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foreveralwaysanauthor · 1 year

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Camp Wanamaker (Ch 8/10)

September 7, 2023

Notes - I know this chapter is exceptionally overdue and I'm so sorry that it is, but my job raised my hours pretty significantly, and, with everything else going on in my already crazy life, I found it very hard to sit down and write. However, I'm hoping to get the next few chapters out as soon as possible so we can move on to bigger and better things!

Chapter 8 - Rumor Has It

The sun slowly rose over the hills of trees that surrounded Camp Wanamaker. Morning light crept across the gentle waves of the lake and the tops of the cabins, dancing across the dewy grass and making it shimmer like a million minuscule diamonds. The yellow-orange glow snaked its way closer and closer to the windows of each building, finding the cheap cotton curtains with ease. The light eventually seeped through the curtains and spilled onto the bed of a certain brunet boy, his chocolate coils woven into little knots as he struggled to get himself out of his twisted sheets while he slept.

It had been a rough night for Royce. He had just barely fallen asleep when an emergency notification about a missing child in the area rang loudly on his phone, jolting him awake as he tore out his earbuds. By the time he had finally worked himself back to the edge of sleep, it was nearing two in the morning. He wasn’t the only one who had issues with chasing sleep that night, which was made apparent as Bentley entered the room and silently joined his brother, relishing in the quiet and calm his brother’s room provided. Thankfully, they had the day to recover and relax while everyone else did as they pleased on their last day of freedom before the next group of campers arrived.

As Royce stirred, the soft rays of light filtering through his eyelashes as he slowly blinked them open, a light grumble from his side caught his attention. Glancing down, he found Bentley curled up to his side, his face buried in Royce’s shirt to avoid the sunlight coming in from the window. A notion of a chuckle left Royce’s mouth as he peered over at the clock on his nightstand. All he needed to see was the glowing, red six at the start of the number to know that his little brother wouldn’t be moving any time soon. At least, not willingly. Taking in a slow breath and sighing, Royce reached for the cell phone he had ditched on the nightstand and relaxed back onto his pillow, ready to enjoy a lazy morning.

If you asked any of the Murphy brothers, lazy mornings were reserved for Sundays anyway. Back in their home, they would usually be found lounging on the couch with bowls of soggy cereal or packets of Pop-Tarts, their eyes semi-glued to the typical weekend cartoons playing on the TV as they ate breakfast. Well, in more recent months, they had. Their old television was a crappy box model with a single dial that had only one good station while the other four were filled with either news or politics. However, after Vivien’s “stay-cation” to their world, they had grown accustomed to the hundreds of stations they could receive with the television the girl had gotten Mick’s help with making.

It didn’t take them long to realize that living at Camp Wanamaker was something else entirely. Most of the televisions available were outfitted with every app known to mankind and possessed a slew of shows nobody in the cabin had seen before - not even those who lived in the modern world. Not every cabin had a television, of course, but the ones that were home to just counselors or staff members had at least one for the cabin to share. Royce and Bentley had spent their free mornings during staff weeks in front of the TV, watching shows that Vivien and Mick had added to their watchlists. It was a good way to spend their mornings, all in all.

Just as Royce had begun searching his phone for something to keep himself occupied, Bentley shifted, slowly lifting his head from Royce’s shirt and grumbling a complaint about the sun. A yawn caught the youngest of the Murphy brothers, forcing him to stretch against the mattress as he made a noise of frustration. Flopping back down against the sheets, Bentley slowly turned toward Royce and muttered, “G’mornin’.”

“Morning,” Royce spoke softly. “Have a good sleep?”

Bentley shrugged, “Kinda.”

Royce hummed, “Do you wanna go watch the next episode of that zombie show? We can make some cereal and just chill on the couch while everyone goes to the mess hall.”

After a moment of contemplation, Bentley shook his head, “I don’t think I’m up for watching someone get their insides eaten like a bowl of zombie spaghetti jsut yet. Can I watch you play the cat game instead? You know, the one where you help the robots?”

Bentley watching Royce play games was nothing new, but it had become far more common in recent times. While Bentley loved playing games with adventure or mindless fun as the main focus, story-driven games like What Remains of Edith Finch and their newfound favorite, Stray, made it easier for Bentley to relinquish all control of the game to Royce in favor of watching him play and piecing together the storyline at his own pace. In a way, it was easier and both brothers enjoyed the time they got to spend together.

With a smile, Royce nodded as he sat up, “Sure, Benny. Why don’t you go get that started up and I’ll make breakfast.”

As Bentley sluggishly shoved the blankets away from his legs, he grinned, “Can I have Cocoa Puffs with chocolate milk?”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded. “You want your Hufflepuff mug or just a normal cup?”

Bentley snickered, “No, RJ, I mean, can I have chocolate milk in my cereal?”

Royce paused, feeling as though he had a circle swirling above his head as he processed his brother’s request. “But-” he took in a breath, “Benny, there’ll be chocolate milk at the bottom anyway if you’re having Cocoa Puffs.”

“I know,” Bentley shrugged, “but I want it more chocolatey so when I drink it after the cereal’s gone, it’s not like two little bits of chocolate and a bowl of straight milk.”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Royce relented, “Alright, fine. That makes sense.”

As he followed Royce to the door, Bentley smirked and asked, “Can I have a glass of orange juice to go with it? Maybe some pickles afterward?” The look of disgusted horror Royce sent in return as he whirled around made Bentley cackle, patting his brother on the shoulder as he ducked around him. Bentley had just reached the bottom step when Royce began thumping down them, rattling off about disgusting food combinations first thing in the morning and musing how someone they knew must have been pregnant if he was craving something so nasty. Bentley beamed with pride as he grabbed the game controller from the coffee table; it was mornings like these that he didn’t mind being up so early.

Vivien moved sluggishly as the rain battered against the air conditioner that stuck out of one of the music hall’s windows. Rain always made her tired and, with nothing better to do, she and Miles were stuck in the music hall, practicing guitar and fooling around with the instruments that would, typically, go unused on a day like that. To make matters worse, it was Monday. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; however, that meant the carnival in Laconia was now officially open, and, due to the rain, they wouldn’t be able to go.

The trips to the carnival had been planned quite thoroughly. Every day, one group would be taken to the carnival for the day and return for dinner. Although most everyone at the camp wanted nothing more than to go to the carnival, the rain had come over the area overnight and the carnival grounds on the early-morning news had looked more like muddy grass soup, making it an easy decision for those at the camp to stay at the camp.

As Miles strummed a song on the guitar and hummed softly along, Vivien dropped onto the bench beside him, a yawn leaving her as she tipped her head back to look at the ceiling, “I’m so fucking bored.”

“Join the club, kiddo,” Miles chuckled, allowing his strumming to fade off as he pushed his focus onto the girl beside him.

“Does the club offer cookies?”

“Only on weekends and at club meetings.”

“Then I don’t wanna join,” she sighed.

“Too bad,” Miles teased, nudging the girl with his elbow as he set the guitar down beside his leg. “Once you’re invited, there’s no turning it down.” Vivien glanced in Miles’ direction with an amused smirk before another yawn tugged itself from her. “Tired?” he asked.

Instead of firing off a quick quip, Vivien lazily nodded, leaning closer to Miles until her head came into contact with his shoulder. “I slept fine last night, but I woke up later than normal and it’s throwing me off.”

Miles chuckled, tugging his arm from between them and bringing it around Vivien’s shoulders, “For some reason, I don’t have that problem.”

“You suck.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still suck,” Vivien muttered as she brought an arm around Miles’ back.

Allowing himself to smile, Miles gave Vivien’s arm a squeeze, “You’re such a little shit.”

“Takes one to know one.”

As rain battered against the windows, the wind rattling the glass ominously as it passed, Miles grinned. Even though they spent almost every day in the music hall, it wasn’t too often that he got to spend time with just Vivien. Normally, the music hall was filled with kids wanting to bash the drums or learn guitar, the split of interests keeping him and Vivien on opposite sides of the large room. It was times like these - the rare moments when the hall was empty and they would be able to talk or play guitar - that Miles felt an actual connection with the girl.

They had spent a few months under the same roof during Vivien’s prolonged stay in their world over winter break and he enjoyed watching her grow more comfortable around everyone he knew and loved. Once she had gotten out of the “Royce’s girlfriend” title everyone had given her and made a name for herself, Miles got to see the different sides of Vivien that he hadn’t yet found. After everything they had been through over her break, she now felt like the younger sister he never got the chance to have.

As Miles glanced up at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be before they would need to break out the buckets in the storage room to catch dripping water that penetrated through the older roof, Vivien sighed. Despite her exhaustion, her mind raced with thoughts of what they were going to do to keep themselves busy until Saturday. As one of the last groups to go to the carnival, they had to keep themselves entertained for most of the week. After a moment, Vivien glanced out the window toward where the pool would, by now, be empty. Maybe she could convince Mick to let her swim in the rain; it would beat sitting around, doing nothing while they waited for a potentially musically inclined camper to stumble through the door.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen much of Mick lately. Faintly, she wondered if the older girl was okay. She knew that Mick was suffering from a few health issues lately as they had talked a bit about her recent bouts of exhaustion, some pretty strong nausea, and how she had woken up with swollen ankles with no reason as to why. Maybe she had been taking things easy in the hope that everything would fix itself before the time came for the appointment she had called to schedule the day before. Though she wondered what could be happening with Mick, she had a few ideas.

Pregnancy was, of course, one of the top suspects as the nausea and swelling were common in pregnancy. However, she couldn’t be sure. After all, Mick didn’t look pregnant. She was still just as toothpick thin as always - that damned metabolism Vivien wished she possessed keeping Mick looking more lean than muscular. It could still be possible, but she couldn’t recall Mick and Butchy having the chance to sneak away to - Vivien tried not to vomit at the thought - do the deed.

Deciding she would have to bite the bullet to find out, Vivien lifted her head from Miles’ shoulder and asked, “Do you think Mick is pregnant?”

Miles’ head lilted to the side as he shot the girl a bewildered, raised eyebrow, “Where did that come from?”

“I was just thinking. You know how Mick’s been feeling off the last few days?” When Miles slowly nodded, Vivien continued, “Well, her symptoms are similar to pregnancy symptoms.”

“They are?”

With a nod, Vivien said, “Morning sickness, exhaustion, swelling, lack of period-”

“How do you know she doesn’t have her period?” Miles questioned.

Sending Miles the most bland face she could muster, Vivien deadpanned, “We’re girls, we talk about these things. But that’s not the point.”

“Right,” Miles said with a shake of his head, “so you think she could be pregnant?”

“Maybe,” Vivien shrugged. “I mean, they delayed their honeymoon so they could help here, but they’ve had the time to go out together and stuff. There’s no telling when it could have happened.”

Though Miles seemed to consider the idea, he mused, “But she doesn’t look pregnant.”

“Not everyone does,” Vivien claimed. “When Aunt Hayley had me, she didn’t show at all.”

Miles was silent for a while as he thought about all Vivien had said. It could be true. He had seen Mick behaving differently lately - constantly feeling chilly, falling asleep on the couch while watching movies, and having to step out of the mess hall sometimes because the scent was overpowering - but he hadn’t thought of pregnancy. He simply thought she was coming down with the stomach bug that was starting to pulse throughout the town.

Taking in a breath, Miles sighed, “It sounds like Mick is pregnant.”

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Vivien said. “I can always ask her when I’ve got the chance.”

“Better you than me, kiddo.” Miles chuckled, “She’d probably rip my head from my shoulders.”

“Yeah, somehow I doubt she’d take it too kindly,” Vivien snickered.

As Miles let out a snort of agreement, the door of the music hall slammed against the frame, the wood rattling as the wind beat against it. The laughter died on Miles’ lips as he and Vivien turned toward the door, eyeing it with wide stares. “Was that the wind?” Miles breathed.

Vivien pushed herself to stand, maneuvering around the bench and walking to the door, twisting the handle before tugging it open. Rain bucketed from above and the only sign of life was a group of kids who were busy screeching as they ran up the path toward the safety of the dance studio. Leaning against it to make it click into place, Vivien turned to Miles and shrugged, “It was either the wind or a ghost.”

With a shrug, Vivien grabbed a guitar and made her way back to her seat, silently asking Miles to help her with a song she wanted to play as she sat back down. As they began working on figuring out the chords of the song Vivien had chosen, neither of them was prepared for the onslaught of chaos that the week would bring. Just down the path from the music hall, the door to the dance studio slammed open as a group of dripping campers piled in.

“What happened to you?” one of the girls asked from the far side of the large room. On one side of the room, dancers in sweatpants and leotards stretched on the floor while others practiced before the mirror. However, as the door closed once more, the group of five by the door had everyone’s attention.

“We all decided to hop in the pool after practice,” Chloe, one of the soaked campers, answered sarcastically.

“We came from the tennis courts,” one of the drenched campers - a blonde named Maxine - said as she wrung her hair out over the doormat. “We had to cut around the music hall to get here quicker.”

“And,” the only brunette from the group - Rachel - piped up, “you’ll never guess what we heard on our way here!”

If they didn’t already have the attention of those around them, they certainly did now as questions popped up throughout the room like a game of Whack-A-Mole. Stepping to the front of the group, the youngest of the campers - Alex - beamed as she declared, “Mick, the lifeguard girl who always gives us extra time to relax after swimming laps, is pregnant!”

Squeals of excitement bubbled up throughout the dance studio, a few commented on how they “just knew” she had to be, and others questioned how the girls knew, to which Chloe said, “We overheard her friends talking. You know, the girl with the long-ass hair and the boy who’s dating Carrie? They were talking about Mick being pregnant and we heard them on our way by.”

As excited exclamations passed through the room, the door to the back hallway opened and a small girl entered the room, followed soon after by Charlie, who led the dance studio every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Looking around the room, Charlie placed her hands on her hips and sighed, “Alright, everyone, calm down. If you keep this up, I’ll be having you go across the floor right off the bat.”

“But, Charlie,” one of the stretching dancers argued, “we’re talking about Mick.”

“Yeah,” another agreed. “What do you think of her being pregnant?”

“Pregnant?” Charlie repeated with a raised brow. “Where did you hear that?”

Murmured answers flitted around the room before settling as Alex spoke up, “We overheard Miles and Vivien talking about it.”

“Eavesdropping, were you?” Charlie admonished as she made her way further into the room.

“Not intentionally!” Rachel exclaimed. “We were walking by the music hall and overheard it.”

Making a mental note to talk with the pair about the situation at their next meal, Charlie sighed, “Well, that may be, but I haven’t heard anything about this, so I would advise you all to keep this to yourselves. Nobody likes having rumors spread about themselves.”

A chorus of reluctant “yes, ma’am”s filed the room and, as Charlie let out a sigh, she hoped she had squashed the rumors quickly enough that it wouldn’t spread around the dinner tables. With any luck, she’d be able to talk with Miles and Vivien before word spread too far. Usually, rumors at camp spread quietly and quickly, festering overnight into nonsense and plaguing everyone on the grounds within a day or two. If Charlie noticed it spreading much at all, she would try to find a way to sit Mick down and talk with her. She would need to prepare the girl for the onslaught of gossiping campers and concerned questions from her friends if the kids let it spread any further than it already had.

Clapping her hands together, Charlie brought herself back to the task at hand and declared, “Alright, everyone, find your place at the barre and get comfortable. We’re all going to feel the burn today.”

Despite Charlie’s best efforts, it had been impossible to find the chance to get Miles or Vivien away from everyone else before they headed to bed Monday night. She didn’t want it spreading more than she presumed it had, but Vivien was constantly with Royce and Bentley while Miles was practically attached to Carrie’s hip. They had spent the evening playing games and watching movies, giving Charlie little chance to speak her mind. When they were getting ready for bed, Charlie told Hayley about the situation. Hayley wouldn’t be able to do much to help as she was supposed to be helping in the office on Tuesday, but she promised that, if she heard anything, she would say something.

Charlie felt particularly tense at breakfast, overly focused on the noisy voices around the room as she tried to silently shield her niece’s friends from being the topic of conversation. It wasn’t until her wife nudged her, telling her the meal was over, that she finally moved, jerkily rising from her seat and disposing of the few pieces of egg that she had left on her plate. Stationed in the playhouse to help with makeup and choreography for the upcoming play, Charlie followed Carrie and Riven down the winding path to the old wooden building in relative silence.

While Riven got to work on helping set things up on stage, Charlie and Carrie headed to the storage room to dig out the makeup they would need for the day. Eyeing the blonde from her side of the little room, Charlie asked, “Carrie, you’re close with Mick, right?”

Turning toward the woman with the pink-tipped braids, Carrie shrugged with a smile, “I’d say we’re friends, but she’s closer with Miles than she is with me. Why, what’s up?”

Instead of directly answering, Charlie asked, “If Mick was pregnant, would she tell you?”

Carrie’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as she processed the sudden question, but eventually, she said, “I definitely wouldn’t be the first person on the list - maybe not even in the top five - but she might. Why, do you think she’s pregnant?”

Glancing out the door to make sure nobody was close enough to hear, Charlie lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Some girls came into the studio yesterday and were telling everyone that they overhead Miles and Vivien talking about Mick being pregnant. I wanted to see if they had said anything to you about it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Carrie said, “Like I said, I wouldn’t be in the top five, but they would be.” Carrie began counting on her fingers, “Butchy, her parents, Miles, and Vivien - I would assume those would be her top five. I can ask them, if you want?”

“No, no,” Charlie said with a shake of her head, “that’s fine. I just… I want to be careful with it regardless of whether it’s true or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charlie began as she hefted a metal case of makeup onto her hip, “if she’s not pregnant, we can help squash the rumors now before they get out of control. But, if Mick is pregnant, we need to keep an eye on her. She’s not showing and, depending on how far along she is, that can be detrimental.”

“How so?” Carrie asked, following Charlie through the backstage storage and into the dressing rooms.

Setting the metal case on a nearby stand, Charlie sighed, “Back when Hayley was pregnant for Vivien, she never once showed. I was with her for most of the pregnancy - as a friend, at the time - and she went through hell. If Mick’s pregnant and is further along in her pregnancy, it could be dangerous for not only her, but for the baby as well.”

Carrie took in a slow breath as she soaked in the information, “Should I talk with Miles about it? See if he can tell me anything?”

“Not right now,” Charlie said. “Let him focus on music lessons. Besides, I haven’t heard anyone talking about it around camp, so I think we should be all set for now. We can talk with him and Vivien later, when they’re not busy banging around on the drums and we don’t have a bunch of makeup to sort through.”

As Charlie pulled a chair out from in front of one of the lightbulb-lined mirrors, Carrie followed suit with a hum. With the metal makeup case between them, Charlie unlatched the clasps and opened the lid before pulling out the extra trays so they could see all that was inside. Looking inside the case at all of the makeup, Carrie asked, “What are we going to do with all of this?”

Smiling at the blonde, Charlie took a lipgloss from the top shelf of the case and said, “We’re going to go through all of this and make sure it’s all still good. If something is good, we’ll try it out and make sure it still looks good. If it passes both tests, we’ll keep it. If it doesn’t, we toss it.”

Examining a tube of mascara, Carrie asked, “How are we going to check if they’re still good before we test if on ourselves?”

Charlie chuckled, “Do you see the little jar on there with a number and a letter on it?”

Carrie searched the tube before nodding, “Yeah, it says ‘6M’ on it.”

“That means it’s good for six months after it was opened.” Charlie looked for the little engraving mark on her lipgloss before setting it aside. “If it still has a wrapper or the receipt is in the little makeup bag at the bottom of the case, we’ll keep it. If not, its trash.”

“Got it,” Carrie said as she reached into the bottom section of the case and pulled out a black box. Carrie’s eyebrow raised as she read the box, “Conspiracy?”

Peering over at the younger girl, Charlie chuckled, “Oh, I remember that! Don’t throw that no matter what it says.”

Glancing up, Carrie asked, “How come?”

“It’s Vivien’s pride and joy,” Charlie claimed.

“But she doesn’t even wear makeup?” Carrie said curiously as she opened the palette.

“No, but she loves that thing,” Charlie smiled. “You see, she had watched this series online of this Youtuber guy and his friend - a makeup guru - making a palette together and that was the end product. She spent two hours waiting for it with me and Hayley, but it sold out within a half an hour. We were lucky enough to get the full set when it relaunched, but she keeps it here to keep Abby out of it.”

With a chuckle, Carrie looked over the shades and commented, “I can’t imagine she got into it at all.”

“She tried,” Charlie said, a ghost of a smile appearing as she reminisced. “She looked like a raccoon and cried before asking me for help.”

“Are you a self-proclaimed ‘makeup freak’ too, then?” Carrie asked.

“Hell yeah,” Charlie laughed. “Kind of have to be when you’re a dancer.”

“How long have you danced?”

Charlie thought for a moment before admitting, “Since I was two. My parents put me into ballet, aka the perfect breeding ground for eating disorders, anxiety, and the fear of imperfection.”

“Ah,” Carrie sighed as she set Vivien’s makeup aside and reached for something new, “been there, done that.”

Charlie set a container of powder aside and said, “You know, when I was younger it was more fun than anything, but once I was put into pointe, it was like I had stepped onto the world’s biggest slip-and-slide. One wrong move and I’d be ditched for the next best dancer.”

A sense of understanding washed over Carrie like a wave. She hadn’t felt overly close with Charlie before, but knowing they both had intense dancing backgrounds and still had lingering side effects from it, gave their budding friendship more depth. “The fear of failure is strong with every former dancer, I guess.”

Charlie hummed, “It must have been a fairly easy transition for you - going from dance to acting. The expressiveness and emotions you need to have on stage could translate well on screen, right?”

“I’d like to say so, yeah,” Carrie agreed. “Though, sometimes, I wish I could just turn my emotions off. It doesn’t take much for me to get all worked up over something small.”

“I can’t say I don’t feel the same way,” Charlie mused. “Although I find it easy to work my emotions into my books. Channeling them into something new helps force you to sort through them slower.”

Carrie thought about it for a moment before grinning, “I don’t think I could do something like that. Writing isn’t exactly my forte.”

With a shrug, Charlie said, “It’s the author in me, I suppose. However, if writing isn’t your thing, you could always try channeling it into music.” At Carrie’s skeptical gaze, Charlie smirked, “Don’t give me that face. I’ve heard you sing. You could really make something if you took the time to sit and work on it.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“And you think I did?” Charlie scoffed, “My first novel looked like a kindergartener wrote it compared to my work now. Nobody starts off great. Anyway, you could always ask Viv or Riven or even Erica for help; they all write music.”

Carrie nodded but then stalled as she reached into the makeup case. Curiously tipping her head to the side as she looked toward Charlie once more, she asked,l “I knew Riven and Erica wrote music, but since when has Vivien written music?”

“For years now,” Charlie claimed as she met the blonde’s blue eyes. “She doesn’t play them with the band muchas she can’t write the sheet music for them, but those journals of hers aren’t just filled with novel ideas. You should talk to her about it sometime. Maybe she’d show you some of her work.”

As Charlie got back to work sorting the makeup into two piles, Carrie hummed thoughtfully, “Maybe.”

“Maybe we can make a new one, but make it a bit bigger,” Carrie offered.

Bentley sighed, “And maybe I should stick with painting instead of pottery.”

As a majority of the playhouse crew had been taken to the carnival that Wednesday, Bentley had dragged Carrie to the art barn to show her his latest works while everyone else kept busy in their normal areas. His paintings, as always, were like something Bob Ross would come out with. Bentley felt at ease with painting; he could sit at an easel with a palette of colors and a set of brushes for hours without getting the least bit distracted. It was also something his brothers declared he shared with their mom - a love and natural talent for telling a story through paintings and sketches. His pottery work, on the other hand… Let’s just say that Bentley could have told everyone a seven-year-old made it and nobody would be able to tell it was his work.

The first few times Bentley had tried to make something with a mound of clay on the spinning wheel, they turned out to be understandably awful - a lopsided vase, a cracked bowl, and a statue of a dog that lost two legs and its tail in the kiln being among his efforts. However, his recent attempts appeared to turn out just the same. His first attempt at making a tea set for Mick had cracked and separated, and the potion bottle he wanted to make for Vivien’s birthday ended up getting damaged when another camper’s sculpture exploded and shattered everything inside the kiln. The mug he had tried to make for Miles was his most recent attempt and, while it still looked like a mug, it was now so small that it looked more like something Vivien would turn into a pair of earrings than it did an actual mug for drinking purposes.

Setting the miniature mug on the table, Bentley slouched into a chair with a huff as he glared at the shrunken pottery. Not willing to let the boy wallow in his thoughts, Carrie offered him a smile and said, “I think it looks great and Miles will too.”

A raised eyebrow answered Carrie as Bentley glanced up at her, “I can’t give that to him - it’s tiny.”

“And you and I both know that he would love it all the same.” As Carrie moved to sit at another pottery wheel, Bentley sighed, but remained quiet as she continued, “He loves everything you make for him and you know that.”

“I know,” Bentley muttered, “but I wanted this to be special.”

“And it still is.”

“How? He can’t drink out of it.”

“Yeah,” Carrie agreed, “but he can use it as a Christmas ornament in a few months.”

Bentley snorted despite himself, the thought of the little mug dangling from their living room tree dancing through his mind. Finally shifting his gaze from the cup to the blonde across from him, Bentley grinned, “He would.”

“I know.” Carrie smiled at the boy before flicking her hair over her shoulder and chuckling, “I wouldn’t put it past him to use that as the star on top with how much he loves caffeine.”

Feeling a bit better about how his failed pottery had turned out, Bentley breathed, “I guess it won’t be a total loss if I give it to him looking like this.”

“Exactly,” Carrie said with a nod. “He’ll love it regardless. And, if you decide to make another, you’ll know to make it a bit bigger.”

“I guess so, yeah,” Bentley agreed. Taking in a deep breath as he stood, Bentley asked, “So, what do you wanna do? We can paint or draw or make awful sculptures of each other, if you want. I’d offer you a photoshoot, but that’s more Royce’s expertise than mine.”

“That’s fine,” Carrie chuckled. “I don’t think I have the artistic abilities to do much of anything here.”

Bentley moved over to the wall of blank canvases and pulled a pair of small ones down as he turned to Carrie once more, “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can hang out and talk while we paint.”

As Bentley set up a pair of easels, Carrie let out a hesitant laugh, “I doubt mine will look anything like yours.”

“It doesn’t have to be good,” Bentley stated. “So long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters.”

“Are you sure?” Carrie asked as she stood. “I mean, I’d be more than willing to just watch if you want to make something. You know, that way I don’t waste paint on something terrible.”

“As long as the paint goes on the canvas, it’s not a waste,” Bentley insisted. “Besides, we can make anything; nature scenes, a fictional world, or, I don’t know, maybe we could paint ourselves as superheroes or something.”

While Bentley got to work collecting paints to place on a tray between the two easels, Carrie’s train of thought screeched to a halt at the boy’s words. Looking over at the teenager with a smile, Carrie slowly sat down on one of the stools Bentley had pulled over and said, “That reminds me, I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh yeah?” Bentley asked, glancing at Carrie before returning to the tub of assorted paint tubes before him. “What about?”

“Before we left home, I got a call from my manager.”

Hefting the container of paints onto a rolling table between the easels, Bentley looked at Carrie with an almost nervous chuckle, “You’re not getting fired or something, are you?”

Letting out a shocked bark of laughter, Carrie reached over and shoved Bentley’s shoulder, “No!”

Giggling, Bentley said, “Well, you never know!”

With a good-natured roll of her eyes, Carrie shook her head and said, “That’s not it at all. Actually, it’s pretty much the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“A film company I hadn’t heard of before reached out and offered me a role in their new show,” Carrie explained.

“That’s great,” Bentley said with a brilliant smile. “What’s it about?”

“All I know about it is that it’s an assassin show,” Carrie claimed. “However, the only down side is that it’s going to be filming almost exclusively in Europe.”

“Europe?” Bentley repeated. When Carrie nodded, he asked, “What, like England or Scotland?”

“I know part of filming will be in the UK,” Carrie mused, “but for the character they want me to portray, filming would primarily be in Russia, Belarus, or Ukraine.”

Bentley allowed Carrie’s words to sink in, processing them slowly as he uttered, “That’s a long way from home.”

Carrie sighed, “I know. That’s sort of why I haven’t told Miles that they want me signed on.”

“Miles doesn’t know?”

“Not yet, no.” Carrie took in a deep breath before admitting, “I sort of wanted to get your reaction before telling him.”

“Well, I think it’s a great opportunity for you, but I think we both know how Miles will react,” Bentley said. “He’ll be happy for you no matter what. Just remember that he’ll probably end up going to the library to do as much research on your filming locations as possible. Remember what he was like when he had to decide which school to put me and Royce into?”

Of course, Carrie knew all too well. Miles had spent hours upon hours looking into the local schools, trying to figure out which one would be best for his brothers. After work, he would go to the library and research the local schools and their programs, searching for any hint of safety issues or cases of bullying. Royce and Bentley had to ride their bicycles to the library more than once to pry him away when it was almost closing time. After basically interrogating Lela about her old school and trying to see which schools had the best art and literature classes, he finally settled on one and signed all of the application papers overnight, falling asleep at the kitchen table with some of the papers stuck to his face and his pen still in hand. When Carrie showed up to pick Miles up for work the next morning, it took Bentley grabbing the spray bottle from the bathroom and filling it with frigid water to wake him from his slumber.

“Yeah,” Carrie said slowly as she nodded.

“That was just him figuring out a local school for us,” Bentley reminded her. “We weren’t going anywhere out of the state. So, when the time comes and you finally tell him, just know that he’ll be so much worse than that.”

Wondering just how bad it would be, Carrie sat silently, her gaze drifting as she allowed images of Miles scouring shelves of old books and frantically asking Mick and Vivien for help researching things on their phones to fill her mind. Eventually, her gaze drifted back toward Bentley and the two shared a nervous smile before dissolving into laughter. For a while, joy filled the room, filling the silent gaps in conversation that had once lingered between the pair. Eventually, the laughter began to fade and, as Carrie looked to Bentley once more, she sighed, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Bentley snickered, “A few months of pestering questions and nonstop research.”

“At least,” Carrie chuckled with a shake of her head. Taking in a breath, Carrie thought of Miles’ tendency to look into every possibility with a fine-toothed comb and wondered aloud, “I wonder if he’ll do the same for Mick when the time comes.”

“What do you mean?”

Snapping her gaze from the canvas before her to the blond boy beside her, Carrie cleared her throat and said, “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…” she sighed, “Charlie told me that some girls in the dance studio were talking about Mick being pregnant. It’s probably just a rumor, but I was just thinking how Miles would react if he she told him.”

“People really think she’s going to have a baby?” Bentley asked incredulously. “That’s crazy!”

“I thought so too, but there’s no telling,” Carrie claimed with a shrug. “Charlie thinks it could go either way.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“I wonder if anyone else has heard about it,” Bentley said thoughtfully.

Carrie shrugged, “If the campers know, it’s probably spreading through camp as we speak.”

“Probably,” Bentley breathed. He would have to talk to Royce about it later on as he sometimes left the library door open for fresh air. If anyone walked by and was talking about it, he would hear it from the desk. With a shake of his head, Bentley grabbed a palette from the table between himself and Carrie and held it out for her to take. “You ready to get your paint on?”

Carrie eyed the colorfully stained palette before reaching up to take it with a smile, “Absolutely.”

Royce sighed as he ran his towel over his dripping curls. He was going to take a shower that night anyway, but after being unceremoniously shoved into the lake by Riven, he had gone inside to take a shower before they started playing games. Riven had caught him staring at Vivien - a normal occurrence, he thought - and his girlfriend’s skating partner chose to tease him about it when his girlfriend left the pier to help her aunts bring coolers of drinks down from the parking lot. After a while of back-and-forth, Riven gave Royce a nudge, and, needless to say, he was unprepared for it.

Tripping over the uneven planks, Royce had plunged into the cool lake, scaring off a nearby school of fish as the water enveloped him. Glancing out of the window near his bed as he sat down, Royce huffed; the trail of water he left from the edge of the pier to the front door of their cabin was still faintly visible in the fading sunlight. While it would be gone in the morning, Royce doubted his embarrassment would be. By the time he had resurfaced, Riven was folded over on the dock, laughing like a hyena. Bentley and Erica were no better as they took one look at each other and burst into laughter, only resorting to poorly disguised snickers when Jade elbowed them both in the ribs. Miles and Butchy hauled him up on the pier with matching smirks that told him they wouldn’t be letting it go for at least a day or two.

As Vivien and her aunts made their way down the beach toward them, Royce ducked past Carrie and Mick and gave a halfhearted response to his girlfriend’s question as to where he was going before ducking into the log cabin they were staying in and allowing the door to slam shut behind himself. Now that he’d had the chance to simmer and wallow in his mortification, Royce wondered if the red tinting his skin was due to the hot water or the embarrassment he still felt pulsing through his veins. Despite the mint-scented body wash he’d practically caked himself in, he could still smell the strong odor of seaweed and fish in the air. Royce sighed; maybe he had gotten water up his nose.

A knock on Royce’s door drew his attention away from his misery and he cleared his throat before asking, “Who is it?”

“Just me.”

Bentley. Royce took in a deep breath and said, “Come in.”

The handle twisted and Bentley pushed his way into the room with a grin before closing the heavy door behind him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Royce offered. “Did you guys start without me?”

“Of course not,” Bentley chuckled as he moved to sit beside his brother, “but Mickie wants us to watch a video before we play Mafia, so I said I’d come see if you were ready to join.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Royce said as he set his towel aside. “I just hope they’re alright with me still smelling like fish.”

“Ah,” Bentley breathed with a smirk, “so that’s what that smell is.”

Shoving Bentley, Royce chuckled, “Shut up.”

Bentley let out a short laugh, “Seriously, though, you smell fine.”

“Well, good, ‘cause I’m sitting next to you.”

“Oh no!” Bentley gasped dramatically. “Whatever shall I do? I’ll have to deal with you smelling like three-day-old sushi all night.”

“You are such a dick.”

“I can’t be a dick, my name’s not Richard.”

Royce shook his head with a laugh, “Whoever decided Dick was a good name for Richard, clearly hated people named Richard.”

“I know, right,” Bentley chuckled. Pushing himself to his feet, Bentley nudged Royce with the back of his hand and asked, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Royce nodded, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“You’d better hurry or I’ll eat your peanut butter M&Ms.”

With a roll of his eyes, Royce grabbed his towel and stood, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

As Bentley reached the door, his hand wrapped around the handle, he turned back to Royce and asked, “Hey, um, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Royce said as he tossed his towel into the hamper beside his dresser.

Taking in a contemplative breath, Bentley asked, “Have you noticed anything different with Mick lately?”

Glancing over as he took a pair of shorts and a shirt from his dresser, Royce shrugged, “Not that I know of, why?”

“People are saying she’s pregnant.”

“Really?” When Bentley nodded, Royce asked, “Who did you hear that from?”

Knowing how quickly Royce would dismiss the thought if he said where he truly heard it from, Benltey said, “Some campers. I guess it’s been passing around camp.”

Royce thought for a moment before sighing, “We live with her; I think we would know if she was pregnant.”

“Maybe, but maybe she and Butchy wanted to keep it a secret and someone overheard them talking about it,” Bentley suggested.

The more Royce thought about it, the more things made sense. He knew how fast rumors spread - Vivien’s friendship with Noah being one that was spun into a mess. If Mick and Butchy truly were going to have a baby and someone overheard them talking, it wouldn’t be long before the whole camp knew. Even if they weren’t and someone had made it up, it wouldn’t take long for the camp-wide game of Telephone to make its rounds. Besides, if anyone else had noticed her exhaustion as of late, her few-and-far-between coffee refills at breakfast, or the way she no longer stole pickles from Butchy’s plate during meals, that would only contribute to the way things were spiraling.

“Maybe we should ask and see if anyone has seen a difference in her,” Royce suggested as he set his clothes for the next day on his desk chair.

“I asked Erica and Jade if they noticed anything,” Bentley said, “and Erica said she hadn’t noticed anything, but Jade noticed she’s been having stomach pains lately.”

Royce nodded thoughtfully as he joined Bentley by the door, “I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on her. Maybe I’ll talk to Miles tomorrow and see if he knows anything.”

“He’s her best friend,” Bentley mused as he pulled the door open. “He and Butchy would be at the top of the list of people Mick would tell.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Royce agreed as he followed Bentley to the stairs.

Royce’s day had gotten off to a pretty good start. Despite sleeping in far later than he usually did, almost everything had gone well. The mess hall had his favorite omelets for breakfast, the library was practically empty up to lunch, and some of the other staff had helped put together a makeshift carnival on the soccer field for everyone to have fun that afternoon. A trampoline Vivien claimed they had borrowed from her grandparents’ house was on one side of the field, a rented slip-and-slide was on the other end, and a myriad of games littered the area. The only other activity that had been set up was a water balloon fight; buckets filled with peltable balloons were arranged in a row stretching across the grass at the bottom of the fence that surrounded the playground off to the side of the field.

As Royce wandered aimlessly through the field, he spotted his older brother crouching behind a piece of the wooden play structure, water balloon in hand. Making his way over to the wooden fence that separated the playground from the soccer field, Royce watched as a small girl Royce knew usually stayed in the back corner of the library, poked her head around the rock climbing wall and chucked a green balloon in Miles’ general direction before ducking back behind the wall. Just as Royce was about to call out to Miles, he heard another child laugh and watched a balloon sail just over Miles’ head. Miles peered over the wooden planks that sheltered him and quickly threw his balloon, watching it nail a kid who was no older than ten as he crossed an exposed bridge.

“Ah!” the kid shrieked as water burst across his shirt.

Another kid climbed up on the monkey bars to get a better view, but before they could make their shot at Miles, Royce called, “Hey, Miles!” As the kids stalled and Miles turned to see who wanted him, Royce asked, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Miles nodded, turning and raising his arms in surrender before calling out to the kids, “Hey, guys? I’m tapping out!”

“Come on!” the kid on the monkey bars moaned as Miles stood.

“For how long?” another whined.

“Dunno,” Miles replied as he shrugged. Despite the children’s grumbling complaints, Miles walked over to the fence Royce leaned against with a smile and lowered his voice as he asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

“I, uh, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright,” Miles nodded, “go ahead.”

Royce glanced over to where Mick was standing with Butchy, utterly annihilating him at the ring toss station, before looking back to Miles. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to ask.” Royce took in a deep breath and sighed, “Do you think there’s any way Mick could be pregnant?”

Although he appeared taken aback, Miles glanced over at Mick and Butchy and thought for a moment before meeting Royce’s eyes and asking, “Where did this come from?”

“Bentley,” Royce replied. “He said he heard a few campers talking about it yesterday and that it could be just a rumor, but from what I’ve seen, it could be true.”

Letting out a slow breath, Miles asked, “What have you seen?”

Royce took in a breath to organize his thoughts before he began, “She’s not drinking energy drinks anymore and she’s having a lot less coffee at breakfast, she hasn’t been eating much of anything and can’t look at certain foods without gagging, and even Jade says that Mick’s been having a lot of stomach pains lately.”

“And both you and Ben think that means she could be pregnant?”

“I looked it up on my phone while I was at my post earlier and the symptoms are very similar.”

Miles spared another glance at Mick as she dragged Butchy to yet another booth with a gleaming smile on her face. Taking a good look at his friend, he wanted nothing more than to dispute Royce’s claim. She looked fine! Not that pregnancy would make her look bad, by any means, but she looked the same as she always did. Shaking his head, he asked, “And Bentley was sure he heard them correctly?”

Royce nodded, humming in confirmation, “He seemed worried about her, so I’d say so, yeah.”

“I’ll try asking him about it later, maybe he’ll remember who it was that said it and we can go from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah.”

Just as Royce was about to head back to the makeshift carnival, a pain flared against his shoulder as he felt water splash across his face and down his arm. “Ow!” he yelled, sending a glare at the cockily-smirking girl who threw and caught another water balloon.

“What the fuck?” Miles called to the kids as they laughed from their places on the play structure.

“I’m not even playing!” Royce called.

“‘Cause you’re a chicken?” a boy called back.

“Chicken!” the girl with the devilish smile taunted.

“You’re a chicken, Royce!” another kid called.

As the children continued their teasing in the hopes of goading Royce into playing, Royce sighed, “Sometimes, I really hate those kids.”

Miles turned to Royce with a smirk and nodded toward the kids, lowering his voice as he asked, “You want to fuck them up?”

Royce took a look around and, noting that everyone was a pretty good distance from them, nodded as he turned back to Miles, “Yeah, I do.”

With a proud grin, Miles turned back toward the kids and began walking back to his previous spot as he called out, “You asked for it!”

“Better run, you little rugrats!” Royce called as he climbed over the fence.

Filing into the mess hall with damp shirts and laughter on their lips, Miles and Royce made their way to the end of the line to grab trays and fill them with food. After grabbing a tray, Royce took off, telling Miles he was going to talk to Vivien before disappearing down the line. Miles shook his head with a fond smile, glad his brother found happiness in little moments with his girlfriend. After grabbing some mac and cheese from its tin, Miles rounded a few campers and found himself next to Bentley as his youngest brother shoveled steak tips onto his plate.

“Let me guess,” Miles began, making Bentley jump, “you’re planning on drowning that in ketchup.”

“Absolutely,” Bentley beamed. “And you’ll pour that nasty steak sauce on yours like you always do.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not nasty, you just have no taste buds,” Miles said. “And, second of all, yes, yes, I will.”

As Bentley’s face contorted into one of disgust, he handed the tongs to Miles and muttered, “Gross.”

Rolling his eyes with a smile, Miles grabbed some steak from the tin it sat in. Glancing at his youngest brother, Miles lowered his voice and said, “You know, I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

Bentley turned to Miles before quickly sighing, his eyes closing in defeat as he said, “If this is about the salamander, I swear, I had nothing to do with it.”

Miles turned toward Bentley again and asked, “What salamander?”

Searching his brother’s eyes for any sign of deception, Bentley slowly said, “I take it Carrie didn’t tell you.”

“No,” Miles said. “Why? What happened?”

Letting out a snort, Bentley recalled, “She and I were walking to the cabin so we could make sure we had stuff for the movie tonight and, on the way back, Carrie went to take a drink of her water and found that a little lizard had climbed onto her bottle.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” Miles asked skeptically.

“Of course not,” Bentley replied. “Carrie and I have actually been getting along. If Royce had been there, I would have blamed him, but he was with you, so…”

“So the lizard just wanted a drink, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Heaving a sigh as he joined Bentley at the juice bowl, Miles said, “Anyway, that wasn’t what I was hoping to talk with you about.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Bentley chuckled. “So, what do you wanna talk about?”

“I was talking with Royce earlier and he said you told him there’s a rumor that Mick might be pregnant,” Miles stated. “I was just wondering if you knew which campers were spreading it around?”

“Well,” Bentley began, heaving a thoughtful sigh as he looked up at his brother, “the thing is, I didn’t overhear it from some campers.”

“You didn’t?” When Bentley shook his head, Miles asked, “Why did you tell Royce you had?”

Bentley sighed, “I didn’t want to say anything to Royce because I knew he would deny it if he knew who really told me. He’d probably say she was just spreading crap around or something, but I knew it was true and I didn’t want him to just brush it off.”

It didn’t take Miles long to figure out who his youngest brother was talking about. “You heard it from Carrie?”

“Yeah, she and I talked about it yesterday,” Bentley said with a nod. “She said that Charlie told her some girls in the dance studio were talking about it.”

Glancing at the table they normally sat at, Miles was glad to see the table had yet to be filled with their cabin’s inhabitants, but both of Vivien’s aunts had already claimed their normal seats. Then, just as Miles was preparing to make his way over and question Charlie himself, Mick and Butchy made their way to their seats and began conversing with the older women. Turning back to his brother, Miles asked, “Tonight, when Charlie and Hayley are making snacks for movie night, can you keep the others away so I can talk to them?”

Raising his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, Bentley smiled, “Aye aye, captain.”

Chuckling, Miles reached up and ran a hand through Bentley’s hair, ruffling it as he turned and headed for the table they typically dined at. Sitting down at his usual spot, he briefly wondered if Mick knew about the circulating rumors or if it had been a rumor at all. If her beaming smile and boundless laughter at Hayley’s terrible jokes were anything to go by, he doubted the brunette knew anything of the rumors. However, he couldn’t be sure. Mick’s tendency to laugh during awkward situations made it hard to tell what she did or didn’t know. Even if she was pregnant and had chosen to keep it a secret, he wondered if the rumors floating around would have any effect on her. She took almost everything to heart.

Miles inwardly sighed; he would just have to wait and find out for himself.

The smell of popcorn and the sound of laughter filled the cabin as Miles stepped inside. While everyone else was outside, playing ninja on the end of the pier and pushing the losers into the lake, Miles had slipped away in the hopes of finding Charlie and Hayley alone in the house. Just as he had presumed, they were in the kitchen, sitting on the countertops with cups of green juice that looked almost radioactive.

“Hey, Miles,” Hayley greeted, raising her cup slightly as Charlie waved.

“Hey,” he said in return.

“Did Viv send you in to ask about the snacks?” she asked with a knowing smirk. Before he could answer, Hayley chuckled, “She knows I won’t give her a straight answer, so she sends her friend instead - the little shit.”

Before Miles could say anything to the contrary, Charlie smiled and said, “The popcorn isn’t in yet, but the pretzels are almost done.”

“That’s good,” Miles said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Viv didn’t send me in, though.”

“Oh,” Hayley said, “that’s surprising.”

“What did you come in for?” Charlie asked. “A drink, some chips, maybe to save me from my wife’s terrible puns.”

Hayley scoffed, placing a hand over her heart as though she’d been stabbed, “My jokes aren’t terrible!”

“Yeah, they are.”

“You laughed, asshole.”

“It was a pity laugh.”

“Bullshit,” Hayley laughed.

With a roll of her eyes and an exaggerated sigh, Charlie turned her focus back to Miles and smiled as she asked, “Anyway, what do you need, sweetheart?”

“I was actually hoping to ask you something,” Miles admitted.

“Me?” Charlie asked, pointing to herself. Miles hummed in confirmation. “Well, in that case, I’m all ears.”

Taking in a deep breath, Miles sighed as he slowly recounted, “Royce told me that Bentley said that Carrie told him that you said you heard people talking about Mick being pregnant. I was wondering if you knew who was talking about it?”

As Charlie thought it over, her eyebrow raised and she lowered her cup of juice to the counter beside her as she said, “Some girls in the studio were talking about it, yeah, but they said that they heard it from you and Vivien.”

“What?” Miles wondered. “But I just found out about it today.”

Charlie glanced down, allowing herself to think over what had happened in the last week. Slowly, she claimed, “On Monday, I was instructing ballet and jazz. Dina Woodward injured her wrist and I stepped out with her to wrap it. When I came back, everyone in the studio was giggling and talking. A group of girls said they went by the music hall on their way in and overheard you and Vivien talking about Mick being pregnant.”

Miles allowed the woman’s words to sink in as he tried to recall what happened on Monday. He and Vivien had been in the music hall, playing guitar, talking, and relaxing as rain pelted the area. Vivien had been particularly tired that day, nearly falling asleep on Miles' shoulder as they sat in silence. Then, as the timer for the pretzels dinged, it hit him. While Miles was worrying about the possibility of rain coming through the ceiling, Vivien had asked him a question about the chance of Mick being pregnant, listing off her reasoning for thinking about it. While they were talking, the wind had slammed the door. However, Vivien had checked it and they moved on like nothing happened. Maybe it hadn’t been the wind. Maybe it had been the campers listening in.

“We started all of this,” he admitted softly. With a heavy sigh, Miles said, “I have to go tell Vivien so we can stop the rumors.”

As Hayley pulled the tray of pretzels from the oven, she requested, “Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.”

“What?” Miles asked. “Why?”

Charlie hopped down from the counter and crossed over to Miles, resting a hand on his arm as she replied for her wife, “Tonight, we’re supposed to be relaxing with some good movies and good snacks. Let everyone take some time to breathe - yourself included - and you can worry about it tomorrow.”

“But-”

Charlie was quick to cut him off, reaching up and cupping Miles’ cheek in her free hand to draw his attention to her words, “But it will still be an issue tomorrow and everyone will still be understanding tomorrow. Take the night to enjoy time with the family. Rumors at camp don’t last, but memories with your family do. You can work things out with everyone tomorrow, but give yourself time to process it for now.”

“Yeah,” Hayley agreed as she moved to stand beside her wife as Charlie patted Miles’ shoulder comfortingly. “Besides, Vivien will go into a full-tilt frenzy trying to make things right and, if you start that tonight, that poor child won’t sleep. If you tell her in the morning, she’ll have enough energy to fuss about it all day.”

“Hails,” Charlie gently reprimanded, elbowing the woman beside her.

“What?” Hayley asked rhetorically, a laugh falling from her lips as she returned to the counter to salt the pretzels. “It’s the truth. She’s just like me and we both know it.”

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Charlie turned back to Miles and smiled, “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I know you want to fix this here and now, but you and I both know you want Vivien’s help since you both are, somehow, at the start of it.”

“Yeah,” Miles admitted in a breath.

“So, like Hayley said, I think you should wait,” Charlie claimed. “It will still be there tomorrow and you can work on it together without having to deal with a sleep-deprived, caffeine-riddled Vivien stumbling through the grounds like Jack Sparrow on dry land.”

Letting out a snicker at the mental image of Vivien fumbling her way through the camp with a bullhorn, shouting incoherent claims in the hopes of clearing Mick’s reputation, Miles chuckled, “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be the greatest way to handle things.”

“Mhm,” Charlie hummed, patting Miles' hand as she turned and grabbed a stack of cups from the counter. “Now, take these out and hand them to everyone. We’ll be out in a few with snacks and drinks and then we can start the movie.”

“Are you sure you guys don’t need help?” Miles offered.

“Are you a psychiatrist?” Hayley asked as she set a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

Miles’ head tipped curiously to the side as his eyebrow raised and he slowly replied, “No?”

“Then, no, I think we’re all set,” Hayley chirped as the microwave whirred to life.

Rolling her eyes once more, Charlie pushed the cups into Miles’ hands and said, “Take these and run before you’re subjected to any of her horrendous jokes.”

Miles chuckled, taking the cups and heading toward the hallway, “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

As the popcorn began sizzling in the microwave, Hayley turned to Charlie, leaned against the counter, and asked, “If my jokes are so bad, why do you always laugh?”

“Because I love you,” Charlie answered with ease as she sidled her way up to her wife.

“And here I thought you found me funny.”

“Funny looking, maybe,” Charlie teased, “but those puns of yours are just plain terrible, my dear.”

Placing the back of her hand to her forehead and letting out a gasp of air, Hayley whined, “Oh, how you wound me!”

“Drama queen.”

“Fun hater.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said. When Hayley nodded, Charlie asked, “Do you know what the leading cause of divorce is?”

Curious, Hayley offered, “A lack of humor in a relationship?”

“Nope,” Charlie said with a shake of her head before leaning up and kissing Hayley on the cheek. “A stalemate.”

As Charlie took the bag of popcorn from the microwave and opened it to pour it into a bowl, Hayley processed the joke, her jaw slowly opening in shock, “Holy shit; was that a fucking pun?!”

“You know,” Vivien mused, “when Carrie told me to break a leg, this wasn’t what I thought she meant.”

In place of their usual day of recreation and rehearsals, that Friday was spent challenging the campers and staff alike. Unlike many of their previous days filled with activities, The Gauntlet - as the campers had begun calling it - had taken place at the amphitheatre and, as many expected, many workers had signed on to participate. Between the ropes course, the speed challenge, the scavenger hunt, and the climbing wall, everyone had their work cut out for themselves in one way or another. While the campers competed in teams, the staff were left to fend for themselves.

It was to no one’s surprise that Vivien had signed up to compete; her boundless energy and competitive nature boiled over when she found both Riven’s and Noah’s names on the sign-up sheet. What was surprising, however, was the fact that she ended up getting injured. Despite making it through the race in the top three and finding everything on her scavenger hunt list with relative ease, it was the ropes course that had been Vivien’s downfall. Near the end of the course, her foot had slipped on the wooden planks, sending her flying into the podium, and she narrowly avoided slamming face-first into the trunk of a tree.

Riven had managed to get her down after she quickly discovered how painful standing was, but as the auburn-haired skater was next in line for the next segment of the challenge, Miles had offered to take Vivien to the health center to see how bad her injury truly was. That was where they could be found, Miles hitching Vivien further up in his piggyback hold as he made his way to the front entrance of the health center.

Miles chuckled, “I highly doubt you’ve broken anything.”

“I know, but still,” Vivien shrugged. “It’s a good thing I got to know her before Royce’s impression of Carrie infected my brain.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” the brunette hummed. “Otherwise, I would’ve said she put some ancient curse on me or something.”

Miles let out a snort as he paused to glance over his shoulder at the younger girl, “An ancient curse? Really?”

“I’m from New England, the home of literal witches,” Vivien deadpanned. “At this point, anything’s possible.”

With an amused shake of his head, Miles chuckled, “Yeah, I can’t see Carrie as a witch.”

“I could,” Vivien said with a smirk as Miles pushed the health center door open with his shoe. At Miles’ curious look, she said, “Tell me she wouldn’t be an incredible Sarah Sanderson.”

“That’s the one from Hocus Pocus, right?” Miles asked as he nudged his way further into the building. “The one who they push into the street to see if it kills them?”

“Yeah!” Vivien chirped as Miles set her on one of the beds. “You know, the blonde who sings to draw everyone in with her magic. Carrie would be incredible as her.”

As Miles pulled a stool over to sit on, he nodded, smiling at Vivien as he sat before her, “I could see that working out.”

“Just wait until I have her watch those with me after my birthday,” Vivien chuckled. “I give her an hour before she starts planning to have you two dress up as Sarah and Billy for halloween.”

“An hour?” Miles chuckled with a shake of his head. “Half an hour, maybe, but I doubt she’d wait an entire hour.”

Vivien smiled as she worked on untying her shoes, “Yeah, true. Maybe she, Mick, and I could go as the Sanderson sisters this year.”

“I thought you, Royce, and Bentley were going as Stranger Things characters.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Vivien shrugged. “I wanted to go as Max or Robin and Royce was going as Steve or Dustin. Bentley wanted to go as Will, but then he saw the demogorgon costume and now that’s up in the air. But, if they can’t decide before we go to Spirit Halloween, I’m going to just go with the girls and they can fend for themselves.”

Miles let out a snort as Vivien dropped her shoe to the floor, “Then I’ll have to listen to them whining for the foreseeable future.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Miles chuckled and shook his head, “Speaking of problems, we need to talk about something, but first, can you move your foot at all?”

Vivien sucked in a breath and winced as she moved her foot around in a slow circle, “Yeah, but it hurts.”

“Alright, so it’s definitely not broken,” he mused, “but it could be a sprain or a twist.”

“My bet’s on a sprain,” Vivien commented. “Even with a twist, I can stand and put weight on it.”

Miles looked around, “Do you know where they keep the crutches?”

Raising a hand, Vivien pointed to a closet on the far wall, “In there. The code for the lock is nineteen-seventy-three - the year Nonna and Grandpa George got married.”

Miles stood and made his way to the closet, setting the lock aside and opening the door before grabbing a set of crutches and making his way back to Vivien. “How tall are you?” he asked as he examined the slider at the bottom of the metal crutches.

“Five-eight,” she replied. As Miles got to work on adjusting her crutches, Vivien used a sigh to blow her hair from her face and asked, “So, what problems do we need to talk about?”

Glancing up at the girl before him, Miles took in a breath and asked, “Do you remember the other day when you and I were talking about Mick being pregnant?”

The brunette thought for a moment before slowly nodding, “Uh, yeah, why? Is she?”

“No,” Miles said before pausing. “Actually, I don’t know. What I do know is that a group of campers overheard us and has been spreading a rumor around camp that Mick’s pregnant.”

Vivien let out a humorless chuckle, “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I was.”

“How did you find out about it?” she asked.

“Royce told me and Bentley had told him,” Miles stated. “I guess Bentley heard it from Carrie who heard it from Charlie who heard it when the campers went to the dance studio after overhearing us talk about it.”

Vivien thought about the chain of events before recalling, “When the door slammed and I went to check it, there were campers running to the dance studio, but they were far enough away that I thought it couldn’t have been them.”

“Well, I guess it actually was.” Miles set the crutches aside for Vivien and looked up at her before saying, “Now, we have to fix it.”

Vivien nodded slowly, “We should talk to Mick first and get things straight. If the rumor is about her, she should know about it.”

“Yeah, and even if she’s actually pregnant, it would be best to get the story straight,” Miles agreed.

Vivien nodded, but before she could say anything more, the door to the health center opened and Butchy stepped inside, sending the pair a smile as he asked, “How’s everything going?”

Miles was the first to answer, “It’s probably a sprain.”

“I’ll be fine after a day or two,” Vivien shrugged. “I’ve sprained my foot before and it never lasts long if I take a day off of it.”

“Alright,” Butchy said with a small grin, “in that case, consider yourself crutch-bound for the next few days.”

“It’s going to suck at the carnival tomorrow,” Vivien sighed, “but that’s what I get for doing stupid shit.”

Fighting the instinct to tell the teenager off for swearing when a child could walk in at any minute, Butchy chuckled and leaned against the bed next to her, “We’ll work something out for you tomorrow, piccola. One of those air casts or a brace, maybe.”

“Maybe.” Vivien shrugged, “As long as I get to go on the Tilt-A-Whirl, I’ll be fine with whatever.”

Butchy reached up, bringing an arm around Vivien’s shoulders with a smile, “Atta girl. You feel up to going back to the amphitheatre and watching the rest of the competition?”

“It might take me a while to get there,” Vivien snickered as she took her new metallic friends and settled them under her arms, “but yeah. Are Noah and Riven still in it?”

“Noah lost the ropes course to Riven, but that’s all I know,” Butchy claimed as he stood.

As Vivien stood and began hobbling her way to the door she turned to Miles and asked, “Are you coming?”

Miles smiled, “Yeah, I just have to lock up the closet again. I’ll meet you along the way.”

“Okay,” she said, allowing Butchy to take the lead as she made her way outside.

Once the closet was locked up once again, Miles pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his messages. Finding his last conversation with Mick, he typed, 'Can we talk later? In private?'

It wasn’t long before he got a reply, 'Of course, why, what’s up?'

'Too much to type. Meet in the playhouse after dinner?'

'Sure, see you there.'

It wasn’t often that Butchy found himself walking back to the cabin without Mick by his side, however, as he had kitchen duty that week, he had told her to just head out while he got to work cleaning up. Though the air outside the mess hall was still thick with humidity, the sky had begun to darken and cool the heat of the day. The amount of plates covered in chili and melted cheese had made his fingertips turn to raisins in the soapy sink water and the steam from the hot water made him feel as though he’d been working in a sauna, but the cooler outside air was a welcoming contrast to the heat of the wooden building. Taking in a deep breath, Butchy sighed as a breeze blew by, urging him to make his way back to the lodge he resided in.

He wondered what everyone was up to. They wouldn’t have a game night or movie night without him there as they only ever spent those nights as a whole group. Maybe they were sitting around the living room, doing their own thing. Mick would probably be reading in her corner of the couch while Miles and Riven talked music on the opposite end. Charlie, Jade, and Carrie would most likely be found painting each others’ faces in jelly masks while Bentley and Royce would be on the floor with Vivien, talking about things they only ever talked about together. If he had to guess, Erica and Hayley would be talking off to the side. For some reason, the unlikely pair had grown close after Erica discovered Hayley was the wild child in her family and Butchy had seen the two talking a lot as of late.

Letting out a long breath, Butchy pushed his hair back and began the walk home. Normally the walk went by quickly as everyone chattered about their days and the camper drama they had heard. However, as cicadas chirped in the bushes and the faint buzz of the sparse overhead lights, the journey felt as though it would take a lifetime. A few cabins still had campers and counselors lingering outside, chatting as they dreaded the call of lights out, but many kept their doors closed as they prepared for the evening.

Pushing his way through a line of bushes, Butchy took a shortcut between the health center and the playhouse, glancing toward the health center to make sure the lights were off before continuing toward the playhouse. Spotting a light on through one of the side windows, Butchy made his way to the back of the building, opened the screen door, and pushed his way inside before pulling out his cell phone for a flashlight. Just as he flicked it on, he heard a voice from the main hall where a performance would be rehearsed for the next week.

Choosing to not call out in case it was just people cleaning, Butchy made his way through the back rooms before stepping through the doorway that led to the back of the stage. As he got closer, the voices got louder and, before long, he could make out a set of distinct voices. A heavy sigh came from the main room before he heard a familiar voice say, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Mick? What was she doing in the playhouse at this hour? Was she helping someone run lines? Then another voice cut through Butchy’s thoughts, “I wish I was.”

Miles. Since when did he have anything to do with the play? He hated being on stage. Before Butchy could peer around the curtains of the stage to see what was going on, his hand stilled in the air and another voice filled the air, “I mean, at least you found out from us first and not from some random campers, right?”

Vivien’s question gave Butchy pause. As far as he could recall, Hairspray didn’t have a summer camp. Whatever they were discussing, had nothing to do with the play. Lowering his hand, Butchy listened as his wife scoffed, “Still! Half the camp thinks I’m pregnant and I had no clue! Is that why everyone’s been asking me if I’m okay and checking on me all the time?”

“Probably,” Vivien said. “It could just be that they were worried about you.”

“Why would they be?” Mick pressed. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t eating well and you got nauseous at breakfast almost every day,” Miles stated.

Mick let out a sigh and Butchy could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration as she huffed, “I started my period and my sense of smell went haywire. It usually goes away after the first few days.”

“You were tired all the time too,” Vivien chimed in.

Butchy had noticed Mick’s exhaustion as of late, but he knew Mick had a good explanation for that as well. “I have two reasons for that,” she began. “First off, I was trying to finish my book before my interest in it died during the week. And, second, Butchy and I have been going on late-night excursions for the camp.”

“You have?” Vivien asked. “Why?”

Mick sighed, “I can’t say just yet, but you’ll see sooner or later. For now, just know that, no, I’m not pregnant. We’ll just have to work on clearing it all up over the weekend with all the kids gone.”

“How are we going to do that?” Miles asked.

Again, Mick sighed, her voice low as she said, “I don’t know, but we can start by spreading things to the counselors. Once they know the truth, they can talk with the campers and clear the air in the privacy of their cabins.”

“We can also tell everyone in our cabin so they can relax,” Vivien added.

“Who else knows about this and didn’t say anything?” Mick asked.

“Royce told me,” Miles began, “and he found out from Bentley, who was told by Carrie, who heard it from Charlie, who was told by the dancers.”

“And I talked to Riven and Aunt Hayley about it

“So practically everyone?” Mick asked.

Vivien chuckled nervously, “To be fair, not everyone believed it, so they didn’t say anything to anybody outside of the cabin.”

“Actually,” Miles started, “Bentley said he talked to Erica and Jade, but I think they’re the only ones outside of the cabin who knew.”

“The only person I think hasn’t heard about it, is Butchy,” Vivien claimed.

“Yeah,” Miles agreed, “I think he would’ve said something if he did.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Mick huffed. After a moment of silence, she took in a breath and said, “We’ll start tonight. We can talk to everyone and make sure everything is smoothed out. As long as we can get through to most of the people in our cabin tonight, I’ll feel better about it, but I want to talk to Butchy about it one-on-one.”

“That’s understandable,” Miles stated.

“I’ll work on everyone else at breakfast,” Vivien said. “I know a few people who would spread it around fastest. Once I get to them, things will clear up pretty quickly.”

As the call for everyone to return to their cabins echoed through the camp, Butchy heard Mick let out a relieved sigh, “With any luck, this will be over before the campers come back.”

“Yeah,” Vivien said optimistically.

“Now, lets get back before the others send out a search party,” Miles chuckled.

“And get to clearing the air with everyone before Butchy gets back from cleaning the mess hall,” Vivien added.

“Yeah,” Mick muttered.

As Butchy listened to their footsteps echo throughout the playhouse, he inched the curtain to the side, watching as his wife left with Miles and Vivien’s arms wrapped around her. None of them looked back to see him standing there, watching them, and as Miles flicked the house lights off, turning the playhouse into a dark abyss of shadows, Butchy wondered how long they had been there, talking. Had he found them early in the conversation or had they been there since they left the mess hall?

Another thing that came to the front of Butchy’s mind was how everyone seemed to know apart from him. Was he truly the last person in their cabin to hear the rumor about Mick’s pregnancy? Who could have started something like that and how had the rumor begun spreading? If it was truly just a rumor as it sounded like Mick said it was, how had it spread throughout the camp? And, again, how would he have been the last to know? As the father of Mick’s rumored child, why would he be the last person in line to know?

Taking in a breath, Butchy shook his head and sighed. He was overthinking it. Mick already said it was nothing more than a rumor; he had nothing to be stressed over. It wasn’t like she was actually pregnant and simply chose not to tell him. If that had been the case, he would have had every right in the world to be at least a little bit upset. That would have been an entirely new can of worms to crack open.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket once more, Butchy turned on the flashlight and made his way back to the back door, ensuring that the lights were off and everything was put away before leaving the playhouse and making his way to the path that connected to the beach. He took his time getting back to the cabin and, by the time he reached the sand of the beach, the sun had set behind the treeline and everyone was congregating on the end of the pier. Despite their smiling faces and jokes about how many dishes he must have had to scrub, he could see in their eyes how serious their previous conversations must have been.

As Butchy took his seat on the pier beside his wife and felt her head rest cozily on his shoulder, he wondered just how long it would take her to tell him. After spending so much time with her, he knew she would need time to sort through her thoughts and feelings on the matter. He had no issue allowing her the space to do so. If he had found out some rumor about himself was spreading amongst his closest friends as well as a myriad of gossiping campers, he would be pretty worked up about it too. As they watched the sunset illuminate the sky, Butchy allowed himself to relax. After all, he had nothing to worry about… right?

Ah, the carnival. The only place where the overwhelming smell of popcorn and fried dough, the sky-high prices of tickets, and the crowds packed tighter than a tin of sardines didn't have any effect on people’s happiness. Workers standing in the summer heat called for people of all ages to try the rigged games they were stationed at, begging them to pay five dollars for a toy they could easily buy at the dollar store. While parents were dragged to ticket counters and various rides their children claimed they just had to ride, groups of teenagers and adults alike gathering on the weekend for a day away from jobs and other responsibilities, roamed free.

After Vivien’s grandparents reassured the group that they had bought day-pass bracelets for everyone, they were practically ushered to the parking lot and encouraged to have a good day away from everything. Upon their arrival at the fairgrounds, the group filed out of the van and found their way through the crowds of people to the line that extended from a row of brightly-colored ticket booths. After making their way to the front of the line and being handed a stack of bracelets with rubber bands wrapped around it, the group found their way to a fairly unoccupied table and worked on figuring out what to do for the day.

After deciding to meet at the Ferris Wheel to figure out what to have for lunch, almost everyone went their separate ways. Vivien and Riven were quick to race to a ride called Pharaoh's Fury, eager to prove that they could handle the pendulum-style ride. Royce and Bentley followed the skating duo but quickly branched off to the nearby Scrambler when Bentley saw just what the Pharaoh’s Fury entailed. As Miles and Carrie wandered off to find something to do, Butchy allowed Mick to guide him around the fairgrounds.

They walked in relative silence, the screams of people on rides and the calls from game operators the only sounds nearby. Butchy wondered what could be going on in Mick’s head. She hadn’t said much of anything since the night before and, while Butchy didn’t want to press her to talk, he missed the sound of her voice. Taking in a breath, Butchy looked around and offered, “Would you like some cotton candy?”

Mick looked up at him and thought for a moment before shaking her head, “Not right now. I think I’ll wait until after we go on some rides to eat anything.”

“Where would you like to go first?” he asked.

With a sigh, Mick looked around and shrugged, “I have no idea.”

Butchy allowed her to look around, taking in the different rides and attractions before asking, “Mickie, are you alright?”

Peering curiously up at her husband, Mick slowly replied, “I was until you asked. Why?”

“You’ve been pretty quiet today,” Butchy stated, “and, usually, you have days like this planned down to the tiniest detail. I was just worried.”

Heaving a sigh, Mick shook her head, “I just have a lot on my mind today. I wanted to talk with you about it when we’re alone, but it doesn’t seem like that will be any time soon.”

Deciding it would be best to inadvertently hit the nail on the head, Butchy lowered his voice and asked, “Is it about that rumor that was going around camp?” When Mick’s wide eyes met his, Butchy sighed, “I don’t know what you heard, but I swear, I didn’t take kitchen duty this week in order to poison Carrie. Not only would it risk poisoning everyone at camp, but it would also make me the number one suspect in her murder, according to Vivien.”

Mick stopped in her tracks and, once Butchy turned back to face her, she asked, “Wait, so you’ve had rumors going around about you this week too?”

“Yeah,” Butchy claimed. “I’m assuming you have too?”

“Yeah,” Mick breathed. “Everyone was saying I was pregnant.”

Butchy froze as though he was hearing this for the first time. Looking his wife over, he took a step closer to her, taking her by the arms as he softly asked, “You’re not?”

“No,” Mick giggled, “I just said it was a rumor.”

Butchy glanced around before quietly saying, “We can change that, if you’d like.”

Mick’s eyes widened as she muttered, “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be a rumor.” With a teasing smirk, Butchy continued, “We could sneak off to the car and nobody would know.”

A shocked noise left Mick and her face burned as she squawked, “Butchy!”

“What?” Butchy asked in mock-astonishment. “I just thought we could go get one of those fake pregnancy tests from that joke shop near Walmart. I don’t know what you were thinking we’d be doing.”

Mick smacked Butchy’s chest as she huffed, “Remind me why I married you.”

“I wish I knew,” Butchy chuckled as he brought an arm around Mick’s shoulders. “I think you were just in it for the motorcycle and I was like the cruddy little prize at the bottom of the cereal box - unnecessary, but you still took it anyway.”

“Sounds about right,” Mick said with a smile, nudging Butchy with her elbow before bringing her arm around his middle. “So, you never heard about the pregnancy rumor?”

“Not until you said something,” Butchy stated. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He had heard her say it the night before, but she didn’t need to know that. “What about you? Had you heard about me poisoning Carrie?”

Mick snorted, “No, but to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past you.”

Acting as though he’d been shot in the heart, Butchy brought a hand to his chest and gasped, “And here I thought you’d be my alibi for the crime.”

“Yeah, no,” Mick said with a shake of her head as she led her husband toward a swinging chair ride. “You and I both know I’m a terrible liar, so the chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“Guess that means I should put the antifreeze back in the truck, then, huh?”

“Butchy!”

#Camp Wanamaker

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commander-writergirl · 1 year

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Red String of Fate 2

Synopsis: In a world where your soulmate is picked for you with a name tattooed, you are born with the rare trait of not seeing colors until you meet yours. You never expected the universe to foresee the divided mind of your other half.

Pair: Jake Lockley x Jewish!fem!reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!fem!reader, Marc Spector

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mention of child abuse (verbal), mentions of death, car crash, drunk driver, alcoholism

Word Count: 2,151

Tags: @softlyspector @romanarose @ginger-haired-queen @loonymagizoologist

“Wait, wait.” I turned from the eggs I was cooking to look at Steven. “Why didn’t you tell me before you were vegan?”

The spoon Steven held stopped halfway to his mouth before setting it back in the bowl. “Y-you just always seemed so happy to cook for me. I didn’t want to ruin it.” He answered rubbing his hands along his pants.

Steven still had a lot of nervous energy around me even after months of being together.

And I knew he was being honest, Jake even stepped out of the kitchen when I began cooking because I just disappeared into my own little world. I hadn’t gotten around to telling the boys about my mother yet... even almost 16 years later, her death still hung around.

I shook my head and walked over to Steven. Once I stood next to him, I ran my fingers through his curls. “You could have told me; I could have tried to cook more vegan friendly meals.”

He leaned into my hand, his eyes drifting close. I smiled lightly and tilted his head back before pressing my lips to his. He hummed and held me close to his side. I giggled. “Jake would have taken the chance to bend me over the table.”

Steven nodded, “Yea, the bloke won’t stop mentioning it.”

I shook my head, “Well now I know to make more vegan meals.” I said walking back to the stove and finishing up my eggs.

Steven’s spoon clanked against the bowl a few times. “Well maybe if you keep them kosher, it won't be so bad.”

I smiled to myself, moving the eggs from the frying pan to my plate. “I can certainly do that.” I grabbed my plate and walked over to the table.

“So, any plans today?” Steven asked, resuming his task of finishing his cereal before it got too soggy.

I took a bit of egg before answering him, “Yes, I have matinee ticket to a friend's production.” I looked at my watch. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” I shoveled a few more bites into my mouth before getting up and running back to my bag that now had an almost permanent place in the apartment.

“Well, I’ll be at the museum today so no Jake randomly picking you up.” Steven said with a smile.

I rolled my eyes; how could I be attached to two men so competitive for my attention. Well technically three, but Marc was still hiding himself. I knew he came out when the boys weren’t around me, keeping himself distant.

I quickly slipped into the sunset dress I brought and turned in it a few times making the skirt ‘swish’ about. I nodded to myself, “Okay, this works.” I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my heels on.

“Oh, bloody hell,” I looked up to see Steven standing in the door frame with his hand on his heart. “You have to warn me when you’re dressed like that darling.”

I giggled and got up grabbing my purse as I walked over to him. “Sorry, I kind of forgot I even had this dress until a few months ago.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me deeply. I smiled and kissed him back cupping his cheek. It was always hard to pull away from Steven and Jake, the soulmate bond having full effect almost.

I hummed and pulled away. “If I miss this, my friend will kill me. I will see you both tonight.” I pecked his lips before stepping around him heading for the front door. “Love you, bye.” I shouted before stepping out and heading for the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~

Steven rolled his neck sighing as the bone cracked.

“Why can't I go do my job?” Jake asked for the... well Steven didn’t quite know how many times Jake had asked that. Probably since Steven grabbed the spot in the archive room almost; he glanced at his watch, four hours ago. Thankfully it was still daylight out.

“Because this is my job and we agreed to alternate who does what.” Steven rubbed his eyes, the text in front of him blurring a little.

“At least we aren’t doing Marc’s job.” Jake grumbled.

“Screw both of you.” Marc spat out in the headspace.

Steven looked over at the glass display and could see Marc scowling. Which since you came into their lives has been the norm. He still hadn’t shown himself and even Steven was losing patience with it. He woke to find himself on the couch when he could have sworn up and down, he fell asleep with you wrapped around him.

“Maybe if you just showed yourself to her Spector, you would feel a lot better.” Jake said, showing up in another glass display, mustache and all.

“I don’t know what you think but I don’t deserve her affection.”

Steven grounded his teeth. There were days where he wished he had the ability to put the walls between them back up, but Jake didn’t deserve that. “Obviously the universe, the Fates, whatever you believe, knew what would become of you and still believed you deserved a partner.” Steven snapped.

Almost a year of this. Of Marc’s self-deprecation. It was grating on everyone. Steven and Jake could both see it hurt you that Marc didn’t want to meet you. Even when you said it was fine and gave them a smile, they could see the pain.

When Steven was met with only silence, he returned to the text he was working on and was able to focus once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

I traced random shapes on Jake’s chest as he snored softly. As my finger ran over a specific scar, his arm tightened around my waist before his eyelids fluttered. I looked up to meet molten brown eyes.

“Mornin’ mi vida.”

“Mornin’,” I leaned up and kissed his cheek. He smiled and ran his finger over my thread bracelet.

“Who gave this to you?” He messed with the moon charm. “Because I wonder if they had any idea of who you were connected with.”

I tried not to think too much about what Marc did at night for an Egyptian deity, usually just worried me. “My mother.” I watched as he twisted the charm.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

I felt the burning start behind my eyes. “Believe me, I wish you could.” I sniffled and sat up.

“Mi vida?” I felt him pull me to his lap.

I took a shaky breath and wiped away tears. “She died, 15 years ago.” I looked at him to see him blink a few times. “I know it was so long ago and I shouldn’t be crying about it.” I looked down and curled in on myself.

He stroked my cheek. “What happened?”

I sniffled, “She was picking me up from a function or something, I can’t remember.” I could hear the music that had been playing. She had some Bruce Springsteen playing and I was laughing at her lip singing. I remembered the headlights... “We were hit by a drunk driver. The doctors said she died on impact, but that it was a miracle I survived.” I shook my head. “I haven’t felt lucky, and then after her death, my dad he...” I sighed.

“It’s okay, take your time mi amor.” Jake pressed a kiss to my temple and brushed my hair back. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

I nuzzled into his chest. “You never told me who was the uh,” I closed my eyes trying to remember the term. “The host was.”

He set his chin on the top of my head. “Marc is.”

I ran one of my fingers along the vain running in his forearm. “Funny, he doesn’t want to meet me. Considering I was probably originally born to be his.”

“Well, the time between the universes creation of you and you meeting us has been filled with roads of bullshit and death. He doesn’t believe he deserves you.” Jake rubbed circles along my bare thigh.

I sighed, “I like cooking because I had to take care of myself for a while and it reminds me of my mom.” I moved to rest my head on his shoulder. “My dad, he lost himself when she died. He began to drink excessively. A man who hated liquor caused bottles to litter our home.”

I felt Jake tense and realized I needed to keep going. “I came home from school one day and he passed out on the couch. I decided that for the moment, I needed to be an adult. I started with picking up all the empty bottles. I then took all but one vodka from the house to the bar down the block. And when I got home, I began to cook dinner.”

I remember that day, I had therapy and was home later than usual. “When he finally woke up, he went for the bottle of bourbon that had been on the table. When he couldn’t find it, he began to look for it. The whole time I sat at the island eating dinner and finishing my homework.”

The look in his eyes when he realized what I did.” I shook my head. “My father doesn’t scare me, but the look on his face that day.” I sighed. “I thought he was finally gonna break and blame me for my mom dying, I had been blaming myself. Hence the therapy.” I felt Jake slowly relax as I squeezed his hand. “But I guess something in my face told him, I wasn’t afraid of him even then. He cried a lot after my mom but after the tears were gone, he drank.”

“Whatever he saw in your face that night broke him again?” Jake asked.

I nodded. “He did and after that we went to family therapy, and he got better. After a few years of that, our therapist explained that losing his soulmate had broken a part of my father so much that she was surprised I was able to pull him back.” I sighed and moved so I could look at him. “And that is my tale of woe.”

Jake stroked my cheek. “Aw mi sol.”

I sniffled and laid my hand over his. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his hand spread from my cheek to the rest of my body.

When I felt his body tense again, it felt... different. “Marc?”

He huffed, “They were right, you are good at sensing that.” Midwestern accent, not what I was expecting.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He had the same brown eyes, but I could see something else in them. Something I didn’t usually see in Steven or Jake. A sense of being lost, unfocused.

“Why now?” I whispered. As he began to turn away, I cupped his jaw. “Marc, why now?” I repeated, a sternness in my voice.

He gripped my wrist and for a moment, I worried he would shove me away. But his thumbs rubbed against my pulse points. “Because you don’t deserve to be in pain because I’m...” He sighed and kissed the inside of my palm. “I don’t feel deserving because of the things I did. Because someone told me for too long, I was a mistake. A monster.”

I wanted to tell him that whoever said those things was a liar, but I also felt that once he told me who had been saying those things, I would understand why they still stuck so much with him.

“Who made you believe those things baby?” I watched some of the tension in his shoulders vanish from the nickname.

“My mother.” He looked at me and I caught the small crack in his armor. “I did a stupid thing as a kid, and I got my brother killed. She blamed me, took all her pain out on me.” He took a shaky breath. “It’s taken me a long time to realize, I couldn’t have known what would happen. I was a kid, I wanted to have fun.”

“Is that what caused the break?” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “First, I went to therapy for years. And second, I know the boys let you in on my fascination with psychology.”

He shook his head, “Right.” He took my left hand from his face and began to mess with the charms on my thread. “Yes, it was.”

I nodded and moved to sit on my knees in front of him. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. I smiled and held my hand out. “Hi, I’m F/N L/N. And I think I might be your beshert.”

He chuckled and shook his head before shaking my hand. “Hi Y/N. I’m Marc Spector and I think you are right.”

I watched our hands shake and we both watched as the red thread slipped off my wrist.

----------------------------------

translation:

Beshert: “destined” or “intended.” An event, set of circumstances, or situation can all be referred to as bashert, implying that whatever happens was orchestrated by G-d, who ultimately has out best interests in mind.

In short, it’s the closest term in Hebrew/Yiddish to soulmates. Some Jews also see it as meaning “the right person, at the right time.”

#sammi writes #Jake lockley x jewish!reader #Steven Grant x Jewish!reader #Marc spector x Jewish!Reader #moon knight au #soulmate au #moon knight fic #oscar isaac characters #marvel fanfic #jewish reader #SJ writes #moon knight x jewish!reader #soulmate au but make it Jewish

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behindtheireyes · 1 year

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Harley stared out the front window of the trailer practically vibrating with excitement, there weren't many kids to play with in Forest Hills so the arrival of a boy about her age pretty much made her year. Before her mother had left she'd told Harley to not and go bug Mr. Munson before he left for work. The young girl kept her eyes glued to the clock on the microwave as she ate her soggy cereal waiting for the red numbers to flash at 7:30AM when she knew Mr. Munson would be getting ready to leave.

The trailer park had a lousy excuse of a playground but at least it was somewhere besides the front yard or driveway to play and the little girl really, REALLY, wanted to me the kid next store so they could play together. Maybe if he was nice and liked her she could talk to her Uncle Rick about him coming along on trips to the boathouse this summer. The more she thought about it the more excited she became at the prospect of having a new best friend, because Harley knew that she and the new kid would get along if just given a chance.

As soon as she saw the numbers turn to the right time Harley jumped up put her bowl in the sink and ran outside making sure that she had her key and that the front door was locked behind her. She only slowed down when she got to the bottom of Mr. Munson stairs to carefully walk up them and knock on the screen door, "Mr. Munson? It's Harley from next door!"

@edhellfire

#muse harley #queue

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incorrectsibunaquotes · 1 year

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Per request: Draft of Peddie fanfic from early April 2015 (I was about to turn 14)

The day started out just as awful as she thought it would be. Then, it ended completely different from what her imagination conjured.

Patricia was silent at the breakfast table that morning… Mostly, because she had no choice.

It had been a few days since Nina's “punishments” had gone into motion and making the club members' lives even more miserable than they already were.

Fabian kept leaning over to Mara to ask what time it was— there he went again, leaning over to ask,

“Um… excuse me… Marsy?… Do you have the time?”

“Marsy” looked kind of pissed off at the repeated question, and if Patricia could have made a teasing comment, she would have. But that just wasn't possible. She knew what she wanted to say, but by the time it reached her lips, the sound had already died away.

To make matters worse, the red-head had found enough courage to admit to Eddie— yes, that one— that she liked him back. But now he thought she was ignoring him!

It was a vicious cycle and Patricia was smart enough to know that if she didn't act soon, possibly her one and only chance at ever opening up to the headmaster's son would dissipate like the steam that currently rose from her teacup.

She felt a presence enter the dining room and she looked up to see the one and only Eddie Miller stalk into the room. His eyes locked with her's for longer than they really should have, and she felt her heart sink when she noticed that his gaze held was affectionless, platonic or otherwise.

She silently willed him with her eyes to understand that if she could speak, she would tell him what was really going on in her head, but he clearly didn't get the message as he pulled out the chair with a little forceful shriek of wood on wood emanating from the chair legs hitting the floor.

Patricia sighed, and lowered her head to concentrate on her cornflakes. She felt Nina put her hand on her shoulder apologetically. Before looking up, Patricia gave a brisk nod of her head, and Nina let go.

Maybe it was some bigger force— more than just a creepy-ass ghost with a bone to pick with Amneris's descendant— trying to tell her it was supposed to be this way: That she wasn't ever supposed to be with Eddie, and that she should continue to rebuff his attempts to break her wall of hostility.

She took a large bite of her cornflakes, grinding her teeth down onto the cereal until it was a soggy mess in her mouth. She swallowed and it slid down her throat uncomfortably, landing in her stomach with a sickening splash.

Patricia grimaced and honed in on Amber and Alfie's conversation, just for a little laugh to make her feel better and restore some of her appetite.

“… and put that down,” Amber growled, trying to snatch a butter knife away from Alfie. He had been licking it all over, and was now attempting to stick it up his nose.

Alfie's eyes widened with disbelief at Amber. Then he began to cry.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIENNNNNNNNNND!” the little boy that had pretty much taken over Alfie wailed, throwing the knife at Amber, who ducked, as the silverware clattered to the ground wear the divder met the floor. She stood up forcefully and gave Alfie a long challenging stare before realizing she looked garish and sat back down with a tiny thump.

The entire room was silent.

Nina had her face in her hands; Joy looked dumbfounded; Fabian looked confused (no surprise there); Amber had a sheepish expression all across her face; Mara and Eddie both wore the same expression of surprise; Trudy, who was standing in the kitchen, was flabbergasted; Jerome, of course, began to laugh.

“I knew Alfie was childish, but this is ridiculous!” he chuckled, standing up.

He held out his arm to Mara, who looked up at him in shock Alfie's outburst, and said flirtatiously, “My lady.”

She blinked, then rolled her eyes, taking his arm. Patricia wondered briefly if Mara was really so oblivious to the fact Jerome was fawning over her, or if she just didn't want to embarass him by saying she wasn't interested. After all, it had taken her all of last year to hold onto Mick, and, in Patricia's opinion, Mara would be a fool to take Jerome as her boyfriend. The hexed girl could only imagine the terrible things that could possibly happen if Mara dated Jerome— though none could be as worse as Sibuna's current condition.

After the flirt and his victim left for school, everyone else began dispersing too. As Patricia walked past, Nina whispered to her in a choked, small voice, “Free period. Drama Room. Sibuna.”

Then she was out the door, followed by Amber, who pulled Fabian along like a dog on a leash.

“Where are we going again?” Patricia heard as Fabian's voice was muffled by the old walls of the house.

“School, Fabian. School,” was Amber's reply. She sounded worn out, as if Alfie's knife throwing had taken all the life out of her.

Trudy pulled Alfie aside to speak to him for a moment, and that was Patricia's que to get up

#there’s more #not of this but other blurbs and snippets #house of anubis #tess writes

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zooone · 1 year

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about gr! wilbur...

i know these headcanons werent in the list but...

milk or cereal first what does he do

what if: buff girlfriend who is half his height but can pick him up and carry him wherever they want

he puts the milk first because "if the cereal goes first itll get soggy" or he puts the milk first and then microwaves it cuz he has little sensitive boy teeth (he is a loser.)

also yes. oh my god yes . shes picking him up bridal style and hes so scared she'll drop him and hes all "PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN"

#asks #gr!wilbur

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limoteethw · 1 year

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Home Page: Limotees

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Home Page: Limotees

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cdeity · 1 year

Text

Intertwine: Chapter 1

Toasty Bites

It's the same dream, as always. A void for as long as the mind can ponder. Although, empty a feeling of comfort echoes throughout. And yet, deep down, a feeling of displeasure. Ring. Ring. Ring. A phone rings out but as it's about to be answered, everything shatters. The time to dream is over.

Jacob opens his eyes. He grabs his phone, shutting off the alarm. It's the same routine. Get dressed. Wake up Coron. Eat. He walks downstairs, Coron is eating a bowl of cereal.

"You look like you got hit by a bus." Coron says bluntly.

"Isn't that normal?" Jacob replies. Coron contemplates for a moment before returning to his cereal.

"Any plans for the day?" Coron cheerfully asks. Jacob grabs a bowl before pouring himself some.

"Well today is my day off so, I'm probably going to just relax." Just then, someone knocks at the door.

"Cor, are you expecting company?" He shakes his head. Jacobs makes his way to the front door, he opens it to be met with a girl in front of him.

"Hi-huff my name-wheeze is Lezlie. A cat-huff climbed in your upstairs window."

"How does that even happen?"

"I was doing uppies with him and he got stuck in a tree, he ran along the branches into a room" Jacob sighs.

"Alright, I'll go find him."

"No wait, let me go with you. You don't exactly look friendly offense!" She says so amiably that he doesn't protest. He takes her upstairs,

"It was the room on the right." She says.

"Oh great. That's mine. Just don't touch anything while you're in there."

"Aye aye captain!" He opens the door and just as she says, there's a cat laying on his bed. He's grungy and beat up, with a missing ear. She reaches out to grab him but he paws her hand away.

"What's wrong boy? I'm sorry I threw you into the tree." She pouts. Jacob sighs kneeling down in front of the cat.

"Hey there little guy, you're probably having a bad day. I know what that's like. But if you come with me, I can promise you, it will be better." He reaches out a finger, the cat sniffs it before leaning into his hand, purring.

Jacob smiles, scratching under his chin.

"I'm Lezlie by the way. And this is. Actually, he doesn't have a name."

"You haven't named your cat?"

"Oh he's not my cat. He belongs to the wild. He is a free spirit."

"Well he's lucky that it was my window and not some weirdo's." The cats ear perks up.

"Hm, what's up boy? You like that? Lucky?" The cat meows in response.

"Lucky it is." Lucky meows, jumping on his shoulder.

"Do I have a cat now?" Lezlie nods excitedly. The two of them walk downstairs, Jacob carrying Lucky.

"Coron. We have a cat now." Coron look up from his phone, his mouth full of cereal.

"M'kay, bu' I'm no' carryin' th' foo' home. Alsho, you're cleanin' th' litter."

Lezlie frowns.

"Did I ruin breakfast? I'm so sorry! Your cereal is probably soggy by now!" She runs out of the house. Jacob and Coron both look at each other confused. Lucky jumps out of Jacobs arm, landing on the table. He makes himself at home in the fruit bowl.

"D'z he h've rab'esh?"

"I don't think so. Let's burn the fruit in case." Lezlie bursts back in the house, carrying ingredients.

"I am making YOU breakfast!!!!!!" She excitedly drops the ingredients on the kitchen counter. She looks at Jacob, dead set.

"Just don't burn the house down."

She quickly gets to work. Sounds of clattering and mixing echo from the kitchen.

"What do you think she's making in there?"

"Food." Jacob replies matter of factly.

"One of these days, you're going to wake up with a pillow on your face."

"And I will welcome it with a sweet embrace." Lezlie hops into the couch, between the two of them.

"Whatcha talking about?"

"Death" "Pillows" they say at the same time. She looks puzzled before shrugging.

"Whatcha watching."

"Oh it's Coron's favorite show. Some mecha anime. He's watched it like 3 times now."

"It's really good! Don't judge me." Lezlie grins.

"My favorite anime is Devil hunter." Both Jacob and Coron groan in response.

"That show sucks." Jacob scoffs. Coron shakes his head.

"It's like dangling keys for a baby"

The toaster oven beeps.

"Oh it's done!" Lezlie squeals. She sets down some food on the table.

"What is it?" Coron inquires.

"French toast bites! They're like French toast, but bitey!" She exclaimed "Try one!" She excitedly shoves one into Jacob's mouth.

"How is it? Good right?" Jacob gives her a thumbs up. She walks to the sink and starts washing dishes. Coron looks at Jacob

"You do realize we let a complete stranger in our house, and then let her cook for us. She could have drugged us for all we know." He gripes. Jacob just shrugs.

"Mmm, mffh... You've gothh sumthin' betherr to do?" He says dryly, his mouth full.

"Oh, you guys should come over to my house!" Lezlie gushes. "Unless you have plans today." She quickly corrects herself.

"Nah, we're not busy. Right Coron?"

"Actually I wa-" he's cut off by Jacob socking him in the arm.

"Right Coron?"

"Yeah yeah. didn't have to hit me so hard." He mutters to himself.

"Let me just grab the keys. Coron, you should grab your pair just in case."

"Okay?" He replies. Both of them walk upstairs. When they end up at the top, Jacob turns to Coron.

"Look, it's obvious this girl's lonely. It wouldn't hurt to at least humor her, right? I'm sure you've had moments where you've felt lonely."

"Not really. I have lots of friends. I'm not you." Jacob wraps his arm around Coron, giving him a nugie.

"Yeah? You had to go for a gut punch huh?" Coron struggles to get free.

"It's not fair. You're bigger than I am!"

"It's the rules of nature. If I wanted to, I could pick you up and throw you down the stairs."

"That's murder you'd go to jail."

"A worthy sacrifice." Jacob picks up Coron, placing him on his shoulders.

"Come on, we shouldn't keep her waiting."

"I'm not a kid. I can walk."

"I know."

#Story #Romance #big brother #younger brother #sisters

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

2 _ 40 _ The Door That was Shut

First

Nothing happened for a long time. It was Mono and the Thin Man, hiding from the world. Unless Mono left the dwelling to check the corridors and other places, and went beyond the broken space in the collapsed section of hall.

Not much could be gathered from the other dwellings. The rooms didn’t have a lot to offer that was interesting, and the vacant residencies endured terrible damage from relentless storms. Trauma in the walls and upper levels redirected the excess of gushing runoff, all of which drilled through hidden cuvees throughout the building. Mono was made aware of this, upon trying to use a vertical climb in a rotted wall, but couldn’t go higher than five planks due to the cascade of water. He wanted to stay dry for some while since he was out of the rain, and trying to curl up in a rest pile was hard when his coat hung on his body like a glove.

The bulk of his exploration focused on figuring which areas on the reachable (and dry) floors had foods. Most of the dwellings he could get into, either with a teleport leap or using a box or whatever else sat available in the corridor to reach a latch. No Viewers clambered around the rooms, and even better, no televisions.

Unfortunately, not much good foods either.

He ate as much as he could at every chance, then took something back for the Thin Man. Of course, the tall thin man never wanted whatever Mono hauled in (he was too picky), but Mono showed him that he was never forgotten.

As for the Thin Man, he was better. Mono couldn’t figure if the tall thin man was actually hurt, nothing the man in the hat did ever made sense. He did without reason.

The box of food thing Mono hauled through the main door, the way he always did on his returns. The door itself was tricky and never cooperated, he couldn’t get it shut enough to make him at ease. However! He needed to check on the Thin Man, but he also needed to put the food box away. He dragged the hefty container through the short corridor and into the kitchen place, and stuck it into an open bottom draw. With the other food things he stashed for the man in the hat. Mono never touched them.

The static prickled up the corridor, preceding the actual appearance of the tall thin man. As the imposing silhouette made his usual lap outside the kitchen, the distressed lights of the room shimmered.

Mono adjusted the paper bag on his head and scrambled after the disjointed shadow. He stayed close on the Thin Man’s heels, watching the back of his legs. In case he stopped or something. And for some time he followed the Thin Man from-and-into-and-through each of the rooms of the upper floor.

The Thin Man didn’t show that he searched for anything or something in particular. It was like lost, but the Thin Man couldn’t be lost because Mono was there. At times the tall figure stopped to regard the broken bare ribs of a wall, and touch his chin or his hat. The way Mono did when he puzzled through tricky puzzler tricks and traps. So much quiet think.

“Hey?” Mono rasped. Did he lose Mono?

He did notice Mono was there. Sometimes the man in the hat heard his airy calls and turned to him, tilting his head. Mono wanted to tug on his slacks or put his arms up, but he was firstly cautious. He wanted the Thin Man to be okay, but the tall thin man was having thoughts, and many of thoughts at that. The man in the hat didn’t make a sound at Mono, aside from the ever present crackling currents. Without a speek, he would shake his head or touch his hat, and turn to walk away. But Mono would chase.

Mono did inspect the rooms over himself, while the Thin Man stood watching something or was be distracted by a crack in the floor. It did sometimes make him uneasy, because the Thin Man would typically do the big speek. This was different. The Thin Man wasn’t hurt or broken, he was okay. Something was wrong. Was his head different? The Thin Man knows everything.

For some time, Mono hid and did his own quiet watch. He squeezed into the space beneath a collapsed cabinet box, and watched the Thin Man come and go from the room. He still wanted to be near the Thin Man, in case he lost Mono and didn’t know where he was. The unknown and mystifying antics of the Thin Man made him want to hide more, and let the Thin Man do his search.

While in the kitchen, hidden in the corner behind the heap of dismantled cabinets, he heard the Thin Man do his speek.

“Ï̸̻̼ ̸̬͚̑̾N̷̈ͅê̵͓̩v̶̱̖̓͠e̷͍͔͒r̶̯̾ ̶̰̮̈̚B̸͇̉̋e̶͙̓͝l̵̳̬̾̊i̶̟̱̚͝e̵͍̩̿͑v̵̤̮͑͝ȅ̴͈͕̓d̸̡́ ̶̝͈Ṱ̴͉̌̐h̵̙͂ĭ̵̬͙̓s̴͉͌͝ ̷̰͊̓W̴̫͝o̶̫̊͒u̵͉̚l̷͉̦̓̃d̵͚͑ ̴̲̈̈́B̶̟̽e̵͖̋͠ ̸̢̜̒A̵̰͋ ̷͚̭̕S̷̹̈́i̴̧̩̇m̴͔̰̐p̴̥̀ͅl̶̤̂e̴͉̲͂ ̵̨̺̀͘T̶̗͖͌̐á̶̼̭̿s̸͖̠͊k̶͎̖͂.̸͙̥̉̋ ̶̠͈͂́Ḧ̶̯͙o̴̪͆͜w̸̙̥̃̊ë̶̡̝́v̴͙͋ḛ̶̠̿ŗ̷̊͌!̶͔̚ ̶̳̐͝T̶̻̓h̵͉̤̃̓e̵̠̪̍y̴̫ͅ ̷̤̩̑M̵̯͇̿̋u̷̦͌s̷̛͙t̵̨̮̊ ̴̬̒̚H̸̹̓͜͠ả̸̖̺v̶̫̂̍e̴͔͓͌͒ ̴̩̄̿K̸̟̓̈͜n̵̩̐o̸̥͑w̶̖̠̽̑n̵̳̊ ̶̫͒Š̷̪̭O̵̭͎M̷̧̑É̸̥͇͛T̵̰̫̆H̴͈̹̑͠Í̷͕N̵͚̅G̶͍̐̇!̵͕̝̈́”

The biz-ee gave the Thin Man such trouble. Going and doing, then come back. At least he could trust Mono to do his job, and that was one thing the Thin Man did not have a fret about.

Fret. Mono liked that speek. Simple and to the point.

He used a chunk of plaster to carve off the surface color of the wood, and make a picture speek. He did the doorway with the chair, some cages for children, and a bird. He made the marks good and deep, so they wouldn’t fade for a while. Mono was here, too. Friend bear came to visit too.

Did She remember Mono? Would She sit somewhere for a span of a while for the rest, and remember that She and Mono traveled, and did pack? It didn’t seem like She could miss him, if She wanted him gone. Mono had confusing and weird thoughts about his old pack, though. The ones that shared speek. Sometimes, he only remembered he hated them for being gone. Yet, he would miss them too.

After drawing up a strange story speek, Mono crawled out from behind the cabinet stack and climbed onto the countertop. He managed to haul out a cup from the upper cupboard, and get the faucet turned to start the water in the sink.

However, when he tried to drop off the counter with a full cup, he misjudged the weight in his arms and all that coming down onto his feet. By quick reflex alone, he managed to save most of the liquid from spilling all over him. At the expense of his butt. He had to collect himself quickly and hurry over to the murky space beneath the broken cabinets, since he left the water trickling.

It took some time, but the sink – with no good drain – flooded over, and water gushed down the bent cabinet doors.

Mono pushed the bag up and sipped at his cup. For a time, he watched the liquid stretch and gather dust all across the floorboards, and carry the debris of boats along its slick surface. He wondered if the water would be trapped in the kitchen, since there seemed to be spaces in the floor where the liquid seeped into. It might flood the lower level, but not completely. Only certain places would get flooded entirely by rain or faucets, but not usually rooms with broken floors.

Once his cup was empty, he went to the cabinet and did his best to collect water trickling down the sides. He didn’t get much, but he wasn’t that thirsty.

He found the Thin Man in the room with the bookshelf, though the man in the hat was not looking at the books, nor near the bookshelf at all. The bent figure slouched against the far wall, legs bent up and the long-long arms draped over his peaked knees. His hat did not raise when Mono approached.

Mono set the cup down between the Thin Man’s shoes, then, stretched up to tug at one of the fingers dangling. “Psst. Hey.” The Thin Man flicked his hand, but Mono didn’t think he was awake. “Hoi.” The hands drew up and out of reach, the fingers wove together.

“N̷͇̕o̸̰̎t̸̗̔ ̷̹́n̷̗̂o̸͎̾w̸̨͗,̶̭̈ ̶̩̾b̵̺̌ȯ̷͍y̸̜̏,̷͇̓” the dusty voice croaked. If not for the strange distortion, it might not have buffeted against the vacant walls. “Perhaps later.”

Mono fixed an obnoxious crease in his paper bag. It was him. He was important. “Aye’mm Mono,” he huffed. “Go see f’look. N’you keep t’safe.” He took a breath and patted the Thin Man’s shin. “Soon f’r back. Not long.” The Thin Man didn’t do anything else or speek. Mono left the cup with him and squeezed out of the jammed door.

The door to the dwelling had not been shut all the way since Mono came back through the other time, thus, he had no issue squirming out the narrow space. He did make certain the panel and frame shut together as much as possible, before leaving the dwelling.

Nothing was out of place since his previous scout. All the debris and dust runes on the floor panels rested undisturbed, aside from his own footprints crisscrossing. He started with the undamaged corridor, dashing to the one end and checking the rooms left open after his initial search. Nothing stood out to take stock of, except the intensity of the storm striking at the boarded windows. With his patrol satisfied, he charged off to the other side of the corridor, and crawled beneath the debris to reach the lopsided section of the broken hall. Since this floor appeared altogether and uninteresting, he went ahead and hopped down the stairway to the lower stories.

The levels of the building lay passive, aside from the usual creaking and threats from the walls. None of the cheery tunes or sporadic buzz from the televisions. He did break out the decayed bottom of a door, and found in the biggest room of the residence, a shattered out but long dead television.

While everything was calm, he went over to the yawning screen and huddled down in his coat. For some reason, the television reminded him of things from before Her. A broken television. The fire. The rushing water. His packmates, and their cries. Noisy children die.

He tilted his head, the paper bag leaned against his ear. The Forest. Everything was so confusing, the first nights. The light peered through the overcast clouds and searched through the thick canopy, but by then barely any of the anemic sheets of radiance touched the forest floor. Altogether, the once fierce blaze forgot what it sought, despite how hard it searched. Even when he traveled with his pack, no one saw much light. Too much light invited death, they found safety in the murk and spots of shadows. No one could see very well, but that was better than being seen.

The memories were not kind when they came back. He did forget. Left his pack. Left all of them behind and forgot them. But She reminded him. He watched Her get taken. He watched and did nothing.

Mono crept over to the television and carefully, hefted himself over the jagged spikes of glass and into the hollowed box. He curled up in the bity pieces of wires and plastic teeth, kicking some of the mounds aside to form a more tolerable nest.

Everything was placid and unmoved. No tinges of static, no clicking of steps.

He didn’t rest or do half sleep. He needed the alone and quiet time. That’s what the Thin Man needed. Mono wasn’t doing a good job, he was loafing around. This isn’t how biz-ee is done. He didn’t care. For a time, he needed stop.

No sleep happens. None at all. He wanted to think some things over, compare good thoughts to the bad. Some planning happened, since he was not finding a lot of food on this floor, despite the search he put in already. More scouting and look would happen, but he needed to think beyond that. If there was not much food for himself and the Thin Man, no matter how the Thin Man always said he didn’t need food, then something different had to be done. Eventually, the Thin Man would see Mono was doing everything he could, even if it wasn’t pack. It still meant pack to Mono.

A mysterious sum of time has gone away, when Mono crawled out of the television. No sleep happened. But he does yawn and stretched some once he was safely extracted. His joints popped and his shoulders tingled, like with static.

He does a scout through the dwellings, searching rooms and seeking the places for food. It’s not a very interesting scout, but uneventful is good. The smell does put him on edge, the usual reek has tinges of other decay that he knows is not good. In one bathroom – he dropped into from a hole in the wall – he found a creature or some adult, but with a large axe buried into its backside. A sizable and dreadful tool, much too large for Mono to wield himself.

For a moment he sat on the toilet lid, watching the dead thing. Thankfully, it’s not fresh. Both doors to the bathroom stayed shut, but that doesn’t mean much. Aside from him not having a good way out. Check that, no way out but for the gaping hole in the floor, where a tub or something should be. He climbed down there, cautious in case the whole area beneath had nothing but a perilous drop into a black hungry abyss.

No such peril claimed him. The lower floor/ceiling sloped down at a bland incline, and he’s able to find a door that leads out into a corridor. He’s a little lost, but he would find the stairway and just go up.

The scout and search overall didn’t amount to much. If not for taking in that nothing was around, not even the televisions - so safe. But no monsters or Viewers - no food.

Mono did startle some beetles out of hiding, while poking at empty packages crammed into the back of a pantry closet. They were something to chew on but not enough by a margin, and kind of dry. The beetles reminded him to be cautious, since Viewers were not here, then other dangers had come to lurk.

It was almost a relief to find the creak stairwell, and drag himself back to the upper floors. He found the familiar landing, the collapsed corridor, all a sight for weary eyes. If he had the vigor, he would’ve tried a leap through the door panel. However, he had run too far and didn’t find anything worth hauling back. The Thin Man didn’t need to know about the beetles.

Once he secured the door, shut proper this time, he did another search of the rooms. First, he went to the kitchen, and traipsed through the shallow waters gathered. He poked around at the cabinet for a while, prying out a few packages he was iffy on trying. The food was sealed up and he thought it should be good, but it was always a risk. As always, he jumped at every fluttery shift in the shadows within the dank cupboards he needled at.

The Sinnapede had been such a random escape. If he was not great at teleporting, it might have had him.

The Thin Man was still in the book room. Mono guessed this was his room. He usually poured so much time into the mark speek, he was befuddled by the Thin Man’s quiet and do nothing.

This time he didn’t haul in a package of food – in part, he was ashamed he hadn’t brought anything new. It didn’t appear that the man in the hat moved at all, in however long Mono was gone. Probably didn’t do search. That was not good.

Mono didn’t bother the Thin Man about it. Later. There was no good reason for not check the rooms. The Thin Man insisted it was Mono's job, but Mono couldn't be everywhere, and do all the everything else. It was too big, even for someone as mighty as him.

When he reached the Thin Man’s shoes, he curled his coat around himself and lay on his ankle. The cutout eye holes watched the silent statue. It was so quiet, if not for the steady hum in the air Mono could almost believe… something big happened while he was gone. He didn’t know what. The Thin Man wasn’t hurt, he was grumpy. He expected the tall thin man to break the silence, say something, or shift. Was sleep. That annoyed Mono, but he couldn’t be here and do scout, and also seek out there. It wouldn’t work.

Biz-ee. The Thin Man was biz-ee, always. And Mono wouldn’t understand. Or didn’t understand. He wanted to do better for the man in the hat, but it was hard. The man in the hat didn’t think Mono did anything but wrong, and hurt. But the Thin Man knew everything.

Mono picked himself up and on feathery steps, slipped out of the room. He took the stairs to the lower floor, his space, and gave the rooms an intense go through. Even the bathroom.

The water from the upper floor found its way down the walls, he guessed. This wasn’t the rain. Water rushed down the blotchy plaster and flooded a portion of the corridor, and the bathroom. Which was fine by Mono, it covered some of the stink from the Sinnapede.

From there, he returned to the room with the chest and the windowsill. He didn’t want to rest on the floor. But he liked the windowsill anyway, since it was the way out.

He tucked himself into the furthest corner of the window and lay, with his fingers pressed up under the paper mask. He chewed at a few new splinters while they still stung and worked on a painful hangnail. That is, until his work slowed. He was only a partial way asleep, still somewhat aware of the room and the sounds.

The rain tapped against the glass, pricking at his senses. Like static. He liked that. Some few and littles things did give him comfort, and he savored those sensations. Bits and pieces that reminded him of rare small places in his memories, where he had sensations other than flee and hide. They gave him warmth for to move further, until he could find a new sheltered pocket of tenderness, to nestle deep-down into and hold tight. Until that smoldering heat fluttered away, like everything else. Let him fall into a dark place with no escape. A bleak and featureless void, bare of thoughts and sensations.

He had to be swift and never stop for long. The same applied to good thoughts and rest. Shelter was an illusion. The only certainty was survival, and do that by being the most clever and uncatchable. No other way existed, he learned that well. Survival only granted so many close-calls, and mistakes were always fatal.

A low quiver slipped out of Mono, and he adjusted his knotted situation in the sill corner. All this think reminded him of Her and the stinging hurt left behind, after how far they went together. He wanted to stop it. Them and Together, it was possible. They could… no, they would!

“Go there. Make to end.”

When he made the statement, she glared at him. In much of her usual way, when he suggested something crazy. Where to get food. Place for shelter. How to be warm. Their share speek wasn’t the greatest, but it came along. It was always better when they had paper and colors to work with, convey the speek and fill in blanks.

He thought, was same. Then, She wanted same as Him. The Tower made the bad happenings and monsters, and he knew that for certain, because it called to Him. To Mono. And when She kept following, Mono thought, she agreed. She wanted to hurt the Tower too. Maybe it called to Her, not the way it called him, but it wanted Her to listen all the same. They would make it hurt, make the Tower stop and go away. To see what happened. To see if anything changed out in the world, if the dangers became less, if the rain would stop. He wanted to see if something different started, maybe a better thing would happen, or they would see something out there become something else. If the Tower was hurt and tricked, the sprawling world around them would only get better. This he felt with an unwavering intensity. Somehow, he knew these things.

They never reached the Tower. Not in together. Not hand in hand. But he did find Her. He refused to stop and run away! They could have run out of there, he could have shown Her how to make the Transmission listen. None of that happened. She tore out of his life and left without giving a reason. After everything they did as Together. Disappeared. Ran away. Went where he couldn’t follow. Without giving him a Why?

Somewhere out there, and somehow, he would find Her. He would ask his questions, and get… something. He would catch Her. That he would do.

The dream haunts come for him, but Mono won’t let them take hold. Breaking from half sleep episodically, he searched the sounds and tinges of gloom for anything that could be out of place. He felt assured the surrounding rooms went undisturbed; no working televisions sat in an obscure corner to attract a random Viewer. The comfort that he will not be surprised does not soothe him, and has the opposite affect. Mono is more high-strung in the absence of a regarded threat, because he cannot plan to escape if he doesn’t know what he might be fleeing from.

Once he becomes exhausted by the tug-o-war between rest and vague awareness, he settled to sit back from the windowpane and watch the swollen globs smack the dingy glass. Beyond the mottled surface, the vibrant contours of cloud cover swell and roll. The bright hours. In the building across the street, some of the windows glimmer with a diffused blaze. Then and now, a bedraggled heap waddled behind the barred windows; some creature or shape that is physically present, and not the lamps within cowering against the dull rumble of the storm. He hoped the sky didn’t start roaring and flashing – not that hoping did any good, but it was some happening to ponder over when he did the scout for more foods. A whole prospect he was dreading.

So intently did he watch beyond the muggy glass, he missed entirely the flutter of the tall-tall silhouette appearing in the room. The radiant light cringed to the abrupt disturbance, but shortly resumed its soft glean. On the drowsy side, Mono snapped his head up and around. He briefly glimpsed back and offered a short smile, then turned back to the glass.

The reflection tracing the surface didn’t reveal so much of the Thin Man as he clipped closer, despite the pitiful gleam. The window was much too low for the tall thin man to look out comfortably, which is what he seemed intent on. The tall thin man knelt to his knee and folded his arms upon the cracked sill.

When nothing was said or done for several moments, Mono took the risk and scooched closer to the Thin Man’s arm. He leaned on the stiff fabric and together, they watched the rain form swollen globs across the window surface. The Thin Man chewed on one of his smoke sticks, and fogged up the glass nicely. The haze stayed for some while, plenty of time to do some speek. But Mono didn’t feel much like doing anything, not when the Thin Man came to do company with him. This was better. This was different. He wasn’t certain what to do, but decided it wouldn’t go wrong if he just did what he always did.

“Would you not like a place all to yourself?” The sudden speek jarred Mono, and his eyes snapped open. “Somewhere that was for you. No one else could have it or take it away. Would you like that?”

The way the Thin Man said all that was strange. Not that Mono didn’t understand, he could gather enough to make sense what he made speek about. The confusing part was… place, and for. Did the Thin Man mean, for him? Or was speek to self?

“Hmm?”

The Thin Man shifted on the sill, and used his free hand to rub at his brow. “Where no one and nothing would find you,” the static crackled. “A place that is for you, and only you could stay there.”

That still made no sense. A place, and alone. Where no one could find him? It sounded like not a good thing. “Aam place,” he uttered, instead. A thick swell of smoke curled against the inner plane of glass, while some of the vapor escaped through the cracked upper portion.

“Out there is that somewhere, which holds nothing you will ever need to fear,” the Thin Man muttered. “A secret shelter for you alone, which is protected. A place no being and no person will ever find. No one will bother, nor hurt you, ever again. Would that be nice?”

No place was safe.

Mono gaped at the Thin Man, dubious and not amused by this lie. However, it would be fine if the Thin Man was there. That would be good.

“There y’be? Not wit’out.” He pressed his chin into the fabric of the jacket sleeve, uncaring that his paper bag slipped right off his head. Unwavering, he stared up at the miles away gaze of the Thin Man, while the smoke stick glowed against the long fingers. It is quiet for many minutes.

“I suppose. For a time, I will be there.”

Mono swallowed and dipped his head down. Not without the Thin Man. Never without. Him was his. And Mono had to make up for so much.

“Not. T’always you be.” He pressed his face against the warm suit sleeve and took a mostly sturdy breath. “And keep. T'speek. Has n’keep.”

The Thin Man adjusted his lean, and Mono tucked into his own coat more. Refusing to raise his eyes to the Thin Man. “I do not recall promising you anything.”

That was true. Mono couldn’t keep the Thin Man. Not forever. He had to find the beyond of the city, somewhere out there where the wilting skyrises did not pierce the thick boiling clouds. As for the Thin Man, he had his games to play, and be the biz-ee. The Thin Man had to be everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at the same time. Mono was only a small part of the Thin Man’s work. It was impossible to do everything all by ones own lonesome self, but Mono didn’t do enough.

Mono crawled over the looped arms and curled up by the hand draped over the crook of the Thin Man’s arm. “Aye’m important,” he hissed. He tugged the tail end of his coat in and drew his knees up to his chin.

The static vibrated with the smoky sigh. “Yes. You are very important.”

Very important. Mono suppressed his hiccup and chewed on his fingers, searching for a last rogue splinter. He chased the Thin Man. That was how it was. He was so good at it. For that reason, the Thin Man needed Mono to stay and make sure the place was safe, and no dangers could surprise them. It was Mono’s job, because he was brave and so mighty. Even the Tower was frightened of him. That was what the Thin Man told him. Mono killed buildings. He could deal with a stupid Tower.

If only She knew. If She knew, it would have made no difference. She would see he was still danger. She would have hated him all the more.

“I will show you where. It shall be yours.”

Mono focused on one of the buttons against the Thin Man’s jacket. “Mm’chase.” He whined in his throat when a hand cloaked his coiled body, and patted him.

“That’s my boy.” The Thin Man rose from his stooped posture and shimmered. With a muffled fizz-pop, the imposing silhouette faded entirely from the shrouded touch of the room.

If he wanted to catch the Thin Man, then Mono should chase now. No later or dawdling about it. He didn’t feel much of do anything right here and so suddenly; looking after the dwelling took so much out of him, and it was his turn for rest. For many minutes, he would still have the Thin Man.

It was the world to him, whenever he came from search and someone was there. That was important. And company. Regardless, Mono had to remember this wasn’t meant to be always. It was funny for the Thin Man, but nothing made the Thin Man happy. Nothing really meant anything to the man in the hat. Mono knew better, but he wanted...something else. They were going somewhere, and the Thin Man would show him where to stop. Then, Mono would have no one. That was how this was meant to work. Mono thought… no, nothing ever changed. He learned.

He rolled over, and watched the patterns on the glass squirm downward, meshing and reshaping. He had so much to think about, a great scheme to plan for. It would be okay, and that is all it would be. The Thin Man would be all right, too, and Mono… Mono would find his way. Wherever he could find shelter, whenever he got the chance for stop and rest - all that would be for later, when he knew more about what the Thin Man's quiet think. This place. It wasn’t real, no doubt in his head. The Thin Man knew everything, and as such, knew Mono would have that puzzle figured out. Mono could play this game, and the Thin Man would go and be elsewhere.

The Thin Man was looking for something, and it was not Mono.

#little nightmares #little nightmares au #mono #the thin man #thin dad #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #if this boy could serve the thin man breakfast in bed it would consist of soggy cereal/ burnt toast/ and glass of chocolate milk #mono just trying so hard and has no idea what to do to fix the tall tower man #try adjusting his tv antenna....

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minghaoyoudoin · 2 years

Text

Winter Nights

pairing: roommate!non-idol!heeseung x roommate!fem!reader genre: smut / fluff / college au / roommate trope words: 5.8k (I got carried away) rating: 18+, minors who interact will get the cheese touch warnings: switch!heeseung, switch!reader, very minor mention of food, a very brief mention of bugs (roaches, to be specific), rough living conditions, the threat of hypothermia, completely accidental somnophilia (if it even qualifies), handjob, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, kissing, unprotected sex (you know better, I know better, we all know better), hair pulling, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, aftercare, fluff, etc. etc. let me know if I forgot anything! a/n: woowee, this one was a long time coming. this was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy reading it and please leave a like/reblog if you did! happy reading, ya filthy animals!

There were three things you knew for certain about Lee Heeseung.

One, you’d lived with him for six months and he’d been a pain in your ass for all one hundred and eighty-two days of them. Not because he was a bad roommate, per say—he was actually a fairly easy person to live with. Rather, Heeseung had somehow managed to become your closest friend in the time you had lived together, a fact which never failed to make him puff up his chest and strut around the apartment like he’d won something.

Two, he left his clothes everywhere. And that was by no means an exaggeration. Scattered across his room, in the hallway—you’d even found one of his knock-off Harvard sweatshirts in a kitchen cabinet once. This, of course, was surprising considering that Heeseung was unusually tidy in every other regard, especially for a boy.

And then there was that. The third thing: he was, in fact, a boy.

The day you’d moved into this apartment, the sight of him took you so off-guard that you had literally stumbled. The box in your arms, a slightly soggy cardboard monstrosity marked kitchenware, had nearly taken you to the ground as you struggled to right yourself.

In no part of your mind had you considered that your randomly-assigned college roommate would be a dude. But there he was, standing at the kitchen island in a long sleeve blue button-down and jeans, poking through the few other boxes you’d managed to carry up in his absence. His hair, still a little damp from the shower, hung into his eyes and curled beneath the fold of his collar.

He hadn’t seemed displeased at the discovery that his new roommate was a girl. If anything, after the initial wide-eyed surprise, he didn’t appear to care in the slightest. His eyes had crinkled at the corners as he smiled and offered a small wave, inviting you to make room for yourself in the apartment however you needed to.

Heeseung didn’t own very many things, so that part had been easy. Getting through his unexpectedly awkward shell was more difficult, though not impossible. It had taken you eighteen days to get a laugh out of him that didn’t look like he was in pain.

You weren’t sure what had sparked your reflection over your time living with Heeseung, but you were snapped out of it when his finger jabbed your cheek. Hard.

“Ow, asshole. What was that for?” You shot him a dubious glare and massaged the stinging out of your face.

Heeseung grinned. “You were staring at the wall like a weirdo. I wanted to make sure there was still someone in there.”

You hopped off your barstool without immediately replying, empty cereal bowl in hand. You were already running late for class—you weren’t even dressed yet and you were almost certain the campus buses would be delayed because of the snow.

“I was just thinking—” you said as you rinsed your bowl “—about what a terrible roommate you are.” You grimaced at the dead roach in the kitchen sink and sprayed it until it disappeared down the drain.

One thing Heeseung hadn’t mentioned to you when you moved in was what a shithole this apartment tended to be. You had a problem with bugs that no amount of pest-control could seem to fix; the electricity was finicky at best, at times going out altogether if the weather outside overloaded the breaker. You glanced at the snowfall through the window, more than a little worried about the state of your heater. It was early February—the coldest month of the year where you lived—and you prayed to every deity you could think of that you wouldn’t freeze to death.

You’d almost forgotten your feigned gripe until Heeseung responded: “Yeah, whatever. You’re not so great yourself.”

You tossed a glance over your shoulder, appreciating the way the cool winter sun gilded his dark hair in silver. You forced your gaze back to the dishes in front of you before you could dwell on the sight.

Not gonna happen.

Heeseung was handsome—you’d be a fool to think otherwise. Without really meaning to, you raised your eyes to his face again. His long eyelashes tickled his cheeks as he looked down at his laptop, a small crease of intense focus between his brows. He was absentmindedly chewing on the inside of his cheek, the movement only highlighting the dimple there.

Ugh.

Heeseung’s eyes met yours. You’d long-envied the size of them—his deep brown irises caught your reflection perfectly. For half a moment you stared at one another in silence. That is, until you realized he’d caught you staring, at which point you loudly cleared your throat and gestured toward your bedroom door.

“I’m gonna… get ready for class.”

Heeseung nodded and he swallowed thickly. “Go, you responsible heathen. I wish you’d listen to me and skip, buuuut—”

You cuffed him on the back of the head as you passed and grinned at the way he indignantly rubbed his skull.

The rusted hinges squeaked loudly as your door clicked shut and, finally alone, you released a long breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

---

You were, in fact, late for class.

By a lot.

Thankfully your professor was kind about it, blaming the bus delay without you even having to come up with the excuse.

That was about where your good luck ended.

There was a pop-quiz in your world literature class, which you definitely, definitely bombed. Badly enough that you’d written “sorry :(” at the bottom of the page. Then you’d slipped on the icy stairs while crossing campus to your next class. You’d narrowly managed to avoid hitting your head on the concrete, but there were about two hundred witnesses that could attest to your shame.

By the end of your school day you were so excited to go home that you almost ate shit again climbing the bus steps. You wanted to watch some dumbass horror movie with Heeseung and laugh at the way he hid his face in the couch. Maybe order takeout and guess the delivery driver’s life story.

But of course, none of these things were in the cards for you today.

When you finally stepped off the bus, it was nearly dusk. The winter sky was stained varying shades of blue and gray, the cover of clouds so heavy with snow they looked bruised. It was because of this melancholy lighting that you noticed all the usual lights in your building were off.

You mounted the staircase to your apartment with a heavy heart. Your frigid hands stung with cold as you fumbled with the lock once, twice, and the door at last swung open.

It was nearly pitch-black inside.

Your roommate had lit the few candles he knew you had laying around the house for light, including your expensive scented ones. It smelled so powerfully of Bath & Body Works that your nose wrinkled of its own accord.

Not to mention it was freezing inside the apartment. Not as cold as it was outside, but definitely in the sixties and rapidly falling, if you had to guess.

“…Hee?” You called nervously, hardly daring to walk further into the apartment as you hastily closed the front door behind you.

“In h-here.”

You followed the sound of his voice into the living room. You might have laughed at the sight of him if he didn’t look so goddamn pitiful.

Heeseung was crouched in front of your ancient, barely-functioning fireplace, wrapped snugly in his comforter and yours as he attempted to figure out the gas burner. He turned to face you, the tip of his nose tinged pink.

“Do you k-know how to work this thing?” His words were interrupted by his teeth forcefully chattering.

You tossed your backpack on the couch and stooped beside him. His hand was like ice as you took your lighter from him—how long had the power been out?

“Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?” You asked. You turned the handle in the wall that controlled the flow of gas and clicked the lighter until it sparked. Thankfully the fire caught immediately, the flames greedily swallowing the small pile of wood contained within the grate.

Heeseung sighed contentedly as heat oozed towards him. “You were in c-class. Also my phone died, no p-power to ch-charge it—”

“Okay, that’s enough talking for you. You’re going to bite off your tongue.” You stood, careful as you stretched your stiff knees. They always seemed to give you trouble in this sort of weather, much to your despair. “I’m gonna go change, okay?”

Heeseung nodded wordlessly and risked freeing his hands from their blanket prison to hold them near the fire.

Despite the cold, you took your time changing out of your snow-damp clothes from the day. You shucked off your turtleneck and pants with a wet slurp, exchanging them for two pairs of fleece pajama pants and three sweatshirts. Four pairs of socks, two hats—you didn’t dare look at yourself in the mirror for fear of your appearance.

The living room was marginally warmer when you emerged again but the chill had begun to take hold of you. Heeseung looked better, and he greeted you with your favorite lopsided smile of his when he spotted you. His nose and fingers were still an angry pink but his teeth had finally ceased their chattering.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

Heeseung shrugged. “As good as I can be. Sorry I didn’t try harder to call you before you got home.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like there’s anything I could have done about it anyway.”

You settled next to him in front of the fireplace and stubbornly ignored the way your heart jumped when he extended one side of the blankets around him to invite you in. You hesitated only for a moment and Heeseung levelled a look at you.

“For body heat.” He was still holding open the comforter as he explained. There was a faint blush staining his pretty cheekbones—no, you were mistaken. They were still pink from the chill. Of course.

You didn’t allow yourself time to reconsider before you tucked your body into his side, your shoulder slotted beneath his with your cheek nearly pressed to his collarbone. Heeseung allowed his arm to rest over you, sealing you within the cocoon of body heat the comforters created.

You had to admit it, the warmth was exquisite. Heeseung produced heat like a furnace and you unconsciously huddled further into him in your effort to seek more of it.

If he minded the way your arm snaked across his torso so you could press yourself closer, he didn’t mention it. He just tightened his hold around you and leaned back against the front of the couch. His heart was thundering against your cheek—or perhaps it was your own, though you couldn’t quite distinguish which was which.

As daylight fell at last, you found yourself dozing. Essentially cuddling with Heeseung, though you constantly reminded yourself that it was only because you had to in order to… not die. Or something.

The galloping heartbeat in your ear eventually slowed, though it picked up again at a relentless pace any time you moved. His body was a hard, steady weight against you as you drifted. You hadn’t realized how lean he was beneath the oversized clothes he so favored—in your sleep-ridden mind, you wondered what he looked like beneath them.

It was with these thoughts in mind that you at last allowed yourself to fall into unconsciousness.

---

Heeseung thought he was going to die.

Really, actually, as in not-metaphorically-die-forever type die.

You’d fallen asleep a few minutes ago. How you could manage it, he had no idea. There was no way he’d be able to drift off when you were so close to him.

Before you’d gotten home from class, he’d been miserable. Cold beyond belief, frustrated that he couldn’t get the fireplace going, and hungry enough to make him irritable. The only thing you had to eat in the apartment that didn’t really have to be heated was a can of green beans from 2012.

But now here he was. And here you were. Cuddled up as close to him as physically possible, your soft breaths tickling the column of his throat as you exhaled.

He’d been trying to think of ways to get you into a position like this since the first moment he laid eyes on you. Heeseung had pondered many times what it was about you and he’d come up short every time. Maybe it was your smile, perhaps it was the way the sun always managed to sparkle in your eyes—it could have been any number of things, really, and he’d long-since stopped trying to keep track.

He froze when you moved in your sleep, somehow managing to press even closer against his side than before. He held his breath, terrified of waking you, as he peered down at your peaceful expression. You weren’t cold, at least.

You sighed deeply at whatever had just occurred in your dream, a delicate frown changing your expression. The soft gust of air you produced rustled the hair at the nape of his neck, raising chills across his chest.

Yeah, this was going to be a very long night.

---

You weren’t sure what it was that woke you.

For better or worse, nothing had changed during the time you’d slept. When you peeled your eyes open, it was still dark outside. The power was still out, the fireplace thankfully still dancing with heat.

Mindful of the boy asleep next to you, you raised your gaze to Heeseung’s face. His eyes flickered beneath his eyelids, his expression more relaxed than you’d ever seen it awake. You weren’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he didn’t look like he was sleeping restfully.

You’d gotten significantly closer to one another in your slumber, if that were even possible. At some point you’d shifted into a horizontal position—Heeseung had probably pulled you down to lay flat with him after you’d drifted off. Your entire front was pressed against him, your legs tangled together under the blankets with your arm slung low across his stomach.

It couldn’t be over fifty degrees in the apartment, but you were burning up. You shifted, attempting to untangle yourself from Heeseung just enough to allow some breathing room.

Completely on accident, your hand ghosted over his crotch.

Heeseung gasped softly.

Your eyes shot to his face, a thousand apologies poised on your lips. His expression was tense now. Shit. You’d really hoped you hadn’t woken him, but apparently your streak of bad luck wasn’t over just yet.

Heeseung’s eyelids cracked open, his eyes immediately finding yours. His full lips parted, just barely, and he exhaled shakily.

“What are you doing?” His voice was strained.

“I’m so sorry—it… it was an accident.”

“I…” Heeseung’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Do it again. Please.”

Your head filled with static.

“What?”

Heeseung dragged those huge eyes to you again, a light you didn’t recognize contained within them.

“Please.” He repeated.

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. Like someone else was in control of your limbs, your hand timidly reached for the front of his pants again. Another breath whooshed from Heeseung’s chest the moment your palm made contact—you hadn’t even done anything yet and somehow he was half-hard.

You squeezed lightly, enamored by the way Heeseung’s brows furrowed over his eyes at the sensation. Beneath the blanket his hand moved to cover yours, his cold fingers guiding your movements as you massaged him.

His breaths turned shaky, interrupted by soft whimpers every few seconds. You were immediately soaked because of him, because of the sounds he made.

You adjusted your position, mindful not to interrupt your hand’s tempo, until your lips drifted over the column of his throat. His pulse thundered wildly beneath your mouth.

“Can I touch you?” You whispered against his skin.

Regardless of the fact that you were already touching him, Heeseung knew what you meant. Given the way his hips thrusted against your hand, seeking more friction, you were unsurprised by his hurried nod.

You stopped your movements only long enough so he could shove his pants down his legs. You dragged one fingernail along his length that sprang free and you didn’t need to look below the blanket to know he was big.

Heeseung gasped soft, broken breaths as your fingers closed around him and you began to pump his length. You rotated your wrist, paying extra attention to his leaking tip while you watched his expression. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough that you worried he would draw blood.

You couldn’t control the words that left your mouth as you watched him. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Heeseung didn’t seem phased by the pet name you casually dropped. “Yes, yes—please, don’t stop—” His hips thrusted with more urgency, meeting your hand stroke for stroke.

God, he was so pretty. You were in very real danger of cumming and he hadn’t even touched you yet. Your heartbeat pulsed between your legs and you rubbed your thighs together in a feeble attempt to soothe it.

You allowed yourself to close your lips over the rapid pulse in his throat. Heeseung’s arm tightened around you, his fingertips teasing the side of your breast as he squeezed your ribcage.

You tightened your grip on his length and increased your pace, causing his breathing to stop altogether. When it resumed it was a near-pant, his voice deep and raspy in a moan you’d never thought you’d hear from him.

Heeseung was shaking. Actually quivering as his high threatened to crest over him.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. You voiced as much, your voice laden with lust unfamiliar to your own ears. “Hee… What are we doing?” You sucked another hickey onto his throat, entranced by the taste of his skin.

You were caught delightfully off-guard when Heeseung’s fingers threaded into the hair at the base of your scalp and tugged your head back to look at him. You faces were close enough that your noses brushed as you both whimpered softly.

“Just—ah—we’ll… we’ll say it’s for body heat.” He panted a tight moan again when your fingers twisted around his tip. “Yeah? Body heat—”

Heeseung’s mouth crushed against yours. Your lips parted for him immediately, your tongue sweeping into his mouth to taste every inch of him you could.

His hand still tangled in your hair, Heeseung controlled the angle of your head as he sought to devour you completely. You couldn’t believe the taste of him—wonderful and sweet, a little minty, and so uniquely him.

His lips were soft against yours, his tongue meeting your own with a strength you wouldn’t have predicted.

“Fuck—gonna…gonna cum, please, please—” Heeseung uttered nonsense into your mouth, his eyes screwed shut. He chased his orgasm with reckless abandon, and you were so turned on by this knowledge that you wondered if you’d catch on fire.

Heeseung released a long whine when you stopped pumping him moments before he came.

“Why… why’d you stop?”

You untangled yourself from him enough to raise your body above his. “I want to taste you first, baby.” You kissed down the front of his throat, tapping his chest in a silent request that he remove his sweater. He obliged without question as he threw the blankets off you.

His pretty nipples were peaked against the cold and you couldn’t help but take one into your mouth as you kissed your way down his torso. Heeseung scratched lightly at your scalp and he groaned low in his chest.

You helped him shimmy the rest of the way out of his pants and at last the beautiful boy was naked before you. His body was just as breathtaking as you imagined it would be, if not more so. He was leanly-muscled all over, his skin smooth and soft.

You took your time teasing him, intentionally kissing the inside of both his thighs, his hipbones, his pelvis, before you finally wrapped your lips around him.

Heeseung was so overcome by the feeling of your mouth that he involuntarily thrusted up into your throat.

“Shit—I’m sorry—”

His words cut off into a gasp when you took him deeper, your nose almost brushing his pubic bone. You fought your gag reflex with a vengeance as you swallowed around him once, twice, and raised off of him with a wet pop.

“Don’t be,” you grinned lazily up at him. “That was fucking hot.” Heeseung gazed down at you like you were made of gold—some priceless possession he couldn’t believe he was being allowed to touch.

You took him into your mouth again, pumping the length of him you couldn’t fit with your hand. The other massaged his balls and you clenched around nothing at the feeling of them spasming beneath your fingers.

He moaned senseless praises and pleas alike while you bobbed your head on him.

“God… you’re so fucking—fucking hot—” His fingers in your hair guided your head along his length with increasing urgency. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, pleasepleaseplease—”

You fought the urge to grin when Heeseung’s balls tightened in your hand. He came with a long, shuddering moan, his entire body locking. He spasmed every few seconds, his breaths coming in staccato gasps. You took everything he gave you, easily ignoring the taste as he came down your throat.

You raised your head lazily, your hair and eyes crazy with sex. Heeseung opened his eyes after what felt like an eternity, that same pretty blush staining his cheeks in earnest now.

What came out of his mouth next was not what you were expecting.

“It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.”

You raised an eyebrow at him from where you still laid between his legs. “Hee, you don’t have to—we don’t have to do anything else—”

“I want to.” He said firmly. Doubt crept into his eyes, an expression you immediately wanted to erase from his face forever. “…Do you?”

You grinned with eager intent. “Hell yeah.”

Heeseung’s face transformed into an unsteady smile before his eyes glinted. You clenched again. He said quietly, “Sit up.”

You obeyed him immediately and raised onto your knees. He sat up, running his fingertips up your thighs until they reached the hem of your double sweaters. Heeseung lowered his head to kiss your ribcage as he lifted the clothing, apparently uncaring that it took some effort to get both of them off at once.

His eyes flashed when he saw your bare breasts for the first time. So carefully, like he was afraid he would break you, he raised his hands to cup both of them, kneading with just enough pressure to drive you wild.

Heeseung sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and moaned softly at the taste of your skin. You released a shaky breath, lightning streaking through your veins in response to his warm tongue. He released your nipple and moved to the other, leaving a burning trail of saliva across your chest that contrasted wonderfully with the frigid air.

You scratched his scalp lightly with your nails. “Please, Heeseung, you’re killing me.”

His hands dropped to your ass, massaging the pillowy skin there, too. He used his grip on you to carefully turn you onto your back, now laying beneath him on the blankets.

He stared down at you with wide eyes like he couldn’t quite believe you were in this situation. You were inclined to share the sentiment. The delicate chain around his neck, one you hadn’t noticed he was wearing until now, glinted in your periphery as it dangled between you.

Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your lips, one that only left you craving more.

“May I taste you?”

You shuddered, goosebumps skittering across your skin. “God, yes. Please, Hee.”

He needed no further encouragement. Heeseung worked down your body with the same languid slowness you had his, each careful touch and kiss sparking fire beneath your skin.

He didn’t comment on the number of pants you were wearing as he tugged them down your legs, his tongue trailing the soft skin on the inside of your knee as he went.

You felt so incredibly bare to him, though the room was dim now with the dying light from the fireplace. He stared at your exposed center and licked his lips.

“Heeseung, please,” you whined, not caring how desperate you sounded.

He apologized with a chaste kiss to your hipbone. “Sorry, baby. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Before you could question his statement, Heeseung parted you with a swift swipe of his tongue. The warmth of his mouth made you jolt, your hands shooting into his hair. Apparently pleased by your taste, he did it again, moaning into you this time.

“You’re so wet for me. You’ve wanted this for a while, right?” Though his words were hotter than sin, Heeseung’s tone was sweet. It made your heart skip in your chest and all you could do was moan in response.

His tongue found your clit with ease, circling and teasing with the skill of someone who had done this a thousand times. When his long fingers teased your entrance you thought you would pass out. Then, as if you weren’t already lubricated enough on your own, Heeseung had the gall to spit on you.

You were going to eat him alive.

You loosed a shaky groan, tugging at the roots of his hair, as his fingers at last slid in, and in, and in. He curled them inside you, effortlessly hitting that glorious spot inside you as his tongue continued to work your clit from the outside.

“You taste fucking magnificent.” Heeseung removed his fingers from you only to shove his tongue into your hole for emphasis. “I can’t get enough.”

The next several minutes were a blur of sensations and unintelligible praises for what he was doing to you. He thrusted his fingers harder into you at an angle, watching your expressions through his eyelashes as he lapped at your clit.

“Heeseung—god, doing so good for me. Gonna make me cum—”

Each word that fell from your lips was met with Heeseung thrusting his hips lightly against the blankets beneath him. You realized abruptly that he was already fully hard again, a discovery that sent your orgasm rocketing closer.

“Come on, cum for me—I know you want to—”

“Hee—I want your cock, please please—”

Heeseung groaned against you, sending vibrations ricocheting up your spine. It was the final push you needed. Your high catapulted into you out of nowhere with such force that your thighs nearly closed around his head.

Light burst in thousands of stars behind your eyelids as you screwed them shut, your lips parted in a silent scream that refused to manifest as sound. Your toes curled, your limbs locked, yet Heeseung did not cease his ministrations.

He continued to pump his fingers into you until the sensation was near-painful, working you through your orgasm as long as he possibly could. When you finally managed to open your eyes, he was watching you with an expression that could only be described as awe. It was like he never wanted you to stop cumming.

At last, you managed to sit up, pushing him back onto his haunches with a hand on his chest. The fingers on your other hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him close to you as you pressed a forceful kiss to his swollen, glistening mouth.

“I want you inside me.” Heeseung stiffened at your words, his breath catching. “Right now.”

“Are… you sure? I don’t have anything—”

“I don’t care. I’m on the pill and I want to feel you raw.” Heeseung’s mouth crushed against yours swiftly enough that you could barely take a breath.

He effortlessly flipped you over so you were on your back beneath him, your legs somehow already propped on his shoulders. He gazed down at you through hooded eyes, his hands braced on the backs of your thighs.

He lined up the head of his cock with your entrance, only pushing in enough so it would hold itself there. Heeseung’s eyes flickered to your face again.

There was a very, very thin line of restraint twisting his face. “Are you sure? Last chance to change your mind. I’m not going to hold back.”

You clenched again, unintentionally sucking his cock further into you. You both grunted softly at the sensation.

“I’m sure. Heeseung, I want you to fuck me.”

He needed no further convincing. Heeseung took a deep breath, held it, and pushed in. The stretch of his cock inside your walls was probably the most incredible feeling you’d ever experienced. He was so warm compared to the frosty air around you—the contrast was dizzying.

He thrusted gently, attempting to work himself in without hurting you. It still stung, regardless, but you had never cared less.

When he was fully seated within your walls you released simultaneous trembling groans of relief. He kissed the inside of your ankle and tried an experimental thrust. You rolled your hips to meet him, in turn causing the head of his cock to bump your g-spot, and you released an involuntary moan.

Apparently you’d tightened around him without noticing, because Heeseung’s fingers flexed hard against your thighs.

“God, you feel fucking incredible,” he whispered breathlessly. His eyes were focused only on the place he disappeared inside of you, as if he were in a trance.

You forced him to release your legs so you could lock them around his waist and tugged his face to yours by the back of his neck.

You claimed his lips in a demanding kiss. “I said fuck me, Heeseung.”

The command was enough. Without warning he was slamming into you so hard that you whined. He knocked into your g-spot repeatedly, moaning and begging and praising your every action each time your walls clamped down around him.

Just like that you were rising toward your second orgasm, the impending wave threatening to break over you with every thrust. You panted into one another’s mouths, sometimes kissing, sometimes moaning.

You have no idea how he did it, but Heeseung managed to flip you onto your front without slipping out of your walls. He held one of your arms bent behind your back, the other between your shoulder blades, the position forcing your face to press into the blankets beneath you.

You could feel him so much deeper in this position, you could do nothing but pant. There was no place inside of you willing to be embarrassed at the sound of his skin slapping yours or the wet noises of your bodies meeting—if anything, it only turned you on more.

Once again you were struck by wonder as to how you’d found yourself here. Your secret feelings for your roommate, your friend—apparently requited—had led to him fucking you senseless on the living room floor.

One of Heeseung’s hands snaked between your legs until his cold fingers found your clit. You jolted at the sensation, still so incredibly sensitive from your first orgasm, and you bit down on the comforter beneath you to stifle your moans.

Heeseung yanked your head up by the roots of your hair. “Don’t—don’t do that. Need to h-hear you, baby. Need to hear how good I… I make you feel—”

You obeyed. You moaned without a care for who else could hear as he worked your clit and thrusted into you, hard.

Just as you warned Heeseung that you were about to cum, a buzzing sound filled the apartment. A flicker of power, just for a moment, before electricity surged. The lamp on the side table lit up, as did the one by the arm chair, and the kitchen lights—nearly every light in the apartment burst to life. And, to your relief, the ancient heater clanged and groaned, surging back into existence with a glorious burst of warm air.

Heeseung released a startled, incredulous laugh, which you returned. Go fucking figure.

Seemingly out of nowhere, your second orgasm crested over you in a searing wave of pleasure. You clamped down so hard around Heeseung’s cock that he had trouble continuing his thrusts. Your orgasm almost instantaneously triggered his own and he rewarded you with the hottest moan you had ever heard.

Heeseung’s movements slowed, guiding you both through your highs with gentle care. You breathed heavily into the blankets, reveling in the feeling of damp release, both yours and his, sliding down the insides of your thighs.

After what could have been minutes or years, he removed himself from you. You mourned the sensation of being full for a moment, already missing his warmth.

You listened to Heeseung leave the room and laid in serene silence on the floor until he returned, a mercifully warm rag in hand. He cleaned you up without speaking, occasionally pressing a careful kiss to your knee or hip or forehead. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Neither of you retreated to your own rooms once he was finished. Heeseung somehow produced one of his sweatshirts from under the couch, which made you grin as he handed it to you. He timidly laid beside you once you’d pulled it on, seemingly relieved when you wiggled closer to him so he could wrap his arms around you.

A line had been crossed tonight. You weren’t sure what he intended to do now, but you were certain that you wouldn’t be able to go back to the way things were before.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Do you…” His thumb traced gentle shapes on your shoulder. You allowed him time to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. “Was it just about body heat? For you?”

You considered a moment, though you’d known the answer before he even finished voicing his question.

“No, Heeseung. It wasn’t just about body heat for me.”

His body relaxed against you, relieved at your answer. He planted yet another kiss on the top of your head, his heartbeat beneath your ear speeding to a gallop.

“It wasn’t for me, either. At least one good thing came out of the power outage, right?”

You laughed softly, fatigue once again taking over your mind.

Yes, at least one good thing.

thank you so much for reading! I've been feeling a wee bit delulu over heeseung recently, I appreciate y'all indulging me. please leave a like and/or reblog if you enjoyed! :) masterlist here :) © minghaoyoudoin 2022- all rights reserved.reposts/translations not allowed. I do not assume to know the personal lives of the idol(s) depicted in this fic, this is for entertainment purposes only!

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