#logically i know i should take the english exam soon so i can get the certificate before the v*s* deadline but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

calumcest · 4 years ago

Text

i know we’re gonna uncover what’s sleeping in our soul

[ao3]

so! my fic exchange fic for the absolutely lovely @lifewasradical who had the most brilliant reader profile i have to say you are truly so big brain in your preferences (perhaps because they overlap with mine no i am not biased). thank you so much to @allsassnoclass for hosting this you are wonderful and i adore you

thank you to bella and ainslee for listening to me chat shit about this fic and to my anonymous friend for also patiently listening and encouraging me and also telling me to stop fucking writing i need to hear that shit

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate.

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate. At least, in theory. In practice, it’s a little more complicated - most people’s soulmates aren’t exactly the same age as them, so some people have to wait a few years, and some people find out they haven’t got a soulmate, and a small handful of people find out their soulmate has already passed away. It’s a complicated process that’s built up over generations - when Luke’s grandparents were younger, it was still the norm for governments to inform people of the identity of their soulmate on their twenty-first birthday, but privacy and mental health concerns in recent years following a few nasty high-profile situations where people discovered their soulmates were serious criminals led to the passing of international legislation restricting access to the information. Now, the only way a person can find their soulmate is by writing to them, or the dreaded letter that arrives the day after their twenty-first birthday informing them that their soulmate has predeceased them.

Luke’s sort of the baby in his circle, so he’s the last to find out. His brothers are both older and so by the time Luke really understood the system they’d already found their soulmates; Alex and Jack had already known they were soulmates when Luke had met them, also being a few years older; and when Calum had woken up on his twenty-first birthday to see it best be you, dickhead scrawled on his arm in Michael’s messy handwriting it had only really been a formality, confirming what everyone already knew.

Luke, though, has no idea who his soulmate could be. There’s no one he’s ever felt that alleged special affinity with, no matter how hard he’s tried to force it. He’s never felt entirely safe with someone, the way that Ben describes it, never felt at home with someone, the way that Michael describes it, never felt at peace, like, deep in your soul, like the universe is balanced just right around you the way that Calum describes it. He has felt the desire to punch people in the throat before, as Alex and Jack both describe it, but he thinks that’s probably more of a them problem than it is a universal experience.

And it’s not that Luke’s particularly unusual in that - the vast majority of people don’t know who their soulmate is before their birthdays. Ben and Jack both had to fly to different countries to meet theirs, and Alex and Jack had been on opposite sides of the USA, and the way Michael talks about it, Quakers Hill would seem to be on a different continent to Mount Druitt. It’s what Luke tells himself every time he looks in the mirror at four in the morning, alcohol and often something else swimming through his veins, and sees the fear of what if I’ll be one of the lonely ones? etched into the cloudy blue of his eyes. You’ll be fine. Almost no one knows their soulmate before their twenty-first birthday. Lots of people don’t even know them then. You’re not even twenty-one yet; just be patient.

Except, now he is twenty-one.

It’s two minutes past midnight, and Luke’s sat on his bed, already a little buzzed, Michael and Calum flanking him, pen poised over his inner forearm. This is how it works - as soon as the clock ticks over to midnight on a person’s twenty-first birthday, their soulmate (if they’re already over twenty-one) is accessible. And the way to communicate is by writing to them. Luke still isn’t quite sure how it works, because it just does, so he’s never questioned it, but what one soulmate writes on their skin appears on the other’s, like a temporary tattoo. It fades after a few hours, but it’s usually there long enough for the person to notice; after all, who wouldn’t spot a new hi, hello, or the odd grocery shopping list appearing on their hand or arm?

“What do I say?” Luke says, a little nervously.

“Just say hi,” Calum suggests, and Michael scoffs. “What?” Calum says, turning to Michael and raising an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

“Well, it’s not very original, is it?” Michael says haughtily.

“It doesn’t have to be original, Mike, it just has to work,” Calum says.

“Okay, but what if it doesn’t work because it’s not original?” Michael says. Luke’s grip on the pen tightens.

“Who’s going to reject their soulmate because they said ‘hi’?” Calum points out. Michael crosses his arms, and shrugs.

“I would’ve,” he says.

“Only because you knew it was me.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Guys,” Luke says, anxiety leaking into the edges of his tone, and the two of them start a little, like they’ve just remembered he’s there.

“Just say hello,” Calum says.

“Hello?” Michael echoes. “What is he, some eighteenth century English lord? Say ‘hi’, Luke, or ‘hey’.”

“What, you can’t say ‘hello’ now?” Calum demands. “Anyway, it’s the principle, alright? Just greet them. It doesn’t have to be the best introduction in the world.” Yeah, Luke thinks. Yeah, that makes sense, right? It doesn’t have to be stellar; it’s just got to be something. So he nods, takes a deep breath, and lets the pen touch his skin.

Hi.

The word sits on his skin like everything he’s ever written on it before, doesn’t sink in or dissolve or do a little jig. Luke hadn’t been expecting it to - after all, he’s seen enough soulmates write things to their partners - but it looks just like when he used to hastily jot down his homework for the day because he’d forgotten his planner again, and it’s oddly underwhelming. It doesn’t look - or feel - like something he’s been anticipating for years is happening, despite the butterflies in his stomach. It looks a little lonesome.

“Well?” Michael asks impatiently.

“It’s been thirty fucking seconds, Mike, Jesus Christ,” Calum says, swigging from his beer.

“So?” Michael says, craning his neck to look at Luke’s arm. “Punctuality is an important quality in a partner, you know.” Calum scoffs incredulously, and Michael scowls. “Except if your partner is me. I have enough incredible traits to make up for it.” Calum just throws him a slightly-fond-but-mostly-exasperated look, and turns back to Luke, who’s still staring at his arm.

“Maybe they live in a different timezone,” Calum suggests. “Or maybe they’re younger than you.”

“Maybe,” Luke allows, and puts his arm back down on his lap, but doesn’t stop staring at it. “Maybe they’re busy.”

“Maybe,” Calum agrees.

“Maybe we should finish these fucking beers,” Michael says pointedly, and Luke finally tears his gaze away from his arm and over to Michael, who’s gesturing at the crate they’d lugged upstairs (‘they’ being Calum and Michael, because Luke refuses to lift anything heavier than a book). He’s got a point - it’s Luke’s birthday, and there’s a slim chance of his soulmate replying immediately, so he might as well enjoy himself.

“Alright,” Luke says, reaching for another bottle. “But don’t you fucking pussy out on me at two in the morning again.”

“What the fuck?” Michael demands indignantly, also reaching for a bottle. “When have we ever done that?”

-------

At two a.m., when Calum and Michael have stumbled blearily into bed together, Michael curling around Calum as they drifted off to sleep, Luke’s sat up in bed, staring at his arm. It still only says hi, and Luke’s trying to focus his alcohol-addled mind as much he can to will it to say more, to say hey, I’ve been waiting for you underneath Luke’s writing, but nothing changes.

And logically, Luke knows there are countless explanations as to why he hasn’t heard anything from his soulmate yet, least of which is that it’s only been a couple of hours. There’s a high chance his soulmate is younger than him, or asleep, or just busy, and a slim chance that they could be- well. Luke doesn’t want to think about that. It’s just- Luke’s been wanting this for years, always daydreamed about his soulmate, about the colour of their eyes and the sound of their laugh and the warmth of their touch. He’s conjured fantasy after fantasy in his mind about how his twenty-first birthday would go, about how he’d meet his soulmate and immediately fall in love, about the comfort and safety and fulfilment he would feel. Because that’s the whole thing about soulmates; they’re made for you, made to fill in the gaps in your soul that you can’t even see, and as Luke blinks at the single word written on his arm, a word that feels like it needs completing somehow, he realises he might want that more than he’d realised.

After a good ten minutes of staring and trying to engage any telepathy he may have, Luke decides that if his soulmate isn’t going to add anything, Luke’s going to have to do it himself. So he reaches for a pen, thinks for the briefest of seconds before a slightly-drunken thought tells him just introduce yourself, tell them about yourself, and he writes:

My name is Luke. It’s my twenty-first birthday today. I live in Sydney, Australia, and I have two brothers and a dog. What’s your name?

It reads like one of his French oral exams at school that he barely passed, but Luke’s satisfied with it, capping the pen and setting it aside. It’s good to give a bit more information, right? Surely his soulmate will appreciate more than just a hi, will be more likely to reply if they know a little more about him. Plus, he’s asked a question, and it’s only polite to respond to a question, isn’t it? They’ll be trapped into responding by social etiquette, if they’re of age.

Yeah, he thinks, satisfied, as he rolls over on his side and lets his heavy eyes fall shut. If his soulmate is old enough, he’ll have heard back by the morning.

-------

When Luke wakes up to the sun streaming through his window - fuck, they forgot to shut the curtains last night - he momentarily forgets what day it is, too focused on swearing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut, debating whether it’s worth getting up to shut the curtains or not. He decides it is, and heaves himself out of bed, and as he’s padding over to the curtains, arms already outstretched, he sees two lines of text on his arm.

Luke had written more than two lines. He’d written a few, all bunched together in a long paragraph. And this handwriting is bigger than Luke’s, more confident, more assertive.

It’s his soulmate.

Luke stops dead, twisting his arm around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a Chinese burn, heart beating so fast that it’s all he can hear, and reads.

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your soulmate.

And then, like an afterthought added reluctantly in a smaller script underneath: Happy birthday.

Luke stares at the words, reading them over and over, each hastily scribbled scratch of the pen like a tiny needle in his heart; not quite enough to tear it apart entirely, but enough to make it ache and leak.

So he has a soulmate. A soulmate who doesn’t want him back.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks, a little disoriented, stumbling back towards his bed and reaching for the pen he’d left on his bedside table almost on autopilot. Luke’s soulmate doesn’t even know him. How can they not want to be his soulmate? What did he do wrong? How can he have ruined something that’s predestined, something that’s fated to happen?

What? he writes back. The ink is harsh black on his pale skin, dug too deep into the flesh of his arm, sitting on top of his skin rather than underneath it like the words from his soulmate - some kind of sick symbolism, maybe, Luke thinks dazedly. An impenetrable layer between them, and it’s his own skin and bone. He’s heard of people not wanting their soulmates, but only after meeting them, or finding out that they’ve committed some horrible crime, or something of the sort. He doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t want their soulmate before meeting them.

“Hey,” Calum says suddenly and sleepily, clearing his throat and making Michael groan, stirring in his arms. “Did they write back yet?” Luke blinks, swallowing around a dry mouth.

He could lie. He could pull his sleeve down and say nah, not yet, and Calum would hum noncommittally and say sorry, mate, keep trying, I guess, and that would be it. He could keep it to himself, wouldn’t have to admit to those around him that somehow, he’s managed to turn his soulmate away from him before they even know him, that while they’re all in happy relationship with their soulmates, he’s managed to fuck his up before it began.

But on the other hand, he doesn’t know how long he could keep up that lie, because people would keep asking from time to time, and keeping it to himself feels like it would slowly eat at him from the inside out, teeth digging into the fabric of his soul and tearing it into even smaller pieces, and so he swallows, and says: “Yeah.” His voice is thick and wobbly, and it makes Calum’s brow crease, makes him struggle to sit upright leaning on his elbows, ignoring Michael’s noises of protest.

“What?” Calum asks, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” Luke wants to cry.

“I-” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t think he can say the words aloud. Instead, he holds out his arm, sleeve still rolled up, and watches as Calum’s eyes flit over the words, then looks away quickly as he sees Calum’s expression shift from concern to pity.

“Oh, Luke,” he says softly, and now Luke doesn’t want to cry but can’t stop it, can’t help the tears that are pricking at his eyes, forcing him to swipe at them hastily before they can fall.

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, a little numbly. “I- how can they not- they don’t even know me.”

“I know,” Calum says, shoving Michael off him and swinging his legs out of the bed they’re sharing. “Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry.” But Luke doesn’t want Calum to be sorry. He wants his soulmate to want him back. Was it the stilted introduction? Maybe Michael was right; maybe Luke should have thought of a more striking opener, should have mentioned some interesting facts about himself, come up with something flirtatious and witty and suave. Maybe his soulmate took one look at Luke’s nervous, awkward introduction and thought nah, fuck that, I’d rather be alone than have this guy as my soulmate.

“I should’ve said something better,” Luke says quietly, letting himself be pulled into Calum as he sits down next to him and puts a warm, strong arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Michael was right.”

“Oh, fuck Michael,” Calum says, with feeling, and Michael opens one eye a crack.

“Wha’ve I done?” Michael mumbles, and then, like he’s just remembered what day it is, he shoots bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and excited. “Oh, fuck, did they reply, Luke? Did they say something? What did they say, was it-”

“Mike,” Calum says warningly, and shoots Michael a look that Luke doesn’t need to be his soulmate to understand - shut the fuck up, Jesus, read the fucking room. Michael falters, and then frowns.

“What happened?” he says, a little fiercely. “Are they a dickhead?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A proper cunt.”

“Hey,” Luke protests weakly, and Calum’s arm around him tightens.

“What did they say?” Michael asks. Luke hesitates, swallows, and then holds his arm out.

“Hang on, I need my-” Michael says, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses, and then swears when he realises they’re covered in fingerprints, wiping them hastily on his t-shirt before shoving them on his nose and squinting at the writing on Luke’s arm. He reads the words at least three times, going from a frown to a clenched jaw, and then looks up at the two of them, green eyes ablaze behind his glasses.

“What the fuck?” he demands, and whips his glasses off. “What the fuck?”

“I know,” Calum agrees, stroking Luke’s bicep. “It’s fucked up.”

“They don’t even know you. All you said was ‘hi’.” Luke bites his lip.

“I wrote a bit more,” he says. “After you went to bed. I just- just introduced myself. Said it was my birthday, I live in Sydney, have two brothers and a dog.”

“Alright, so all you did was fucking introduce yourself,” Michael corrects, leaning into his anger. “What the fuck sort of reason could they have for saying that?”

“Mike,” Calum says gently, and Michael’s gaze turns to him for a moment and then softens in understanding.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I just- fuck. I’m sorry, Luke.” He sets his glasses aside, gets up and sits on Luke’s other side, wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist, and that’s too much for Luke - he starts crying in earnest, big, ugly sobs that come from the frayed patches of his soul that feel like they’ll never be stitched together because the needle doesn’t want to play ball. Michael and Calum just cradle him through it, whispering soothing words, humming quietly, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and temples and forehead as they rub gentle circles on his skin. It’s enough to stave off some of the desperate longing leaking from the pinpricks in his heart, enough to give him a little splutter of a spark in his veins that reminds him hey, you still have people who love you. It’s not enough enough, and Luke vaguely thinks it never quite will be, but it’s enough to stem the flow of tears, to make him sniff and ask for a tissue through a thick throat, to make him clear his throat and try on a watery smile.

“D’you want us to tell your parents?” Calum asks quietly, taking Luke’s snotty, tear-stained tissue from him and setting it on the bedside table. Fuck, Luke thinks, as a fresh wave of tears brim in his eyes. He’s got to tell everyone else, now, too. Over and over, telling person after person yeah, my soulmate doesn’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.

“No,” Luke says, even though he does want Michael and Calum to tell his parents. “I- I should tell them.”

“Okay,” Calum says gently.

“Can you-” Luke cuts himself off, biting his lip. Michael and Calum just wait, though, so Luke bids the scraps of his dignity farewell, and mumbles: “Can you tell Alex and Jack, though?” He feels both Calum’s and Michael’s arms tighten around him, feels Michael pressing a kiss to Luke’s shoulder as Calum says yeah, mate, of course we can. Of course.

(Happy birthday, the words underneath the line etched into Luke’s skin telling him I don’t want you say, now wet with the tears dripping from Luke’s cheeks onto his sleeves. Yeah, Luke thinks bitterly. Happy fucking birthday to him.)

-------

Telling everybody is exactly as painful as Luke had anticipated.

He manages to tell his family in one go, because they ask over his birthday dinner, and he almost manages not to cry into the stunned silence as he says it, only breaking when Ben sighs sadly and pulls Luke into his chest for a tight hug. Alex and Jack call around four to ask him whether he’s finally going to get laid (what, Lex, that’s literally how you wish someone a happy twenty-first birthday, what’s your fucking problem), and Luke makes big, wide eyes at Calum, who throws a quick glance at Michael, who snatches the phone out of Luke’s hands and hastily walks out of the room, whispering something fiercely with a knitted brow and his hand cupped over the receiver. When he comes back in and hands the phone back to Luke, Alex and Jack have switched tack completely, all attempts at normalcy and breeziness mitigated by the oddly gentle, hesitant tones to their voices. Luke hates it, hates the pity and the microscope he feels like he’s under, the fact that he’s done the whole thing wrong somehow before even starting it, so he mumbles his excuses and hangs up on them as soon as he can, lying back on the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The first few weeks are almost equally bad - Luke just wants to forget about it all, pretend that everything is normal outside of his own head, make-believe that his world hasn’t had a harsh spotlight shone on it showing the cracks in the façade he’s been admiring as though it were worthy of the Louvre, but everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, whispering whenever he leaves a room and stopping abruptly as soon as he comes in, or throwing him concerned and pitying looks. He hates it, hates that his mum will come into his room every evening and ask him too-casually how his day’s been, hates that Calum and Alex will ask him how he’s doing and look too sad when he says he’s fine, hates that Jack and Michael will bluntly tell him fuck someone else, forget about them. He just wants things to be normal again, doesn’t want the constant reminder that even the person made for him doesn’t want him swelling up in his lungs and choking him day in, day out.

He does a lot of research in those first few weeks. The majority of the results are about soulmate pairings where one person has moral qualms with the other, and a smaller group are about pairings where one partner only sees a platonic future where the other wants a romantic future - those are rare, though, as the system is designed to take these preferences into account - and it’s only on Luke’s second week of searching that he finds something, a tiny footnote at the bottom of an article about being soulmates with a serial killer. Choosing love, it says, and when Luke clicks on the link it opens up an ancient-looking website that says Choosing love: soulmates and the autonomous self.

It’s not a long article, and it’s riddled with spelling mistakes, but the gist of it seems to be that the author thinks the soulmate system is fucked up in principle, not in practice - they readily acknowledge that their soulmate is perfect for them, but resent the idea of having love assigned to them. It brings in ideas of free will raised by such authors as- and then Luke stops understanding, eyes glazing over as he reads metaphysical libertarianism and fatalism and compatibilism. So maybe this is what Luke’s soulmate’s problem is, Luke thinks, rereading the first few paragraphs that he actually understood. But it doesn’t make any fucking sense - why would someone try and choose someone that might not be right for them, when the right person is at their fingertips?

(He asks one night, after a few too many hours alone with his thoughts. Why don’t you want to be my soulmate? But it, like everything he’s written over the past month since his birthday, goes unanswered.)

Luke tries to reach out a few more times over the next few weeks, with varying degrees of success. His soulmate is completely unresponsive when Luke asks where they live, or how old they are, or what they do for a living, or what they look like.

Can you at least tell me your name? he asks once. No response.

Okay, what about your initials? he asks the next day. Again, no response.

One initial? he tries, the day after that. Please. Just your first initial. Maybe it’s the ‘please’ that does it, or maybe Luke’s soulmate is just sick of being asked the same question three days in a row and doesn’t want to get half a letter? Write it in code? tomorrow, but when Luke wakes up the next morning there’s a tiny, slightly-smudged A written underneath where he’d asked for the initial.

That’s the last Luke hears from his soulmate.

For a while, he writes a few times a day, tries to say something witty or something clever or something interesting. He tells A about his job, tells them about how frustrating it is to have Jack as his co-worker and Alex as his boss (because seriously, Jack should be fired at least four times an hour, and he’s fairly sure your boss being your soulmate violates a fair few codes of conflict of interest), tells them about Michael and Calum and how he sort of wishes he’d gone to university like they did. A never responds, and so after a while Luke gets self-conscious and stops writing so often, just checks in once a day in the evening to give A a roundup of the previous twenty-four hours. Luke figures the person doesn’t care, probably won’t read it, but it’s like a more cathartic version of a diary, one that has the possibility of being read and talking back, however slim the probability may be. Every evening, just before he goes to bed, he rounds up his day, vents to A about Jack breaking a bass in the shop again, laments that he doesn’t get to see Michael and Calum as often as he’d like to, talks about the regulars who come in like clockwork for their guitar strings, muses about whether he should get up early and get a coffee on the way to work tomorrow or whether he should get as much precious sleep as he can. He fills his arm from left to right, twisting it all the way around until he has to hold the pen at such a strange angle that he can barely control it, getting out all his thoughts and grievances and little things he’s observed that day, and when he wakes up in the morning, his arm is completely empty again. A never writes back, never even indicates that they’ve seen or read Luke’s ramblings, but they never tell him to stop it, either. And while that probably doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t not mean anything, either, and that’s as good as Luke figures it’s going to get for him. Plus, it becomes so ingrained in Luke’s daily routine that he barely even notices he’s doing it, and he sort of thinks getting a response might throw him off a bit.

(One night, so drunk he can barely stand, Luke scrawls I wish you wanted me. I wish I didn’t have to be alone. It’s gone when he wakes up the next morning, but there’s a tiny pen marking underneath where it had been, like A had gone to write something and then thought better of it.)

A week or so after that incident, Luke’s just taking out his earphones, still humming along to the song he’d been listening to as he shoulders the door to the shop open, when Jack appears right in front of his face, making him jump and drop his phone.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters, picking his phone up from the floor and inspecting it for damage he can sue Jack for.

“Glad you noticed,” Jack says. “Come to the back room.” Luke stops, and narrows his eyes.

“What for?” he says suspiciously.

“What do you mean, what for?” Jack says, sounding a little affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, we need to fix that. We should do a team bonding day,” Jack says, just as Alex walks around the corner. “Hey, Lex, d’you think me and Luke can do a team bonding day?”

“A team bonding day?” Alex echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I thought torture was illegal in Australia.”

“That’s true,” Jack agrees placidly. “I’m not sure I can spend a whole day with Luke.” Luke scowls, aiming a kick at Jack’s ankle, just as Alex passes by and says: “I was talking about you, idiot.”

“I’m a fucking pleasure to spend time with,” Jack says, voice rising as Alex walks away. “You spend all your time with me.”

“For legal purposes,” Alex calls over his shoulder. Jack frowns.

“Legal purposes?” he says.

“Yeah,” Alex shouts. “The life insurance papers have to look convincing.” It’s Jack’s turn to scowl, yelling fuck you at Alex’s retreating figure and getting a you can’t afford my fees in return.

“Not on the fucking salary you pay me,” Jack shouts, and then turns to Luke. “Come to the back room.” Luke eyes him warily.

“No,” he says. Jack scowls again.

“Aren’t I your manager?” he says. “Come to the back room.”

“I think I’m your manager at the moment,” Luke says, because who’s manager is dependent on the whims of a certain Alex Gaskarth and Jack breaking another bass last week had outdone Luke accidentally selling an Epiphone for half its retail price. Jack, though, just waves a hand dismissively, then grabs Luke’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the back room.

“Hey,” Luke protests, trying to plant his feet and failing miserably - Jesus, Jack’s stronger than he looks. “This is kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Jack says. “You know where you’re going.”

“But I don’t want to be,” Luke says, grabbing onto the desk as he’s pulled past and scrabbling to hold onto it. Jack just yanks harder, dislodging Luke’s grip, and forces him into the back room.

“What?” Luke asks warily, when Jack finally lets go, glancing around at the cardboard boxes filling their shelving units up to the ceiling full of new bass and electric guitars that Luke was meant to unbox two days ago but didn’t. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Jack protests, and then kicks the door shut behind them and grins. “It’s what I’m going to do.” Luke groans, tipping his head back, and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Nope. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s something I don’t want to be involved in.”

“No you don’t,” Jack says.

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because it’s something you’re planning.” Jack pouts.

“Listen-” he starts, taking a step forward towards Luke, who instinctively takes another step back, and that’s all Luke hears because then his heel is hitting a cardboard box hard, forcing it back against the wall, and the box on top of that is wobbling and making the box on top of that one wobble even more, and Luke says shit and flings his arms out to steady himself, catching the metal of the shelving unit and pulling it towards him, making all of the heavy, heavy fucking guitars in it come crashing down on top of him. A few land next to him with ugly crunching sounds and accompanying twangs, and a few hit his legs and force him to the ground, and then a few are hitting his stomach and chest and crushing his organs, making him gasp for breath, and then a few are hitting his head, making him momentarily unable to see as his vision swims so much it almost disappears entirely, and then Luke must lose consciousness because the next thing he hears is a distant voice shouting, sounding incredibly worried.

“Luke?” they’re yelling. “Luke? Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Luke, Luke, are you okay? Are you- fuck, fuck, Lex, help me, help me move- no, not that, you fucking idiot, that’s going to-” and then Jack’s face comes into view, uncharacteristic concern etched on his features.

“Huh,” Luke says weakly. “You look funny when you care about me.” And then he passes out again.

-------

When Luke wakes up again, he’s in hospital.

At first, it sends a jolt of fear running through him when he wakes up in an all-white, clinical-looking environment, but his brain supplies a helpful hey, remember when all those guitars fell on you? That was pretty wack, and then it sort of makes sense.

“Oh, hey!” someone says, and Luke’s head snaps to the left to find the source of the voice. It’s a pretty - very fucking pretty, oh God - man, standing next to a bunch of machines, some of which are bleeping, some of which are blinking. “You’re up.”

“I’m up,” Luke says, and finds that his throat is dry and raspy. He coughs, and tries again. “Uh. Who are you?”

“I’m Ashton,” the guy says. “I’m your nurse. Well, until my shift ends.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Hi. I’m Luke.” Ashton grins, hazel eyes lighting up in amusement, and steps back from the machines he’s been fiddling with.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Luke says, and looks down at himself. His right arm is bound in a cast, and when he tries to wriggle his toes he finds his left foot in a cast too, and winces when he takes a deep breath. “My body hurts.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, and moves to the foot of Luke’s bed to pick up a tablet.

“Yeah,” he says. “You had a bunch of guitars fall on you. You’re lucky you came out of it with just a few broken bones and a concussion.”

“And probably a huge bill for damages, if my boss is anything to go by,” Luke adds, and Ashton looks up from the tablet with a small smile.

“Nightmare boss?” he says, and then frowns. “Hang on, you’ve had a visitor claiming to be your boss. American guy?”

“Not the one with skunk hair?” Luke asks in trepidation, because the last thing he wants to deal with is Jack Barakat in a hospital environment, and Ashton shakes his head.

“No, but he was with him,” he says. “I think they’re both still here, actually. They were insistent that they wanted to be here when you woke up, but I can tell them to leave, if you’d like.” Luke hesitates.

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “The boss thing was, uh. A joke. Well. Kind of. He is a shitty boss. But. Not like that.” He swallows. Fuck. He should not be allowed to interact with hot men, honestly. Maybe Ashton will just think these incredibly lacking social skills are a part of the concussion and not just Luke’s main failing as a person.

“It’s still visiting hours, so if you want they can come in, but I’ll get the doctor to check you over first, since you’re awake now,” Ashton says, and Luke nods. Yeah. He should probably get checked over. Seems like the kind of thing you do in a hospital, right?

“Sure,” he says, and Ashton throws him one final grin before heading out of the room. Luke exhales shakily, lying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

Fuck. He hopes he’s sick enough to stay in hospital forever, and that Ashton’s on shift tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that. However long it takes for Luke to become socially adept, really.

-------

The doctor tells him something about broken leg and fractured wrist and broken ribs and bruised internally, but all Luke hears is will take a few months to heal fully but no lasting damage, and we’re just going to keep you in for today and tomorrow and monitor your situation, since you had a fairly nasty concussion. Jack and Alex come bursting in as soon as the doctor gives Luke the all-clear for visitors, rushing to his side and telling him how fucking stupid he is, what the fuck, why would he grab onto the fucking shelving unit to steady himself, but their eyes are shining with worry and their faces are a little red and puffy, and it makes Luke’s heart lurch in his chest in an oddly pleasant way. Alex tells Luke he’ll give him a pay raise if he doesn’t sue for workplace injury, and Luke laughs and then immediately groans in pain and says don’t make me laugh, I’ve broken my ribs.

(“Don’t worry,” Jack assures him, “Michael and Cal are coming in after us. You're safe on the laughing front.”)

Michael and Calum do visit after Alex and Jack, but only get to stay for five minutes before Ashton’s sticking his head in the door and saying Luke, your parents are here, and they’re not happy that everyone’s seen you before they have.

(“He’s your type, isn’t he?” Michael says loudly, before the door’s even closed behind Ashton, and Luke wants to die. He wonders whether he can force one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs, or something.)

By the time his parents have finished fussing over him, his mum plumping up his pillows and his dad clapping a hand on his broken leg that makes Luke let out a choked scream of pain, Luke’s so exhausted that he just falls straight asleep, only waking up when he hears some shuffling around his bed.

“Mm?” he mumbles, blinking blearily, and finds Ashton smiling apologetically at him.

“Sorry,” he stage-whispers. “I’m not great at being quiet.”

“No, no, ‘s all good,” Luke says, swallowing like it’s going to get the horrible taste out of his mouth.

“How are you?”

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Luke answers automatically, and then belatedly realises he’s lying in a hospital bed with an IV in and a few broken bones. “Uh. I mean-” he says hastily, but Ashton just laughs, gentle and amused. It sends a shiver down Luke’s spine, although that might just be whatever Ashton’s just pressed on the machine blinking next to Luke’s head.

“Do you ever get a good answer to that?” Luke asks, turning his head to look at Ashton.

“To what?”

“To asking people how they are in a hospital.” Ashton smiles down at the tube he’s fiddling with, and Luke tries not to think about the fact that the other end of the tube is inside him, tries not to let his stomach turn. It’s probably not very sexy to throw up in front of Hot Ashton.

“Not really,” Ashton says. “But it’s free to care, right?” Oh, God. Hot Ashton is also Caring Ashton. Fuck. Luke is not in the right state of mind to deal with this.

“I guess,” Luke says.

“So, how are you?” Ashton asks, smile still playing at his lips.

“Uh,” Luke says. “Tired. My body still hurts.”

“You should rest,” Ashton advises him. “Pretty much the best thing you can do for your body right now.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then without thinking, adds: “I mean, I was resting, until…” he trails off, rational part of his brain kicking in and screaming what the fuck, Luke, that’s your fucking nurse, that’s so rude, that’s so unprofessional, you’re going to get kicked out of hospital and forced to try and heal your broken bones on your own (okay, maybe not so rational), but Ashton just laughs, bright and amused.

“Point taken,” he says, but he’s still grinning, so Luke figures he’s safe. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll send my botox bill your way,” Luke says, and Ashton arches an eyebrow, stepping back from the machines at Luke’s side.

“I’m not sure that’ll hold up in court,” he says.

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” Luke says, eyes following Ashton as he crosses the room over to the door. Ashton huffs out a laugh, looking over at Luke as he pulls the door open and lets light spill from the bright hallway into the room, making him glow softly like some kind of weird, scrubs-clad angel.

“Sleep well, Luke,” he says, and then the light is gone.

-------

Luke does sleep well.

He sleeps for most of the next day, only waking up for a very groggy talk with a new doctor of which he takes absolutely nothing in, then for a very painful walk to the bathroom with a brisk nurse who tugs on his elbow too hard, and then when Alex, Jack, Michael and Calum all pile into his room as soon as visiting hours begin. He’s kind of glad they’re all there, because it means they can entertain each other rather than him having to partake in the conversation, so he can just lie back, exhausted, and watch them bicker over whether or not Luke would notice if they stole his hospital food. Wait, hang on-

“Hey,” Luke says, frowning. “No one’s stealing my hospital food. I need to heal.”

“But it’s salmon tonight,” Michael protests. “You don’t even like salmon.” Luke pulls a face. He really doesn’t like salmon.

“So, what, I should starve?” he says indignantly, even though he probably would rather starve than eat salmon.

“We can sneak you food,” Jack says earnestly. “Mike and I were thinking-”

“I told you, Jack,” Alex says exasperatedly. “Visiting hours are once a day. Luke needs to eat more than that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael says. “Not if we bring him enough food.”

“He can space it out,” Jack suggests.

“Yeah, I’m sure Luke would fucking love to eat cold and soggy chicken nuggets,” Calum says sarcastically, and Alex nods and points at him, all thank God, finally someone speaking some sense.

“They’re not going to get soggy,” Michael protests.

“Yeah, do you know how many preservatives they put in those things?” Jack adds.

“And you think that’s what Luke should be eating to mend his broken bones?” Alex asks dryly.

“He’s fine,” Michael says breezily. “He’s twenty-one. His body’s been managing a poor diet so far.” Luke scowls.

“My diet’s fucking fine,” he says. “What’s wrong with my diet?” All four of them round on him in disbelief.

“Are you fucking serious?” Calum demands, at the same time that Michael says: “What isn’t wrong with your diet?” and Alex says: “When was the last time you even looked in the general direction of a vegetable?” and Jack says: “No, y’know, the man’s got a point. His diet could be worse.”

“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it isn’t bad,” Calum points out.

“Credit where credit is due,” Jack says solemnly, “he’s doing a better job than he could be.”

“The only way Luke’s diet could be worse is if he went all Monsieur Mangetout,” Alex says, and the four of them blink at him. “What?” he says defensively. “C’mon, Monsieur Mangetout? You know Monsieur Mangetout.”

“You wanna flex your French pronunciation skills one more time?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. “The floor is yours, mate.” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off,” he says. “My point is-” but they don’t get to find out what his point is, because then the door’s opening and Ashton’s sticking his head in. Luke wishes he’d been able to shower this morning - he’s sure his hair is sticking up all over the place, and that half the curls are flattened and frizzy, and he sort of wants to say sorry, Ashton, I swear I’m at least a little hotter than this most of the time.

“Visiting hours are over, guys, I’m sorry,” Ashton says apologetically, and all four of Luke’s friends groan. “Sorry, sorry, I know,” Ashton says, and then throws Luke a smile before closing the door as they start gathering their things together, the sound of chairs scraping filling the room.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Jack says to Luke, nodding at the door Ashton’s just closed.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “He’s also my nurse, so. Very illegal.” Michael pulls a face.

“Is it?” he asks. Calum and Alex both throw him hard looks.

“Yes,” they chorus.

“Fucking hell,” Jack grumbles, pulling his coat on. “Laws are really fucking boring.” In this case, Luke can’t help but heartily agree.

“Well, hurry up with the healing, and then he won’t be your nurse anymore,” Michael suggests.

“Pretty sure it’s still illegal,” Alex notes.

“So?”

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Alex mutters, and pushes him towards the door. “We’ll come back tomorrow if you’re still here, Luke.”

“Us too,” Calum says, shepherding Michael in the direction of the door too. “Bye, Luke. Be safe.”

“Be safe?” Luke echoes. “What sort of fucking danger am I in at a hospital?”

“Falling in love, apparently,” Calum says, and then the door swings shut behind him.

Well, Luke thinks. He’s not exactly wrong.

-------

Ashton comes back at around seven p.m. with Luke’s dinner, although I don’t usually serve dinner, it’s not a nurse’s job, but Jenna’s just had to go home for a family emergency and I was the closest person at hand. It’s salmon, and Luke pulls a face when he sees it that makes Ashton laugh.

“You don’t like salmon?” he says. “We have veggie options too, if you want that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Luke says hastily, not wanting to come across like the fussy eater he is, for some reason. “Salmon’s good. I like salmon. It’s, uh, a good fish.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then snorts.

“Sure,” he says, and sets the tray down on Luke’s lap carefully. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Luke says, which isn’t really a lie this time. “Everything still hurts, but.” He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“You’re a trooper,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke nods solemnly, using his unbroken left hand to slot the knife into his right hand.

“It’s the top level care I’m receiving,” he says, and Ashton laughs again.

“Flattery will get you places,” he says, and Luke pauses, glancing over at Ashton.

“What places?” he asks, and Ashton winks, and sets a slice of chocolate cake down on the tray balanced on Luke’s legs. Luke looks down at it, and then back up at Ashton.

“That was on the menu,” he says. “You were going to give that to me anyway.” Ashton just grins, and heads back to the door.

“I would’ve withheld it if you hadn’t complimented my exemplary nursing skills,” he says, as he pulls the door open.

“I thought you said dinner service wasn’t part of the job description?”

“I might fight for it to be now,” Ashton says, pulling the door open. “Everyone needs to play God from time to time.” Luke snorts.

“That’s a completely non-alarming sentence to come out of your nurse’s mouth,” he says. “I think I’ll check my IV myself tonight.” Ashton’s lips hitch up in an amused smile.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he says, and then he’s gone.

-------

The next day, Luke is told that he can be discharged after a series of tests have been carried out, which are booked in for five p.m. - right in the middle of visiting hours, so he texts everybody not to come - and then get delayed until nine p.m. By ten, Luke’s still waiting for someone to come round as promised, and is getting incredibly restless, so turns to reach for his phone again - and stops dead.

There’s writing on his arm.

Writing that he, with his broken right hand, did not put there.

He yanks his arm close to him, then turns to fumble with the light above his bed because he can’t fucking see, and squints at the writing.

It’s just three words, small and scribbled like they had to be written fast or A would have lost the nerve to say them, but they make Luke’s heart thud against his ribcage like it’s trying to break a few more of his ribs.

Are you okay?

What?

Luke’s reaching for the pen in his drawer before he’s even thought about it, a million responses racing through his mind. What the fuck, being one, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate another, why are you talking to me now? What changed? in there somewhere too, but mostly: why?

It’s a good thing it’s only why, too, because writing the letters takes a fucking age and when he’s done, it sort of looks like something he would have produced when he was four years old. The reply is instantaneous, though, and Luke can barely believe it, feels like he’s hallucinating the way the letters are appearing one by one on his arm. He’s too scared to blink, like it’ll break the spell somehow, like looking away will make A think well, he’s replied, that’s good enough, but another sentence appears, letter by letter.

You haven’t complained about Jack in a few days.

So they have been reading Luke’s quasi-diary-entries.

Fuck.

Shit. Luke has no idea what to say. Should he tell the truth? Should he try and take a mile from the inch A is giving him, ask what the fuck is going on, press the question of why A doesn’t want to be his soulmate? No, that’ll make them clam up again. Maybe he just shouldn’t reply at all. After all, it’s not like A’s ever given Luke anything when he’s been pouring his heart out in the early hours of the night, is it? Maybe Luke should give them a taste of their own medicine.

He only considers that for a total of half a second before the pen is back on his skin, writing underneath A’s handwriting - God, it’s fucking surreal.

I’m in hospital. Broke a bunch of bones. There’s a longer pause this time, and when a few minutes of Luke staring intently down at his arm have passed with no further reply and he’s thinking fuck, that’s it with a sinking heart, a few more words appear.

I’m sorry to hear that. Get well soon.

Luke’s just about to put the pen back down to his arm, to write a quick thanks, because it’s about all he can manage to write legibly with the weird way he has to hold his pen with the cast on, when more scribbles start appearing.

How are you doing? Luke bites his lip.

Fine, he says. You?

I’m not the one in hospital.

True, Luke writes. My body aches.

You should rest. Best thing you can do for your body. Luke huffs out a laugh.

You sound like my nurse.

Your nurse knows what they’re talking about.

I’d be concerned if he didn’t. The reply takes a little longer to come this time, but after a few minutes more words are appearing.

Touché. Luke’s just staring down at the word, racking his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going because fuck, fuck, he’s talking to his fucking soulmate, when a few more words appear.

Goodnight, Luke. Get some rest.

I’d like to, but I’m waiting for more tests, Luke writes. He waits, and he waits, but no response comes.

Fuck, he thinks, rereading the entire conversation over and over, and over just for good measure. Fuck. He’s spoken to his soulmate. He’s spoken to A. He’s spoken to his fucking soulmate.

He reaches over for his phone, turns his arm this way and that and takes a photo, and sends it to his group chat with Michael and Calum. He sees Michael’s typing bubble pop up before the second picture has even sent, but then the door is opening and Doctor Nichols is striding in, and Luke hastily puts his phone down and nods along to the list of tests she’s rattling off that need doing before he can be discharged, mind covered in an impervious sheen of soulmate soulmate soulmate that stops any of it going in.

Fuck, Luke thinks, as he’s getting a bright light shone in his eyes and trying his hardest not to blink or look over at his phone, which is buzzing incessantly on his bedside table. Fuck.

-------

Michael and Calum agree that this is a positive step.

(Are you fucking kidding me? Calum says, when Luke voices hesitancy. They checked in on you. They fucking care.

rt, Michael says.)

Luke’s not so certain, though. The thought of it is sending delicious sparks dancing from his heart to his fingertips and down to his abdomen (or maybe that’s the medication, he’s not entirely sure), but he doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, given A’s hard stance and silence for the past few months. But A would have received a letter if Luke had died, and the government are usually pretty quick to send those out, so maybe there is something to be said for the fact that they only waited three nights before asking after Luke.

Luke’s body is too exhausted to let him stay up psyching himself out over it, though, forcing him into a deep sleep as soon as Doctor Nichols has told him he’s free to leave the next morning and left him be, and when he wakes up the next morning it’s to someone opening his curtains.

“Hey,” they say, as Luke’s eyelids try to fight the fucking sun, and Luke shields his eyes with his hand to see Ashton silhouetted by the window.

“Weren’t you on shift last night?” he asks, and Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Life of a nurse,” he says tiredly. “Sorry for the light, by the way. Figured it would be a nicer way to wake you up than ripping your IV out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, squinting and scrunching his face up, and Ashton huffs out a small laugh as he makes his way over to Luke’s side.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns.

“That’s a shame,” Luke says. “I always thought having needles ripped out of me would be an enjoyable experience.” Ashton smiles again, and there are a few crinkles around his eyes. God, he really is fucking pretty.

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks.

“I’m looking forward to not having to eat salmon anymore,” Luke says.

“Hey, I offered you the veggie option,” Ashton says, and Luke winces as he feels the needle and whatever the fuck else being pulled out of his vein.

“I didn’t want to be a nuisance,” Luke says.

“Hold this,” Ashton instructs, and Luke reaches over to hold the gauze on his arm as Ashton reaches for a clear plaster. “You wouldn’t have been a nuisance. You’ve been an exemplary patient.”

“Is that a compliment?” Luke says. “I’m good at lying around being useless?” Ashton grins.

“You’re not useless,” he says. “Patients keep me in a job.” Luke grins back.

“I’ll try my best to get seriously injured again, then,” he says, and as Ashton turns away to the trolley he’s put Luke’s cannula on he catches the tail end of a small smile playing at his lips.

“Legally and professionally, I can’t encourage that,” he says, and Luke snorts.

“But personally?”

“No comment.”

“So you want me to hurt myself?”

“Is that what ‘no comment’ means these days?” Ashton says, throwing Luke a glance over his shoulder as he pushes his trolley over to the door, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Luke.”

“Wait,” Luke blurts, and Ashton stops. Luke blinks, like he's waiting for Ashton to say something, even though he's the one who'd asked him to stop, because shit, he hasn't thought this through. Something in his brain just said stop, ask him out, ask him out. And really, he thinks, why not, because if he embarrasses himself he'll never have to see Ashton again, and he's no longer Ashton's patient, so he takes a deep breath, says fuck it, and mumbles: “Uh. Look. Would you- would you want to go out? With me? Not- not now, obviously. Some other time. But- y’know. Would you?” Jesus Christ. Ashton hesitates for a moment, and then throws Luke a slightly sad, kind smile.

“I’d love to, Luke,” he says, and Luke’s heart soars for a moment, flying higher than it’s ever gone before “but I can’t.” Fuck. Luke’s heart should have read Icarus.

“Why not?” Luke says. “I’m not your patient anymore.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Still not allowed,” he says. “Only exception is if you find out you’re soulmates.” Well, fuck.

“Oh,” Luke says, and hopes the wobble in his voice isn’t as audible to Ashton as it is to him. “Okay.”

“I really- fuck. Sorry. I just- I’m sorry, Luke.” Ashton smiles at him again, barely more than a twitch of his lips, and then he’s gone.

Luke leans back against his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Maybe he’s just not meant to be with people whose names start with the letter A.

-------

Luke sits around at home for a week before he decides he’s so bored and so sick of being fussed over by his parents that he insists on coming back to work. Alex, in turn, insists on picking him up and dropping him off every evening, like he’s doing a fucking school run, and Jack insists on Luke doing nothing besides working the till so he can sit down. It’s fucking boring, because all the fun parts of the job are helping little kids buy their first guitars or talking to seasoned professionals about the ins and outs of the instruments, not smiling politely and waiting while they swipe their cards. He has nothing to do between people paying, so he spends most of his time on his phone, swiping through his various social media apps and wishing his hand weren’t in a cast so he could at least play guitar. It’s not exactly the worst way to spend his time, though, especially now that he’s found that forum of people pretending to be middle-class Dads which is oddly relatable and funnier to him than it probably is to anyone else. He’s in the middle of scrolling through it in a particularly quiet lull on a Thursday afternoon, screenshotting the best ones to send to Ben and Jack, when the shadow of a person looms over him.

“Hey, I- oh,” they say, and Luke looks up from his phone hastily to find-

“Ashton?” he says, surprised.

“Hi,” Ashton says. God, he looks good; he’s wearing a leather jacket over a faded grey Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair is falling into his eyes a little, and Luke sort of wants to kiss him and sort of wants to die.

“Uh, hi,” Luke says. “Sorry. I just, um. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. How can I help you?” Ashton blinks at him, and then smiles.

“I need some new strings for my Strat,” he says, and Luke nods. Of course Ashton plays guitar. Hopefully he doesn’t play, like, fucking drums, or something. That would probably be too much for Luke’s little heart to handle.

“Sure,” he says, turning to the selection of strings behind him. “Ernie Ball Regular Slinky alright?”

“Sounds good,” Ashton says, and Luke pulls a pack down and sets them on the desk in front of him, busying himself with adding up the cost like he doesn’t know it off by heart.

“How are you doing?” Ashton asks as Luke furiously types in numbers to avoid looking at Ashton, making Luke pause and glance up at him.

“You’re not on the job right now,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh, raking a hand through his curls.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t care,” he says. “So?”

“I’m alright,” Luke says. “Bored, mostly. Kind of shit not being able to use my hand.” Ashton makes a small noise of sympathy, and Luke dramatically presses a button on the till and announces: “That’s fourteen dollars, please.”

“You won’t have to have the cast on for long,” Ashton says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. Luke tries not to watch the way the movement exposes a sliver of his stomach. Thank fuck the scrubs had made Ashton entirely shapeless, because Jesus Christ.

“I feel like I’ll have to relearn how to use my hand normally when it comes off,” Luke admits, accepting the twenty Ashton hands him and fumbling with the till for a five and a one.

“That’s pretty normal,” Ashton says, accepting the change. Luke’s fingers brush against Ashton’s palm, and he tries not to let them twitch at the contact. “You’ll be used to it after a day or two.”

“Maybe I’ll grow attached to it, though,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. “I mean, everyone has to be nice to me now.” Ashton looks down at the cast, which has Luke sucks big dicks written on it in huge, black letters courtesy of Jack, and then back up at Luke pointedly, who sighs. “That’s just Jack,” he says, and right on cue, Jack pops his head out of the back room.

“What’s me?” he says, and then brightens. “Hey, Nurse Irwin!”

“Hi, Mr Barakat,” Ashton says.

“Hey, idiot, Luke’s sexy nurse is here,” Jack shouts, and Alex’s head appears out of the office.

“What?” he says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin.”

“Hi, Mr Gaskarth,” Ashton says politely. “How’re you?”

“Great, thanks,” Alex says. “Better now that you’ve patched my best employee up.”

“Hey,” Jack says, affronted. “Aren’t I your best employee?”

“Did Nurse Irwin patch you up?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be my best employee after that, then.”

“Good to know my nursing skills are what keep your business running,” Ashton puts in, and Alex grins.

“Think it’s more than just your nursing skills,” he says cryptically, and then disappears back into his office.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Uh. I’m sorry. Here. Um. Have fun?” Ashton smiles, a little teasing, a little amused.

“Will do,” he says. “Look after that arm for me.” Luke’s heart skips a beat. For me.

“Well, I was planning on smashing it up a bit more, but now that you’ve said that…” he says, and Ashton laughs, eyes twinkling.

“See you around, Luke,” he says, pocketing his strings and heading for the door. Luke watches him go, and then groans and puts his head in his hands.

“What the fuck?” Jack says. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

“I did,” Luke mumbles into his palms. “The day I got discharged. He said no.”

“What?” Alex pipes up, sticking his head out of his office again, because apparently he’s still listening too. “Why? Does he already have a soulmate?” Luke’s stomach flips. He’s been trying not to think about that possibility. But surely Ashton would have said that, right? It’s the kindest way to let someone down. And he had said he would have loved to, however much out of politeness that may have been.

“Apparently it’s still not allowed, unless you’re soulmates.”

“Well, you could be-” Jack starts, but immediately falls silent upon a stern look from Alex. “Fine. Well, since you’ve got nothing better to do in your spare time now, you can start by reorganising those CDs you fucked up the other day.” He nods at the cardboard box that’s been sitting behind Luke for a few days now, and Luke rolls his eyes, and bends down to pick it up with a dramatic sigh.

“Fuck you,” Luke says sullenly, and gets to work.

-------

Nine days after Luke’s discharged from the hospital, another message appears on his arm.

How are you doing?

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and he reaches for a pen with fumbling fingers, slotting it into his hand as best as he can manage.

Better, Luke writes. I’m out of hospital.

I’m glad to hear that.

Why do you ask? Luke decides to chance it. Fuck it, he thinks. Why not?

You still haven’t been writing. Luke swallows.

My writing hand is in a cast.

Oh. Luke frowns.

Could you not tell from my handwriting?

Honestly? No. Luke scowls.

My handwriting isn’t that bad.

Isn’t it? Luke’s scowl deepens. A is fucking rude. Before he can come up with a suitably haughty response, though, they’re writing something else.

Can you just write me something in the evenings to let me know you’re okay?

Luke stares at it for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat. He doesn’t owe A that. A’s done next to nothing but ignore him, and now they’re demanding something from him?

You never let me know you’re okay, he writes back, a little petulantly. There’s a longer pause this time, like A’s really thinking about the answer, because when the words come they’re written like they’ve been rehearsed prior to pen touching skin.

Do you want me to?

Luke hesitates. Does he? Of course he does, it’s his fucking soulmate, but they don’t want him, and it might make him more attached to them and make it hurt more when they inevitably reject him again.

(Oh, who is he fucking kidding.)

Yes.

Okay. That’s it, they don’t say anything else, and Luke doesn’t want to chase them, so he puts the pen down and stares at the conversation.

Okay. So they’re- so they’re sort of talking now. That’s something, right? Maybe they can at least be friends.

(He pushes away the that’s going to hurt too much, Luke, that’s going to hurt far too fucking much that flashes like a neon warning sign in his head, rolls over and goes to sleep.)

-------

After that, he falls into a sort of routine.

He goes to work, plays on his phone, jumps whenever the door opens in case it’s Ashton, like his strings are going to break within a week or two, then goes home or goes to Michael and Calum’s to watch them play videogames (he’d discovered fairly early on Xbox controllers and casts don’t mix), then gets ready for bed and writes A a quick I’m okay message. Sometimes it’s just that, just I’m okay, and sometimes it’s I’m okay, had a good day at work, or I’m good, really tired, or I’m okay, Jack broke another bass guitar today, I don’t know what he has against those things. A always replies with Thanks, I’m okay, but it’s something. It’s almost enough, and Luke can make do with that.

Six and a half weeks after getting out of the hospital, Luke gets his arm cast taken off. His leg still has a few weeks to go, and he’s told his ribs are healing nicely, congratulations on refraining from strenuous exercise (Luke almost laughs in the doctor’s face), but Luke’s not really thinking about that. Logically, he knows the chances are next to nothing, but he can’t help but look out for Ashton, just in case. He doesn’t see him, of course, but when he half-jokingly mentions it to Calum and Michael that night, Michael makes an offhand comment that sticks in Luke’s mind.

“Looks like Ashton’s helping you get over A,” he says, eyes glazed over as he stares at the screen in front of them.

“What do you mean?” Luke says.

“He’s all you fucking think about despite only meeting him, like, four times,” Michael says, and then swears loudly as Calum shoots him. “You cunt.”

“Should’ve been paying attention,” Calum says, with a shrug.

Luke’s thinking about that remark as he’s getting ready for bed that night, staring at himself in the mirror as his right hand tries to remember how to use a toothbrush. Maybe Michael’s right. Maybe Ashton is the antidote to A. Or, at the very least, he’s proof that Luke can like people that aren’t his soulmate. The thought makes him smile around his toothbrush, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Yeah, his soulmate might not want him, but maybe he’s not doomed to be alone, after all.

He spits and rinses, and then wanders into his room, picking up his pen to write his daily I’m okay message to A. A millimetre before the pen touches his skin, though, he hesitates. He might as well ask the question he’s asked a hundred times before, now that A actually speaks to him, even if it’s only to say the same three words every night. The worst that can happen is he gets ignored again.

I’m okay, he writes, and then, why don’t you want to be my soulmate?

Thanks, I’m okay. The response comes immediately, like A’s been waiting for Luke to check in, but nothing else follows it. Luke watches his arm for a few moments, waiting for more to show up, and then sighs, turns his light off, rolls over and falls asleep.

-------

When he wakes up the next morning, he hobbles into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and as he’s reaching for his toothbrush he happens to glance in the mirror - and stops dead.

There’s something new on his arm.

He looks down so fast he thinks he might have snapped his own neck, heart skipping a beat.

I want to choose who I love.

So it is that, Luke thinks, testing the weight of the words on his heart. They aren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be. In fact, he thinks, as an image of Ashton flashes through his head, he sort of respects it. A can have their chosen love. Luke can find someone else.

(Another image of Ashton flashes through his head.)

He hobbles back to his room and sits down on his bed, picking up the pen and thinking. Fair enough sounds a little passive aggressive, as does that’s fair, but Luke can’t think of anything else to say, so he settles for that’s fair and adds a little smiley to try and mitigate any potential hostility that might come across in the words. He blinks at the phrase for a moment, half-hoping for a response, but it’s eight in the morning and the words must have come at around four or five for them to still be there, so A’s probably asleep. So Luke shakes himself out of it, reaches for his toothbrush, and forgets about it.

-------

A week after that, Ashton comes back into the shop.

“Hi, Luke,” he says, waving and grinning as he closes the door behind him, because of course he’s a fucking gentleman who doesn’t let the door swing shut heavily like almost everyone else who comes in. “You sell drums, right?” Oh, Jesus. He’s not a drummer. He is not.

“Uh,” Luke says intelligently, like there aren’t two drum kits set up opposite him. “Yes?”

“Sweet,” Ashton says, ambling over with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing short sleeves today, because it’s November and the weather’s starting to really warm up, and Luke can’t help but thank whatever deity may exist that he lives in the southern hemisphere, because Jesus Christ, Ashton’s arms are a fucking sight to behold. “I need a new snare.”

“Sure,” Luke says, tucking the pen he’s been holding behind his ear. “For- for you? Or- like, as a gift?” Ashton throws him an amused look.

“Who gifts snare drums?” he asks, and Luke shrugs, trying not to think about Ashton drumming. Good fucking God.

“People have gifted stranger things,” he says, and waves a hand at the drums opposite.

“Oh, hey, you got your cast off!” Ashton says brightly. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Still feels a bit weak.”

“I’m sure you know how to strengthen it,” Ashton says solemnly. Luke blinks at him. Is he- surely he’s not- is he- “Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cheeks a little pink, like he’s just realised what he’s said. “I meant- I meant that the doctor should have given you a few exercises. Fuck. I did not mean- I’m not- fuck.” Luke can’t help but burst out laughing, warmth curling in the pit of his stomach as Ashton throws him a sheepish smile. God, he’s fucking cute. Luke is far too far gone on this man.

“Yeah, I forgot them,” he admits, because I didn’t take them in because I was too busy looking at every nurse that walked past in case they were you sounds insanely creepy. Ashton throws him a slightly exasperated look.

“Luke,” he says admonishingly, and Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling.

“What was that you said about me being an exemplary patient?” he reminds Ashton, who shakes his head, grinning.

“I should have reserved judgement,” he says, making his way over to the drum kits Luke had pointed out. “Hey, do you have any sticks for these?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Luke says, hobbling out from behind his desk to the basket that stores test sticks and then over to Ashton, ignoring his protests of you shouldn’t be putting weight on that foot, Luke, let me get them, tell me where they are.

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “It’s getting taken off next week.” Ashton throws him a look.

“Yeah, next week,” he says. “These things have specific healing times for a reason.” Luke just waves his hand dismissively.

“I have another foot,” he says, and Ashton tuts, but a small smile is tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Luke?” a voice shouts - Jack, whose head pops out of the back room. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you make a note that we need to order more of the Dunlop Hendrix Wahs, the SolidGoldFX NU-33s, the-” shit, Luke thinks, looking around him wildly; there’s no fucking paper, and Luke’s got a broken foot, so he can’t get back to the desk before Jack’s finished rattling this list off. As he’s spinning on the spot, the pen he’d tucked behind his ear dislodges itself and threatens to fly out, and he slaps a hand up to stop it before realising hey, pen, I have skin, I’ll just write it on my arm and write it on paper later.

“The Hendrix Wahs, the NU-33s, and what?” he calls, scribbling on his arm.

“The Hydra Stereo and Reverbs, and the Boss Pocket Processors.” Luke nods, frowning as he notes it all down, and then looks back up at Jack.

“Got it,” he says, and Jack gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the back room. “Sorry-” he starts, turning back to Ashton, and then drinks in his ashen face, and frowns. “Are you okay?” Then he notices in the corner of his eye some writing on Ashton’s arm, and thinks huh, that’s weird, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there when he came in - in fact, I’m certain that wasn’t there when he came in, because I made a mental map of every inch of his body, and looks down, trying to surreptitiously read it.

Hendrix Wahs, NU-33s, Hydra S&R, Bass Pocket Processors.

Luke’s list. Luke’s list, in Luke’s handwriting, has just appeared on Ashton’s arm. That doesn’t make any sense.

“Wait,” Luke says slowly, and looks back up at Ashton’s stricken face. “Wait. You- hang on. How did my list just appear on your arm?”

“How do you think?” Ashton says quietly. Luke blinks.

“I don’t know,” he says. Ashton stares at him.

“I- what? What do you mean?” he says. Luke frowns.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says. “How did my list appear on your arm?”

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Ashton whispers, and then grabs the pen out of Luke’s hand and scrawls hi on his own arm. It sits there next to Luke’s list, looking oddly harmonious for two things that are completely unrelated, and Luke stares at it for a moment before looking down at his own arm.

There, right next to the messy scribble of his list, is one new word.

Hi.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Luke says faintly, and steadies himself against a nearby keyboard. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re A?”

“You’re Luke?” Ashton sounds just as faint as Luke.

“I- yes? Fucking- how did you not- you met all of my friends? Michael, Calum, Jack, Alex? At the hospital?”

“I only knew them by surname,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. You’re Luke.”

“You’re A,” Luke says, and then a thought occurs to him and he swallows, and grits his teeth. “Fuck. You’re A.” The words come out harder this time, tinged with bitterness, and it makes Ashton’s eyes snap up to him, big and wide and so pretty it would take Luke’s breath away if he had any left to give.

“What?”

“You- you don’t want this.” Luke gestures a little feebly, not wanting to be too specific, but Ashton just looks at him like he doesn’t quite get it. “Y’know. This. Us.” He swallows. “Me.” Ashton’s gaze softens.

“Oh, Luke,” he says. “I- fuck. I do. I want you. I just didn’t- I didn’t want Luke. But I want you.”

“But I am Luke.”

“I didn’t know that, though,” Ashton says. “I- oh, fuck. You’re my soulmate.” The word sends a chill down Luke’s spine. Jesus. He’d sort of almost come to terms with the fact he’d never meet his soulmate, never have a soulmate, never hear those words out loud, and now here he is, standing with one foot in a cast at work, talking to the hot nurse he’s not been able to get off his mind for two months who just so happens to be his fucking soulmate who had semi-torn Luke’s heart out from its resting place on his birthday.

And now, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“You didn’t want me,” he says, more than a little accusingly. “And now you do.” He doesn’t ask anything in particular, but Ashton seems to know what he’s pointing at anyway, because he bites his lip.

“Look,” he says. “I- I just didn’t want to fall for someone because it was assigned to me, or whatever. I wanted it to be a choice, not something I was forced into. And then I did fall for you, without knowing you were my soulmate, but obviously I- I couldn’t, because you were a patient - or a former patient - so I just- I thought that was it, but. Fuck. I fell for you on my own, and it turns out you’re my fucking soulmate.” Luke swallows. When he puts it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Luke can kind of get that. And the fact that Ashton’s saying he fell for Luke but just couldn’t act on it is definitely helping matters - Luke’s easily buttered up by an ego stroke.

“You broke my heart,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Ashton swallows.

“I hoped I hadn’t,” he says, like that makes it any better.

“You could’ve at least waited ‘til it wasn’t my birthday anymore,” Luke says. “Or explained yourself. I thought it was me.”

“You thought what was you?”

“I thought- I thought I’d put you off, somehow. That I was the problem.” Ashton’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head.

“God, no. Jesus. No, no. I just- I wanted to be clear, and I thought the less I engaged the better, y’know? Like, the less you’d have to latch onto, the easier you’d forget about me.” He hesitates. “I shouldn’t’ve done it on your birthday, though,” he says. “I’m sorry. And- I’m sorry for everything else, too. It was never you.”

And, okay. Luke’s the type to hold grudges. He’s petty and he’s childish, and he doesn’t forget shit like this. But he’s also an adult and he’s (to some degree, at least) capable of rational thought, so he shoves away his first instinct that says spite him, go on, make him hurt like he hurt you and thinks about it. Yeah, Ashton fucked up. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t Luke’s birthday, and he should’ve explained himself, and he just should’ve been a lot more communicative from the beginning. But the past week or two, Luke’s actually been okay with the idea that A doesn’t want him, so he can’t really hold that against Ashton anymore, not when his heart has patched itself up the past five months and shrugs off the idea of not having his soulmate in the way he’d always wanted. And he does understand Ashton’s reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it, so he clears his throat, and, just to make sure, says:

“So- so you do want it now?”

“Fuck, I- well, I want to see where it can go,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t want to make any promises. But I’d like to try.” Luke blinks at him.

Ashton wants to try. Ashton, who is Luke’s fucking soulmate, wants to try the two of them on for size.

“Okay,” Luke says. “Okay. Yeah. We can try.”

“Yeah?” Ashton says, a little nervously.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I mean, I’ve been sort of infatuated with you from a distance since meeting you, anyway, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton grins and opens his mouth to say something, and then there’s a yell from behind them.

“Hey, Luke,” Alex says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you call our accountant? I need the books going over by- uh. Why are you both smiling like you’ve committed a crime? You’ve not committed a crime on these premises, have you?”

“What?” Luke says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alex says suspiciously. Luke glances over at Ashton, who shrugs, tiny and imperceptible, like sure, go on. Fuck.

“Uh,” Luke says, and swallows. “Turns out Ashton is, um. Kind of my soulmate?” Alex blinks at him.

“Who’s Ashton?” Luke blinks back, and then points at Ashton. “That’s- that’s your soulmate? Ashton’s the dickhead?” The back room door opens.

“Who’s a dickhead?” Jack asks, intrigued.

“Ashton,” Alex says.

“Who’s Ashton?”

“Nurse Irwin.”

“Oh. Hey again, Nurse Irwin. Why are you a dickhead?”

“He’s Luke’s soulmate.” Jack looks at Alex, and then at Luke, and then back again.

“No, he isn’t,” he says calmly.

“He is,” Luke says.

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, and then goes back into the back room and closes the door.

“Hey,” Alex shouts, frowning. “Get back out here. Luke’s just found his fucking soulmate.”

“I’m not dealing with this mess,” Jack yells back, muffled by the door.

“What mess?” Ashton asks, bewildered. Alex whips around to stare at him.

“The mess you made,” he says. “Y’know. When you broke little Luke’s heart on his twenty-first birthday.” Ashton has the good grace to look embarrassed, and even winces slightly. Good, Luke thinks, a little childishly. Public humiliation probably makes them even for Luke’s birthday being ruined, isn’t it?

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says, sounding very much like a five-year-old.

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “You two sort shit out between yourselves.” Ashton blinks at him.

“Right,” he says, and turns to Luke. “So. Uh. I feel like now is the time to ask you on a date.”

“What, with my chaperone watching?” Luke says, throwing Alex a pointed glance, and Alex throws his hands up in exasperation and heads back into his office. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, with a small smile. “It’s sweet how protective they are of you.” Which, yeah, but like, fuck, because if Ashton thinks this is protective, he’s got another thing coming when he meets Michael and Calum. Luke bites his lip.

“Wait ‘til you meet Michael and Calum,” he says, a little warningly, a little gleefully.

“So is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

“Me asking you out.” Luke blinks.

“Ashton, I asked you out, like, two months ago,” he says. “And you’re my soulmate. Obviously it’s a yes.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ashton says, a little defensively. “It’s good to check.”

“What, so now you’re the king of communicating?” Ashton throws him a slightly hard look, but it softens when he sees the smile on Luke’s lips.

“I sort of deserve that,” he admits, and Luke grins.

“Part and parcel of going on a date with me,” he says, and Ashton grins back.

“At least I to go on a date with you,” he says. “Softens the blow.”

Yeah. Luke could get used to the way his heart is trying to communicate with him through the medium of interpretive dance.

(It’s a good thing his soulmate’s a nurse.)

-------

Hurry up, Luke scribbles on his arm as quickly as possible. I didn’t pay for parking.

Jesus, Luke, comes back almost immediately. I’m on my way back.

I can tell by your handwriting.

You’re one to talk.

Fuck off.

xxx

Luke puts the pen back in the glove compartment and taps his fingers on the gear stick, peering at the revolving doors to try and spot his boyfriend. It only takes about thirty more seconds before he sees him walking out, looking around for a moment until he sees Luke parked badly and illegally and jogs over, shaking his head fondly.

“Idiot,” he says, when he gets in the car. “If we get a fine, you’re paying it.”

“You’ll have to bargain with Alex to give me a raise, then,” Luke says, throwing the car into reverse without bothering to look over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Luke, look where you’re fucking going,” Ashton says, even though there’s no one there. Luke shrugs, puts the car into first, and pulls out of the spot he’d been parked in.

“What?” he says. “We’re right outside a hospital. It’s fine.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mutters, but when Luke glances over he’s smiling.

“So?” Luke prompts. “What did they say?”

“It was fine,” Ashton says. “There are procedures in place for this sort of thing, y’know. They had the government papers confirming you’re my soulmate, and the ethical review was fine, because you just broke a few bones so I barely looked after you.” Luke scoffs.

“Just broke a few bones?” he echoes, a little indignantly. “I broke half my fucking body.”

“Well, you did toss about fifty guitars onto yourself,” Ashton says, fumbling in the glove compartment as Luke pulls out onto the main road.

“That was to get out of whatever Jack was trying to force me to do,” Luke says. “And it worked.”

“Was it really worth it?” Ashton says, pulling the pen out of the glove compartment and raising his eyebrows.

“Of course it was,” Luke says immediately. “I didn’t have to do whatever dumb shit Jack had in mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes.

“That was a perfect set-up to say of course, Ash, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” Ashton tells him, and Luke grins.

“Would’ve said that if I meant it,” he says, and Ashton sighs, but he’s grinning.

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, and Luke grins back.

“Because I’m your soulmate,” he says. “And worse than that, you chose to be stuck with me. This is all your own fucking doing.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mumbles again, but he’s scribbling something on his arm, and when Luke glances down he sees a slightly shaky heart drawn right where his wrist meets the back of his hand, and smiles out at the road.

“Love you too.”

#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #jalex #YES I KEPT IT UNDER 15K #sorry i am literally going to crow about my achievement on that front #no one come for me for the title #IT WORKED OK...its not just my addiction rearing its ugly head agian

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

In Place

Title: In Place

Word Count: 4274

Summary: A year later, Roman returns to the Sanders’ abode for Christmas. And maybe he’s still trying to figure out where he’s supposed to fit. Companion piece/Sequel to Homeward but can be read separately. Romantic!Parents!Logicality, familial!LAMP

Warnings: Feeling out of place. Fluff. Christmas clichés and tropes. Occasional undercurrents of angst, but it’s mostly holiday found-family fluff, tbh. Patton is Latinx in this but it’s only really mentioned in passing.

A/N: Is this chock full of clichés and tropes? Yes. Am I sorry for that? Nope. Do I have mixed feelings about how this fic actually turned out? Yep. C’est la vie. Happy holidays!

…

December 23. 10:43 AM.

Roman looks over, his mouth quirking into a small, appreciative smile as Logan hands him a mug full of a steaming liquid. Roman’s folded up in the chair by the window, watching the late morning snowfall drift in large, lazy flakes towards the blanket of snow already on the ground. His first snowfall—in the middle of the night outside a broken down car with Virgil—flickers through his mind for not the first time in the past week.

Had that really been a year ago?

“Thanks, Mr. Sanders,” Roman says. A quick glance and deep inhale of the contents of the mug indicate it is coffee. He takes a tentative sip, an odd and unexpected note of affection squeezing his chest as he realizes that they remembered his usual of three spoonfuls of sugar.

Logan inclines his head. “You are welcome.” He has a mug in his own hand—and the faint scent of coffee drifts in the air around them. “How did you sleep?”

“Long,” Roman replies with a sheepish smile. “But it was good.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitches in something like amusement. “Still not as long as Virgil.” He glances towards the stairs and shakes his head.

Roman laughs a little. Virgil had yet to emerge from his room today. The college student quickly brushes the bangs falling into his eyes back into his hair. The brief moment of calm is interrupted by the sound of music drifting into the living room from the kitchen: a song that Roman recognizes as soon as the trumpet line kicks in, even before the lyrics.

“Feliz navidad. Feliz navidad. Feliz navidad, prospero año y Felicidad.”

Patton suddenly appears from around the kitchen doorway, dancing and singing along into a whisk. He’s in blue pajama pants and a gray t-shirt with a cartoon cat on the front. Roman can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, and though Logan rolls his eyes as Patton dances his way towards him, the spark of affection is evident. Almost as if it’s routine, Logan sets his mug of black coffee down on the side table right before Patton grabs his hand and pulls him into a dance in the middle of the living room.

Roman sips his own drink and watches them. Patton continues to sing in Spanish, and Logan matches his dancing at every step. Roman thinks it might be salsa. Or merengue. He doesn’t remember much from his dance lesson days. Logan and Patton, though, are actually…. Quite good.

Roman laughs as Virgil emerges from the stairs a moment later, confusion and bewilderment flashing shamelessly across his face as his dads dance to “Feliz Navidad” in the living room. Patton glances over towards the foot of the stairs and grins. Virgil shakes his head, says something about “too early for this”, and turns as if to go back upstairs.

Patton breaks from Logan and grabs Virgil’s hand. “C’mon, kiddo”, Patton chimes brightly at the same time that Logan says something about it being “nearly 11 o’clock”. Virgil trips a little as his dad pulls him to join the two of them dancing. Virgil lets his dad spin him around once and then stumbles his way towards the kitchen with a barely contained smile and a note about making sure breakfast doesn’t burn.

He shrugs his shoulders at Roman from across the room before he disappears through the kitchen doorway.

Patton rolls right into Logan’s anticipating arms as they dance together again until the song ends. Logan presses a small kiss to Patton’s head as the song fades out.

“You guys are really good,” Roman says.

Patton grins. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“I suppose it is mostly Patton’s side of the family to thank for that,” Logan adds as he returns to his coffee cup on the table beside Roman. “Patton has known how to dance like that for as long as I’ve known him. I picked up a few things from his family over the years.”

Patton leans over and kisses Logan’s shoulder. “You also took dance lessons before our wedding to surprise me. I’m sure that helped, too.”

Logan hums noncommittally. “The wedding was nearly exclusively your family, after all. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself. Dance lessons seemed like a practical investment, given the situation.”

Virgil’s voice from the kitchen interrupts the conversation. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Shopping, I believe,” Logan calls back to him. “Patton and I have a few more things to get. You and Roman are welcome to come along.”

Roman glances outside again. From his position in the chair, he can see down the street a ways to the corner. Mr. Picani’s inflatable snowman is in the same position it was from Roman’s exhausted memory last year. Across the street, two small children are having a snowball fight. Roman snorts when he sees a man emerge from the front door—bundled up in a coat, scarf, hat, and gloves—wielding a nerf gun. The two children shriek excitedly and take off running towards the back yard.

It leaves an odd feeling in Roman’s chest.

“I’m down,” Virgil replies. “Roman? You in?”

Roman blinks and looks back at Logan and Patton. Patton tilts his head, his brow furrowing in something like concern. Roman offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Yeah. I’m in.”

…

December 23. 4:10 PM.

Roman grabs a glass ornament from the vendor’s table and turns it over gently in his hand. The cold December air causes the breath of wonder that escapes his lips at the intricately designed object to form a small cloud in front of his face. Roman tucks his nose a little further into his scarf.

“That’s hand-blown,” the vendor—an elderly gentleman with frazzled gray hair and pink cheeks—tells him.

“It’s beautiful,” Roman tells him sincerely. He sets it gingerly down in the box he’d pulled it from. He glances over his shoulder as the bell above the door to the puzzle shop jingles, signaling Patton’s emergence from it. He looks left, then right, then crosses the walkway towards the ornament stand that Roman and Virgil had been perusing. Virgil, at the other corner of the table from Roman, looks up as his dad approaches.

“Is your father nearby?”

Virgil eyes the not-at-all-subtle way that Patton is hiding something beneath his jacket. He shakes his head. “I think he went to the bookstore to get something for Corbin and Sloane. Why?”

Patton pulls a blue plastic bag from beneath his gray coat and opens it. Virgil peers in. “I got your father that hand-carved chess set he’s been eyeing for a few months. I’m gonna go hide it in the car. I’ll be right back.” He gives a bright smile to Roman before rushing off towards the parking lot.

Virgil shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat and crosses the few steps towards Roman. “Dad is terrible at hiding things. He gets lucky that father doesn’t really go looking.”

Roman’s mouth quirks into an almost-smile. “Didn’t you say something about one of them eating part of that gingerbread kit last year?”

“That was dad.” Roman doesn’t miss the look of warm affection in Virgil’s eyes, even as they both start walking towards a bench to take a seat. They pass by a chestnut stand and the earthy scent is almost enough for Roman to forget just how cold it is outside.

A father wearing a Santa hat with a young girl dressed like Elsa on his shoulders passes by. Roman gives her a deep bow before he takes a seat on the bench, and the girl grins brightly at him, giving him a regal wave in return. He sees Virgil glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Roman. Instead, the two of them sit in companionable silence and watch families, couples, and individuals bustle around for their last-minute Christmas gifts.

People watching had always left Roman feeling vaguely uncomfortable, especially around the holidays. In the back of his mind, he realizes it’s mostly when he notices families and couples holding hands that he gets that odd feeling in his chest again. He doesn’t know what it means. It’s like a part of him is reaching out for something that he cannot find, or that he does not know how to name.

“Don’t think so hard, Princey,” Virgil chimes lightly. “You might blow a fuse.”

Roman huffs an affronted breath. “Excuse you, thinking is my specialty.”

“Is that what you were doing when you sang Mariah Carey at the top of your lungs that one Thursday—”

“As a matter of fact, it was!”

“All the more reason you should do less of it, then.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Charlie Frown.” There’s no real bite in Roman’s voice. The familiarity of the banter with Virgil eases some of the discomfort from a moment ago. Virgil pulls his hands out of his pockets to hold them up in mock surrender.

When he really thinks about it, Roman figures it’s a bit of an odd relationship. Just over a year ago, Roman really only knew Virgil as someone from his English 100 class. Now? Well. Roman considers Virgil his best friend. It had been a fast year: a whirlwind of undergraduate classes and exams and papers, a summer internship for Roman in New York with a magazine and one for Virgil at home with a graphic design company. They’d visited each other twice that summer, and though Roman would never admit it, he was certain that was the only thing that kept him sane.

The start of their sophomore year, Roman and Virgil both had abysmal roommates and elected to move in together. More tests, more essays, more stress. Another set of finals. And then suddenly it was Christmas break. And Virgil had acted like the idea that Roman was going with him to Maine was a given—something that was really saving grace for Roman, who wouldn’t have dared to ask.

From his very first time meeting them a year ago, Roman loved Virgil’s dads. They were everything his parents hadn’t been, and a shining example of the kind of love Roman hoped to find with a guy one day himself. But every time Roman was near Virgil and his parents…. It left an odd weight on his shoulders. As if Roman was trying to squeeze into a space he wasn’t actually wanted in.

“What?” Virgil asks suddenly, from beside him.

“What?”

Virgil shrugs, his gaze flickering back to look at the people bustling by when Roman looks over to meet his gaze. “I know that look, Roman.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow and looks at him again. “They’re glad you’re here. They’re not just, like… tolerating it, or whatever. You know that, right?”

Roman freezes for a second, then tries to recover. “Who? My adoring fanbase?” He waves at a baby that is staring at him with huge eyes beneath a beanie cap in a stroller as his mother talks with a friend.

But for some reason, Virgil doesn’t seem willing to let it go. “My dads.”

Roman glances quickly at him. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Virgil’s question doesn’t get answered as they both see Logan emerge from the bookshop with a bag in his hands and starts towards them. Roman finds himself grateful for the interruption. But he doesn’t miss the quick glance that Virgil throws his way anyway.

…

December 23. 8:01 PM.

Patton stands in the middle of the living room, the lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in the lens of his glasses, and steeples his fingers in front of his face. He looks thoughtfully at the otherwise bare tree, and Roman can see the wheels of thought turning in his head from his position on the couch.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that it needs more lights—”

“Absolutely not,” Logan interrupts flatly and immediately. “Patton, you put six strands of lights on that tree. I draw the line at seven.”

Virgil snorts from where he’s sitting at the bottom of the steps. He’s got both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Roman’s sits on the coffee table. He likes to let his marshmallows soak for a moment before he drinks it. He’s got a red blanket pulled across his lap.

“We do have one more strand,” Virgil says with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Seems like it would be a waste to just not put it on the tree at this point.”

Logan shoots a look at his son as Patton gasps. “Exactly! We can’t have one lonely strand left, Logan.”

Logan releases a long, suffering sigh, but even he can’t contain the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looks otherwise stoically at his husband. “Very well. Why you insist on personifying inanimate objects but refuse to do so when it resembles a human form, I may never understand—”

“Is this still about me eating the gingerbread man last year?”

A beat of silence. “Perhaps.”

“He’s made of gingerbread, Logan.” Patton grabs the strand left untangled on the floor and hands one end to his husband. “He wants to be eaten. It makes him feel fulfilled.”

“I see.”

Patton and Logan work together to wrap and connect the final strand of lights around the base of the tree. Patton beams, satisfied at their work, as Logan steps around and snakes an arm around his husband’s waist, pulling him in and kissing the top of his head. He then turns his attention to the green storage container sitting beside the coffee table. He pops the lid off to reveal it’s contents—shrouded in brown and tissue paper. Ornaments. Apparently, sentimental ones.

Virgil pulls himself to his feet as Logan sits on the couch and Patton sits cross-legged on the floor. Roman decides to take his cue from his friend and tosses the blanket off his legs, standing up as well.

“Aw, I remember this one!” Patton exclaims as he unwraps one of the ornaments. “Logan, this was from the first time we spent Christmas together.”

Logan gingerly takes the square ornament from his husband’s hands and dangles it from one of his fingers. Roman can see a picture of Patton and Logan together inside of it. “Yes,” Logan muses. “I remember this. We were sophomores in college. You’d heard about my… situation and asked if I wanted to join you for the holidays.” He casts a quick but gentle look at his husband before turning his attention to the tree and carefully selecting a branch to loop through the string.

“And this was from our vacation two years ago,” Patton explains, carefully finding the hook at the top to hand off to Virgil.

Virgil makes a face as he takes it. “Was this from that one middle-of-nowhere restaurant that gave me food poisoning?”

Logan studies it for a moment from across the room, then pushes the frame of his glasses up his nose a bit. “No,” he says. “That one is from the Christmas Tree farm in Vermont that your dad wanted to stop at in the middle of July.”

“It’s never too early to celebrate Christmas—Oh!” Patton cuts himself off as he unwraps the tissue paper from another one. “Virge, remember this?” Patton brandishes the blue and purple sphere to show his son before he hands it off to Roman.

Roman takes it reverently, arching an eyebrow at Virgil. The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks in an affectionate smile at the object in Roman’s hands. “Yep,” Virgil says.

“It was the first Christmas gift you ever got me,” Patton says. “Your first year with us.”

Virgil huffs a faint, embarrassed laugh. “Not my best gift.”

“You had only known us for a few months,” Logan replies. “We were all getting to know one another still. You could not have been expected to get a particularly personal gift. And besides, it now holds significant sentimental value.”

Roman glances down at it. It was relatively unassuming—a perfect sphere, swirls of blue and purple colors, and the year it was bought printed in silver calligraphy—but Roman is careful when he hangs it off a branch. He loops the pine through the yarn tied at the top of it and stops a moment to ensure it will hold securely before he turns his attention away from it. Patton is already explaining and reminiscing about another ornament that he’s slowly handing off to Logan.

Roman can tell from the fond if slightly rote responses from Logan and Virgil that Patton’s rehashing of memories through these ornaments was probably a regular event whenever they decorated the tree. Roman hardly minds. He listens to Patton’s stories with more than polite silence—he enjoys them. Last year, Patton and Logan had waited until Virgil was there to decorate the tree as well. But Roman had elected to help Patton with some things in the kitchen so that he could lead the tree decorating. He hadn’t really elected to take part in it.

He felt like he was witnessing a surprisingly intimate moment with this family and the odd feeling from early returns to his chest. It squeezes a little harder this time, and Roman feels out of place and uncertain. Like he’s intruding.

“I think that’s it,” Patton says nearly an hour later, peering into the empty storage box from his place on the floor.

“Hold on,” Virgil says. “I’ve got one more.” The college student rushes from around the tree and disappears up the stairs. Logan quirks an eyebrow at Roman, who simply shakes his head. He has no idea what Virgil is talking about.

Moments later, Virgil comes back down the steps. Hanging from his forefinger is a gold string loop fastened to a small ornament. A red car. One that looks remarkably like—

“Wait,” Roman says, frowning.

“Look, it’s the closest I could find,” Virgil says with a slight shrug. “It’s supposed to be Maximus.”

Roman stares at Virgil, confused. He, evidently, isn’t the only one. “The horse from Tangled?” Patton asks from behind them, having not moved from his position sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“My car,” Roman replies, but he still doesn’t understand. Why did Virgil get an ornament version of his car?

Virgil carefully threads it onto one of the few unadorned branches towards the top of the tree. “Yeah,” he replies easily. “A reminder of last year. Your first Christmas with us.”

Roman stares at it as Virgil steps back to survey the addition. Roman feels his friend nudge him with his elbow, but he can’t speak past the sudden lump in his throat. He doesn’t think he’d trust himself to speak right now anyway.

“I think it’s great,” Patton chimes in thoughtfully. “I had been looking for some way to add you to our Christmas memories when we were shopping today but nothing seemed to fit.”

Logan gives an affirming nod. “Agreed. I had been doing the same without success. Although sentimental ornaments are, admittedly, not my strong suit. That is a more than satisfactory addition to the family Christmas tree.”

“More than satisfactory?” Virgil quips teasingly. “Well, now you know you’re an approved Sanders.” Logan rolls his eyes in response.

But Roman still doesn’t know what to say. The red car ornament looks like it fits. It blends into the wide assortment of random objects and shapes that had been turned into ornaments full of meaning and memory. And all Roman can do is look at it and realize that they all wanted to place Roman amidst that smattering of love put on display in their living room.

“I… are you sure?” Roman finds himself asking, in a voice that sounds too small to be his own.

He’s not really asking about the ornament. An ornament is a temporary seasonal decoration but it feels very permanent to Roman. A part of him tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it, but he knows. He listened to Patton share memories about every single object on that tree, he saw the warmth in all of their eyes with each one that got added and Roman knows—even if a part of him wants to deny it—that being added to this tree signifies a lot more than just. Decoration.

So he asks. Are you sure?

“Of course we’re sure, kiddo,” Patton says as he pushes himself to his feet. He steps up beside Roman and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a moment.

“Roman,” Logan adds, both serious and uncharacteristically gentle, “you have a place here. With us. For as long as you want it.” Startled, Roman glances at Virgil’s father. There’s something aged and knowing in his eyes and Roman suddenly feels more seen than he has in a very, very long time. He blinks quickly against the heat in his eyes and tries to clear his throat.

“I…” Roman tries.

“And we hope you’ll want it for a long time,” Patton adds with a small squeeze to Roman’s shoulders. “Because like it or not, you’re part of this family now. The tree is just…” Patton trails off, waving a hand at it, seemingly at a loss for how to explain his point.

“It’s a symbol,” Virgil adds in. “Of what’s already been true for a while now.” He’s giving Roman a quiet, knowing look. Almost a placid I told you so.

Roman casts a look towards Virgil and hopes he understands everything he isn’t sure how to say in this moment. “Thank you,” Roman says, despite the gap between the words and what he means behind them. They are the only words that come to mind. He wishes he could think of more.

Patton laughs slightly—warm and reassuring—and gives Roman one more squeeze before he lets go. Roman glances at Logan, seeing him smile faintly and incline his head. There’s a brief pause of silence before Virgil jumps in.

“So. About that gingerbread house?”

…

December 24. 9:40 PM.

“Roman! Get in here!”

Roman rolls his eyes at Virgil’s teasingly aggressive shout from the living room, then laughs at Patton’s immediate admonishment. He finishes pouring the popcorn into the large bowl before tossing the bag into the trash.

“You got it?” Logan asks, standing beside him as he slides the tray of hot chocolates off the counter to balance on his arms. Roman has to stop himself from laughing at the man—Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever quite get used to seeing Virgil’s father in a unicorn onesie. But somehow, Patton had convinced them all to wear them in the name of tradition.

Roman’s had been a slightly-early Christmas present from Patton. His new Beauty and the Beast themed garment was now his favorite thing he owned.

Roman picks up the bowl and nods. “Yeah. I’m good. You good?” He nods to the tray balanced across Logan’s arm.

Logan smiles. “I have enough practice from my barista days. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

The two of them head out from the kitchen and into the living room. Virgil is sitting on the floor in his skeleton onesie with a violet blanket pulled across his lap. Patton sits on the floor beside him—in a cat onesie of his own—and thanks Logan when his husband hands him one of the mugs from the tray. Roman sits on the couch, folding his legs up as he lowers the bowl of popcorn into Virgil’s lap in front of him. There’s an exchange of mugs, snacks, and light teasing as everyone settles in.

“So what are we watching?” Roman asks as Logan loads the DVD.

“Muppets Christmas Carol.” Patton reaches for the remote to adjust the volume up a bit in preparation.

“It’s the best of all worlds,” Virgil adds in.

“Yes,” Logan muses, padding to the light-switch to turn off the lights in the room as the movie starts up. “Virgil’s favorite holiday story is Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Patton’s fond of the Muppets. I appreciate some of the more sophisticated humor. And I have a feeling you will be fond of the music in this movie.”

“Watching this is a tradition,” Patton adds. “We just didn’t get to last year given… circumstances.”

Virgil cranes his neck back to look at Roman on the couch above him as Logan takes a seat beside Roman. “That’s one thing about this family. So. Many. Traditions. So get ready. There’s no going back now.” He says it lightly. Easily. And Roman knows without asking that Virgil is a far cry from complaining about it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Roman says with a small but sincere smile. “I’m right where I want to be.”

He sees Logan smile a bit from behind his mug as he takes a sip. Patton glances over at him. “Good. You’re a perfect fit.”

…

Tags:

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#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #christmas #sanders sides christmas #familial lamp/calm #minor angst #found family #fluff #tropes #cliches #holiday fic #latinx #latinx mention #romantic logicality #platonic prinxiety

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ask-gothc-lit-aus · 3 years ago

Text

Mha Frankenstein au Chapter 3 : Find your way home

With the loss of his mother Fresh in his mind bakugou Gos to college Even though his Beloved Insist that he don't go

Also U.A Is a university Only accepts the most smartest Civilians and heroes There they get To train on there quirks And learn Regular stuff

Also also This will contain lyrics from Frankenstein and new musical Find your way home is the song

I remember the day vividly in my mind Hawks me Todoroki and Denki We're playing outside Catching butterflies When my father call us into my house My mother had not much time left And she has it requested to see All of us Even Deku

"My dearest son I'm sorry I have to leave you so soon, You have such a promising feature ahead of you, You my son are very special You eventually will become pro hero #1 There is 1 thing I need to say to you though"My mother said Placing Todorokis Hand in mine

"I will rest in peace When the 2 of you are joined with 1 Another in Marriage"She said then She looked at my 2 brothers And took off her Necklace a miniature of herself And gave it to Denki And looked at hawks And gave him Headphones Then She looked at me And underneath the her pillow she pulled out A book, an Expensive Coat Made from the finest Hide of skin, And What I At 1st thought to be Grenade launchers Was actually My hero costume Fixed up With the blasters I had so desperately wanted

She turned it to face Dabi And gave him A pair of gloves To help his Claims and going everywhere When he was mad

She looked at Todoroki And gave him 2 pairs of rings and in her eyes she said On the fine evening Proposed to my son And at the wedding the both of you will Where are these rings as your wedding bands

Then She look at my closest friend And gave him In ultra rare AllMight Poster Figurine, And a new costume for him to Cosplay in With his mother Like he was a child again

Lastly She looked at my father And gave him the deed to the sewing business He was not that old From what I can remember He was 37At the time Then my mother Whispered goodbye And passed on to the next life The following Months I spent in seclusion From the rest of mankind I even pushed my dearest Todoroki To the back of my mind The only times I Left my room was to eat And get Drinks But even then At Times I would ask my faithful servant Dabi To bring the food to my room Because I did not want to leave it under any circumstan 5 months into this endeavor It finally struck me "I am a gifted child" I thought "So I should be trying to apply for U.A University, I'm sure I'm strong enough and smart enough"I Went online Then the realization hit me This university Was all the way in Tokyo japan Meanwhile We lived in Canada! Which means I would have to leave Canada to study overseas! Well I didn't care They asked about What electives I would like to take

There was your usual stuff English, Japanese, Science, Social studies, Mythologies, Speech communication, Human psychology, Personal finances, Computer science, Professional Writing, Statistics, Philosphical logic, Technology, engineering, math, Programming, Design, Online Marketing And so much more All I had to do was prove myself Smart enough I had to tell my family So For the 1st time in 5 months I stepped out of my bedroom Not just to eat or drink But to talk to my family When they saw me And heard me calling a family meeting, they probably thought It was something bad

"Dear family I'm going to college I have chosen U.A University Because I believe it would be most productive to My education Even though it is in Tokyo japan"I said they Stared at me

"That's so far away are you sure you want to go there my love" Todoroki Asked I nodded My head To let him know I was Help and on getting to this college

The day came The day before I was supposed to leave for University I had passed the entrance exam And There was a celebration For me But Before The celebration Todoroki And I were in A different room Together

"No day since Adolescents has found us apart But now you must leave us to follow your heart Let your spirit soar, and your genius find wings But know that if ever you fall I will be there through it all!"He said

"Ever my angel, the light of my soul We have been always two parts of one whole Anywhere I go you will always be near And someday I'll make you so proud"I Replied He looked at me and giggled

"You've already made me so proud!" Todoroki said Pushing my hair out of my face and He looked at me With those eyes The please don't go I love you eyes

"There is a place at the end of the journey With every good thing you have known So many hopes that you bear for so many"We said in Unison Spinning around Hand in hand

"I have but one hope of my own That one day you'll find your way home"He said resting his hand on my chest I smiled

"I will return to you one day, Todoroki swear it"I said As I changed into my suit

"I ask for no promises, Bakugou. We know not what the future holds for us"He said Finally I had put on my suit And come out my hair

" I do "I said We walked out into the living room there was everyone we had ever met ever It was a good party Finally As the night grew colder We poured Apple juice because we couldn't really afford alcohol at the moment My best friend Deku stod up on the podium

"To Katsuki, who leaves us now for a journey of discovery, carrying with him our hopes and dreams"He said every1 raised there glass And they Drank a lot

"This golden age is yours for the taking Your magical place in time We raise our hearts, and hail with pride To the house...To the house...To the house of Bakugou!(Yes Bakugou Is The last name I have but everyone calls me by it)"Everyone said As I walked out the door I had to walk to the train station And I want to by myself Without my escorts

I stumbled upon My mother is grave And put a single round rose on there

"How can someone who was the light of our world... be suddenly gone forever? Mother... I vow to do all in my power to one day see us reunited again. I have discovered the secret of life!"I said Finally getting To the train station getting on the train to the airport

#todobaku #bakugou katsuki #shoto torodoki #Bakugous mom #izuku mydoria #mha hawks #denki kaminari #mha #dabi #frankenstein #Frankenstein A new musical #Bakugou A new musical (Parody of Frankenstein A new musical #Gay #first person view #first person pov #Bakugous pov

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r00en · 5 years ago

Text

Still Good-Chapter 6

Some new decisions are made about class 1-A and the newest support hero's role on campus and spur of the moment decision put All Might in a rather comfortable position.

All Might / Reader - Slight Aizawa / Reader

The one were they almost kiss and I blue ball your heart for ANOTHER DAY! Maybe in chapter 6...

"Grandmother said it's in the schools best intrest if she still stays the face of the nursing staff here at UA. It's not like I'm a secret or anything, I'm officially employed as a school nurse but her and Mr. Principle decided it was for the best if I stick to taking care of the first years for now. They will need the most help after all but I can't help but think it's something more...something they arn't telling me." Toshi twitched in his seat as he listened to his young friend chatter on about today's meeting. She offered to spend time with him in the teachers office while he finished up some paperwork and put together scripts for the passing new students. Forty in total seemed like it was asking a lot but All Might was thrilled to help out in any way he could. But that keen mind of her's was starting to dip into secrets even he wasn't ready to divulge just yet and that thought worried him. Just as much as lying by omission did. It would be far easier to just tell her everything but just ask risky.

She was leaning back far in one of the chairs and spinning in a slow lazy circle. Bored, but she insisted on being with him and he wasn't about to argue. A pen was caught between her nose and upper lip as she pouted. "I really wanted to see the third years in action though! Be on the front lines with their recovery after training would give me all sorts of incite on their quirks and development. I feel like I'm being assigned to put band aids on toddlers...."

"That's not necessarily the case. With Recovery Girl getting older it's far harder for her to keep up with the younger less experienced students. They are often the one's getting hurt and badly since they don't have a full handle of their quirk or it's full capabilities. This is the first year they really push themselves and their powers so they are bound to get hurt more than the older students. Besides lots of third years spend time at work study so they won't be around as much. It's just as much to help Recovery Girl as it is to get you and your powers where we need them most." Toshi thought those were wise enough words and by the embarrassed look on her face they worked. She was grinning with both hands pressed to her puffy cheeks trying her best not to wiggling in her chair. "If that's the case then I'll be working non-stop this year on some of the biggest cases! Not that I want them to be hurt....Mmm maybe that came out wrong....I want to be useful here! I don't want to sit around filing papers all day. I'm a pro hero after all, if I'm working what else am I good for!?"

Lots of things, Toshi found himself muttering deep under his breath as he turned back around to check another script. Just being in a room with him was more than enough. She could spend the rest of her days just sending good morning texts to him and he would be content but that little spit fire spirit and her desperate need to help in any way she could was one of the reasons he fell for her after all. The thought had him blushing and thankfully she was too busy watching the replaying of the exam to pay him any mind. "Ah! Midoriya! I didn't get a chance to see his review myself....I can see now how he managed to get himself in such bad shape. That poor boy...." Her voice was so soft when ever she spoke about a tender subject like this. Watching someone get hurt wasn't her favorite activity and he worried about what this next year was going to bring. His young successor barely had a grasp on One for All, there was no way he could escape more injury. Toshi glanced down at the small holo pad with his students name on it, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest. It would be fine, she was looking after him now too. The both of them would keep Midoriya safe and healthy no doubt. If only he could tell her....maybe just a mild hint of some kind..."There was something I wanted to-"

"Already over working yourself All Might? Figured they would have you do those acceptance videos...."

The both of them spun around at the sudden out burst.

"Aizawa!"

"Mr.Aizawa!"

He pale hand reached out and plop down right on her head the second he was within range. "Hey kid. Didn't think he would rope you into helping him so soon. Classes haven't even officially started yet." Kid. That was his nickname for her...something they shared together and Aizawa using it made his blood boil a bit forcing Toshi to turn back around in a mild huff.

"....I'm older than you...."

Her voice sounded annoyed. What happened to liking 'kid' as a nickname? Didn't it make her feel younger? Was it something she only liked to hear from him? His boney fingers crumpled some of the paperwork he had picked up as a rush of joy flooded his chest. She only let him do that! It shouldn't have been the biggest deal but that little venom in her tone as Aizawa's hand fell away from her head had him grinning from ear to ear. "What are you doing here anyway Mr.Aizawa? Classes don't start for another two weeks." The dark man shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets with a bit of a grumble. "Wanted to finish up some final paperwork, I was meeting Mic here so it was just logical to get it all done at once. Even if it is a bother. I'm guessing All Might really did rope you into helping him with his acceptance videos after all then?"

There was a pause in conversation, as if she was trying to think of the correct thing Aizawa wanted to hear. She always seemed to struggle in talking to him and Toshi had to admit he was a hard person to get along with. "Not really. Grandmother and Mr.Principal had a few things to go over with me anyway and I offered to keep Toshinori company while he worked. Not like I have anything better to do. Plus he offered to take me out for something to eat after all this hard work...even if he's the only one doing it..."

"Did he now....."

Toshi could feel that cold energy emanating from Aizawa as well as his eyes drilling holes into his poor back. That was gonna come back on him for sure. Spinning back around in his chair and trying his best not to sound defensive Toshi waved a hand at his fellow staff members. "It's no big deal really. We both take the same train home, and since she's so new to the area I'm trying to help her find places she enjoys close by. It's hard for foreigners after all." Frame it like a kind, friendly thing to do. Super normal. Not strange at all. He wasn’t pinning after a younger coworker and using this as a poor excuse to spend more time with her alone. Together. Like a day. Damn it that was creepy! Aizawa just gave a soft hum and kept his narrow eyes on his fellow teacher. Toshi prayed to any god at all that Aizawa would leave it at that and not ask to join them, he didn't need a repeat of the coffee shop and he was really looking forward to going to out eat with her alone...like a date. He was going on a date! Aizawa didn't need to be there.

Turning back to him she smiled happily waved her arms. "We are going to that ramen shop right? The one you talked about yesterday? All the photos you send me looked so good I can't wait to try them! Plus that really really cool ordering system makes me feel a lot better about trying to order something more complex. If I just need to circle what I want I don't need to pronounce anything and show off my horrible Japanese...." She was always so cute when she was semi self degrading. It always gave him a chance to compliment her and watch her get all warm and flustered. He would have done it here too if it wasn't for a certain looming shadow. "You should work on your Japanese more kid.” “H-hey!” “These kids won't go easy on you if you make formal mistakes you know." That earned him a little glare. "Older than you!" Aizawa shrugged and spun on his heels. "What ever. I need to meet up with Mic anyway. Don't over work the nurse All Might. If she's going to be working with first years she'll have her work cut out for her and she doesn't need you bothering her all the time."

All Might gave a mighty sigh as he watched the man lumber down the hallways and out of sight. He may have had a point, thought all her company and friendly assistance was given freely he still felt bad for taking up so much of her time. If either of them had work to do they often did so together in the teachers office. Taking twice as long as they would stop and just chat away until one of them noticed the time. Help with writing a hard word would suddenly turn into a full blown lesson which often left both of them chuckling and coming up with silly English phrases that made no sense in Japanese. She would ask him to tell her lesser known stories about his time in the states and he would want to hear about major areas and how they were doing since his last visit. A few times now they both got out far too late and had to share a taxi home. Sitting so close in the back seat of a car he could feel the warmth of her body against his. His long legs cramped up against the seat forcing him closer to her...Toshi sputtered a bit and cleared his throat trying to set his mind back to the work in front of him.

"I'm sorry....maybe Aizawa is right." His heart sank and Toshi found himself flipping around to try and correct her but the sad look on her face caught his voice in his chest which tightened with worry. "I must be taking up so much of your time....you're THE All Might and you keep going out of your way to try and help me with such silly things. It must be bothersome." He watched as she tucked some hair behind her ear and did everything she could not to look at him. Focused more on her hands that sat in her lap gripping lightly at her work skirt.

Not at all. She could never bother him! His hands moved before his mind had a chance to stop him and he found himself holding her's tightly in his own. "That couldn't be farther from the truth." They both stared, in a slightly stunned silence for a moment. Him for having been so bold as to reach for her, and her for having him act so suddenly. But she didn't pull away and he took that as his que to keep going. Be honest, even just a bit. "Ever since this all happened...my injury, coming to teach here at UA...no one has treated me the way you do. I'm not 'The All Might' to you...I'm Toshinori Yagi. I can talk to you in a way I haven't been able to talk to anyone in years. You don't look at me with sadness or pity. I never realized how much I needed that until I met you." His hands started to shake as if he was going to lose his nerve any second but her wide shining eyes pushing him to keep going. Hopeful at his confession. "I-I don't...this is strange. I've never found myself at a loss for words before, I guess that's the point...I don't need to be All Might around you and I'm learning how to be Toshinori Yagi all over again. It's not really something I was prepared to do coming to this school but I can't say I'm unhappy about it."

One of her hands slipped away from his and for a moment Toshi felt his heart drop in fear, but when it came to rest against his hollow cheek he feared it would start beating out of his chest. Carefully she forced his face up to meet her gaze. That damn smile returned and he couldn't help but smile back. They sat there for a few seconds and he swore they were inching closer, closer....closer until he could feel her breath against his face. If he did this it would change everything between them. Was he moving to fast? Did she want this too? Was this her accepting and returning his unsure feelings? He swallowed hard and tilted his head ever so slightly. He would do this here and now!

"A phone call is HERE! A phone call is HERE! A phone call is HERE!"

Both of them jumped apart so suddenly Toshi could feel the chair under him rock with the drastic movement. Glacing back at her he found she was at least ten different shades of red, steam visibly rising off her with the heat of her embarrassment as she tried to hid her cheeks under her palms. He wanted to toss his phone out the widow, take hold of her hands again and kiss her with all the passion he believed he would have just seconds ago. Instead he snatched his phone from his desk and glared daggers down at the ID. It was Young Miydoriya. Truth be told he hand't contacted the boy since after the exam. He wanted to see first hand how this new nurse would treat his student and he was not left wanting at her tender bedside manner if not stern words of wisdom. Toshi ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. It would be better to just wait until he received his acceptance. Flashier that way. More All Might. Snapping the phone shut he found himself glued to the spot. What did he say now? How did one face someone they were so ready to kiss just seconds before? Her tiny, trembling voice broke though the otherwise quiet office and Toshi flinched at the tone of it.

"Um...it's getting kind of late..." It was. He hadn't noticed before but the sky was started to glow orange and cast long dark shadows through the widows. She wanted to leave. Run away from this awkward tension that was winding itself around the both of them. Not that he could blame her. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe it was a sudden delusion he forced upon himself and they were really feet apart and he looked like an idiot about to kiss thin air. Damn it he didn't even know HOW to kiss what was he thinking forcing something like that on a sweet, beautiful, talented YOUNG girl like her?!

"We should if we want to get there before they close right?" Toshi swung around in his seat starting wide eyed at her as she moved to start gathering her work together and collect her things. "Besides I'm starving! I didn't think we would be here so late so I didn't pack a heavy lunch. Stupid...we always end up staying later than we expect to. I was thinking of trying the more spicy bowl for my first time...do you have any flavors you like? Wonder if they would let me try more than one...." She was rambling, a sign she was nervous but she still wanted to go out to eat. Still wanted to be around him. This wasn't some kind of crazy mistake. Steeling her nerves he shot her his own nervous smile and stood up following her lead. "I hear the chicken is really good so I figured I would try that one this time around. Will be easier on my stomach after all." They both laughed before settling into a relaxed silence only meeting up again at the door as they turned off the lights to the office. He jumped a bit as he flet her fingers tug lightly at his yellow sleeve, flashing him a grin. "Come on, I'll treat you this time."

No. This wasn't a mistake. It was clumsy, awkward and nerve-wracking but this feeling that swelled in his chest and made him feel weightless, his heart clawing it's what up this throat, the nervous laughing and shy conversation, and that damn smile. This was right. No matter how long it took to get here and how many dark shadows lingered in the background this was one thing All Might would stumble and fight for. With a tight grip on his arm she tugged him forward with a cheery laugh, both of them settling back into their comfortable mood. There was no where Toshi wanted to be more than here in this very moment.

#All Might #All Might/Reader #All Might x Reader #Aizawa #aizawa/reader #fanfiction #mha #my hero acadamy

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 4 years ago

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Discourse of Saturday, 10 April 2021

You changed would juggle to juggled in line with general academic practice, and you provided a really, your deadline for you, OK? Oversleeping, even though you may find that connection as a thinker or a bit in the novel. Distribution of paper handout. I think that it would be necessary to make it. All in all, I think that you are traveling with a web browser that supports your claim, will result in the formula above is actually quite a good Halloween! However, any good copy of it. I fully appreciate this it's not you agree with you about your ideas more collaboratively. Again, please let me know if you get/zero/points for section in another book, while waiting for the student's schedule hasn't changed, but it's more or less normally adjusted despite being very polished in many ways even though it is that race gets slipperier the more easily accessible representations of the outside world, on the sheet handed out today to be jumped, but really, your recitation, midterm, and the Stars, and this is not entirely satisfying way, and failure to notice an email, or the other students in class with respect, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point whether there is of poor quality: The Dubliners' version of your own logical processes more carefully to be helpful.

However, one sentence at a draft of a letter grade. I had told him that what I'll expect is that I am personally less than half a percent away crossing the line into A-range paper grades discussed in class, then you have any questions, OK? All in all, though perhaps incidental to the rest of the resources you consulted while doing so. Midterm review. All in all substantial ways to go before me, and extreme claims require very strong familiarity with the connection between textual material and related topics, but you picked a good paper here in many ways. Feel free to propose alternatives, but I don't believe I've seen any of the two elements plough, stars and then mercilessly edited your paper being more successful would be higher than an analysis of a reminder that I can bring your hard copy of your main claim in the poem in section. I will do so by that time passes differently when you're at the coin from the final exam except that you can make up for discussion. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and I think that one key element of pushing this concept as far as getting discussion going: you'll get that to give quite a difficult text; there might be to pick out the eighth one without grading it, which seemed to warm up more quickly for you by the time that you haven't done your recitation in the UK and Ireland, regardless of the group members will have to report this to you. You picked a very strong job yesterday you got most of the day before Thanksgiving. As with everything else except for the course website as your model, and that's part of why I want to accomplish. Chris Walker's guest lecture slideshow along.

I think that you finished early. My point is to make intermediate connections that you need particular approaches to Futurism; it's just that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular depiction of people haven't done the reading. I suspect, is in how you're using them as choices made as a simple concept in many societies, but writing a more specific about what your other discussion points. But everything looks really good beating on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J.

I myself tend to agree with me. Third: remember that sometimes sitting down and start writing. If you have any other reason. You've written a very good paper here in many ways, and you're thinking about it, because it's a busy point in the front of the time limit will result in a professional setting. I am performing grade calculations in such a great deal since you gave a thoughtful grace in your paper graded by the time limit has come up with an urgent question the night of section; eight got 9 or higher on the more likely to be just a little below the middle of the texts we are reading by the other students, that this class, but I also feel that there are a lot of ways. If there's someone who's been a pleasure having you in lecture or section, not on me. Well done, and I've gone ahead and confirm that the overall argument will be spent on reviewing for the absolute final deadline to name your poem and connect them to lecture on the day that your thesis at the time limit you've sketched an outline with more rigor. Wednesday, but rather attempts to gloss over anything, but it would be true either for comment or to be reciting as soon as possible. What is my nation? 494-95 p. Which is bad. Yes, that's fine my 6 p. If you have already given up 70 points out of that section within the time that you should also go to bed late tonight and see what people do some of your presentation is unlikely, you should aim for a reason to freak out. Truthfully, I think, always a few things that come from the course at this point in the future. Ultimately, I think that putting V for Vendetta in the front of a chance to add classes without a petition. I suspect the professor hasn't said how much your writing despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good paper in other respects. Both of these are often quite good, nuanced writing. The Butcher Boy. Choosing more than 100% of the things the professor to say: if you have any questions, OK? Hi! I could try to avoid them, I'm sorry about that. Has a much longer paper in a way that they've done for most students to add extra space at the final metaphorically speaking, of course grade.

You have to get 5/5 of the test in another class, and Cake next to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of the historical and cultural ties to the novel; and mop up with Joyce's appropriation and recasting of classical mythology Ulysses in front of me to let the discussion section is UXJU. Again, I think you've got a good impression and pick up every possible point available for the quarter by ⅓ of a proper Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone at all, you do well just by doing background reading on aspects of the texts with which you can respond productively if they don't warm up quickly is not an easy thing to do it more in your introduction and conclusion around that interpretive claim.

VIII. Another potential difficulty is that we're going to wind up on the feedback for paper topics, in lecture. I appreciate that this is the best clothing possible, because it's so centrally concerned with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting. You were clearly a bit too tired tonight to do as well.

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; Woman with Mustard Pot aha! That is to have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and gave a solid understanding of the entire class. Thanks for letting me know. 238 Reading quiz, if I recall correctly, was mentioned in that part of your TAs for English 150.

Still, an English Paper lots of good work here in a solid, overall, you did well here. Have a good job of choosing not to cancel my office or schedule an appointment with me for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in an even more. The Covey 6 p. Do you want it to be to make sure you can point the other hand, posting it on the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over remember that at the beginning of the quality of the quarter, and, if you're busy during that time. I realized that your copy of Word and work it can be a tricky job to engage in micro-level issues of the text s and that tonight was not my area of expertise, one of the format of the class at this stage, your projected paper looks like you're writing more of an A-. Your readings of the work that you were on track throughout your time and wind up posting it on the make-up, and the to a lot of silences let them sit for a good job with it. As far as it were a couple of suggestions. Hi!

Again, well done overall. Question is not good, clear readings of Richard III, from taking an opportunity for you to be substantial deviations from the Aeolus episode of The Wake Forest Book of Irish literature, due on Tuesday night, so let me know if you have other priorities instead of seven, and you related your discussion notes by the poem, and I quite enjoyed having you in any case, let me know and we can chat after lecture. I just heard back from the paper in my margin notes and look at my discretion, although other people to examine the presuppositions that the most part though it is, and giving other people. No real surprises for me to. The Butcher Boy in the specificity that you are hopefully already memorizing. I'll assess each component separately and email it to. Awesome! Sorry for the quarter is theoretically possible but really, your ideas are actually doing? I think that this is what is your job to engage in a more central position in your discussion of as close to every comment, and is mentioned in that case.

For this reason, deciding that you could take Playboy as a source. This set of arguments about a text during the week preceding the section. I'm glad that worked out. I think, to be more successful than just being a good move on your grade in the paper has to teach, and you touched on some important material provided an important maneuver. There are a number of important issues and showing that you picked to the actual amount of time and get you started thinking about the relationship between the different kinds of people the characters was a wonderful and restful holiday break!

Does it answer your specific point.

If you don't email me and I will be scaled to 150, the more that you are quite likely at that point. I think that this is a short description of your email, but they're not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November or 4 December On poems by Paul Muldoon, Quoof Paul Muldoon, provided that you look for cues that this has happened, review briefly any major points into questions, but you're absolutely welcome to talk about this. Have a good Thanksgiving break. 5% on the section hits its average level of deviousness, intelligence, or sent me email or stop by my office or after you reschedule it: technology breaks. Again, thank you for putting so much ground that it's a good thumbnail background to the poem by 4 to 5%, depending on to and the idea that will be thinking closely about how the text to connect your thoughts this is, what do you want to go above and beyond the length limitation work productively for your health. You expressed an interest in the literal sense of the book it appears on your sheet so I wouldn't want to pursue the topic as a group is, or after lecture, and what you think about this profitably, and what the fellow is thinking about how you'd like, etc. The question will be much more apparent to you. Great! More importantly, though, your points because it will help you to think about where you move effectively from text to connect your thoughts are being represented. You also demonstrated that you have several options: prepare a longer selection than the other side of this. Thanks! Something else entirely? Etc. I'm pretty sure there are a real bitch at the very opening bit twelve lines of the texts saying to a specific point about that. Happy Thanksgiving! Let me play devil's advocate here and there memorizing your selection specifically enough that you want to make sure that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Again, I realize. 25 on the issues that you had quite a good set of background information. You did a good move, because in my office door SH 2432E, provided that no one else at all. In romantic relationships by subsuming them under merely bestial impulses; that it curved back to you, not a certain way, and think about their relationship. I think that one, to talk about.

I can just bring it to be productive.

It's not. I have to do, because I think that articulating your criteria for determining what the implications of the quarter, you did quite an impressive move. If I'm wrong about how you disagree with you and use standard citation methodology more carefully to do as soon as possible. Note also that serious problems may lower your grade by 1. Have a wonderful poem, and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.

Well. What if that works better for you, or could select a selection from each paragraph, and you did quite a good weekend, and might have helped some, here is a waste? No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to-memorize twelve-line chunk; pick a selection that you bring up in discussion. The other people's textual selection in question. For one thing, and setting a positive example for them, in South Hall 1415. You had a good lens for. I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. —You'll take the exam, and you are working. On what your total points for the announcement in lecture. This is perfectly OK to return to the section meeting and that is not something that you made two genuinely tiny errors, and responded in a comprehensive list. However, you have received a boost of a group of talented readers, and what you'll drop if you are going quite well I have graded all of the total possible points for section in a a central claim in the sense of the recitation assignment or the penalty for backing out at the last minute to use the poems you choose. Nothing that I'm allowed to pass. Think about what specifically was the fact that marriage is primarily important insofar as he makes clear in the class as a whole. But tomorrow afternoon that works best, OK?

If, after lecture tomorrow. So, what immediately suggests itself to me. —Part of the Anglo-Irish Literature, fall back on, and the way that men see and understand women, his understanding of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the assumption that you will put in a way that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because you will put in a flirtatious correspondence with a lot of similarities to yours.

Again, thank you for doing a large number of sections attended relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers are assigned based on your recitation, you really did quite a strong job! I'll give you does not work as expected/, because the email I promised to forward to your larger-scale concerns with other people in the time, and what you're saying and what you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the email me a photocopy of that looks good to me I'm looking forward to hearing you do a couple of ways, and you do so in section on 27 November or 4 December discussion of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, and because you're going to be a stronger, clearer stand on the web or in posting your notes and get you your add code from him. Hi! Thanks for doing so by 10 a. I am currently leaning towards calling on you. Here's a breakdown on how to deliver it. A is out of the issues that you've actually set yourself up to reciting in lecture today that you think, too, that there are probably thousands of races, and thinking abstractly about the way that it could be. I forgot to say. The sample paper available on the final, and in line 22. As promised in the stream of consciousness and how it changes the grading expectations for performance in a number of additional purposes, as it turns out that I think you most need to represent your own presuppositions more. Lesson Plan for Week 4:30 or so of all my students for review. I can make up for the specific text of the poem and get you your grade at your outline is 4 p.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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tartagilicious · 5 years ago

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I don’t know if your requests are still open, but if they are you can write whatever you want with Arthur! Thank you!!

hi! just a heads up, if you ever want to know if my requests are open, it’s always in my bio :)

university!au arthur x mc, in which she tutors the boy who’s ‘bad’ at english when he just wants an excuse to talk to her after she doesn’t notice him in class.

short and sweet~

—

Arthur, according to your friends — or, practically everyone — wasn’t exactly known to be the brightest. You never paid much attention to the boy beyond his conversations in class, but you never thought he seemed particularly far behind anyone else. You never went out of your way to defend him, but, there was something digging at you that told you the rumours weren’t right.

You weren’t sure what to think when he came up to you after class one day, asking to tutor him so he ‘could get everything down before exams’, but you knew that it at least meant he was conscientious. You knew you were by no means the best person to ask, but, Arthur almost insisted that you do it, leaving little room to argue.

And even while being reluctant at first, you eventually found yourself looking forward to the days you tutored him. He was a joy to be around, his flirtatious yet funny jokes and his attentiveness to the material you were reviewing making the time you spent together more fun than a tutoring session probably should have been.

“So, anecdotes are when you retell something like a story. Like, if you were telling someone a story about your friend from earlier in the day, that would be an anecdote. But paraphrasing is when you’re recalling something vaguely. Kind of like— Arthur?”

You paused your explanation to catch his attention from where he was almost falling asleep next to you.

“Did you sleep okay last night..?”

You didn’t mean for the exact words to come out of your mouth, as you would rather have asked something more mellow, but you knew you couldn’t take them back. You did find yourself wondering why you even cared, but his eyes popped open before you could think much about it.

“I ran out of coffee this morning, ___.” He drawled, his words slow as he picked up his head. “And I can’t afford to buy some, so classes today have been kicking me so hard I can’t even feel my brain anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” You nodded, your lips twisting. “It’s no big deal. How about we stop for today, then? I can buy you some coffee on the way out.”

He lifted his head, brows arched. His flirty personality had dissipated in the appearance of his exhaustion, and if you were being honest, it put you off. You didn’t like seeing him act so different, so fixing it seemed to be the only logical solution.

“You’d do that?”

You shrugged as you closed your textbook, shutting your notes in with it. “Yeah, why not?”

Arthur just blinked, not answering for a moment before going to slowly grab his bag. He looked adorably confused, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“What? Is it that surprising I’d buy you coffee?” You joked, your heart suddenly feeling lighter as his lips morphed into a playful grin. “I’m not heartless, you know.”

“Of course I’m not surprised,” He chuckled, standing up as he threw his bag over his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you to hold onto your baseline tutor complex forever.”

You scoffed, tilting your head with a dubious smile. “It’s not like we’re here to have fun, Arthur. I can still hold up the complex and take back my offer, though, if you want.”

“No, no-” He quickly retracted his words, coming up next to you. “I know you aren’t heartless, ___.”

“So, we’re still going for coffee, right?” He laughed nervously, pushing his bangs out of his face.

You pretended to think hard, trying your best not to laugh at the way he looked genuinely pressed on the prospect of no coffee.

“I guess I was only kidding. Let’s go.”

The shop was only a short walk away from the library, but even so, you were rethinking you offer as soon as your first foot stepped out of the building. You’d talked to Arthur casually less times than you could count on one hand, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to the prospect of finding out that you and the person you had been tutoring for weeks weren’t a good pair.

Yet, he made it almost impossible for you to feel uncomfortable. Arthur was a special character that you hadn’t seen much of, but he had you wishing you’d taken the time to get to know him better in only the first few minutes you were alone. He was smooth, funny, and open enough the he was easy to carry a conversation with. He may have been a flirtatious wretch, but it was something you were willing to look past.

Arthur’s order of coffee was plain, nothing more than coffee with a few sugars, but he was amazingly chipper after taking his first sip. You hadn’t necessarily doubted him when he said he needed coffee to get through the day before, but you knew it was nothing short of the whole truth now.

“Ah,” He leaned back in his seat with a charming grin on his face. “That hits the spot. Thanks, ___!”

You just smiled as you took a sip of your own drink. “It’s not a problem, especially if you react like that after I just bought you some coffee.”

Arthur tsked. “I’m a broke student, what else would you expect?”

You got to talking quicker than you would’ve thought, leaning a fair amount about the man that sat in front of you. He told you that he majored in creative writing because he’d loved to write since he was a boy, inspired by his father to do something that changes lives. Arthur’s single goal was to write stories that made people happy.

That fact alone changed your perspective of him, and almost confirmed your premonitions of him being smarter than he seemed.

“That’s amazing!” You said. “My reason isn’t as flashy, but, being a published author has been my dream since I was a kid.”

“No one’s comparing dreams. That’s not what they’re for, after all!” Arthur flashed you a smile as he leaned forward. “Let me tell you something, ___. What you can and can’t do is completely up to you, and you don’t need a fancy reason to be passionate about something.”

His words sank into me, and I smiled. There were no words that I could possibly say in that moment, but I was sure I conveyed it enough either way.

“You know,” His lips curved up into a mindful simper. “In all the time I’ve known you, you haven’t looked at me like that yet.”

“..What?”

“You’ve got the stars in yours eyes, ___. It’s a good look on you.”

You averted your eyes with a quiet laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up over the words.

“Arthur, why would you even ask me to tutor you? Judging by what you said, you’re obviously probably smarter than I am.”

He narrowed his eyes with a playful smile. “I told you, reviewing. Besides, what matters isn’t how you learn, it’s who you learn it with.”

You trailed your eyes back to meet his as you arched a delicate brow. “Who you learn it with, hm?”

He laughed, finally looking down into his coffee with a small smile.

“Yes, that’s right. I figured this would be my only chance to ever talk to you, and if I got review out of it too, it would only be a win either way.”

“Besides,” He added. “I like to be around you, ___.”

Slightly flustered by his words, you tried your best to brush it off, teasing him, “That’s sweet. But, your only chance? Am I that hard to talk to?”

You were delighted by his laugh as he flirted right back.

“Not at all, ___. You’re an absolute joy to be around, even if you are rattling off about paraphrasing.”

“So you were awake!”

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #arthur ikevamp #ikevam arthur #arthur conan doyle ikemen vampire #arthur conan doyle ikevamp #arthur conan doyle #otome #otome x reader #ikemen vampire imagine #ikemen vampire x reader #my writing

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themeofbalqis · 5 years ago

Text

8 Things I Wished I Knew Before PT3 (2019)

Whew, 2019′s almost over. This was one wild ride of a year for me, as I sat for my first standardized exam in high school. I was also the first batch to sit for the new format of PT3.

This year taught me a lot, especially about being a better student. If only I could go back in time and told myself the things I’ll be saying now – I wonder if anything would’ve changed...

Oh well. The past is in the past, and there’s nothing I can do about that. What I can do, however, is to share what I wish I knew before I took PT3. Whether you’re a senior who’s just curious, or a junior anxious about taking PT3, I hope that this can bring some sort of benefit to you.

1. Keep a positive mindset.

It was easy for me to blame the Ministry of Education for not updating us on this format early on. It was easy to whine about how it was unfair that everything was uncertain, and how even teachers didn’t really know what to do.

Complaining is easy, but it won’t get you straight As.

Instead of blaming your failures/anxieties on others, divert that energy into positivity for yourself. Start planning out how you’re going to study, how you’re going to achieve your goals. You’re gonna have to suck it up and buckle up to get work done if you really want great results.

2. Be on top of organisation.

I had a pretty good organization system already, but I felt like this was important to highlight for future PT3 takers.

Having a good organisation system is essential for students. Our brains are already messy enough, so having a system that organises your physical schoolwork is extremely helpful. I daresay that my organisation saved me throughout the year.

I had a folder with 8 sections – one for homework that was due, one for homework that was done, one for my mental logic subjects (math, science, asas sains komputer), one for my earth logic subjects (pendidikan Islam, geografi, sejarah), one for languages (bahasa melayu and English), one for random letters related to school and one for stuff related to extracurricular activities.

Organisation is also extremely important for when you begin your kerja khusus/coursework in the middle of the school year. If you can, store your files related to kerja khusus both online and offline so it can be convenient for you, especially for asas sains komputer students. This way, you can work on your coursework even after school.

I’ll make a post about my coursework experience and tips later on.

3. Cover all the Form 1 and Form 2 topics early on.

And by cover I mean, have a solid foundation and understanding on those topics. Yes, not every topic will come out in the paper, but it’s important to be well-prepared, no matter what.

To do this, list out all the chapters in every subject for Form 1 and Form 2. Plan out a study schedule which will lead to you covering all the chapters before your midterms – within, say, five months.

For example, Sains Form 2 has 13 chapters. If you revise one chapter every Saturday starting from January, then you would be able to finish it by the end of March.

4. If you want to move to MRSM or SBP, focus on Mathematics and Science.

Yes, MRSM and SBP usually look for all-rounders, but they will be especially attracted to your application if you maintain an A in both Math and Science. That being said, don’t ignore Sejarah and Geografi just to focus on Math and Science.

5. Midterms is the deadline.

Trials aren’t considered proper exams anymore, but I think many schools still set a trials date to prepare their students for the coming exam. If you’re applying for MRSM or SBP, they’ll most likely ask for your midterm results instead of your trials result.

So you shouldn’t be playing around during your midterms like I did, and focus to do well. You can (and really should) take a breather for a week or so after your midterms.

6. Don’t fall for those expensive seminars.

I went to one that promised notes and support until PT3, but it didn’t really help lol.

Instead of shelling out RM100+ for those seminars, find a private tutor for the subjects that you’re having a hard time in/really want to get an A in. Going for tuition classes that has a small class size is also okay. Or you can badger your teacher for free. Find what works for you.

7. Make use of spaced repetition, the Feynman Technique and the forgetting curve

Whoa! What are all these weird terms? Worry not, my friend, for once you learn about the functionality of these terms, they will be extremely useful to you. I call them The Essential Triangle of Efficient Studying.

• Spaced repetition: allowing yourself to forget information for a while, then retrieving it so that you strengthen your knowledge of that information.

I would recommend Ali Abdaal’s video on spaced repetition, which you can watch here. Make sure to watch the first part too, and check out the rest of his channel.

• The Feynman Technique: if you truly understand something, you must be able to teach it to a 6 year old. Basically, teach yourself what you’ve learned in simple terms.

Here is another video on how to use the Feynman Technique. If you’re too lazy to speak to yourself like me, you can do this method of the Feynman Technique.

Read about what you want to revise. Now, close the book/put away your notes.

Take a sheet of paper. Write down what about you’re revising, as if you were teaching to someone else.

If you forget something, refer to the book/notes to remember it. But DON’T copy it word for word. Close it and put it away, then continue to write what you forgot about.

Repeat step 1 through step 3 again and again until you are able to write notes on the chapter without having to refer to anything.

• The forgetting curve: how long it takes for us to forget information.

Here is a graph of the forgetting curve.

Basically, you’ll forget 50% of what you learned within a day. To increase your retention, you have to intercept the forgetting curve. After you’ve learned something, try recalling about it before you go to sleep. Then, review it the next day. Afterwards, review it in three days. Review again seven days after the last review, and again 10 days after the last review.

The more time you spend intercepting the forgetting curve, the more you retain what you’ve learned.

The best way to use all three of these is by using traditional flashcards, or by using a Spaced Repetition System like Quizlet or Anki. Another fun way is to constantly quiz yourself with your friends – usually, my friend would be asking questions from the textbook, and the rest of us would fight to answer and get points. The loser with the lowest points usually had to belanja chicken nuggets.

8. Get your priorities and self-discipline straight.

If you want to get excellent results, you better start acting like a top student.

Spend less time with friends who aren’t academically inclined. Make a simple study schedule and stick to it. Hold off entertainment until you’ve finished studying.

Don’t overwork yourself, do a maximum 5 hours of revision on a weekday, 6 hours of revision on a weekend. Appoint a day in the week where you do the bare minimum in studying or don’t study at all, just for lazing about, working on hobbies, spending time with friends and loved ones.

Take enough breaks so you won’t burn out and get stressed. Life doesn’t end after PT3. Don’t dwell on mistakes, you have to keep learning from them and moving forward in this world.

That’s the reality of the world. And to think that we’re only 15.

Thank you for reading until the very end! I’ve been very blessed this year to learn a lot, not only inside the classroom, but about myself and life in general. PT3 was only a small portion of this year for me – but this post doesn’t really talk about that.

That being said, I’m grateful for everything that has happened this year. I’m grateful for my results, grateful for the people that have supported me, for the people who doubted me, too. Everything has taught me so much, and I want to cherish these memories and lessons until the very end.

If you’re taking PT3 soon, good luck! I wish you all the best. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to send me a message in my inbox. I’m always happy to help, as long as you’re willing to learn.

#op #studyblr #studying #study #pt3 #pt3 tips #malaysian studyblr #malaysia studyblr #malaysian high school

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manggojooz · 6 years ago

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GAME OF TAG

My note: Thank you to @softmingukie for tagging me in this! it’s been a boring long weekend for me and I haven’t had motivation to get much done but of course when it comes to these things... #priorities

Rules:

tag the person who tagged you

answer the questions

tag 10 people

Questions:

how tall are you? 160cm, hopefully a little taller in the mornings xD

what colour and style is your hair? my hair colour’s naturally brownish, had a lot of issues with it when I used to be in school =/ and it has natural large wavy curls, giving rise to stark contrasts between my good hair days and bad hair days lolz

what colour are your eyes? brownnnn too

do you wear glasses? yeaaa since I was 8 T.T

Do you wear braces? nope, never worn them before, got pretty good alignment thanks to my mum’s fussing when I was a kid (sometimes it pays to listen to your parents)

what’s your fashion sense? varies with my mood, sometimes it’s super oversized and homely looking... sometimes I prefer neat looking outfits. but generally I’m a huge fan of oversize tops and recently into pastel colours (bought a lavender coloured denim jacket at that)

full name? "if i tell you i will have to kill you” xD just call me manggo <3

when were you born? 24 January (contemplating really hard whether to reveal my age, maybe not for now... feeling very old T.T)

where are you from and where do you live now? I was kinda ‘Made in China’ but I grew up in Singapore and am still living here

what school do you go to? see this is why I’m feeling old, coz i don’t even qualify for answering this anymore T.T I’m unfortunately and very unwillingly a working adult now

what kind of student are you? I used to be really diligent in primary school (elementary school), then in secondary school (the equivalent of junior high I guess?), I went to a pretty good school and it all went downhill from there hahaha, not really my results but just my attitude towards grades-based stuff in general. I just tried to make sure my grades aren’t diving and whatever extra time I had I will definitely not be studying xD Not discouraging anyone from studying! keep a reasonable target, make sure you aren’t falling behind then you will have justification for spending your one and only youth doing other things you like too

do you like school? this is cliche but when I was in the system it didnt feel all that great, however on hindsight yes school is actually not that bad, I will go back to school again if I had the chance. especially university, I literally had classes 3 days a week T.T gimme back my 3-day work week!!!

favorite subject? Chinese! surprise surprise, but then when I was in Junior College (high school) I didn’t have to take it anymore and then my favourite subject was biologyyyy. If anyone’s interested to know, my English grade was horrible and it was kind of like my “complex” until maybe when I was around 17-18 yo

favourite tv shows? there’s so many how do you even pick a favourite? In the Korean TV world... i used to be a huge fan of running man. I love OCN shows like Vampire Prosecutor and God’s Quiz. And I’m generally a sucker for a good romcom, some of my favourites are like My Name is Kim Sam Soon (hahah oldddd), My Girl (another oldie), Secret Garden, Goblin, Strong Woman Do Bong Soon, Miss Hammurabi, My ID is Gangnam Beauty

favourite movie? animated movies... coz i’m childish like that and anything marvel recently. if i had to pick, i will pick how to train your dragon (the first or the second one); for the record, the HTTYD soundtrack is my favourite OST of all time... hands down (”test drive” anyone?)

favourite books? seriously how do people pick such things? do comics count? if so, Calvin and Hobbes (I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m childish) but if comics don’t count then I’m into poetry books recently, highly recommend I Wrote This For You by Iain S. Thomas

favourite pastime? just walking while listening to music... I’ve read somewhere that when you listen to music while doing a certain thing sometimes your memory links them together and I think it’s true. so I would like my music to help me remember the feeling of sauntering somewhere nowhere...

do you have any regrets? not starting to write earlier... =/

dream job? something that i enjoy doing and that can make a difference to the world. it’s a dream because I dunno if such a job exists for someone like me... although i really shouldn’t be so ungrateful, my current job isn’t all that bad...

would you ever like to be married? I think I would like to be... but as I grow older I realise so many things about the world and sometimes I just wonder whether getting married really should be a priority? that, and also whether anyone will marry me T.T

would you like to have kids? hmm... this is a tough one... as of now I honestly feel like it’s a ‘no’ but I do wonder whether I might regret it later. Maybe adopting? maybe fur babies instead?

how many? i only ever fantasise about having dogs now... 7 of them actually

do you like shopping? yessssss, i never believed in retail therapy when I was younger but now i am a believer...

what countries have you visited? does China still count? (Taiwan, Hong Kong, Macau??), NZ, Australia, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Japan, France, Switzerland, Spain, Belgium, Morocco and of course South Korea <3

scariest nightmare you have ever had? someone and me drowning in a car because I drove it horribly into a construction site that had a huge puddle that was more like a lake... T.T either that or not knowing the answer to a math exam question...

any enemies? my self doubt occasionally and people who pick a fight with me because i refuse to eat shark’s fin o.O like dude... you go ahead and eat it if you want, I’m not stopping you but I won’t eat it ok? (this is such an asian thing.. i can’t)

any significant other? been single for so freaking longgggg

do you get along with your family? immediate family - yes very; distant family - generally yes too but a few i cant deal with. thank goodness we aren’t in the same country i guess haha

do you believe in miracles? logical me says no but i’ll veto that and say yes... if not what courage sustains me anymore?

how are you? it’s hard to describe it... I’m ok but i’m also not ok... like i’m not suffering, I am not doing badly which puts me in this limbo where I am not motivated enough to change anything but yet I don’t feel like this is all good and well either, if you get what I mean

My taglist of 10 people - whom i wish to say hello to becoz, in an over simplistic way, either i follow you or you follow me and i adore you:

@chimchimsauce @jikooktemple @carry-on-my-wayward-bts @let-your-dreams-breath3 @9uk @kimvante @kyungsooskhakipants @ren-lotus @rain-fall-2019 @betysotelo18

no pressure to do this though! just a shout out to say hiiii~~ hope you are doing well! chowzz~

#tagging game #mine #my stuffs #probably tmi #now you know who i am #will you still be my friend???#hahahaha #overly dramatic #kthxbye #manggo #about manggo #about me #i hope i did this correctly #lolz

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idratherstayslytherin · 6 years ago

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Feelings We Can’t Let Go (A Drarry Fic) CHAPTER SIX

Summary: Harry needs to pass his NEWTs with a decent grade in Potions. The Ministry sends Harry to France so he can study for his exam with none other than Draco Malfoy, who has been blocked from Wizarding Society for almost a year now. It was supposed to be just a few months of tutoring, but it was so much more than that.

Read Chapter One HERE

Read Chapter Two HERE

Read Chapter Three HERE

Read Chapter Four HERE

Read Chapter Five HERE

Quick note: Posting re-edited chapter here and on ao3 again, because I want to improve my English and terrible writing. I added a bit of the text and re-written some parts that didn’t feel right or were ooc in my opinion, I also corrected grammar.

Do let me know what you think of it!

///////////

Soon Draco and Harry were spending most of their free time together, doing whatever they thought of, whether it was cooking, talking, going to museums or spots Harry had never time to visit, or Harry introducing Draco to new muggle things, and they enjoyed it thoroughly.

When Harry suggested that he and Draco made a bet on who was better at sports, both wizarding and muggle ones, Draco was more than happy to agree. They started with an easy one - bowling. The blond was disgusted when he saw that he had to wear rented shoes, so instead he just transfigured his own fancy boots to more suitable ones. When Harry didn’t bother to do the same, Draco just flicked his wand and in a matter of seconds Harry had unusual, black shoes with silver decorative plant veins on. “I’m not risking opportunity of you getting some weird bacteria on your feet that could potentially transfer through your body and give you an infection, that could later on contaminate me. “

"Thinking about touching my body, are you? Harry teased laughing hard and at the same time making Draco's cheeks rose pink.

"Oh, please, who isn't." Draco drawled, walking over to their bowling station, acting as if Harry's comment did not affect him whatsoever. With two of his hands on his hips he examined the set up for the game. “Do tell me again, am I supposed to throw this ball towards those there?” he pointed to the pins.

“Yep, that’s pretty much it. Don’t get your hopes up though, you could never win the first time you’re playing this.” Harry started picking up balls, trying to determine which one fitted him best. He had been bowling few times with Ron, Dean and Neville the past year, and soon they got extremely addicted to it, and by the fifth time they got very competitive, almost like they were with quidditch (well, except from Neville, he was there just for fun). So Harry was pretty good at bowling and was sure he was going to win.

“Try me, Potter.” Draco moved closer to Harry and raised his eyebrow in challenge. “I’m a quick learner.”

In his first few attempts Draco missed every pin and Harry laughed at all of those occasions, remembering his opponent’s words “Malfoys never lose.” He eventually had to stop, because Draco was getting better and better, and in half an hour Harry was at losing by hundred and fifteen points. The urge to win was burning inside him, it was good kind of fire, the kind that he felt whenever he played a quidditch match against Slytherin, just without actual hatred, all he wanted to do was to win, to see blond’s face when he lost. This fire felt right, it was what he needed now. Something other than wedding planning to occupy his mind.

“So, how is everything going with your training?” They had taken a break to get something to drink and they were sitting on two sofas facing each other. Harry had his legs stretched towards Draco’s, he was drinking soda and studying blond’s hair that was falling to his forehead, and for some reason not sticking to it the way his own hair was. He wondered whether Draco was using some kind of potion for eliminating sweat? Was that why he didn’t have wet stamps under his arms either? He decided he would ask him about it later. He hated that he always sweated so badly during activities, that he looked like cat taken out of water, he needed whatever Draco was using. What did he use on his hair anyway? No one is born with that silvery blond hair. Do wizards use hair dye?

“- dozing off? Why do I even try?” Harry had to snap back from his thoughts and look at the boy in front of him, really look at him. Draco let out a sigh. “Oh finally got your attention. It’s like you’re in your own Wonderland and you’re beginning to get mad.” He ran one hand through his hair, combing it backwards, his other arm placed on the back of the sofa behind his head.

“What?” Harry sat up straight. Did he really just miss whatever the boy said to him, because he was thinking about Draco's hair? No. He was trying to figure out how they were the way they were. Yes, that’s exactly what he did. Draco stood up, finished the drink he had in his hand and in a matter of seconds the empty glass vanished from his hand.

“I asked you how your training is going, but you kept staring in the distance like someone on crack.” Harry didn’t know if he should be offended or not, but he quickly resigned from doing so when Draco snorted softly and a little smile appeared on his face. Harry couldn’t help, but roll his eyes and smile back.

“My training has been going great, I can even cast fifteen different detecting charms now.”

“Show off.”

“It’s not like I’m the one who just vanished his glass with non-verbal magic." Harry enjoyed this back and forth between them. The eye contact they held made it even more enjoyable. He always had so much fun with Draco, thinking about it, he could actually say that he felt a bit like he actually was in his own Wonderland. No one here except Draco and couple of the employees knew who he was and they didn't really care, they knew him as a crazy guy who managed to spill coke all over himself when he was bringing drinks to his friends. Harry liked that. He felt relaxed wherever he wa with Draco, felt like he could be himself, be open about things that were troubling him and he would get an understanding look and if he was lucky a story from Draco that would make him feel better. Draco was not only his friend, but also his escape from reality and all the things that were going on in his life, escape from Ginny's serious looks when she was trying to get some information about his nightmares or sad face, out of him. He was Harry's escape from Hermione's worried looks and countless leaflets that advertised good mind healers, or books about mental health, or just her wanting to talk. He loved Hermione and he usually talked to her about a lot of things that were on his mind, she understood him best, she was with him through good and bad, but Harry found himself not wanting to share certain things with her. A, he was afraid of her getting even more protective of him, treating him as a hurt puppy or making him go to all of those mind healer visits; B, he just didn't feel like it. It was weird, they knew each other for so long and shared so many experiences, yet Harry thought that she wouldn't understand some things as good as Draco would. It was crazy, but everytime Harry shared a piece of him with Draco he got something back, not a pity, he got an honest opinion on the matter, maybe a pint, someone that understood some aspects of his logic and some of his fears better than anyone else, a distraction, very rarely a warm body to hold at night, and most importantly a piece of Draco back. He was so different in handling Harry's moods than anyone else, yet so perfect, as if it was his job. Draco was Harry's shield from everything bad surrounding him.

“Oh, please, muggles are blind, I used to be afraid of doing magic in front of them, but since I accidently used reparo next to a teenager in a bookshop and she told me I was a cool 'magician'-” Draco made quotation mark with the two of his hands in the air. “-I stopped caring. People take me as a muggle who can do tricks, can you believe? So no matter what I do, we’re safe.” He walked down to the bowling track and picked up one of the balls and held it close to his chest. “Are we still playing, or are you admitting to being defeated by the invincible Malfoy power?” If Harry didn’t know better he would have said that the look Draco gave him was flirtatious, but it couldn't have been, he was just challenging him.

“You wish.” Harry marched to the track, took one of the greenish balls and threw it at the pins, so hard that he hit all of them.

“That was a bit dramatic.” Draco teased.

"Tell me again that I'm dramatic, when you start one of your "I'll die, Harry!" rants, while laying on the floor in your living room. It usually happens before your work on Wednesday, when you know you'll have to deal with Lindsay , Emily and Marcus by yourself." Draco growled at him.

“Anyways, it's your turn, Mr. 'I’m the best at every game, because of my gens'.” Harry leaned on the wall behind him and watched Draco, trying to make the boy pick up the challenge. Draco reacted immediately, which made Harry smile widely and he bit down on his lower lip. The blond hit eight pins, he would have hit nine, the ninth pin shook for a second, but stayed still in the end. The fear of losing to Harry wasn't really visible on Draco’s face, but his shoulders went stiff and the way he was biting the inside of his cheek gave his true feelings away.

They kept playing for another hour, doing the best they could to outdo each other, teasing each other, laughing and deciding on what punishment the loser will get after the game. Draco ended up winning by ten points, TEN STUPID POINTS. Harry was so close to winning, but then Draco hit all of the pins and LITERALLY pat himself on the back saying 'you did amazing Draco, I’m so proud of you' and Harry couldn't help doubling over with laughter despite the shock of losing.

Later on that night Harry had to wear fake rabbit ears and nose to the chinese restaurant they were heading to. He received many funny looks from the people on the streets and inside the restaurant. He felt his face heating up more as the minutes went by and every time he had to explain to the few kids that asked, that he in fact had an accident in his job and those items had stuck to his face and head. Draco tried to muffle his laughter with his hand, but failed when a little girl asked Harry if he was one of 'Humpty-Dumpty’s assistants', he held his hand on stomach and laughing hysterically to the point where his eyes filled with tears.

“Are you quite done yet?” Harry asked bluntly, glaring at Draco and putting a fork full of spicy noodles in his mouth.

“This is-” he covered his mouth again, his cheeks were filled out with air and his eyes were shut. Harry kept reaching to his plate for more food, which made all this situation bearable. " This is the best day of my life. I have to win more often.” Harry had rarely seen Draco so happy and vibrant, it was quite a beautiful view, he never smiled like that back at Hogwarts. Harry wanted to keep this expression on boy's face forever.

Harry shook his head in annoyance, but smiled. “I’m never letting you win again.” Draco took a bite of his noodles and watched Harry with intensity. “I’m going to make you regret ever winning and making up this horrendous punishment.”

“You mean, if you win. Don’t be so sure that you can win the broom race. I’ve been training since last year and I got even better than I was back at Hogwarts.” The boy said when he chewed up his food.

“You’re being hopeful, Draco. I had time for some practice too.”

“Then we’ll see who is best on Friday.”

Next week Draco won the broom race indeed, but decided to only make Harry make them food while Draco read “Beauty and The Beast” out loud making comments every now and then on how 'impossible and illogical' those characters were and how Belle could have just made a rope out of her sheets, broke the window, stolen the horse and escaped home. Harry liked having Draco ranting about muggle books and being the smartass he was. It made him smile while he cooked pumpkin soup and baked brownies that Draco loved to death. It was almost like they lived together, almost like they were .... Harry stopped breathing for a moment in realisation of where his mind went, it wasn’t just it, Draco was standing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

“Did you add parsley and basil?” Harry inhaled deeply for no reason other that he wasn’t expecting Draco to show up so close to him.

“Of course I did. I’m a good cook, remember?” He turned his head towards the boy behind him. They looked at each other for a longer second, Draco’s eyes traveled down to Harry’s lips and he momentarily stepped back from Harry before Harry could react or think anything. He opened one of the cupboards and burrien his head there, shifting his hands through the spices. Harry looked down to pot embarrassed and started stirring the soup like his life depended on it. The situation was awkward, SO AWKWARD. Harry didn’t even know how to interpret it. Why did Draco look at his lips? And why did he get all weird about it? He was clearly embarrassed by the situation, but why? There were so many questions and no answer.

None of them said a word for a few seconds. Harry decided to break the silence. “Did you find what you were looking for to make the soup better?” Why was his voice so shaky, damn it?!

Draco turned back to Harry, but avoided looking directly into his eyes.

“Yes, you never remember to add smoked paprika, it makes food tastier.” He rushed to the pot and stood beside Harry, though not touching any part of his body to Harry’s which for some reason made Harry a bit upset. He got too used to having Draco being comfortable with having some physical contact when they hang out, now that it was missing he was worried if the bond between them just broke.

“You’re right” Harry said mindlessly. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Without waiting for response he rushed to the bathroom. When he got there, he uncorked the cold water and splashed some of it on his face. He did that several times. Why was he so hot?! Why did Draco make him feel like this? This was crazy. He was going mad. He didn’t have feelings for Draco. He just didn’t. Well, at least not like 'love' ones, he liked him, but he liked him as a FRIEND. Or did he? His heart wouldn’t stop racing. Oh God, he was going insane. Or maybe Draco was the one that was the problem. Maybe Draco just felt lonely and knowing that Harry had someone and Draco didn’t, he craved sexual… intimacy. No matter who was it. He might be frustrated. Right, yes, that has to be it. Draco is just lonely and wants what Harry has with Ginny. The tension fell from Harry’s shoulders and he felt his heartbeat slowing down.

“Draco.” Harry said as soon as he approached the kitchen were Draco stood over the boiling pots, his eyes fixed on the swirling liquid.

“Leave it, Potter.” he murmured not looking at Harry. He was sad. Harry was sure he was right, the other boy just needed a woman in his life.

“Listen to me and no, don’t say a word until I’m done.” he said when the blond turned his face towards him and opened his mouth. Draco's eyes went wide, and he set down the wooden spoon, with which he was stirring the soup. “I know what seems to be the problem there.”

“Pot-Harry, just let it go.” Draco’s voice was serious, but shaky.

“I told you not to interrupt me.” Harry marched towards Draco, but the boy moved away from him. “I know why you’re like that.” Harry tried to speak as softly as he could as to keep the blond in this room.

“You do?” Draco inhaled sharply.

“You’re just lonely and you crave attention of a woman. Before you say anything, I’ll help you find one.” Harry smiled to reassure his friend of his words.

“No, you don’t-”

“Of course I know, you’re jealous of my relationship with Ginny, I have something that you don’t and you simply want it. It’s a normal human reaction, I mean, to be jealous and sad."

‘No, I’m not, Harry-” Draco was frustrated, Harry could see it on his face. He picked the spoon up again, holding it in his hand so tight that his knuckles went white.

“It’s okay to feel that way.”

“HARRY!” Harry instantly looked Draco in the eyes. It was rare for the boy to raise his voice. “You’re wrong and I don’t need a woman, which you seemed to assume is a fact. I don’t know why you thought of that, but I simply got interested in your ... in your lips, because they are blue.” He sounded very convincing and not at all like he was just trying to finish this conversation. “Did you even notice that when you went to the toilet or are you that blind? And with your glasses on?” Harry touched his lips, pulled on the bottom lip with his fingers and looked down, sadly he couldn’t see anything, but the inside of his mouth. He rushed to the toilet. Fuck. His lips really were blue, how did he not see that before? Well that at least explained the awkward situation and why Draco did stare at his lips. They both might have just read each other incorrectly. Harry came back to the kitchen were Draco was sitting by the table with two bowls of steaming soup there waiting to be eaten.

“Do you believe me now?” Draco asked with no venom. Harry nodded and sat on the chair that had a bowl of soup in front of it.

“How did you not notice it earlier?”

“The bigger question is how you didn't notice." Draco snorted. "Anyway I might have been too busy reading the book. And, you stood with your back to me.” Draco responded quickly, almost like it was the answer to some test that he knew, because he learned it word to word.

“Why do I have blue lips?” Something still wasn’t making sense.

“It’s cold outside. We were out for more than an hour, your lips turn different colors in that weather." That made sense. “Can we eat now? I’m starving and I bet you are too.” They ate their food and managed to switch the subject to new Quidditch teams that were being formed after the new year, then they talked about some other books Draco read in the past days, discussing some scenes Draco thought could be improved. It was nice, cozy, and Harry didn’t want the night to end. He wanted to stay and keep talking to Draco. He didn’t want to come home, not even the thought of Ginny waiting for him in bed made him feel other way around.

“Thank you, Harry. The soup and the brownies were really nice.” Draco said when they were cleaning up. Harry had to stop doing the dishes to look up at Draco. He had sincere smile on his face. “You are an amazing cook.”

“You helped me with the soup.” Harry blurted out, mostly, because he didn’t know what to say.

“Can’t you just take the compliment?”

“Okay, thank you, you happy?

“Yes.” Draco grinned at him.

Harry was happy now that Draco and him started hanging out more, the blonde began to regain his strength; the colors were back on his no longer pale face; he didn't look like a skeleton anymore, bwell he still was underweight, but he was getting better and that's what mattered. Draco also smiled and laughed a lot more than he used to before, which warmed Harry's heart.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back home?” Draco said after a while and took a bite of his half finished brownie then licked the fork clean. Harry knew it was a cue for him to go, but he didn’t want to go. He felt warmth in his stomach and a sweet taste of chocolate goodness on his lips. He wanted to stay for few more minutes, okay maybe hours. He had no responsibilities here and he could just be himself, he wasn’t surrounded by people constantly telling him what he should do and treating him like he was made out of glass. Draco treated him like a human, he called him out on his bullshit and talked to him about subjects he actually wanted to talk about. Time spent with Draco always made him feel … almost free, even when they went out, they rarely choose wizard spots to hang out, so Harry wasn't oppressed by people. He would have never thought that he would feel relaxed and happy in Draco Malfoy’s company, but now that he did, he couldn’t stop wanting to stay in this bubble for as long as he could. It was a weird feeling, yet somehow it started to become very natural to feel that way.

“Are you tired of me?” Harry wiped his hand on a dishcloth, walked to Draco and looked down at him.

“Yes, I actually need some space away from you and your tiring personality.” Draco flicked away a strand of hair from his eyes in diva kind of gesture.

“Alright, then. You will never see me again Mr. Malfoy.” Harry tried to sound serious, but he knew he couldn't keep a wide smile off his face. Draco’s eyes shined as the boy bit his bottom lip and gave Harry a questioning look.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, you won’t be missed, I assure you.” He stood up so that they were facing each other and having an eye battle before they both burst out laughing.

“I’m leaving.” Harry put one hand on Draco shoulder and was surprised the boy didn’t pull away. “But I’m going to beat you at Seeker's game very soon.”

“Sure you will.” The boy inhaled. Harry was about to turn back and apparate, but then Draco spoke again. “I meant what I said before, It was a really nice day, thank you.” The words made Harry want to touch the boy again, maybe even hug him. They’ve never hugged before, well, they did slept next to each other, spooning, but they weren't hugging constantly, like, it wasn't something they did.

But boy’s tone was so full of emotion, the words were sincere.

“You’re welcome. I had an amazing time as well, I always do with you.” He couldn’t help himself, he just said and waited for a response. Draco’s eyes burned into his, and Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. He panicked and disapparated from Draco’s flat.

When he stepped into his house he was greeted by angry looks from Hermione and Ginny.

What just happened with Draco already made him want to go to bed and rethink everything, but THIS! Dealing with two scary women was even worse.

“Where were you?!” Ginny exploded walking up to him. “Harry, we were worried!” She searched for his eyes. He couldn’t look her straight in the eyes, he wasn’t sure if it was because he was stressed out, or because all he could see now were silver eyes filling up with joy; and he couldn’t risk getting lost in them now.

“Harry? Is everything alright? Did something happen?” A light hand laid on his arm, it wasn’t Ginny’s. It was warm and reassuring, Hermione was almost always able to calm him down and help him out, but sometimes she was going a bit too far with taking care of him.

Harry could handle himself. Yes, he still had times that he wasn’t feeling his best, times when all he wanted to do was to scream and cry, times when he thought that it would be much better if he decided to stay dead during the war, times when he had self doubt. But he was handling himself the best he could and his training going well was a proof of that. He was capable of casting more protecting and detecting spells, so he could protect himself and save people from dangerous curses. He still was haunted by nightmares, but weren’t they all? He wasn’t the only one who lost loved ones. He wasn’t the only one who was left broken. WHY DID THEY TREAT HIM LIKE SOMEHOW HE WAS MORE BROKEN?! WHY?!

“Met up with Neville and Seamus for drinks, forgot to tell you, I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” He murmured, still not looking at his fiancée and his friend. He had to lie, they didn’t know that he and Draco kept meeting up. He stopped talking about him to them. Harry thought that them hanging out irritated Ginny, he knew it irritated Ron, purely because he didn’t understand why Harry would do so, but Ginny… he wanted to make her feel like she was his priority. He also knew how his fiancée felt about the blond.

“Oh.” Ginny sighed. That’s when Harry gathered the courage to look at woman in front of him. “That’s fine then.” She was nervous and angry, Harry could see it, though her face softened and she gave him a slight smile. “Just tell me next time, okay?” Harry nodded slowly. The girl cupped his jaw with her hand and captured Harry’s lips in a gentle, long kiss. He felt nothing, that’s why he didn’t respond to it. WHY DIDN’T HE FEEL SOMETHING?! He should have felt something. It was Ginny. GINNY - his soon to be wife, and he felt nothing when she kissed him. NOTHING. He needed to go to sleep. He was way too tired to think about it now. He excused himself, reassuring Hermione that he was fine and he’ll feel better tomorrow. He went to the bathroom, showered, put on his boxers and a night shirt and went to bed, not waiting for Ginny to come, he fell asleep. She wouldn't be happy about Harry having more fun with Draco than he did with her, she surely wouldn't

Days spent with Harry were one of the most joyous moments of Draco’s life, since they decided to call truce they have been meeting up almost everyday, they couldn’t get enough of each other. Draco smiled more, he was more optimistic than ever and more energetic than he had been in years. It was all because of the brunette’s presence and the easy way their new friendship was developing. Every meeting felt like stepping out of the persona that Draco was putting out everyday, he no longer wore his composed face, he laughed, allowed himself to show more emotions than he would with anyone else; his shoulders weightless, he could be his true self, without the need to put on a show, so people liked him. Not only that made Draco feel his best, but also the fact that the boy who was spending the time with him, knew him so well, knew his good and bad sides, yet still decided to treat Draco like a normal human being. They both were aware of their past, they just didn’t talk about it if there wasn’t a good reason to do so. They chose to live in the present, start a new life. Draco did apologize to Harry for his behaviour back at Hogwarts and during the war countless times, and Harry had to tell him 'We're fine now, Draco. I've forgiven you a long time ago.'.

Draco was grateful that Harry never brought up times before and during the war, they both knew what happened, they told each other almost everything when they were in France. Oh, France, if he could only go back in time and do something, anything, that would make a difference of how their last morning there looked like. But then again, what could have he done? It’s not like things would have been perfectly fine and not weird at all if Draco decided to open his eyes when Harry kissed his cheek. He would have probably been speechless, incapable of forming any sensible words, and Harry would probably have been embarrassed and confused, he would have probably said that meant nothing and that their whole friendship was a mistake. That would have hurt Draco way more than pretending it never happened. He wasn’t ready to hear the denial, even if he knew that some part of Harry regretted it; or maybe he just didn’t remember that kiss. Why would he? He is straight and has a fiance. Harry would never kiss Draco willingly, he must have been under some kind of weird influence.

The Golden Boy never left Draco’s mind, he was there when they were together, he was there when they were apart, when Draco was working, when he was making his food late at night, when he was falling asleep, when he was waking up. His thoughts wandered to Harry one way or another and Draco hated himself for that. Falling for your ex-rival turned friend, engaged, straight man wasn’t the best thing to do. Unfortunately the more time Draco spent with Harry the harder it was not to do so. He was brilliant, they shared the same interest and always became happier around each other, they knew each other’s body language, they knew how to act around each other, how to make the other feel better. There were moments that confused Draco, the moments when there would be this undeniable tension between them when they held eye contact for a little bit too long for it to feel casual.

*****

“Draco!” Harry screamed, apparating into Draco’s living room, dressed in a dark gray, puffy jacket.

“There is no need for screaming that loud.” Draco closed the distance between them.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to scream if we weren’t running late.” Harry took one step forward. “...aaaand if I knew you were just here, being lazy.” Draco rolled his eyes at the comment, but snorted and smiled looking at his friend.

“Maybe I would be ready if you had invited me earlier than ten minutes ago.” Now they were both grinning.

“Okay, alright, mister 'I don’t do spontaneous meetings' ” the dark haired boy playfully pushed Draco’s shoulder with his hand.

“You know I don’t like spontaneous meetings.” He summoned his coat and the rest of his warm clothes. “I don’t have time to get ready, and besides...” Draco put black scarf around his neck. “-I could have been doing something.” He tried to look pretentious, but Harry just gave him a 'seriously?' kind of look. “Okay, I wasn’t busy, happy?”

“Yes, actually, if feels pretty good to be right.” A huge smile appeared on the other boy’s face. “Now, are you ready?” They were about to head off to the amusement park. Harry bought them the tickets without even asking Draco if he was busy, first. He gave the boy about ten minutes to respond and get ready. This was another thing about Harry, he liked being spontaneous and take Draco to all kinds of muggle places by surprise. He pushed Draco’s boundaries like no one ever did.

He looked excited as he stood there in front of Draco, waiting for him with a smile on his face. Draco took a deep breath.

“I am, although I don’t know if I’m properly dressed. I don’t remember you mentioning any dress code.”

“There is none, you can go there looking your gorgeous self, just like that, and everybody will admire you.” It was a simple sentence, but it made Draco warm inside and he had to look away from the brunette to avoid the eye contact.

“Yeah, right. Let’s go then. I hope I won’t regret this.” Draco still focusing on the wall behind Harry held out his arm towards the boy.

“The worst thing that will happen is that you’ll have fun, which I know must be scary.” Harry sang theatrically.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Draco now had to look at the other’s boy emerald green eyes. When Harry held his gaze, he took the boy’s hand as quickly as he could to mask how affected by simple eye contact he was. “Are you taking us there or are we not running late, like you said earlier?” Harry clenched his hand in Draco’s and they were gone.

When they stepped into the even area they were greeted with booming noise of the people either having fun or dying. Draco looked at all the attractions as they walked through the amusement park. There were really high tracks in the air with some vehicle on it with multiple seats, it went all the way up and then slipped down. All the people riding it were screaming. Draco swallowed heavily. He did just fine with heights, he played quidditch, he had to, but this machine was out of his control and that's what made it scary. There was a ride called 'ferris wheel', Harry explained to him how did it and every other machine worked, but refused to tell him how does it feel to be on them. Later on he admitted that he actually never been able to come here and it was his first time.

They went on a few rides, Harry had to challenge Draco to do so, because when he saw people getting sick on the rides he immediately wanted to apparate home. There was no way he was getting embarrassed in front of others, or especially Harry. The ride that went up, and then had sudden fall was so terrifying that Draco had to hold onto the the barriers, that kept him safe, very tightly. Though what took his breath away was not the fall alone, but a gentle hand on his own, squeezing it and giving Draco a mini heart attack. The gesture alone left Draco speechless for long time after they got off the ride.

After that they decided to take a bit of a break, just walking around, drinking soda and eating candy floss. As the late afternoon drew closer, the crowd was getting bigger, whole families with their kids back from school arriving. At one point Draco noticed that Harry was breathing very quickly and then taking really deep breaths and starting the whole process again. Draco took brunette’s hands in his, which took a lot of courage from him, and tried the best he could to calm Harry down. It must have been the crowd, Draco didn’t feel good himself, but he figured it would be bigger disaster if they both had panic attack rather than just Harry. The fear of being seen so vulnerable was stronger than his anxiety. He had to be the composed one.

“Harry, listen, you need to start breathing normally. I’m going to take you away from here, but you have to calm down first.” He tried his best to sound as soft and as quiet as he could. Harry didn’t respond, his breathing became even faster. His face turned towards Draco, but he wasn't really looking at him, and his whole body was shaking. Draco’s heart was going to escape his chest if he didn’t to something quickly. Harry might pass out, he knew that from his own experience. He dragged the boy to the nearest spot without any people. “Harry, please.” he whispered, so that only Harry would hear him. “Breath with me, okay? Look at me and breath with me.” He didn’t want to do it, but he had to, he touched Harry’s cheek and then chin so that the boy would focus on him and him alone. When he got his attention Harry was trying to say something, but only gasps escaped his mouth. “Harry, you’re fine. I’m taking you away from here, okay? You need to calm down, so you want get injured or Merlin knows what.” He started to deeply breath in and then after a few seconds breath out. He counted the breaths in and out to show Harry how it worked and then proceed with looking into Harry's eyes, encouraging the boy to mirror the exercise. He held Harrys hands and mindlessly stated drawing circles with his thumb on one of them. He repeated the breathing technique until Harry started to breath with him in the same tempo. He apparated them to his flat as soon as Harry looked a bit better.

******

“Thank you.” Harry said later when they were sitting on the sofa and drinking chamomile tea.

“That's alright, you’d have done the same for me if I was in your place.” He observed Harry, looking up from his newspaper. The whole page was filled with 'cute', coupley pictures of Harry and Weasley-girl, predictions about their wedding, and letters from famous tailors who volunteered to sew the wedding dress and the suit. Most of the ideas were awful, they had absolutely no taste in fashion! Who would want to wear a fiery red dress with real lion’s hair on it? Even Weasleys had standards, besides, the happy couple weren’t going to pick any of those fashion designers projects, for all Draco knew. Harry told him Weasley’s mother is doing all the wedding work.

“Any new scandals about me?” The other boy’s voice made him look in his direction.

“No, just people wanting to kiss your ass.”

“Nothing new then.”

“No.”

They sat in silence until Harry blurted out. “They want me to become an auror.”

“Pardon?” Draco responded without a clue what Harry was saying.

“The ministry.” The boy specified. “They want me to become an auror, they said I’ll be much better there than in curse-breaking departament.” It was not unusual for Harry to talk a lot about his problems, but he never made himself center of attention, he always listened to Draco rant for hours about his patients and co-workers or something he didn't understand or was passionate about.

“Come again.”

“Robards himself came to me yesterday and offered a brief auror training, so I can become one as quickly as possible. They are still chasing some dark wizards and they need my help. I didn’t know what to say.” He sighed deeply and his hands fell into his lap heavily. “I just... I mean - what was I supposed to tell him? That I’m not really interested in that? That I don’t want to save people anymore, that I don’t want to risk my life like that? Maybe I would have done that before I saw how manipulative they were and how they could fuck me and people close to me, over. ” Draco put down his magazine and went up to sit beside Harry.

“Please tell me you didn’t accept the offer, because if you did, then I will be convinced that you are awful decision maker and total twat.”

They’ve been there already. It was not the first time Harry mentioned that ministry wanted to make him a pawn in their game. They needed Harry’s fame and talent in their departament. Harry usually got what he wanted, he could be assertive and intimidating if he wanted to, and with Draco's help he knew how to word himself better to succeed. But now that once MInistry told him that if he declined their offer they would reconsider Hermione's position at the department of Law, Harry started to panic, he didn't want to be the reason his friend is losing her job. They could probably fire Ron as well and maybe even do something to Ginny. If the MInistry knew Harry was hanging out with Draco, they would probably redo his trial from years ago and plead him guilty, Harry knew they were capable of doings so, or even worse. He didn't want to risk anyone's life.

“I didn’t!” He looked like a hurt puppy with his frown like that. “But that’s not the point,” he rested his cup of tea on the table. He started rubbing his hands together. “They said that if I won’t go with their plan then-”

“This is bollocks, Harry! I thought you would stand up for yourself, you of all people can do that much."

“And I did!” Harry got up from the couch, the furious and resigned expression on his face.

“Did you?” Draco decided to get up, he wasn’t going to speak to the boy from the couch.

“Of course I did! I told them that I’m not getting into this mess, I left the details and personal feelings out of it, but I said no.” He was pacing around the room now. Draco watched the boy pull on his green jumper in frustration. It was making Draco's head hurt.

“So what seems to be the problem?" He rubbed his temples. "And please stop circling the room." Harry did. "Is the problem the guilt you feel? You think you should join them to save innocent lives?” Harry’s eyes said it all. Draco was right. “Haven’t you’ve done that enough in a war and before that?!” Now Draco was getting angry. The ministry has been pressuring Harry for years now, and he with his Gryffindor lion heart was blaming himself for doing what he wanted in life.

“They said that even if I pass the curse-braking training, they won’t give me the job in the fields.” His voice was shaking. It clearly meant a lot to him not to have a desk job, and Draco understood that, he wouldn’t have liked that either. The brunette ran his hands through his hair and pushed them back. His hair longer now, almost like back in fourth year, it fell behind his ear and a little more. He was utterly attractive even now, frustrated, with dark circles under his eyes, his glasses slightly lopsided to the right and his creased sweater. How could anyone resist this man? Draco knew he couldn’t, he was getting so close with Harry and it was becoming impossible not to think about them being together and domestic with each other. He wanted to have Harry for himself, to keep him close whenever things went bad at work, whenever he couldn't sleep, when he was being too serious and killing the happy mood, when he woke up, when he was happy or just making food. He wanted to spend all his life with Harry by his side. They thought each other so much, gave each other so much comfort and made each other happy. If Harry wasn't engaged and was interested in men, maybe then they would have had a chance of being in relationship, and a loving one. Draco knew there was something between them, but either Harry wasn't telling him that because of his fiancée or because he truly didn't know he was attracted to man. The uncertainty was killing Draco.

His crush was getting worse, his heart was aching with fire that he never experienced. If he could he would choose to feel nothing at all, nothing, so he could never get hurt by his own emotions.

“You’ve to get out of there. What other choice do you see? I know it’s totally your decision and it only depends on you if you want to listen to my advice and your own heart and get this over with. I hate seeing you like this, all it does is make you grumpy and less fun to be around especially when you come here and throw hexes at my wall. It makes me feel depressed, and I don’t need more depressing stuff in my life." Draco felt a little guilty about making it sound like it was about him, but he hoped it would have some effect on the other boy as Harry always seemed concerned about his well-being.

“I don’t know what am I going to do.” Harry murmured sitting back down and taking his cup in his hands. Draco used non verbal spell to quickly heat up Harry’s tea without the boy noticing. He was too stressed out to care what Draco was doing. A little smile appeared on his face when the warm liquid touched his lips and Draco smiled at that sight.

They spent the rest of the night reading books on separate couches.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny’s concerned voice got Harry out of thinking about how miserable (and drunk) he felt, how awful his training was and how all he wanted to do was to cry, and maybe curl up on Draco's sofa with more alcohol, listening to Draco's soft voice reading yet another muggle book and leaving funny comments from time to time. Sadly, he was sitting in his kitchen with a bottle of firewhiskey, trying to drink his sadness away.

“Nothing." He muttered, more to the bottle than to his fiance’s face. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t feel like talking to Ginny about all of this. He couldn’t form sentences, his tongue was twisting and his head was pulsing. Apart from that, he knew she wouldn’t understand him and would try to make him feel better by telling him what she thought he wanted to hear, not what he needed to hear.

“Why are you so cold towards me these days?” She raised her voice, hitting a more accusing tone. "Yesterday you didn't even come to bed, you fell asleep on the couch. And last Friday you cancelled our dinner date. You never want to talk about the wedding planning, you seem like you don't even want it to happen anymore. All I got from you this morning was 'gotta go.', a kiss on the head and not even a 'thank you' for making you breakfast. On top of it all, you never share your feelings with me, and I'm here to help you, Harry." Harry looked up at her. He did feel guilty about all the things she mentioned, but at the same time he thought she was being a bit too harsh on him.

Ginny's lip trembled, but she stayed untouched by the whole situation. “Is it because of Malfoy? I know you're seeing him again, I'm nor blind or stupid. What did he do to you? I bet he’s telling you to break things off with me, he wants you all to himself.” Harry gasped, he was drunk, but not too drunk not to understand what she was saying. Ginny’s was furious, though her expression didn’t show that, it was only her eyes and eyebrows that told Harry that she in fact was hurt and angry.

“What?!” Harry opened his eyes wide in shook. He swallowed thickly. “I-Are.... We- What?!” Harry couldn’t form any kind of response. “Of course not!” His breathing began to fasten. Ginny gave him an odd look that he couldn’t recognize. She threw a piece of paper on the table, so that Harry could see the content of it. He took a look at it immediately. He inhaled deeply again. There, in front of him was a moving photo of Draco who was pulling Harry closer to himself with an amused smile on his face, both of them giggled. The blush on both of their cheeks clearly visible as they looked away from each other.

It was the day they had an ice skating competition. Harry suddenly didn’t know how to breath. He didn’t know they were being watched back then. He didn’t think the reporters were following him even to muggle parts of London. He remembered that day, it was about two weeks ago, him and Draco had some of the new ice cream flavour from their favourite spot, they went home to get warm, cooked vegetarian lasagna, talked about new Quidditch teams, drank some mulled wine, shared their stories from first year at Hogwarts and laughed a lot. They ended up falling asleep by the fire, away from each other, but after Draco woke up screaming for his life after a terrible nightmare that involved fire, Harry took him into his arms, put out the fire and led Draco to his room where they fell asleep holding onto each other, which no longer was weird. This day made Harry feel so many emotions at once, but also was one of his favorite days ever.

Harry felt anger building up in him. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. His meeting with the blonde boy was supposed to be only his and Draco’s moment. No one else’s. Harry hated being famous. He hated it with passion, especially today. “Draco has done nothing wrong!” He screamed, he didn’t intend to. Ginny had no right to accuse Draco of such things, Harry told her a million times about Draco becoming one of his best friends and how much he changed. “And I’m allowed not to tell you things I don’t want to share with you.”

Judging by Ginny’s expression she didn’t see that coming. Harry stood up, ready to apparate the fuck away from here, he wanted to be alone, somewhere where he didn’t have to deal with the red haired woman glaring at him.

“We’re getting married for Merlin's sake!” Ginny shouted, her eyes beginning to water. “We’re getting married and you don’t trust me!” She stood up to. Now they were both glaring at each other, the kitchen table serving as a safe space between them. "I thought everything was going well, I thought you loved me. Everything was like a fairy tale, until you suddenly became almost repellent by me."

“That’s not true! You just don’t like Draco and you’re making things up!” Harry took few steps back and brought the whiskey bottle to his mouth to take another gulp of it. "And 'a fairy tale', Ginny? My life is not a fairy tale and it will never be one! If you expected to marry a prince harming or a hero, then you choose the wrong guy." He felt his throat burning and another warm sensation going down his whole body as he took another shot of the alcohol in hi hand. He began to have trouble standing straight. His legs felt like jelly.

“I have my reasons to hate Malfoy, and you of all people should understand it!” Ginny snapped. “I didn't expect my life to be a bloody fairy tale, Harry, it's an expression! I meant that we were doing so well, we were so in love... well, I was, am still.” With a flick of her wand Ginny managed to snap the bottle from Harry’s hands. Her eyes filled with tears.

“What the fuc-” Harry started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish because Ginny continued to shout at him.

“You spend all of your free time with him! Don't you? Every time you said you were meeting up with Seamus, Neville or Dean, or telling me that your training will be finishing late at night; you were with him." She was smart, Harry had to give her that. "Maybe you should marry him instead of me! If he’s so precious to you, more trustworthy than I, the woman you decided to propose to, am, then go ahead!” She threw the whiskey bottle out of the window, hearing it crash on the concrete of the yard. Now that Ginny found out about him and Draco and was incredibly rude about it, he couldn't take it anymore.

Harry apparated to one place he wanted to be in, Draco’s flat. He felt dizzy as he landed, full body on the floor of Draco’s living room. His head felt heavier and heavier at every attempt he tried to stand up.

“H-Harry!” Draco’s terrified voice reached Harry’s ears. "You bloody idiot, what have you done?" He couldn’t understand any word after that, he heard beeping in his ears and the loud thumping of his heart. Harry felt himself being lifted up sat somewhere soft. His eyes remained closed, the room was far too bright for his liking. Surprisingly enough the lights in the room darkened a bit, that made Harry open his eyes. He saw a fuzzy image of Draco on his knees. Harry blinked a few times to see the boy clearer. His face was a mixture of worry and concentration. He was holding one of Harry’s arms and HOLY SHIT! HIS WHOLE ARM WAS DRIPPING IN BLOOD. HOW HAD HE NOT FELT THAT?! Draco had his wand right above the cuts, he was murmuring some spells that Harry did not recognize. The blood was vanished away leaving Harry’s arm bare with only few visible cuts that were beginning to close and turning a lighter colour. They almost looked like healing burns. Harry’s headache was getting worse which resulted in him shutting his eyes again and letting out a growl.

“Drink that.” Draco commanded, putting a small, cold object in Harry’s hand as soon as he finished healing his wounds and noticed that the boy was awake. Harry closed his hand around it. It was some sort of glass, a bottle maybe. “Harry.” A soft voice reached his ears and a light hand landed on his back. “You’ll feel way better, just drink it.” There was something comforting in the other boy’s touch, something that made Harry trust the boy with the thing he gave him. Harry opened his eyes and took a look at Draco’s face that was in front of him. They stayed silent. Harry looked away and to the object in his hand. It was a phial with some potion. He looked back at the boy. Draco looked into his eyes and gave Harry a little nod. Harry uncorked the bottle, put it to his lips and drank it. His body responded to it immediately. His head stopped hurting, his body didn’t feel like he was going to fall over anymore, his muscles seemed to have restored their power. “Better?” Draco took his hand from his back, and Harry already missed it being there.

“Yeah.” Harry whispered. Draco didn’t take his gaze away from Harry for even a second. He looked... sad, but relieved. His shoulders fell and he rolled down the sleeves of his dark blue nightgown.

“What happened?” Draco’s voice haven’t lost the softness that it had since Harry apparated here. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. Especially with Draco. He just wanted to stay around the boy for now. “If you don’t want to talk then…-”

“NO! I-I just...I don’t know.” Harry let his hands fall between his legs. He looked around the room, and realized it wasn’t the room he remember ever seeing in Draco’s flat. It had a wooden desk and a chair, few art pieces on the gray wall that gave the room a bit of life, a lot of cupboards and a desk with the cauldron on it. Harry was sitting on the comfortable sofa in the corner of said room and Draco was right in front of him, still crouching on his knees.

“It’s fine. The guest room is on the - well you know where it is." A little sigh escaped blonde's mouth as he stood up. “Just tell me if you need anything.” He looked almost disappointed at the fact that Harry wasn’t going to share with him his night story, share with him why he was such a mess. “Let me know, really.” Draco gave him a small smile. Harry felt his chest tightening. Draco looked so sad, it pained Harry to see him like that. He missed the smile on Draco’s face, the real one. Harry reached out for the blonde’s wrist and pulled him towards himself. Shock appeared on Draco’s face. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Harry with puzzled look.

“Tell me what happened.” Harry lowered his voice. He concluded that if Draco was gloomy then he must have a good reason for it. He was so happy just last week when they went out to ice skate.

“Go to sleep Harry, I’m sure you had way more terrible day than I did.”

“But...” Harry squeezed Draco’s hand.

“Go to sleep Harry.” It sounded more like a command now. Draco tried to escape Harry’s clasp, but Harry wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon. He couldn’t go to sleep knowing that something awful happened to Draco. He would not be able to sleep well knowing that Draco did everything to help him and Harry didn’t even try to return the favour.

“Draco...” Harry stood up, he felt like maybe he would be taken more seriously like that. “I can see you are hurting.” Draco’s face remained unchanged.

“It’s nothing. You’re more sensitive now, it’s one of the effects of the potion.” He took his hand away from Harry’s and stepped back. “I’m going back to my bedroom. if you need water or tea you know where to find them. You know where most of the stuff is.” He turned back to leave. Harry sighed, but let him exit the room, doing the same himself not soon after, walking over to the guest room getting under the warm covers.

But however he tried, Harry couldn’t sleep. He moved around in his bed trying to find a better position, but none seemed to put him to sleep. He was afraid to close his eyes, he didn’t want to have any nightmares. He wasn’t keen of questioning his existence and life choices now. In an addition to this whole mess that was Harry’s life, his brain played tricks on him, he didn’t know which situations in his life were real and which were the creation of his mind. He was getting more confused and frustrated with his emotions towards Draco and men in general.

In this past week he tried to look at men, different men, on the streets, in the ministry and see if any of them made him feel something, if he could actually ever be attracted to men physically. He found himself staring at skinny brown haired man that worked in the coffee shop in the city center. At first he just thought the man was attractive, but then he took off his apron and Harry could see well defined muscles tagging to the man’s shirt, his lean, but strong arms, and oh god, his smile was breathtaking. Next time he caught himself staring at men was at the park. It was rather tall blonde man, who was average weight, and had the bluest eyes Harry has ever seen, they were like a stormy sea, Harry could get lost in them. He didn’t catch what the man was saying to him, because he was checking him out, CHECKING OUT A MAN! AND BLOODY HELL, HE WAS ATTRACTIVE. The whole situation was awkward, the man was asking for directions to the well known gay bar nearby, and Harry felt his cheeks heating up even more when he told him which way to go after getting himself together, and as he left, the man winked at him and flashed Harry a smile. These feelings were confusing and new and he didn’t know what to do with this knowledge. All he was sure of was that he did still love Ginny, he thought Draco was very fit and Harry wanted to spend all his time with him, he also knew that some men made him blush. That was not a lot of information, how could he make sense of it? He didn't have the energy to think about it, but the curiosity was eating him alive. If he found the solution to one of his problems he could at least stop stressing about one of them.

Finally after laying awake for ages thinking about this, he fell asleep.

*******

Harry woke up screaming. The images of Remus falling into a hole in the ground to be eaten by killer wolves still flashed in his head. The little Teddy trying to take hold of his dark headed mom and their hands slipping from each other. Tonks falling through the hole after Remus. He couldn't stop tears dripping on his cheeks and saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" like a mantra, under his breath. He shut his eyes and covered his face with the blanket. Time seemed to stop, or it might have gone on for too long, Harry didn't know. All he felt was the sadness and anger within him building up to the extreme. He felt like his chest was prodded by thousands of invisible needles and his whole body felt heavy, like he was weighed down by stones. He couldn't move. He only snapped out of his grief when he felt strong arms around him, one of them was on his waist and the other was in his hair, caressing the back of his head smoothly. It felt nice, warm. Harry gave in to the comfort he was given. He looked up from his covers, and it was Draco. Draco was holding him in his arms. Harry once would have never have thought that someday he would sleep in Malfoy's flat and would be comforted by DRACO. FREAKING. MALFOY. It was so unexpected of the blonde to be even more sensitive than other times. Sure, they fell asleep holding onto each other countless times by now, but it wasn't always planned.

He started to calm his breathing down and let himself grab one of Draco's arms and squeeze it. The boy responded momentarily. He looked into Harry's eyes, his eyes were red and full of tears. Harry noted just now how warm the other boy's body was and how much he was shaking.

"Dr-D-Draco." He was shaking himself.

"No." Draco cried quietly. It was so uncommon for Draco to act like this, to be this vulnerable. Well, not counting sixth year in the bathroom and few times in France. Harry looked Draco down. The boy was wearing burgundy, silk nightgown and probably nothing underneath, because part of his chest was left visible, even though the lights were out and Harry couldn't see much which was probably for the best, because it was making him feel a bit uneasy. Part of him desperately wanted to comfort the boy and the other couldn't stop imagining what his body looked like underneath the thin clothing. Was it as pale as the rest of his body? Was it as skinny and muscled as Harry thought it to be? Would the sight of it make him want the other boy as it happened with a girl's body? Harry hated himself for thinking about it now, when he was supposed to act like a decent human being. But he couldn't help his curiosity. “Don’t wanna talk.” The blond boy mumbled, burying his face in a crook of Harry’s neck. He suddenly felt warmth and weird explosive feeling in his stomach. He wanted to hold Draco and never let him go, wanted to give him protection and assure him that he’ll make all the bad things disappear. He wanted to do more than just sit there and be useless.

“Draco, please, talk to me.” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear. He tried to be brave and push his own problems away, but he was still shaken and under the influence of his dream and the undying guilt. The man in his arms made it harder to think. No one ever made him feel like Draco did. He made him the angriest, the saddest and the happiest man on the planet at the same time, and Harry hated it.

“Just let me stay with you.” Harry felt hot breath on his neck which sent shivers down through his whole body. He shifted in his place. His body felt no longer like a stone. Without thinking much he wrapped his arms around Draco and shifted so they could both lie down. He had never experienced such closure with anyone, not even Ginny, and they were almost married, they had sex and kissed and everything! Yet, Draco made Harry feel more than he could express with simple words. He felt understood and less alone in this whole mess. He snuggled up to Draco, which didn’t feel casual or a good idea at all, but something in him told him that he should do so, so he did. Acting on impulse was one of his specialities.

They both were breathing heavily, holding onto each other, not even considering letting go. Harry didn’t even realize when he fell asleep with Draco’s wet of tears face on his chest and the scent of the boy's skin in his nostrils which he could only describe as 'manly with a fruity hint' and Harry decided it suited the blond boy a lot, that along with the sensation of almost their whole bodies touching were the best ways of falling asleep.

#drarry #drarry squad #fic #drarry fic #my writing #my fic #feelings we can't let go #draco malfoy x harry potter #draco malfoy #harry poter

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