eyes from the page.

“Actually, I do.”

That’s enough for him to raise his head and give you a full look at his face. He has gentle eyes that you can just bet are a blue you could get lost in, given what you can see in this lighting. The man’s beard is cropped clean and short, and you wish you could send a photo of his face to Tyler with a message reading, Real men don’t leave spaces in their mustaches.

“And what might I interest you in?”

“The book you’re reading, it’s one of my favorites,” you admit. You know you’re not the type to play coy and charm the pants off this guy, so you decide to do the best with what you’ve got. If he doesn’t like that, it’s not your problem.

It must be a good open though, because his eyes light up in response.

So it begins, from talking about how good All You Can Ever Know is, and how the author makes the nuance surrounding adoption and racism so poignant and real to their audience. You find out the man’s name is Gabe, and there’s a barely noticeable lilt to his words that he attributes to being from Sweden. Gabe glares at you when you jokingly ask for help setting up the new IKEA bookshelf in your living room, and in turn you offer him the extra cookie you’d saved from your earlier flight.

He tells you his plans got derailed last minute and that he was planning on crashing a friend’s Thanksgiving, because there just isn’t enough time around this holiday to head all the way back to Sweden. After a few hours with him, you’re not sure you want to let him go just yet, so you offer to drive him to his friend’s place since you’d left your car at the airport anyways.

You cringe inside when you realize how creepy that must sound and are a second away from laughing it off when he looks you in the eye gratefully and accepts.

After telling him about your travels, which is something you have in common, Gabe probes deeper and asks about the things that make you you, and something stops you from giving him the canned answer you give everyone else who asks.

“I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Walk into a bookstore and see my name on the shelves, you know?” You sigh wistfully at the dream you’ve had since you were a kid toting around a notebook and pen everywhere you went.

“Imagine that: (Y/N)… what’s your last name?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You’re not getting that out of me—you could be a stalker, for all I know!” You laugh when he rolls his eyes in response. “It’s (Y/L/N),” you finally offer. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Worst comes to worst, he’ll probably just find your LinkedIn and ask to connect or something.

“Wait…(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” His eyebrows scrunch up and you can see some kind of gears turning in his head. You’ve never seen this guy before in your life (you definitely would know if you had), so you wonder how he could suddenly be so familiar with your name. There’s nothing to do but laugh again when his face literally bursts into a sunbeam in recognition, the smile overtaking his eyes. You want to take a photo of it; it’s too much to take in with the naked eye all at once.

“You wrote that article in the inflight magazine, the one about the travel tips to Chicago!” You freeze, your grip running tighter on your phone.

“How do you even know that?” You exclaim, eyeing him suspiciously. “I was asleep for like 10 minutes before you started talking to me!”

“I get bored,” the man explains easily. “And I always check the Hidden Gems features because I travel a lot for work. It didn’t hurt that you wrote about one of my favorite cities.” He winks at you and you know you’re blushing now. Guys don’t really bother to flirt with you, let alone big, beefy ones with big, rugged hands and soft blue eyes.

“Oh, well. That’s quite a compliment, considering I write all of them. Thank you,” you manage to get out. Goodness, why did you have to be so awkward all the time.

“You’re welcome,” he replies earnestly.

“Listen, if you’re not in a hurry to get to your friend’s place…have dinner with me.” Something about Gabe makes you feel bold, like you’re the Sun and it’s up to you to rise and seize the day. You know you shouldn’t trust this stranger you’ve literally just met (your mind supplies that you were the one to offer him a ride in the first place) but the alarm bells aren’t going off in your head just yet, so you figure it’s worth a shot.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know a place.” Actually, you can’t think of any places that might be worthy of housing Gabe, but you’ll act first, and deal with the repercussions later.

“Sure, let’s do it,” he replies easily, smiling up at you from his perch atop his carry-on.

Of course, you have to keep up the bravado from just moments before, all the while racking through every restaurant you can think of nearby. You’re not sure where Gabe’s headed, and while you’ll most likely stop by Tyler’s before heading back home, you want to stay relatively close by.

“How do you feel about fast food?” You blurt out, your mind immediately jumping to the Whataburger you frequent on your way to work in the mornings.

Gabe smiles wryly at you before nodding. Patting his stomach lightly, to which you vehemently fight against imagining the abs that must live beneath his sweater, he musters out a nonchalant, “I’m sure I can break my diet tonight, just for you.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm; you feel like you’ve known Gabe for years as opposed to the few hours you spent with him 35,000 feet above ground. Maybe time doesn’t exist that high up in the air.

“Your parents live in Chicago. You live in Dallas,” Gabe checks off as he shoves a spicy ketchup smothered fry into his mouth. “What’s the deal with that?”

“It’s not that complicated, really. I grew up in Chicago, loved it, got an internship in Dallas during college and loved the work, and I’ve been here since I graduated. I get homesick a lot though, so the flight perks come in handy.” You bite your cheek to keep from getting emotional; any mention of missing your parents still gets you teary.

“Wow,” Gabe breathes. You’re too preoccupied with trying to discreetly blink the tears away before he notices, that you don’t have time to gauge his reaction.

It’s the truth, though. You never thought you’d leave the Midwest, with its ability to shift through all four seasons in a day. But you did, and you can’t feel bothered to apologize for the fact that you’re still not sure where you would call home. What you loved about Dallas the first time around was that it was your space. Everyone you knew in Chicago had practically known you since you’d been in diapers, and you never realized how heavy that burden had been until you left.

You’re just about to say something when Gabe clears his throat to speak.

“(Y/N), I can’t believe you moved over a thousand miles away from home right out of college and have been sticking it out this entire time. You’re really brave.”

“Oh, um. Thank you?” You wipe your nose and sniff before taking a bite of your burger. No one had ever reacted like that before. You’re used to people ribbing you for your flight benefits or joking about how there’s no way you can go back to Chiberia after a few years in the South.

“I get it, though,” Gabe continues. “I moved to Canada when I was in, what do you call it, high school? Then after a few years, I settled down in Denver for work, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.” You quirk an eyebrow, wondering if his parents had been in the service given how he’d had to move all over the world. Now, your move seems small in comparison.

“And you mentioned you were born in Sweden, right? I’ve always wanted to go,” you say wistfully. One day, you’d get your backpacking trip around Europe. One day.

Gabe nods eagerly, and thankfully doesn’t comment on your blatant change of subject. He reminds you of a big golden retriever with how often he smiles and seems to enjoy every moment he’s in. He runs a hand through his hair before diving into what it was like growing up in Stockholm, and how he feels like he’s back home anytime he can smell salty sea air. It’s not all too different from Jamie’s childhood, you realize belatedly. You think they’d get on well.

The two of you continue to trade stories back and forth in the tiny Whataburger down the street from Love Field, and you can’t ignore the want bubbling up from deep within.  

When Gabe inputs the address into Google Maps and holds it up for you to see, you have to blink and bring his phone closer to your face to get a better look.

“Wait. Gabe. Whose house are you going to?” Gabe pauses, looking uneasy for the first time since you met just a few hours ago.

“I told you, he’s like my best friend’s best friend. Jamie.”

“Oh. My. God. Oh my God. Gabe. Gabe.” You burst into peals of laughter and have to hit your steering wheel multiple times over because no fucking way. This cannot be real life, right now.

“(Y/N)?” He still looks hesitant, and you’re sure you know why.

“Gabe,” you wheeze. “Gabe. Oh my god. You’re going to Jamie Benn’s house right now? How do you even know him?”

His eyes narrow for a long moment, assessing your frankly embarrassing stature, and he shifts to take his phone back. You’re aware of how you probably look, like a huge Jamie Benn stalker or something, but this turn of events is just too ridiculous to wrap your mind around, let alone, stop laughing at.

“Do you…know him, too?” He asks warily.

“Gabe,” you repeat. “He’s one of my best friends here in Dallas.”

If real life played out the way it did in cartoons, you know you’d see a series of anvils falling from the sky or something equally ridiculous to depict his surprise. Gabe looks flabbergasted, and at a complete loss for words if his sputtering is any indication.

“No fucking way, (Y/N). You sure you’re not just messing with me right now?” He’s finally able to squeeze out right when you start wheezing again. You nod and wipe at the tears streaming down your cheeks; it’s unbelievable how this guy’s got you crying twice for two astronomically different reasons, all within a span of 30 minutes. Gabe must be just as delirious or amused as you are, because he joins you quickly after.

When your giggles finally subside and you trust yourself to drive, you slot your key into the ignition and get started on the drive over to Preston Hollow. You make this exact drive nearly every day, what with the airport being so close to work, but the drive from the airport to Jamie’s house is one you know all too well, having literally gone straight from various work trips to movie nights at his place numerous times over. Just a few weeks ago, Tyler had been walking Gerry over and you’d nearly run the puppy over when he bounded into the street at the sight of your car.

“So, (Y/N),” Gabe starts when you pull out of the Whataburger parking lot. “How exactly do you know all these Stars players?” You bite back a groan; Tyler always gets a kick out of how much you hate telling this story.

“I told you I interned here during college, right?” Gabe nods, and you just barely keep yourself from slamming on the brakes when he flits his tongue to swipe across his upper lip.

“I fell in love with Dallas, and with my line of work being what it is, it’s all about who you know. So after I moved back to Chicago to finish school, I knew I had to make some connections if I wanted to find a job in another state. There weren’t many networking events here, so I kind of had to improvise. My friends took me to a lot of Stars games when I was interning, and I remembered that Casino Night was coming up…” you trail off as you slowly come to a stop at the next red light.

“So I’m guessing you went and seduced some big, sexy hockey players, huh?” Gabe moves closer to dig his elbow into your arm.

“That’s exactly what happened, how did you know,” you deadpan.

“No, for goodness sake’s, Gabe, I didn’t seduce them. I’ve never followed hockey that closely, so I didn’t recognize their faces. Jamie talked to me for almost 20 minutes about working in the Metroplex before a random PR girl came to take him away.” You laugh at the memory of a bumbling Jamie Benn trying to talk to you about taxes and insurance benefits before Tyler had swooped in and hip checked him before winking at you.

With the help of alcohol and some distance from the cameras, Jamie was all soft excitement and fun innuendos while Tyler had just melted into a literal puppy after the event ended. Jamie had asked for your number after you shared some drinks with him and Tyler that night, and you’d always wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t had to fly back home the next morning.

Regardless, you kept in touch with the boys until you got a full-time offer with the company you’d interned for the previous summer. When finally making the move to the Big D, you suddenly had 15 fully-grown hockey players at your service when you pulled in with your giant U-Haul. No way could you have imagined any of that from your failed attempt at networking.

“So…your best friends are hockey players, then,” Gabe trails off. You’re not sure where he’s going, but you just nod.

“Yeah, I go to their games and I can finally tell them apart on the ice, but I’m more of a baseball girl myself.” It’s true, you’d grown up in Cubs territory and their World Series win ranked in your list of favorite moments from your entire life.

“Do you know any other hockey players?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I guess I know who Sidney Crosby is? But that’s only because Tyler’s obsessed with him.” Gabe laughs brightly and you hear an of course he is under his breath.

“Wait…do you know Tyler, too?”

“Um, yeah (Y/N). I kind of have to, considering I play hockey, too.” This time you really slam on the brakes, which is just fine because no one’s on the road, anyways. You’ve only got another mile or so until you make it to Jamie’s place, and you’d like some time to wrap your head around the fact that this dream of man regularly plays against your best friends.

“You’re a hockey player from Sweden…who plays in Colorado,” you utter our slowly. “You’re somehow friends with Tyson, who’s friends with Jamie, which probably means that Tyson’s a hockey player too, right?” Everything is wild and nothing makes sense.

Gabe at least has the courtesy of looking sheepish. He scratches at his neck and shrugs.

“Yeah, Tyson’s one of my best friends in Denver. You can’t tell him that, though, or else he’ll get a big head.”

“Okay, just give me a second to wrap my head around this. Also, get out your phone because we need to record their reactions when we walk in together. Good thing I have a key,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“I think I kind of like bossy (Y/N).”

You know Jamie’s already expecting you, especially since Tyler had texted he was still hanging out with the guys. Gabe’s already got the video rolling on his phone when you slide the key into the lock. You call out a hello as you slip off your shoes and gesture for Gabe to follow when you hear an “in the kitchen!”

Marshall and Cash come bounding up to you while Gerry takes a moment to survey the new guest. Gabe gives him a generous amount of pats, which has Gabe on his knees scratching the puppy’s belly in no time.

“And that’s why we gave a key to (Y/N) in the first place—she somehow always brings us free Whataburger.” You roll your eyes at Jamie’s bravado, he’s clearly raised his voice so you could hear him.

“Holy shit! Landesnerd!”

You turn and mouth Landesnerd? to Gabe in question, to which he shrugs and probably just zooms in on your face with the camera.

Tyson runs over to see Gabe, bypassing you completely. Jamie’s slower to stroll out and he raises an eyebrow at you before pulling you in for a squeeze. He smells like cedar and soap like always, and it’s so familiar to you now that it almost hurts. Tyler comes steamrolling out of the kitchen yelling your name and throws himself into your arms when Jamie finally lets go. This one’s all Aveda shampoo and Armani cologne, and you playfully bite at his shoulder, which has him yelping and jumping away as always. It’s only been a few days, but you’ve missed your boys something fierce.

Plus, it’s only a matter of time before they realize who you walked in with.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up.” Tyson finally pauses, literally scratching his head at the sight of you. “Do you guys know each other? Gabriel, how did you even get into this house?”

Gabe’s still getting everything on video, and you’re so glad it’s all getting caught on tape. Tyler tilts his head side-to-side, glancing between you and Gabe before finally turning and elbowing Jamie in the ribs. He makes a few contemplative noises before finally whispering to Jamie, who’s eyes shine with mirth when he lands his gaze on you, of all people.

“Hey, Landy, what’s up man? How do you know our girl (Y/N), here?” Tyler continues smoothly, pulling Gabe in for one of those complicated handshake turned bro taps. Jamie does the same, but you can tell from the way Gabe shoves at his chest that Jamie’s chosen to chirp him. Of course.

Tyler just waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively when Gabe finally responds, ruffling Tyson’s hair at the same time. 

“It’s just gotta be fate, right? We were on the same flight over, we had Whataburger together, and here we are now.”

“You watch yourself, Landeskog, throwing around words like fate and together. Our (Y/N)’s too good for Colorado scum like you!” You lunge to tackle Tyler to the ground, which just begins an all-out brawl once Marshall and Cash get word of the fun. 

Jamie just sighs all too knowingly, and stops in the kitchen to grab the bags of chips he only saves for special occasions. Something tells you it might be a Goon night after all.

When Jamie officially deems it too late for you to go home, he sends you to the guest room on the second floor to spend the night, just as you have numerous times before. You’re thankful he’s pulling the trigger and has a shit ton of extra rooms for everyone to stay in, one of which already has a new toothbrush and one of Jamie’s spare hoodies.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to the smell of hazelnut which has you out of bed and downstairs almost immediately. Tyson doesn’t even look half awake yet, but Jamie slides over a mug of black coffee to you wordlessly. The shower’s going down the hall, which tells you exactly where Gabe is.

“Can we do breakfast,” you whine at Jamie. He’s become the big brother you’d never had, and you know he dotes on you as a result of being a lifelong youngest child. Jamie just grunts in response as Tyson flops his hands over his ears with a long, pronounced groan.

“Let’s do Norma’s, I want biscuits,” you continue. Jamie nods and pulls out his phone, presumably to check in with Tyler. 

“It’s good, I promise,” you reassure Tyson. You pat his head of curls gently and get another sad moan in return. Poor guy, sleeping in must definitely be a BC thing.

You and Gabe are the first ones to arrive at Norma’s an hour later, Tyson texting that he and Jamie would pick Tyler up on their way over. You knew if you were to confront either of your friends about what they were trying to do, the big dumb cow eyes would come out to play, and you really didn’t have time for that right now. You just want to enjoy the time you have with Gabe before he leaves, and be able to keep moving forward without even more unrequited feelings weighing you down. Fuck, you don’t even know if it’s been long enough to characterize these feelings as feelings.

As Gabe steps into the bustling diner, you can see the exact moment everything begins to process in that big, blond brain of his. He opens his mouth, then shuts, just smiling down to himself. He stands off to the side while you give your name to the hostess, and make your way over to join him against the wall.

It smells like heaven, if the celestial beings cried tears of grease, and the diner itself is packed with people of all ages. There’s a booth just next to the bar that’s opened up, and you can’t suppress the giggle that erupts when you imagine yourself and four massive hockey players squeezed into it. Gabe calls your name quietly, and you look up to see mirth dancing in his blue, blue eyes.

Completely unaware of the image burned in your brain, he asks, “What’s with all the Texas flags everywhere?”

You have to chuckle at that. Norma’s is known for straight-up Southern comfort food, and their infamous booths decked out in full Texan attire. It was the first thing you’d noticed your first visit, after the giant pies up front that were easily the size of your entire torso. You still remember trying to take sneaky photos to send to your parents all those years ago. Now, they all knew you by name.

“G, it’s Texas,” you reply simply. There really is no other way to put it. “Sweet tea, Whataburger, and good ol’ American football—that’s the Texas way,” you drawl exaggeratedly.

It’s only a couple minutes before the rest of the boys make it to brunch, and if y’all didn’t stick out before, you definitely do now. Tyson’s the closest to you in height, but there’s no denying he’s just as capable as the others in easily benching your weight.

While the people in Texas can be a little softer in the middle, they’re that much kinder in spirit. The city boy in Tyler has slowly been weathered away over the years, and you can’t even pinpoint the Canadian in Jamie anymore. Which is why Gabe with his perfect face and eyes and hair and everything sticks out like a sore thumb in this establishment. It’s like trying to stuff the Sun into a one story home, and telling yourself you still need a lamp.

Tyler kicks at your foot lightly, and it snaps you out of your reverie. The hostess is already leading Jamie, Tyson, and Gabe to a larger booth in the back, so you and Tyler pull up the rear. He offers you his arm, just like always, and he leads you to your seat with a flourish. Jamie’s already saved a spot for Tyler right next to him, patting the cushion with his paw-like hand, which leaves you with the seat next to…Gabe. Of course.

Jamie’s smirking at you when you look up, so you pointedly gesture to the arm he has stretched out behind Tyler to get him to stop. His smirk turns into a shy grin then, and he just shrugs good-naturedly before turning back to his menu. You already know what you’re getting—a Number 7 with extra gravy, as always—so you turn your attention back to Gabe, who’s bouncing between studying the laminated menu and looking around the diner to see what everyone else is eating.

“The biscuits here are the best things I’ve ever tasted,” you offer. Gabe’s brow is still furrowed, eyes flicking back and forth between the menu choices.

“Okay, but can it beat Denver Biscuit Company?” Tyson all but yells from Gabe’s other side. Some other customers nearby turn their heads in interest, and the curly-haired guy is straight up lucky there’s no one with a fishing vest on in your vicinity right now. Don’t mess with Texas is right.

“Oh my god, Four, we can’t take you anywhere,” Gabe hisses, reaching under the table to pinch at Tyson’s thigh.

“Gabe! What the fuck! It’s a free country, Landesnerd!” Tyler’s straight up giggling now as he leans even further into Jamie’s side, and you’re always a sucker for his giggles.

“This has to be a Colorado thing, why are you guys like this?”

“Oh yeah, Benny? Wanna tell Tyler and (Y/N) about the shit we got up to in Kelowna? Don’t kid yourself, bud, you’re not that great.” Tyler’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he mouths over a what to you before turning back to Jamie, who’s huge eyes are looking extra cow-like with a side of feigned innocence.

This time, it’s Gabe’s turn to laugh and turn the conversation to shenanigans he and Klinger got into when playing at Worlds together. You don’t know for what, but you feel like you’ve been rewarded with something when he turns to give you a private smile after ordering an extra side of biscuits.

“For us to share away from the hooligans,” he whispers.

Jamie and Tyler had a quick practice over in Frisco after breakfast, so you’d brought Gabe and Tyson back to your place to hang out before meeting the guys again later. Tyson had holed up in your den to call his girlfriend Emma, and last you had checked he had fallen asleep on your futon. You hadn’t expected anything less. Now, you and Gabe are left watching Love Actually in your living room while sipping on some leftover apple cider you’d reheated on the stove.

“Hey Gabe?” It comes out as barely a whisper, but his eyes flick to yours as he murmurs in response. He taps your ankle with his toes, stupid fuzzy socks nudging against your bare skin. You wish you had the liberty of reaching over and tucking your hand into his, pulling him to wrap his strong, wiry arms around your frame. He looks like a scene on your couch, with your favorite throw strewn across his frame.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?”

“What happens now?” You’re scared to even utter the words, afraid he’ll just brush it all off. Luckily, he seems to have given this a lot more thought than you have.

“Well, I know I really like you, and I think you like me,” he replies easily. “We can be really good together, and I want to give it a shot—give us a shot.”

This is crazy. You’d met him only 24 hours ago, and here he was talking about a long distance relationship. Friends of yours had done this in the past, but you never imagined a whirlwind meet-cute like this for yourself. It was ridiculous to even wrap your head around—this legitimately only happened in rom-coms.

“You sound crazy right now, Gabe.”

“Here’s the thing, though. I’m all in. I don’t mean to sound cocky or presumptuous here, but I have the means to fly us both back and forth even if you didn’t get free flights. I don’t know how we got here over the past day, but I do know that I trust you and I’m willing to try. Are you?”

“Pinch me.”

“What?” Gabe barks out a surprised laugh.

“Pinch me, Gabriel. Prove to me that I’m not dreaming.” And because it’s Gabe, he does.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, I’m not dreaming. You didn’t have to pinch me so hard with your dumb big hockey player fingers!”

“(Y/N), come on. Seriously?”

“I have thin skin! Also…if you’re that committed to this, I can be too. I really like you, too. Also, mess with my heart, young Gabriel, and I’ll send the dogs after you.” You point a finger at his amused face and realize that yeah, maybe it’d be nice to allow good things to happen to you.

“Don’t worry, I can take Tyler in a fight. Jamie…maybe not. But you can’t tell him that.” You don’t get the chance to respond as he pulls you in for the first kiss of the rest of your life.

One Year Later – Chicago, IL

“I love Chicago—ever since a buddy of mine forced me to explore with him a few years ago, I fell in love with the architecture.” You expect the tips of his ears to go pink sheepishly or something equally indicative of embarrassment, but he sounds bold, confident. It’s always a turn-on when guys are unapologetic about their passions, but you never would’ve expected his to be architecture—even then, that of your hometown.

It makes you love him that much more.

“It’s the clean lines of all the modern buildings,” he continues, “and the way it contrasts with everything around it. Look at the Wrigley building or the Tribune building and compare it to the Sears Tower.” He sighs contentedly as he peers out the window of the train car, skyline still just about the size of your thumb from this distance.

“You really know your stuff, eh, Blondie?” Gabe’s head whips around at that, and you bite your lip to keep from snorting right then and there.

“Blondie, huh?”

“It figures, though,” you continue. “Big head must mean a big brain for all that random shit you know.” If anything, spending time with Gabe and the boys in Denver has only provided you with more material to help keep the big Swede in check. It must show, since all you hear is a muffled, “Fuckin’ Four” in response.

It feels good to hop off the Orange Line and feel the cold air on your face. Having spent the last few winters in Dallas, it’s disorienting to feel the pins and needles pricking your face again. Gabe slots his fingers through yours and smiles toothlessly as he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your gloved hand. This city might not be home for you anymore, but this smart, kind, hilarious, ridiculous human being next to you has proven himself more than worthy of that title.

“Oh come on, you sap. You said we had dinner reservations!” Gabe had, indeed, told you in explicit detail what he looked forward to doing to you that night, and it encompassed a lot more than just dinner plans. You’re glad it’s so chilly outside, because you can blame your cheeks flaming pink on the weather.

The two of you walk for a bit in comfortable silence, and the familiar streets make way for a slew of old memories. You remember running from campus to the old train station with your college roommate so you could catch the last train to Schaumburg, sitting in front of the Bean with a box of macarons crying over your ex-boyfriend, and even the time you’d somehow ventured into the shady part of town late at night and had called your dad in a panic.

They’re all fond memories, of course, crucial parts of the saga you call your life. But when Gabe tightens his grip and smiles down at you with so much warmth in his eyes, you can’t imagine ever looking back at this city without thinking of him and all that he adds to every moment of your life. You have all the tools and willpower to make your life yours—just like he pointed out that first night, you moved to Dallas on your own and made an entirely new life for yourself. But he adds so much color and meaning you’d never even considered before, that he makes everything more. If you were functioning on a solid 7, he’s the one that dials everything up to a 12.

And you’re struck with this huge revelation as you’re walking down Wacker in the freezing cold that you want this, want him, forever. It doesn’t make any sense, but your heart starts pounding in your ears, and you never really were very good at keeping a poker face, because all you want to do is tell him all of it now now now.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.” Gabe chuckles and runs a thumb across your cheek. “But I have a feeling that’s not all you want to say.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His eyes widen almost comically, and if you weren’t so nervous about what you’d just said, you might be making fun of him for it.

“Seriously, (Y/N)? You couldn’t wait just three more hours?” His voice is suspiciously watery, and he sounds like you’d just sucker punched him in the solar plexus.

“Wait. What?”

Gabe shakes his head fondly. “Look up,” he whispers.

Too caught in your thoughts earlier, you hadn’t realized where he’d brought you. The sun’s just setting and the sky’s an inky violet lit up by the various buildings comprising your favorite skyline. You look up and gasp at what beholds you because, goddamn.

The first time Gabe had come to Chicago with you, he’d brought you to this exact building on his impromptu architecture tour of the city. Gabe had told you how it was urban legend that the architect of this building had scrapped all his original designs after the death of his fiancée, and designed the building to take after her engagement ring when looked at from the sky.

“No. No fucking way. Gabe.”

There’s no response, so you turn to grab his arm but he’s no longer where you left him. Panic comes over you for a brief second, but it all melts away when you turn to find him kneeling on the ground next to you. He has a huge smile painted on his face, and it almost distracts you from the little jewelry box engulfed by his huge hands.

“(Y/N), I should’ve known that you’d ruin the surprise somehow, but I guess it’s okay because it just brings you one step closer to being my wife. When we came here the first time and I told you that story of the architect, that was me promising you that one day you’d be back with an engagement ring of your own.  

“You complete me in a way I never could’ve imagined—you’re it for me, you complement me in every way. You inspire me every day because I see how hard you work for every single thing, and I’m so damn lucky to have found someone that brings that kind of resilience into our relationship. I love you to the end of this earth, and there’s no one else I would rather choose to build my life with.

“Man, it’s really fucking cold down here, (Y/N). Marry me?” The tears have been spilling down your cheeks for quite some time now, so it should come as no surprise to Gabe when you nod and throw yourself into his arms.

“Of course, Gabe, of course. I love you so much.” Gabe presses a loud, wet kiss to your temple in response and laughs heartily when you groan.

“Thank you for choosing me,” he whispers before untangling your limbs and taking your left hand in his. Pulling off your glove and holding it between his teeth, as he does, he slips the ring onto your finger, and you know you’re crying again at just how perfect everything feels. So you pull your new fiancé close and press your lips against his, while Gabe sweeps his tongue in little kitten licks against your lower lip in an effort to deepen the kiss. It only serves to make you laugh though, pure joy coursing through your veins.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” you say when you finally pull back.

“Don’t you mean, you can’t wait to be Mrs. Babriel Landeskog?” You shove at his shoulder as he smiles unapologetically, taking the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your neck.

Your ring finger suddenly weighs more than it ever has, your favorite human has his arms wrapped tightly around you, and you can hear faint remnants of the carolers singing just a few blocks away at the Christkindlmarket. But what really gets you is the promise of the future as you feel Gabe smile against your skin. A crucial part of what makes a home is having him by your side, and luckily, that’s where he’ll be for the rest of your lives.

[thisdaynews]

How Trump Created a New Global Capital of Exiles

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/how-trump-created-a-new-global-capital-of-exiles/

How Trump Created a New Global Capital of Exiles

An asylum-seeker outside El Chaparral port of entry in Tijuana, Mexico, waits for his turn to present to U.S. border authorities to request asylum. | GUILLERMO ARIAS/AFP via Getty Images

Jack Herrera is an independent reporter and photojournalist covering immigration, refugees and human rights. His writing has appeared in Pacific Standard, The Nation, GEN magazine, Columbia Journalism Review, USA Today and other publications.

TIJUANA, Mexico—If you go early in the morning to the plaza in front of El Chaparral, the border crossing where a person can walk from Mexico into the state of California, you’ll hear shouts like “2,578: El Salvador!” and “2,579: Guatemala!”—a number, followed by a place of origin. Every day, groups of families gather around, waiting anxiously underneath the trees at the back of the square. The numbers come fromLa Lista, The List: When a person’s number is called, it’s their turn to ask for asylum in the United States.

These days, the most common place names shouted are Michoacán or Guerrero, Mexican states where intense cartel violence has sent thousands fleeing northward—occasionally, they’ll call Guatemala, El Salvador or Honduras, countries where pervasive poverty, gangs, drugs and femicide have done the same. But every so often, the name of a different, more far-off country is called. In the span of just two weeks late last year, a list-keeper called out a number, in Spanish, followed by “Rusia!” They also called out numbers for people from Armenia, Ghana and Cameroon. Asylum-seekers from the Democratic Republic of the Congo crossed, as well as people from Eritrea. One day, the list-keeper called out “Turquía!” and a Turkish family rushed forward to claim their spot. The family was escorted by Mexican immigration officials over the pedestrian walkway into the United States, where they told Customs and Border Protection agents that they had, like everyone else, left their home country fleeing for their lives.

These people were the lucky ones. They had managed to persist in Tijuana, waiting until the day they finally heard their numbers called. Others haven’t been so fortunate. With The List’s queue regularly stretching longer than six months, many migrants fall victim to predatory robbery, kidnapping or murder before they can find refuge; others find the wait in one of the most dangerous cities in the world simply unendurable.

When Americans think of the people crossing the southern border, they might imagine Mexicans or Central Americans—or, even more generally, Latin Americans. But migration, both legal and illegal, from Mexico into the United States is incredibly international. In the course of 2018, Border Patrol agents apprehended nearly 9,000 Indians, 1,000 Chinese nationals, 250 Romanians, 153 Pakistanis, 159 Vietnamese people and dozens of citizens of over 100 other countries. Fifteen Albanians and seven Italians were stopped trying to cross the southern border, as were four people from Ireland, a single person from Japan, and three people each from Syria and Taiwan. Border Patrol even apprehended two North Koreans on the border in 2018 who were separately attempting to cross into various parts of Texas.

Now,one of the most direct effects of Trump’s border policy is that thousands of foreigners from all over the world have found themselves unexpectedly stuck on the southern border. Since 2017, President Donald Trump has turned the country’s immigration system on its head to deter Central American asylum-seekers. But policies meant to address Guatemalan or Honduran migrants have also affected Jewish people fleeing persecution in Hungary; Syrians escaping civil war in their home country; and LGBTQ people fleeing Vladimir Putin’s homophobic regime in Russia. The effects of U.S. border policy are not confined to northern Mexico. They reverberate around the world.

When I met asylum-seekers at El Chapparal and around Tijuana, most of them told me that they’d been waiting in the city for months. Even though U.S. law says that anyone who claims to be fleeing for their lives should be immediately admitted to a port of entry for vetting, under the Trump administration, Border Patrol has started a controversial policy of “metering.” Now, agents accept only a set number of asylum-seekers each day and send the rest back. In Tijuana, they accept around 20 to 60 people per day, while thousands are left waiting and more are constantly arriving. That’s how The List was born: Migrants themselves began keeping a ledger as an attempt to create a fair waiting system—a virtual line—to get past the manufactured bottleneck.

But that wait may now be for nothing. In July, the Trump administration announced it would no longer accept asylum applications from people who transited through a third country on their way to the U.S. Anyone who traveled through Mexico or another country that wasn’t their place of origin without first applying for asylum there could be returned automatically. (The asylum restriction, immediately challenged in court, has been temporarily upheld by the Supreme Court pending a final decision).

At a time when the total number of refugees around the globe has reached the highest level since World War II, the United States has refashioned the immigration system in a way that forces those fearing for their lives in their home countries to put their lives at further risk on the way to safety. Many potentially legitimate asylum-seekers who once might have found at least temporary refuge in the United States while their applications were being reviewed are now made to undertake a harrowing and dangerous journey across the world, only to be forced to wait in Mexico’s borderlands—and less likely than ever to be allowed in later. Across the border, Mexican cities like Tijuanaare struggling to deal with a shifting crisis of their own, with thousands of desperate people, many stuck in a foreign country they never intended to stay in, struggling to survive in a region afflicted by its own intense violence and poverty.

That’s Daniel’s situation.(Out of an abundance of caution, I’m using pseudonyms in place of current asylum-seekers’ names.) An English teacher from Ghana, Daniel has been waiting in Tijuana since June to cross at El Chaparral. This past October, Daniel told me his number on The List was 4,068. At that time, the numbers being called were in the high 2,000s. By New Year’s Day, the numbers being called on the list were still below 3,800, and Daniel was still waiting to cross.

I met Daniel in the small church shelter where he sleeps in a ramshackle neighborhood built on the steep side of Cerro Colorado, the enormous hill that rises out of the center of Tijuana. As we sat on a bed in the pastor’s room, the 42-year-old spoke openly, though he initially remained vague about the reasons he left Ghana.

“I came here because I had a problem with some people. If I hadn’t left that place, it wouldn’t be good,” he said.

Daniel told me his story is “very sad,” and he didn’t want to burden me with the details, but he had to leave the country very quickly. He spoke in a voice that was soft but gravelly and rough: He said he has throat cancer, and I could hear it was painful for him to speak. But he still had the gentle tone and mannerism of a teacher. When he noticed me misspell his real name in my notebook, he quietly reached over and pointed out where an “e” should have been an “a.”

Mexicans call asylum-seekers like Daniel extracontinentales—a word for immigrants who come from outside the Americas. Daniel has been one of the many extracontinentalesbiding his time in Tijuana, waiting for his turn to cross into the U.S, and he thinks he’s still got months before they call his number on The List.

Life for extracontinentalesin northern Mexico can be tough. While thousands of people from outside the Americas arrive on the border each year, most shelters are equipped to house Latinos. Staff at migrant homes around the city told me they had trouble providing the right food for foreigners, especially those with religious dietary restrictions. There can also be a cultural disconnect. Though Daniel is friendly and approachable, he still has a look of distance to him, a gulf created by language and custom. Each night, he sleeps in a small bunk bed in a room with about two dozen other people, all from Mexico or Central America. No one in the shelter speaks any English besides the church pastor, so Daniel’s evenings are mostly quiet. He smiles when others make eye contact with him, but most people quickly look away. While in the shelter, I heard a Central American man use a demeaning word for black people in Spanish to describe Daniel.

As wait times to cross the border grow longer, many foreigners live in precarious and unstable conditions in Mexico. In many ways, the situation has become a humanitarian crisis.

Many foreigners I met in Tijuana—people from Ghana, Yemen, Jamaica, Cameroon, India—talked about experiencing loneliness, isolation, and racism. They told me Mexicans are generally welcoming, tolerant and respectful, but the country is still a hard place to be for non-Latinos—especially those who do not speak fluent SpanishorEnglish.

Some get by using a phone to translate into Spanish, but most foreigners have trouble integrating, especially when it comes to finding work. Many wind up working long hours in the factories on the outskirts of the city, or in other jobs involving physical labor. At many car washes around the city, it’s become a common sight to see groups of Africans—Ghanaians, Cameroonians, Congolese—cleaning cars, the very same kind of cheap but steady labor that many Mexican migrants resorted to in Southern California in the 1990s and 2000s.

For people like Daniel, the wait might become permanent. In July, the Trump administration announced it would no longer accept asylum claims from anyone who transited through a third country on their way to the United States unless they applied at each country they passed through first, effectively making allextracontinentaleslike Daniel ineligible. Though U.S. officials say asylum-seekers can simply seek refugee status in Mexico, journalists and human rights groups have documented many cases of asylum-seekers facing kidnapping, rape, robbery and murder in that country.

“Mexico is a good country,” Daniel says. But he still wants to make it to the United States, where he hopes he might finally be able to find stability, safety and a community.

Though the experience of being a foreignerin northern Mexico can be isolating, Tijuana is a decidedly international city. Long a transit point, it’s become a milieu of cosmopolitan culture. Russians have been arriving in the city since the late 1940s (many fled the former USSR), and there’s even a popular taco stand called “Tacos El Ruso” with a cartoon on the wall that proclaims, “Que Rico Takoskys.”

This multinational characteristic is particularly vivid in the city’s only mosque, a small, plain building in the city’s west, not far from the Pacific Ocean. During a Friday prayer in October, I watched as the imam began his sermon in Spanish before transitioning to English—though many of the men gathered didn’t speak either language.

“We’ve got people from Egypt, Turkey, Russia, Tajikistan, Pakistan, Afghanistan—I mean, everywhere. You name it, we’ve got it,” Imam Omar Islam, a Mexican-born convert, told me. He says many of the people he meets in the mosque have come fleeing conflict in their home countries, trying to make it to the U.S.

The men mostly arrive in groups with their compatriots (Egyptians with Egyptians, Indians with Indians), but during prayer the group comes together as one, and at the end of the imam’s sermon, they rise to greet one another. There was a young man who escaped civil war in Yemen who shook hands with a group of West Africans, including Emmanuel, a man who fled multiple homophobic attacks in Ghana.

Today—especially as the Trump administration cracks down on the asylum process—many migrants who first intended to go to the U.S. have decided to stay in Mexico. Some seek humanitarian visas, while others try their luck as undocumented immigrants.

Emmanuel told me has no desire to stay in Tijuana. With clear west African features, he stands out, and he says he’s been beaten and robbed multiple times by thieves who target the vulnerable migrant population.

“I can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous,” he said.

In 2018, Tijuana was, by some measures, the murder capital of the world. And, according to reports by U.S.-based advocacy organization Human Rights First, “refugees and migrants face acute risks of kidnapping, disappearance, sexual assault, trafficking, and other grave harms in Mexico.” Besides the inherent vulnerability of being itinerant, asylum-seekingextracontinentalesalso can routinely face racism and anti-LGBTQ violence in Mexico.

Emmanuel plans on crossing the border and asking for asylum in the United States, but his number on The List is weeks, if not months, away. After his last robbery, he says he can’t afford rent. He’s desperate, and unsure what to do. For many of these extracontinentalesstalled in the north of Mexico, the U.S. border is simply the final obstacle at the end of an immense odyssey.

There’s a fairly straightforward reason why so many people from around the world end up in northern Mexico, even though their ultimate destination is the United States: visa restrictions. For many people, it’s impossible to fly straight to the U.S. without a visa, so many asylum-seekers fly into Latin American countries with the plan to travel northward.

For people with stronger passports, like Russian, Indian and Chinese nationals, it’s possible to fly directly into Mexico. Many of theseextracontinentaleshave landed first in Mexico City or Cancún, where they masquerade as tourists before making their way to the border. (The rate of arrival is higher than you might think: On a single Monday when I was in Tijuana, six Russians and two Chinese nationals were detained at the airport on charges of traveling with forged or improper documents; they were promptly returned.)

But many people from African and Middle Eastern countries have trouble securing travel even to Mexico. So, for many forced migrants—like Daniel and Emmanuel—the journey through the Americas begins much further south.

Daniel says he never had any intention of coming to the U.S. originally. He just needed to leave Ghana. In a rush, he flew to one of the few countries on the planet where Ghanaians could travel without a visa: Ecuador. (Daniel arrived in April, three months before Ecuador added Ghana to a very short list of countries whose citizens can no longer arrive without a visa.) He landed in Quito, the country’s high-altitude capital in the Andes, without any plan.

“When I got to Ecuador, communication was a real problem. I speak English, but I have never traveled to the American continent. So when I got there, the language—Spanish—I didn’t understand anything,” Daniel said. “I asked someone, ‘Which country in this area speaks English?’ And they said, “Around here? Nowhere—unless you go to the United States.’”

Daniel says he didn’t know anything about the U.S. “All I knew is that there is a country called United States, and that it’s very good country,” he said. But, after a week in Quito, he made his choice and caught a bus toward Colombia, the first leg in a long journey to Tijuana.

On the buses he took, Daniel spoke to other migrants—many from Venezuela but also others from Cameroon and the Democratic Republic of the Congo—all heading northward. In recent years, thousands of people from around the world have made the same long and arduous journey as Daniel, from a South American country to the U.S.-Mexico border. (Ecuador, which has some of the freest visa requirements of any nation, is perhaps the most popular starting point.) From there, they travel down out of the mountains into Colombia, and then to the border with Panama. At this point, the journey becomes incredibly perilous. Many do not survive.

There is no road between the jungles of northern Colombia through the swamps into central Panama. Traveling on foot, northbound migrants must trek first over cloud forest and then across 50 miles of marshland, through a stretch of sparsely populated wilderness called the Darién Gap. The trip is, by all accounts, brutal. Reporting from northern Mexico in the past year, I’ve spoken with asylum-seekers from Ghana, Cameroon, Venezuela and the Democratic Republic of the Congo who all said they had made this trek. The stories they tell are harrowing: People die from snakebite or from drowning. Many eat nothing but uncooked rice for the week it takes to transit the Gap.

Emmanuel grew silent when we started talking about the journey through the swamps in Panama. He asked to pause the interview and later explained he was overcome with guilt because he didn’t stop to help people he saw dying. He barely had enough strength to carry himself forward.

“I can’t let my mind go back there,” he told me, shaking his head repeatedly.

Along the migration routes, human traffickers, kidnappers and robbers prey on travelers. People get robbed in every country, but every person I spoke with, without exception, said they were robbed at gunpoint by bandits in the jungle in Panama.

Daniel says that if he had known exactly how horrible the journey would be, he might not have made it. But many of the people traveling northward do know how arduous their travel will be and continue anyway. They simply have too much to lose if they turn back.

For Emmanuel, the situation back in Ghana became so severe that he chose to make the journey northward from Ecuador not just once, but twice. After he first fled homophobic violence in Ghana in 2016, Emmanuel made it to the U.S. border and crossed at the official port of entry. As he argued his asylum case in court, he remained in Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention. He says he learned his English while there. After almost two years, Emmanuel was hopeless and depressed. He decided he couldn’t stay locked up anymore and chose to give up on his asylum case. ICE deported him back to Accra.

Once returned to Accra, Emmanuel was attacked again by the men who originally persecuted him. Emmanuel says he’s not gay, but he welcomed LGBTQ patrons into the mechanic shop he ran. Nevertheless, people in his community accused him of being gay and tried to kill him, he says. He showed me huge scars on his belly from stab wounds and a video someone filmed soon after he was returned to Ghana showing him bloody and unconscious in a crowded hospital. Fearing death, Emmanuel escaped again and flew back to Ecuador this past spring.

He says the journey is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But still, he chose to make the trek a second time. He says he had no choice. In Mexico, he showed me that he still gets threatening phone calls and WhatsApp messages from unknown contacts. He is certain he’ll be killed if he ever returns.

The people making the northward journeyto the United States have left behind some of the world’s most severe strife and brutality. In Tijuana during the past year, I’ve met English-speaking Cameroonians who told me how they fled violence at the hands of their country’s Francophone majority (an ongoing campaign of repression that some humanitarian organizationsbelieve amounts to ethnic cleansing). They shared stories of torture and rape used as weapons of war. I met Russians who arrived on the southern border in recent years after escaping the persecution of LGBTQ people under Putin’s regime. People have fled war in Syria, Iraq, Yemen, Afghanistan and Central African Republic. Thousands of Hungarians and Romanians have made their way to the southern border after fleeing increasingly violent anti-Semitism and growing authoritarianism. And in the past four years, the U.S. has seen a fast-growing number of Indian religious minorities cross the border, after leaving behind burgeoning Hindu nationalism in their home country.

At the same time, the Trump administration has claimed that the promise of refugee status has become a “pull factor” that has drawn to the U.S. people from around the world with dubious asylum claims. What the U.S. needs, the administration argues, is a deterrence-first policy. But it’s hard to imagine a deterrent more onerous than the journey from Ecuador to the southern border—a punishing gantlet that some like Emmanuel have been forced to make more than once.

Thanks to the Trump administration’s new “third country” asylum restriction, declaring asylum in the U.S. now comes with a dramatically increased risk of deportation back to one’s home country, a terrifying prospect for so many.

However, new immigration policies have delayed effect, one felt acutely here on the border: Many people trying to reach the U.S. were alreadyen routewhen the newest restriction was announced in July. Emmanuel was making his way through Guatemala; Daniel had been in Tijuana less than two weeks and had already taken a number from The List. Now, both men are stuck in Tijuana with limited choices.

Even if they decide to remain in Mexico, their fates are far from certain. Besides the dangers of robbery and violence, Human Rights First has documented cases of Mexican officials deporting asylum-seekers without due process. And, under pressure from the Trump administration, Mexico has begun dramatically expanding its own deportation machine. Just during a few days I was recently in Tijuana, Mexican officials deported over 300 Indian nationals back to Delhi on a flight from Mexico City.

In October, I visited a Mexican immigration office in southern Tijuana that’s been converted into a makeshift detention center.

“Which countries are detainees inside from?” I asked a janitor on her smoke break.

“Every country,” she told me. “Peru, Haiti …”

“United Nations inside there,” someone else joked.

When I asked the woman what the conditions were like inside, she just shook her head and raised her eyebrows. As she looked over her shoulder nervously, she motioned silently in a clear gesture: “not so good.”

The threat of detention might persuade some foreigners to give up, to leave Mexico. But for many people, like Daniel or Emmanuel, going home is not an option.

The promise of the United States, of freedom from persecution or violence, persuaded the two Ghanaians and thousands like them to travel tens of thousands of miles, across oceans and mountains. But steps away from the southern border, they learned that the door had been slammed shut. Tijuana was never meant to be the final destination for Daniel or Emmanuel or so many other asylum-seekers. Rather, the city is just a place they’ve wound upatrapado—stuck.

Jorge Armando Nieto contributed to this report.

Read More

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

She’s about to do something stupid.

anyway... who’s back with almost 5k words worth of garbage? MEEE

I was too lazy to rebrand the frenchness of french toast. Not even Snooj is French, goddammit, and I can't think of anywhere else off the top of my head. Next time, (as in, 3 chapters' time I see) I'm just renaming any country that has no counterpart lmao

I’m not happy with this one ngl... the funky flow is not in there as I had to weld 2 chapters together so I will end closer to 40 overall. Hereby I also declare that I shall attempt a biweekly schedule with this trash so I can end it on the date the story ends (plus-minus appendix and shit). Smell you alter, readers.

Kat is preoccupied with the new idea as she's doing a really quick rabbit shadow show while near invisible, which, as expected, Carrot is all over about. (She tells something about Wano and shadow theatre, but never having seen this…?)

However, she forgets about it as soon as Usopp replaces her after the lukewarm performance to do some actual skilled shadowplay for the mink to enjoy. The distortion part also gets cancelled after the initial tricks, as it would be hard for the eager girl to learn some of this otherwise.

It's the mild pain in her face from laughing and smiling a little too much at the sniper's excessively dumb commentary that reminds Kat of time being up, and she makes another run for it.

"Well… I was already giving up on you getting back within a few minutes," Law sighs in resignation and mild relief as she opens the door with care only she bothers with. Taking a look back at her, his brows pull closer together. "… is… there something up with your face?" She doesn't seem to be especially bothered, but… it could be that. Or a splitting headache, if she's not drinking enough. She has just had coffee, but what and how much did she have before that?

"Usopp said a lot of funny hogwash and it made me laugh a lot…" Kat near complains with a groan, rubbing her cheeks. "Guess your grumpy face is not used to it." A sting or two is commonplace even in her own body, as she either has a plastic smile or empty stare on in public, but Law's face seems to be even more taken about the exercise.

… or, it could be that. After short consideration, Law lets himself relax again. "Wouldn't be too surprised, to be honest. Maintaining a poker face and the occasional smirk is not very taxing on those muscles." He stops again before getting back to his transplants book; "If you were to get legitimately sore… just fucking tell me, okay?" He could definitely see something like this trigger the other two problems.

"I knooow, I have it with my own actual face all the time from having too good of a goddamn time," she says, putting the last pats on the cheeks. It just… hurts, then maybe buzzes for a while. "I'm used to it."

"…" the quill stops over the notepad before he would continue the bullet points; he needs a second to interpret this reply. "… I kind of forgot you are not sunshine and rainbows all the time, to be honest." She started off as someone who was lowkey judging people from the sidelines in silence. If nothing else, catching a reaction or two on topics like Monkey D. Luffy was amusing enough.

It's been about a week since this initial impression had changed, but it feels like ages since Kat seemed like someone careful and distant, if not calculating and uncaring. Which… is funny, because she seeks out loopholes to have fun and also cares in her own way, even a little too much at that. Still, not counting that he saw her cracking up on her potential execution, or the suppressed smiles while watching the crews do something stupid, he did not see her laugh until a day after they've met. Following that, nothing until Friday, where she laughed a lot, and… well, there was Saturday evening.

Wednesday also marks the date when she had caught his attention. That smile of hers irked him from the get-go, even without knowing why.

"When I'm in my element, maybe… otherwise, I'm partly cloudy with a chance of rain," she mumbles, then notes that the teddy she has passed to him is sitting in the junk behind the now closed door. Seems like some stuff has also been moved. "… what did this bear do to deserve the timeout corner?" Was he trying to get the wardrobe open? Or is it the huge chest crammed into the literal corner with a lot of stuff still on- and in front of it? Well, it's really easy to find out either way.

"Wanted to put it away, but I guess I'll have to wait until I have my bod-" He hears some stuff hitting the bed, followed by a short scraping sound on wood and some hinges creaking, and he freezes with eyes wide and as pale as a ghost. She didn't just do what he thinks she did, did she?

"Oh my gosh," Kat squeals upon discovering the unquestionably high grade stuffed material in the levitating trove. "These are deliberately the most adorable things ever?" The poofy white teddy at the top smiling at her is made of tangible sunshine and rainbows. There's no way all of these are from the same person, there's too much variety… This crew has taste, alright. That shaggy blonde leg near a corner actually kind of looks like… "The soft stuff," she whispers in awe, grabbing it immediately.

"YOU," Law near-shouts, then lowers the volume to an aggressive whisper while tumbling out from his chair; "put those things away right now." Uni and Shachi are in the control room and could barge in any time, and by god, he cannot let them know that he's actually kept every. single. one of these. His occasionally mulled-over plan to just dump it all on the nearest kindergarten or clinic is suddenly top priority, because fucking Kat with her apparently zero self-restraint will unearth any embarrassing secret or cursed relic she can put her grabby hands on. Not to mention digging up traumatic memories she should have zero access to. And she has his body, his devil fruit… is there anything he has that is safe from this woman?!

"Okay, okay, I will," she slurs as he dumps backpack burglar bear in with the others and is reaching for the one in her hands; "but… "

"But what," he hisses as she lifts it out of reach, eyeing the door behind them while also listening for movement.

"Can I keep this one?" she squeaks, holding her new stuffed friend with the plaid bandana scarf close. He's been given so many and puts them all someplace nobody could find them, one more or less really won't matter, right? "Please?" … it kind of stinks, though. Nothing that a round or two in the washing machine cannot fix, though.

"…" He's had to deal with some weird requests in the past few months, but this… this is the one that takes the cake. "Why the hell do you want it?" he bursts out, struggling to keep his volume low. "Isn't there enough useless garbage in that dump house of yours already?!"

The chest sways in the air as shame washes over Kat's face; she can't get any sound through the lump in her throat for ten solid seconds. Once her color fades into the negatives and she would be able to say something, she has no words left in her.

Seeing her mood whiplash, Law gets to calm down and lets out a frustrated sigh. He's done it now, didn't he. Legitimately hurt her. It was only a question of time, but he expected to feel less of an ass over it. The accusation is unfair anyhow, since he also has a room full of obsolete shit and a huge treasure chest reserved for nothing but teddy bears that everyone thinks he's long gotten rid of.

"Whatever, take it if…" Kat reaches out with the plushie in hand… "… you, uh…" … and puts it back on top of the pile.

"Don't want it," she mumbles through her sore throat.

"It's… it doesn't matter, I'm full on these things. Won't be able to cram in any more, anyway." About two bigger ones, and he won't be able to shut the lid without squishing its inhabitants.

She shakes her head. "This memory… is no good."

"…" The memory? The random junk in the 'dump,' and all that knickknack she has littering the place that are on the decorative side of things are… stuff to remember things by? More specifically, reminders of pleasant things. Huh. Suppose… there is something to that.

He takes one more look at the bears inside, then shuts the chest. "I see." Both of them have some long overdue spring cleaning to do, and not only on the physical plane.

Kat then rearranges the mess into the same pile as she has found it; chest as the base, followed by tightly rolled-up posters to the sides to support the folders and books on them, another doctor's suitcase that's barely in one piece, a metal case between that and the wardrobe, and finally, the notebooks and whatever else… on top. All that's missing is the little shelf rack that was sitting in front.

Law can tell by a single glance at her body language that she's lost all motivation she might have had thus far. Great. Just… great. He made her plummet back to square one, if not zero. Can't help but keep digging your own damn grave, can you? Take a deep breath and do what you have to. "Kat-ya?"

She freezes up for a moment, then lets out a questioning hum.

Not even on talking terms, huh?

"As one hoarder to another… sorry."

After some delay, she sniffs.

"... don't you fucking start crying on me."

Long story short, she did start silent crying and the man had to manually insert a leftover cracker in her mouth like a punch card and had her drink the last cup's worth of tea to get her to calm down. She felt both empty and relieved, and also like a big baby in need of their favorite stuffed toy for the rest of the day. Law meanwhile likely felt like playing a very done surrogate dad, dealing with an insufferable kid on the way home. Shachi even tried to nickname him 'Mr Babysitter' once him and Uni had actually entered the place in the middle of it all, but this jab was quickly redirected as Law flat-out told him that taking care of a toddler was nothing new for someone running a daycare 24/7. That one earned an immature, wet faced chuckle from her.

She probably should have felt more embarrassed by the situation overall. However, she kind of enjoyed it, even? Which also ought to have earned much more shame on her part, but she just became really calm and tired for the rest of the day. Crying feels good, sometimes.

Also sometimes, she has to wonder whether coffee even works.

"Okay, touch-me-not… time to hit the hay," she can hear Law's voice phase in some time later before getting shooed from her button project and out of the room. "And tomorrow, try to act like a respectable adult, because as of now… it's hard to look at you as a grown-ass woman." It feels like he had to turn into an actual babysitter, if not a pet owner for the day. And holy shit, was it fucking exhausting. She might be on par with Luffy in this regard.

She just gives a tired, matter of fact 'okay' as an answer as she surveys the doorway with vacant eyes.

The flat response… is not something he's used to. Is she like this after letting some steam out, or…? "... are you actually registering the things I say?"

"Yes, I'm just… one with the universe," she nods.

Law squints at her, then shoves the woman personally out the door; her eyes are still a little red, and the weird (although not really out of character) answer would make him suspect her being high on weed, if not for the fact that it's a substance that can be found in one single container on his wannabe-estate, that is to say, in his room, and that one is locked shut ever since some not-so-mysterious vanishing acts. Even if she shoplifted him, he would fucking notice, sharing the goddamn space all day. "You talk and walk like a zombie, get the fuck out right now."

He watches her wobble up the staircase for a bit, then closes the door with a shaking head. This… was certainly a day.

A few comatose minutes later, Kat walks into the unlit room and falls into the cotton pile unceremoniously right after. Nice and cool… almost enough to beat some life into her. Almost. It gives just enough energy to stop suffocating by flipping over, and pull one of the things over her torso. After lying around in the empty room for a bit, she turns on her side and hugs the blanket tight. She's missing her hug pillow a lot right now. Wondering about how nice it would be to have that, or the huge, white bear over, or even just another layer so this place feels less hard, she falls asleep rather fast.

Then, in what feels like a minute later, she finds herself sweating bullets. There was another nightmare, which was easily the worst one as of yet; being shut into the chest with plushies, barely able to move, with noone to hear her voice... And the screams of people outside... and the guns, just... the never ending gunshots and screaming. She shudders just thinking about it… a dream like this would upset her even without context. After shedding a few tears, she also feels the pain slowly settle inside; she was just thinking what felt off about this dream… the absence of agonizing stabs and cramps is what it was. This time, it's creeping up her right thigh and her hips, setting them on fire in real time, then the already throbbing sternum turns into a knife in her chest. Any other vague throb around the stomach has nothing on these, they might as well not even exist. She peeks direction windows to see nothing but darkness; she can hear the soft breaths of the other three, so a considerable amount of time has passed, but it must be pretty early still... she's got the bad feeling that this pain will not go away until morning, and sleeping back in right now is just... unless she faints from this, there's no way she will.

There is indeed no more rest she can get; after the generally early bird Carrot leaves, she sits up to get at least that part done, then tries her best to get on her feet before the others start moving as the alarm sounds an hour later. Task is successfully mastered in time, although she has to lean on one of the chairs for a minute, because even while being more numb than in pain at the moment, her legs did not appreciate that.

" … bad day for sleep, huh?" Nami half-asks from her own daze once having taken a look at her.

"Nnnnhng," is all that Kat can manage for the time being. Getting tortured aside, she really hasn't slept a lot, even with the near immediate knockout in the evening. Her brain is on autopilot; nobody suspects that her hobbling and nearly running into walls has any other cause than the velcro eyelids, really. At least moving around seems to ease her suffering somewhat.

By the time she has to stand up from the dining table and make her way down, the temporal alleviation has worn off and she can barely manage the task without falling back onto the chair. This is worse than the two weeks of hell from spring when she managed to trap a nerve in her spine. There's also a numbness spreading on her right side, slowly creeping higher and higher as the soreness decides to look for a new target before moving on from her hips for good. She could cry, really... likely slept through the worst every time thus far. God… being Law sucks.

As soon as she enters his room, which looks somehow even messier than before, Law clicks his tongue beside the chest of drawers which is buried under new junk.

"If nothing else, you have impeccable timing whenever you are following the routine… good morning." Looking back at her slowly puzzling the scenery together, his face displays overt exasperation soon enough. "… I can already tell you will need full-time supervision today, so I'm skipping the briefing. I wanted to take matters into my own hands, anyway." Matters being… her focus, which seems to react well to spoon-fed attention judging by her episode yesterday. Whatever amount of that still exists in this walking corpse. This experimental endeavor might be ill-timed, but to hell with it all, he's already planned this out, and he's going to go through with it. He turns back to the piece of furniture to stack some of the junk they won't be needing today; "Move it while we're young, alright?"

She hums. Closing the door, her eyes linger on the chest in the corner. Turning back towards him, she stops for a moment; asking would be all kinds of rude, yet she can't help but wonder… how much of the dreams are actual things that happened. A lot of people she sees and meets certainly are… or were actual people.

Also… how does he handle days like these? Does he lock himself up in his room, or is he just lowkey clingy? Well… there's always Bepo to look for, minks are cuddly and he does get comfortable leaning on him and whatnot. Must be his go-to therapy. Would be nice to have access to that, since the polar bear really is as soft as it gets. Honestly… she really needs to hug the shit out of something decently squishy that won't ask follow-up questions right about now. Questions that are none of their business, at least.

"Zombie attack," she moans in a monotone voice, hobbling to his side with stiff thighs.

He mouths a 'wha' as the words click just as she goes in for the kill. "What the- Kat-ya, what now?" he asks in bafflement as soon as the initial surprise wears off. Also, these impulse hugs are only getting tighter, aren't they?

She gives him a little squeeze before release, but there's no answer.

Law raises a brow while staring at her blank, if not sad expression; a few seconds of consideration later he lets out a tired, knowing sigh. "Nightmare?"

The girl nods with a hum after some delay.

" … no tea and crackers if you haven't brought more, so that's that." Not sure what else he could start with, or do in general. He'd rather avoid the rest of yesterday's fiasco.

"I'm supposed to be a big girl now, so I won't ask for any," Kat pouts to that with overdone articulation as if reading his mind. "I might ask for some hugs, though," she adds stepping out of the role of a five-year-old with a sigh that sounds as painful as her liver area feels now. The heat is also getting to her today and she already is about to break out in sweat. Except she doesn't, which just makes her feel like implodig with nausea.

"…" He can't think of anything on the spot, but she could be asking worse. Hell… he's kind of getting used to it. "Eh, whatever, I'll bear a few if necessary," he shrugs at last. But: "Tell me beforehand and keep it to a minimum, though." She may not be able to disturb him during work today, but if he doesn't give restrictions, she might cling to him all the damn time. As upsetting those dreams may get at times, that's absolutely unnecessary.

She perks up; did he just… okay it? "Woah… really?"

"Yes, re-" Law deadpans as she gives him the frontal treatment right away. "-ally. Honestly, do you have to do this?" he sighs in limp resignation. He feels like becoming a comfort article… she might have been in need of that bear, after all.

"Absolutely," she says beaming as she straightens herself with some care as to not trigger some really unpleasant things. "you are big, warm and strong, so I can give soft, high quality hugs to everyone I like!" Being half a beefcake and heater feels nice~ Gotta accept that her body really is on the bony side after getting to hug herself a few times.

First of all: was that an indirect compliment? Second of all: there's a foreboding number of likely people she's already made close physical contact with… apart from being embarrassing and potential blackmail, his relatively weak immune system should not be put into situations all haphazardly like that. Hopefully she washes her hands regularly, if nothing else. And finally, she hugs people she likes, and the implied message of having received, like, five in the past two days already… all in all, every single aspect of that sentence gives Law something vaguely alarming to think about.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again as he cannot muster an answer. Well then… move on? "... aaanyway… you seem to have magically woken up, so here's the deal with today: I was thinking of some changes, that is to say, instead of ogling you from the sidelines, I will be actively present in your training schedule. Also, we'll be doing various mixed tasks for as long as you're… operable? How much sleep did you get?"

Kat finds this idea to her liking; can't do wrong when being instructed, and company makes for a less boring day. She lowkey needs some supervision and someone to tell her what to do all the time to be at maximum productivity, anyway. Getting interrupted too often has the total opposite effect, but…trying can't hurt. "Could have been five? I'm not sure. Anyhow, that… sounds nice, actually."

Luckily, after settling into the new system and the pain receding for a while, the morning is an overall blast. Partly since she's basically constructing a junk castle over and over, removing and inserting parts with as little leeway as possible. Also, despite her worries… Law would actually make a pretty good teacher? His explanations use more jargon than necessary, but they leave just enough up to imagination and he also lets her deviate from the task. He helps no more or less than what she needs, too. Who would have thought. She sneakily uses Scan to her benefit as well, since it aids at taking things out of other things. Funny how she's getting the hang of the reverse task faster… or so it would be, if time was not pressing her to succeed at both as fast as possible.

Getting up for the fifth time in a few minutes to adjust something towards noon serves as a quick reminder that she was getting too brave with moving around, because the stabbing pain returns as quickly as it was slow at fading out. This time she actually is covered in cold sweat all of a sudden and overcome by a sense of weakness as well. That won't be her blood sugar… but could be.

"Suddenly… I feel like I could eat a horse," Kat notes between gritting her teeth. Yeeeesh, some muscle is fucking cramping on her right side, holy fuck… It's fortunate that Law's to her back, because… Okay, okay, okay… it's receding, take a breath. "Kind of forgot getting more than the usual after the forced wake. I don't suppose you have one lying around? Some snacks would be nice until… lunch." And now blood pressure seems to be plummeting, too… ho, boy. Imagine how he would react if she just fainted right now. Not fun, not at all.

He sighs. "You should have more than just a cup of cocoa anyhow? Feed me proper, that body is used to labor and burns what it gets, goddammit." He does get up, however, and adjusts his pants quick. He needs a breather from this anyhow. "I’m also getting peckish, so I might as well get something. Lunch won’t be ready for an hour at least… you won’t want to eat rice balls, I suppose, so French toast or toast toast? Likely slightly burnt in either case. That's about all I'm capable of." Hopefully Fugu won't catch him red-handed… if he's lucky, the cook's already headed out for veggies and stuff.

… not eating at all was a lie, but she's suddenly reminded of how long it's been since she's had either. Or scrambled eggs. With pepper and paprika, and thinly sliced garlic… can't have him try and fuck that one up, though. "... give me your best shot at a French toast, two slices," she replies with a watery mouth.

"Just don't complain if you don't like it," he shrugs walking up to the exit. "Be right back."

Being alone for a moment, she groans in frustration. The pain is not only back, but just as bad as it was, like it just won't stop at all. It sneakily crawled up her neck in the past hour, making it stiff, and now it started eating the right side of her face from the inside out and she already knows this will end with a splitting headache. The goddamn left shoulder is also getting tense again, but that keeps happening so often she doesn't even notice any more unless it hurts.

Thinking about that, her eyes wander over to his desk- and then to the upper right shelf where he fished out a pill from the other day. After short consideration, she steps over to the furniture slowly and rests the tip of her finger on the handle. These are for him, right? What if she just…