#loneliness which is like that one's chill it's normal but it's always worse around this time of year. don't have a fucking car.

[intertexts]

u would not Believe the amount of annoyedposting i have been holding back on lately btw.

[odder-oddish]

Without Expectation

AKA, the phrase "ace Ace" made me laugh so I made a story about it. A short fic about a newly established relationship with a 2/1 ratio of comfort to anxiety.

Ace's relationship with Felix was like walking on a tightrope. Lean to much either way, and go tumbling down.

More specifically, Ace's physical relationship with Felix was like a tightrope act. In every other way, things were steady, under control. Since that early morning three months ago, when Ace had finally gotten his act together and had a real, adult conversation with Felix, the two had become more comfortable in each other's presence. They shared a living space at the camp, checked in on each other but gave space when needed, and established expectations and boundaries like normal, functioning adults. Felix had needed some time to adjust before they told their friends about the new step in their relationship and Ace had granted it. Ace had some concerns about what that meant for the trials, and they talked about it. In all ways but one, things were perfect.

Which lead to Ace's predicament. He should really be more mature about this, and tell Felix, but it wasn't something he'd told anyone before and despite his bravado and proclaimed self-confidence, Ace was nervous about sharing. Every time they held hands, cuddled, kissed, the puddle of anxiety in Ace's gut grew.

They really needed to talk about it. Ace shouldn't have to steady himself every time Felix held him. He liked things the way they were, and that was the problem, wasn't it. He liked it exactly the way it was.

In the four years Ace spent in the realm before Felix arrived, and the year after before they got together, Ace learned just how damn cold the Entity's realm could be. Not just in temperature, but in bone-chilling loneliness. Dying, or nearly dying, day after day was miserable, numbing. A psychiatrist's wet dream, but living hell for those experiencing it. Ace had been lonely in his life before, knew the feeling of being touch-starved, but out here? It had felt a million times worse.

So when Felix first laid his head on Ace's shoulder, the fuzzy feeling hit Ace like a train. Or perhaps a hatchet. Having someone else to comfort and stay with was a feeling of warmth he hadn't felt in years, and Ace would be damned if he'd let it go now. Curling up with Felix made the good days better and the bad ones sting a little less. And when Felix had first kissed him, at the end of a trial no less? Ace couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy, even before the Entity took him.

So yeah, losing this closeness, this feeling, the only physical connection he had with someone out here would be disastrous. If the Entity fed off of hope, losing his relationship with Felix now would leave Ace dried up and empty. He couldn't bear the thought, which was partially why he hadn't said anything yet.

But at the same time, Ace worries about what's supposed to come next. He's not an expert in long-term relationships, but he knows that at some point, there are certain expectations that follow in regards to, well, physical intimacy.

Ok, sex. Ace is a grown man, he can say the damn word. But that doesn't make it any less a touchy subject. At some point, the subject's going to come up. Felix probably will drag his heels, but that's just his style. Ace should be the one bringing it up; he certainly acts like it around camp with his dirty sense of humor and overall demeanor. Most likely, Felix would start to wonder why Ace hadn't propositioned him yet, leading to the same conversation Ace was dreading. He'd ask if he was doing something wrong, and Ace would have to explain that it was his own fault. He just didn't want sex.

Ace had always known he didn't have interest in sex the way most people did. He remembered what time in Vegas, he'd gone to a night club with a couple buddies, and they'd started pointing out which of the other patrons they'd most like to have a night with. While most of them were laughing and leering, Ace just looked around the room, feeling bored. It all just felt, bland.

For awhile he wondered if he just wasn't attracted to anyone. But while he failed in the relationship department, he wasn't spared the unrequited crushes and romantic interests that most people developed. When he stayed in a town for more than a few months, he'd build connections, develop feelings, but never act on them. Not until Felix, that is.

Now, he doesn't know what to do. He really likes Felix, but he really, really doesn't want sex. Sooner or later the question will come up and he's afraid that Felix will be disappointed, or worse, feel guilty for making Ace uncomfortable. Which he's not even doing.

It really doesn't help that Ace is a very touchy person. Whenever he's stressed or too keyed-up from excitement around camp, his favorite way to calm down is to cuddle up with Felix. He's gotten laughs and groans around camp for excessive PDA but who can blame him? It makes him happy, and it helps that his partner is mind-numbingly attractive.

These thoughts have all been on mind as of late, AKA, the last fifteen minutes, because Felix is currently on top of him, kissing him, and Ace is equally elated and terrified. It's his own fault, really. Felix came back from another trial, wearing the olive green variant of his classic suit, a color Ace privately prefers to the navy, and Ace hadn't hesitated flop down on the scavenged mattress they shared and pull Felix down on top of him. Felix had teased Ace's eagerness, so Ace had shut him up with a kiss.

And here they were. Curled up with each other, enjoying the gentle contact. The kisses were soft, chaste, anything but demanding. Ace's hands idly roamed Felix's back. Felix had one hand on Ace's side and the other just beneath his collarbone.

This was perfect, the center of the tightrope. If they could stay just like this forever, Ace wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life in the Entity's realm. It's the prospect of more that terrifies him. And he can't tell if the hand on his side wants to drift lower or if the way Felix shifts on top of him means he expects something or if he just feels restless. Ace really should ask, but what if he does, and Felix backs off? Takes it as a sign Ace hasn't been enjoying every moment of closeness they've shared? Besides, the worry in the back of his head is nothing compared to the warmth spreading through his chest. He's happy like this, so he'll keep his mouth shut as long as he has to.

Which lasts all of another five minutes.

Because when Felix pulls away, rises up to his knees, and shrugs off his jacket, all the while looking down at Ace with a gentle smile, Ace panics. He slides back, knocking Felix off of him and sprawling onto the mattress, and sits up.

Felix swears loudly in German, and Ace realizes why. Because he'd been in the process of taking off his jacket, the sleeves trapped his arms behind is back. When Ace knocked him off, he'd landed roughly on his arm, bending it in an unnatural direction. "What was that?"

"Shit, Felix. I'm sorry," said Ace. He helped Felix back into a sitting position and pulled the jacket the rest of the way off. "I just didn't know what you were doing and I guess I panicked."

Felix was still wincing in pain, but now he also looked confused. "I just, ouch, I just wanted to change out of this suit."

"Oh. Yeah that makes sense. I get it." Ace began to ramble, embarrassment quickly setting in. "I guess I didn't really give you a chance, jumping you as soon as you got back. Guess I just wasn't thinking."

Felix nodded along, not really listening as he rubbed his sore arm. Then, he slid his vest and shirt off, wincing as he did. He went over to the trunk he kept his extra clothes in and fished out a soft, light blue t-shirt with a koi fish design. Then, he traded his dress pants for the silver pajama pants that Ace had stolen on more than one occasion.

"We should probably talk about what happened," said Felix.

"Yeah, I messed up. I'm sorry," said Ace. Even though he really wanted to go back to cuddling, Felix was right. He sat on the edge of the mattress and Felix joined him.

"I'm not upset with you, Ace. I'm worried about you. You seemed, scared. Scared of me." There's a pained look on Felix's face. He looks as if he's about to cry. It's a gut wrenching sight, seeing Felix look at him as though he'd done something wrong.

"No, I just got in my own head. This is all my fault," Ace said. He couldn't help but lean into Felix, pressing their sides together. "I thought you were coming on to me and wasn't prepared." Wasn't prepared. What a terrible way to describe it. Ace would never be prepared, what was wrong with him.

Felix nodded, but didn't seem convinced. He was quiet for a long time, staring at the dirt beneath him. "But, you seemed scared. Did you think that, I was going to-" he swallows and takes a deep breath. Ace know what's coming before Felix says it, and his heart breaks. "That I was going to force you to do something."

"No! No, it was nothing like that, I swear. I know you'd never try anything like that. I just, it's hard for me to talk about."

Felix relaxes as Ace speaks. He rests a comforting hand on Ace's knee. "Will you try? I don't want to cause you any worry."

"You don't cause any. It's just me, overthinking everything." Ace took a deep breath and covered Felix's hand with his own. "I'm asexual."

He's not really sure what to expect. He certainly isn't expecting Felix to flip his hand around so he can hold Ace's and smile. "Oh, is that all?" Ace's mouth hangs open in shock and Felix quickly amends his statement. "All that was on your mind?"

"Yeah. I mean, that and I didn't want to disappoint you. I mean, I don't know how important sex is to you, but I just didn't want to make you upset or anything."

"It's not important to me at all."

Another major surprise. "Really. You do relationships without caring about sex, like at all?"

Felix shrugs. "Maybe not always." He barks out a laugh. "But Ace, we spend hours a day covered in blood, live outside in a shared space with twenty other people without a sliver of privacy, and last night, I found two rats chewing the mattress. I'm not sure what kind of sex you envisioned me wanting, but here? Absolutely not."

Ace is laughing too. He remembers when Felix first arrived, absolutely appalled by the prospect of living outside 24/7. He was disgusted by all things nature, from the dirt stains on his clothes to the small bugs that roamed everywhere. Now, he'd adapted like the rest, but now that Ace thought about it, there was a big difference between dealing with the outdoors out of necessity and choosing to have sex in a habitat shared with all sorts of critters.

"Yeah, that makes perfect sense," he admitted, stretching out his legs. Felix is quiet again, but this time it's an easy, comfortable silence.

"If you don't mind me asking, how come you didn't tell me, when we had that conversation about expectations a month ago?" he asked finally.

"Because I was afraid I'd lose this," said Ace, leaning more firmly against Felix to make his point. "I didn't realize how lonely I was until you. I like the others, but just, having someone to hold makes a big difference." Ew. That sounds really mushy, even for him.

Felix must have appreciated the sentiment, because he pulls Ace into a strong, warm hug and holds him there for awhile. "You think you were touch-starved then?"

"For a long time probably." His voice is muffled as he speaks into Felix's shoulder. "I mean, back in my old life, didn't exactly have anything like this. People don't exactly go out to bars and say, hey, wanna go to my place and cuddle all night with our pants on?"

That makes Felix laugh again. It's such a comforting sound, hearing his partner at ease despite the difficult conversation. "No, I don't suppose they do. But just to be clear, tonight aside, have I made you uncomfortable with anything?"

"Nah, I think it was more that you didn't know what was bothering me and I was scared to talk about it. But I'd give away my flashlight collection before I'd put a stop to what we have."

"That's a bold statement."

"Well I happen to feel quite strongly about it." He pauses. "But I was really scared that if I told you, you'd stop wanting to touch me because you'd be nervous about doing something wrong."

"I can assure you, I won't. You get all pouty when I don't cuddle you."

Ace immediately pulls away. "Hey! I so do not."

Felix doesn't respond, just reaches up to cup Ace's cheek and kiss him. He looks smug. The confidence looks good on him. Ace is just about to suggest that they go back to lying down and picking up where they left off when there's a tapping sound on a tree behind them. He turns to see Dwight standing behind them, fist against a nearby tree.

"Dude, there's no door. Why are you knocking?" asked Ace. His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

"Sorry, I just didn't want to interrupt."

"Well, you have, so what's up?"

"We were wondering if you wanted to come play poker," said Dwight.

Ace looked at the younger man, then back at Felix, who still hadn't moved his hand away from his face. He broke the contact to pull his jacket closer to him and fish the deck of cards out of his pocket, tossing them to Dwight. "Knock yourselves out."

Dwight and Felix looked equally stunned. Ace had rarely turned down a game. "Are you sure you don't want to?" asked Felix.

"Well, yeah, but I don't want to leave you," said Ace. To his surprise, Felix stood up before offering him a hand.

"Come on, then. I'll join the game too."

Beaming, Ace took the hand and let Felix pull him to his feet. They followed Dwight back to the campfire and sat down on an open log.

"Dwight, why don't you deal first," said Ace, refusing to let go of Felix's hand to take the cards.

The game began, and Ace was soon distracted by the cards in front of him, strategizing on how best to play each hand. But he found he wasn't taking the game as seriously as usual, letting other survivors bluffs get past him and folding more readily in favor of leaning against Felix. After a few hands, Felix slipped his free arm around Ace's waist, and Ace absolutely did not squeak, thank you very much.

He'd never thought he'd find a stable relationship, not before the Entity and certainly not after. Especially with someone so understanding, kind, and gentle (and also really, really hot.) But here he was with Felix, defying all the odds. A warm sensation bubbled up in his stomach again, but this time, there was no fear, no anxiety. Just love.

Tbh, I don't know that I see Ace as actually being.... ace. But this made for a really cute fic that I enjoyed writing, and I hope y'all enjoyed reading. :)

[vesselandmoon]

Sundowning

The light was fading too fast.

There should be storm clouds on the horizon. The scent of rain in the air. He should be able to hear thunder as it approached and yet there were birds softly chirping in the trees, a clear sky, the promise of a calm night for all... but him.

Tension built in Vessel's spine with every passing moment, his breathing too loud, the high pitched buzz in his ears growing in intensity. Encroaching darkness shrouded the room in shadows, making it impossible for him to see the physical objects he had surrounded himself with. Every photograph, every trinket, every reminder of who he was, indecipherable.

All he could see were the colors of sunset out the window, a false fire through the trees and yet he felt anxiety in his gut like a blaze was rushing toward him. Seeking to devour.

He could feel it.

Sleep's approach.

There was nothing to do but pace. He couldn't stop the sun from setting, he couldn't fight the urge to sleep forever and yet... did he truly want to fight it? Did he truly want to fight the overwhelming inclination to give in? Doing so meant surviving another night, free from the loneliness that sought to devour him.

He could choose to see Sleep as a protector. A shield against his own dark thoughts and desires. At least he wouldn't be alone.

Vessel couldn't deny the comfort in that. In knowing that Sleep would always come for him but... but with the dawn there came clarity. In the light of day there was doubt. Without the desperate outstretched arms that sought to be embraced, was a deep feeling of isolation. A numb sensation that weighed his chest down like he was full of stone. An experience he might argue balanced the yearning for what Sleep had to offer... even if there was a whisper in his ear that told him it was a lie.

She stood in the hallway, one with shadows. The whisper against Sleep. He clenched his jaw, teeth cracking, a strange low creak that brought pain. He could almost see her fangs in the void, the questioning smile he imagined she might possess. Fuck her. Rage overtook him, a hand seeking anything in the darkness around him and he grabbed the first thing he touched and sent it crashing into the hallway. Driving her away.

Shattered glass spoke of destroyed fragility. Something of value... what had he ruined?

Shadows deepened and his heart raced, the energy pent up in him exceeding what was expended by pacing alone. Even destruction hadn't stripped the husk of tension around him. Vessel chewed his lip until he tasted blood, shuddering at what Sleep might say about it. How it might be used against him. Or worse, what the Whisper might say. Fists shook with a growing rage that send chills up his arms and threatened to unleash in fury. Against Sleep, against the Whisper, against himself...

His trembling hand found his throat, pulse violent and erratic.

This was normal. This blinding desire. It was normal.

Normal.

He was supposed to yearn like this. Burn like this. He was supposed to be on the edge of reality, living and breathing to worship a being which offered him...

He inhaled sharply and stopped at the open doorway, hearing wind through the trees, crickets and frogs singing and held his breath.

Offering what?

Offering him... Sleep offered him...

The light faded entirely and he could feel a prickling in the air. Loneliness was just outside, watching him, wanting to sink it's teeth in and leave him helpless on the floor and yet Sleep was behind him. Entered without his knowledge. Giving him an escape. Anything was better than this.

Vessel closed his eyes and allowed Sleep to embrace him, fading into comfort as loneliness laughed from the door.

[spiralemoji]

You don’t realize how much of a workaholic you are and how difficult of a time you have relaxing until you go on vacation

Like goddamn, i have mental issues

I can’t just sleep in like a normal person, there is literally 3 people awake on this island right now and two of them are people who are having to set up shop and work- and the other is an old guy taking a brisk walk on the beach.

But yeah, i wake up at 5am and shoot of bed, walk around the island with nothing to do, and there is literally no one awake. It felt good for 15 minutes but then i lost interest, mainly due to loneliness? And so i just started hanging up my clothes and trying not to have circular thoughts that will make me worse (as if i have any control at this point)

Ruminating about the future, ruminating about my own happiness, ruminating about things i don’t like about myself and my uncertainties and insecurities

You’d think goddamn just take a Xanax or Ativan or whatever the fuck and chill out and shut up right but nothing makes my head truly go silent

I wanted to say good bye to my obsessions but i said good bye to my obsessions 80 times in my head, 180 times maybe, maybe 900 times, i couldn’t stop saying it to myself because i want to say good bye to my obsessions

But i can’t stop, as it feels intangible out of reach something to do just for the sake of doing it, I’m always seeking, despite trying my best to fill myself up with gratitude and contentment and blah blah blah

It just never ceases, hypo manic energy almost overtakes me, and no one else seems to understand why i seem so un calm

I can’t stop, so i do things that no one else does. And pride myself on, the external validation of my own perfectionism and productivity like it’s a drug i get high off of or need to survive

Meanwhile in the background there is this burning self hatred and pointlessness, and feelings of isolation, and being trapped

Like a wounded child, and a wild animal in a cage biting to get out and scream, and tear into the flesh of those who deserve to be torn apart

Simply because i felt like it, and want to destroy and control whats inside of me but i can’t, so i lose myself to these waves of mentally ill thoughts and manic rage lashing out at everyone

While i psychotically hang my clothes perfectly in a row, everything is perfectly fine, all the time….

In my little world, all alone…. Nothing could cure this kind of emptiness and discontent

It’s the loudest when i go to places like this, because i really have no one and nothing else around to blame but myself, or the things greater than me which i don’t understand and could be figments of someone else’s imagination for all i know

What do i know, i know nothing, i rely on feeling and reaction, and trust none of it, as I flim and flam about no where to the next no where for no real reason

It all gets so boring sometimes, i can hardly come up with something i care to entertain, saving the world or watching it burn neither is satisfying,

I simply, don’t care, and i think oh, maybe if someone else cares maybe if someone else loves me maybe if i belong to something …. But i don’t connect. Despite claiming its all i want, i run from that the most of anything

I am tied up inside endless conundrums and unsolvable riddles that make no sense, lose ends that never meet, a maze you can never escape

The only hope I have is feeling of catharsis and relief, whether its from, losing consciousness, a shameful amount of sleep- drug induced, or overdosing

I had the best intentions but there is so much pain i carry around, and shame, and insecurity, its hard to let go of it all so easily…. And not care what other people think,

So i turn to poetry and music for release, and a few other things not as satisfying- my dopamine deprived brain, broken from the inside, i want a perfect body

They judge me, and say how could she be so selfish

I hate it too. I hate it too, but i can’t make it stop, i can’t fix myself, i need help.

Most people tell me to shut up and everything will be fine. It never really is though, i don’t know when it ever will be so i gave up waiting for the feeling and accepted the brutal fact of my experience here in life

Unfortunately isn’t the happiest experience, despite having everything you could of ever wanted.

And everybody hates me because I’m Gay. Narcissist…. Deluded, insane, psychotic, obsessive, neurotic,…. I have no character, no backbone, no work ethic, no cares. I am amoral, depraved, baseless, empty inside.

Drowning in a river of my very own device….. happiness is my own self destruction and demise

So at least it’s the path of least resistance, with least collateral damage, remove myself from the equation, quietly, slowly,

Floating down the river, giving up, suicide.

The only other choice i have is to hold onto hoping, despite all odds not being the best, bravely facing death, a martyr to what, my own ignorance

I can’t get past my own self, much less, ascend beyond that,

I wish i could, as if that would, fantastically heal the raw reality and aching wounds, festering with maggots that rot in my very core, my soul, and my most vulnerable, private places,

You, put them there, i blame you and take out fire on you with branded steel steering on your skin

Hating all men

I should know better than this, but its hard to pretend you can always control all your emotions

Wipe them out like they aren’t there, take a pill and pretend to be happy like everyone else, smile for the cameras

Don’t be such, a drag, get up and light someone else’s path, get off your knees

Feed the begging man, ask god for forgiveness as he strikes you down and plagues you, a leper with decaying skin, painful diseases, and sicknesses

Leaving you to rot like filth on the scum soaked sidewalks like the vermin you are

Worthless beguiled rotten …. You turned all of gods golden light inside your innocent baby body

And made a mockery of him. So he strikes me down, again, and again, and again. Flogging us senseless.

And i still hope for redemption. Purity, forgiveness. As if i can ever quit. My mind a dirty dumpster dive of imperfection and sin.

I’ll never be good enough for him……

[astudyincontrasts]

Penance IX

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A nsfw multichapter little fic, dedicated to @purpurniymstitel​​​​‘s inspired prompt.   Still on my slow burn bullshit.  Not even a little sorry.  But!  Brace for an entirely self indulgent SUPER LONG hurt/comfort chapter of softness.  Which will almost certainly bleed into the next chapter.  Lets get cozy. 🖤

Stupid.  You'd been so stupid and foolish and childish.  

It was all your fault.  No, it was all his fault.  That felt better but you knew it wasn't true, and wanting it to be so only made you feel worse.  Knees tucked up tighter against your chest where you huddled in the empty confessional as you pulled the rosary beads out of your pocket and closed a fist so tight around them that the little silver cross on the end of the chain bit hard into skin as you pushed knuckles to the throbbing ache behind your forehead and dissolved.

All you'd wanted was a normal evening.  The kind you ought to be having; single, young, with money to burn and time to kill.  After leaving school like you had you'd been shunned by your peers and never really cultivated another tight group of friends, simply picking the random loose one up here and there through work or casual accident.  Never a bothersome thing until those occasional bouts of loneliness would creep up out of nowhere and hang over you shoulder, whispering terrible things in your ear with no one to interrupt them.  It always passed though, took precious little to help get over them and once again tell yourself how unbothered you felt to be untethered.  

Lately though?  Lonesomeness had come hunting with sharper fangs and longer claws.  

It made you angry, bitter.  Made it anyone's fault but your own.

You knew there'd be hell to pay for your stunt in the confessional, what you hadn't banked on was how genuinely mad it had seemed to make him, how cold.  You'd figured on a bit of aggravated good humor, a little scolding and playfully making you pay.  So shocked to face down that cold fury instead.  A chill rage not even diminished by that horribly delicious torment he'd put you through in his office, not tempered in the slightest by your attempted apologies and invitations and pleading.  It hurt.  Had cut you deeply, the way he'd looked at you with all the softness drained away, and how he sent you away a sodden, unsatisfied and unhappy mess.  So pleased to have been cruel.  It had left you feeling a little sick, stomach twisted in knots for days, unable to go five minutes time without sliding back into that nauseating bog of worry, anger, and upset.

He'd hit you.  It hadn't been hard, left no mark or tenderness.  At least visible, that was.  

But he'd hit you, and no matter how little it might have had in common with the hateful ways you'd been beaten in school for bad behavior it still felt like a betrayal.  More keen on venting his own repressed anger than he was about your feelings.  Selfish, cold, unhappy bastard.  Made you absolutely livid that you'd be so blind and stupid as to have trusted him for tenderness, and even more bitter that in spite of it you still couldn't stop wanting him or thinking of him constantly.  The incessant loop of this unhappy ouroboros was becoming unbearable.

Instead of going to the church that Wednesday, to spend time with him in pointless lessons and then with the boring planning committee, you'd headed out to the supermarkets to collect for the food pantry.  It still counted as your work as patron but kept you clear Silco and gave you something else to occupy your brain with.  At least that was something to be proud of; you'd made significant headway with stocking the pantry, nearly ready to begin donations, and delighted to have already signed up a list of families and individuals who'd receive weekly packages.  More than a few local stores had agreed to regular donations, and others like the one you'd posted up outside of were happy to let you set up a table and hand out lists of needed items to their shoppers.  

You'd already collected several full bags of non perishables by the time the girls stopped by.  Sophie and Leena both familiar faces from your old job.  You liked them well enough, they were fun if a little insipid sometimes, and the three of you had hung out together before you'd quit.  It gave you a tiny stab of guilt when they seemed so delighted to run into you out of the blue; came rushing up to fold you into hugs, both talking nearly at once and overwhelming.  How had it been so easy to forget what spending time with other women your age was like?  None of the serious dourness of the old church ladies and nuns as the pair of them bowled you over with story after story of drama you'd missed since you quit.  Sophie kept an arm looped through yours and the contact felt deliciously grounding; affection that you didn't have to second guess, unvarnished by guilt or sin.

They pressed you on how you'd been filling your time since last they saw you, and you were glad at least to have the obvious charity work you were in the middle of to fall back on.  Tried very hard to veer away from mentioning the fact that in a little less than a full month now you'd developed a massive and painful crush on sadistically, sharply handsome priest and ended up blowing him in his own church.  Alright, perhaps it was not that difficult to steer clear of that particular conversation, but it was difficult not to talk of him.  And no framework to do so in.  It had you lying by omission when Leena asked if you were seeing anyone, if anything was new.  Little half-truth answers that allowed you to finally tell someone, anyone that you were caught up in something you didn't quite understand, couldn't quite navigate.  

Yes, I'm seeing someone... sort of.  It's complicated, haha no he's not married.  No, I don't think he'll have time to get together some night... he's... very busy.  Yeah, yes I like him.  I don't know, I guess we met through church.  Things are weird right now, I'd rather not say...

Ever the perceptive one, Sophie seemed unconvinced by your attempts to brush off their deeper questions and by your determination to put a pleasant face on.  Had her cuddle of your arm tighten as she eyed you with fair brows drawing together further and further as the conversation went on.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"  She finally asked, directly.  "Sorry, its just.  You look miserable."

Leena swatted her and she jumped a little but doubled down, laughing it off.

"What??  She does!  You do."

"Yeah I guess you could call it that."  You admitted, shrugging.  "But its nothing."

"Ok yeah nothing."  Sophie mimicked you, not unkindly, just to mirror back how unconvincing you were.  "Girl, look.  We're going out tonight to The Drop.  You should come.  Forget about him and whatever bullshit you guys have going on.  Come dance, get a little drunk, yeah?  You look like you could use it."

And honestly?  You could.  

"Yeah, ok!"  Suddenly, intensely excited at the chance to just shake everything off and be who you were, how you were before Aunt Marjory and her cursed bequeathment chained you to the life of a church mouse.  Free again.  You weren't a priest, after all.  Why act like one?  You made your plans to meet them later and they went off on their way.  

Left you feeling smugly pleased and positively giddy.  There was absolutely no reason why you should have cloistered yourself up like you'd been doing.  The claims upon your time were confined to today and Sunday Mass and that was all.  You could go out and live it up as much as you liked, surround yourself with friends and strangers and all the things you hadn't been able to afford before with so much time to devote to anything and everything your little heart desired.

And after all, your Lenten 'promise' as it were, was not to touch yourself.  It sure wasn't not to let anyone else touch you.  And if he wasn't going to do it, well.  Again.  You weren't the one stuck on stupid vows; not a priest or a nun.  Could do exactly as you pleased.

Absolutely thrumming with anticipation by the time you got finished collecting the non-perishables.  Dropped them off at the cathedral and neatly avoided running across either the father or any of the regulars that attended the weekly planning meetings.  Headed back out to do a little shopping, something new and tight to wear out to the club, and then home to revel in the simple pleasures of getting ready.  Hot scrubby shower and hair done, careful and wicked makeup like you used to do it, all thick dark winged liner and lashes inky black.  Cut off tags and pulled on new clothes mingled with some old pieces, admired the result in the reflection of those full length windows.  And managed to down most of a bottle of wine while you were doing it all so you were well on your way to happy by the time you headed out.

Took a taxi to the club.  It had been ages since you'd been to The Drop, though it was one of the more popular spots in town.  Even midweek it had a line outside waiting.  Music a throbbing bass thud you could feel in your molars and the space beneath the span of your ribcage as you poured out of the cab.  The girls had been waiting for you, holding a spot toward the front of the line, and waved you over with shouted delight.  The three of you waited patiently, chatting in shouting little jags over the music spilling out onto the sidewalk, and were inside soon enough.

First things first, a round of shots, then a second then a third.  Each of you buying for the others in turn.  Properly fortified and chasers in hand you followed Sophie and Leena through the moving maze of the crowd out to where the dancing was thickest.  

Hot bliss, to just lose yourself in the churning crush of nearly faceless bodies, to feel half deaf with the music and the bass a second and frenetic heartbeat.  Dance till you were sweated, till you could feel hair sticking softly to your forehead and nape of your neck.  Till you were breathless and laughing at Sophie's new moves and Leena's infectious joy at how each new song that came on was her favourite. 

Even better were the men that came and went from the little clustered trio of you three, like bees visiting flowers in passing.  Stopping for a song or two, to offer to by one of you a drink, or grab another of you up in a grinding dance, or to whisper-shout a compliment or suggestive comment in an ear; try your luck, come have a taste.  Not long at all until one of them had you.  Hands skimming your waist, grabbing hold of one of the  several belts looped loose around your hips and using the hand hold of it to haul you back against himself.  Chin on your shoulder and ticklish press of stubble to the crook of your neck that had you squirm and shout a laugh as you pushed back into the grind of his dance.

Nice to find him rather attractive indeed when he finally spun you around.  A touch too frat boy for your tastes but he'd sure do fine for a night and you were too happy to let him get you back to the bar when you were both too breathless to keep dancing.  Let him buy you a drink and then offer you a little something more.  He took the tiny vial from his pocket as the pair of you chatted mindlessly, or at least tried to over the music.  Pointless, really, not interested at all in getting to know him, just in enjoying yourself for the night.  He pulled the little vial out, uncapped the eyedropper top of it and squeezed one shivering little drop onto his own extended tongue before catching your eye and offering you a drop as well.

What the hell, why not?

Head back, mouth open, the droplet hit your tongue with a faintly bitter aftertaste that quickly vanished against a sip of the mixed drink he'd ordered you.  Felt it seeping in as you both finished your drinks slowly, smiling over the rims of the glasses you each held, wordless flirting mingled with the occasional shouted whisper in an ear, all of it unintelligible for the most part.  Barely caught half his name, probably misheard most of his questions and gave odd answers he pretended to hear.  His breath wasn't great, if you were being honest with yourself, each time he leaned in to speak.  And cologne too heavy and sharp.  But he was kinda cute.  Could have found at least ten cookie cutter versions of him in any club in the city, and had met your fair share of them before.  

Easy enough mark if you wanted him though.  And god, as the drug hit warmly all you wanted was to finally be rid of the tension, all that horrible built up need that almost a month's worth of teasing torment had left you in.  Cup filled to its absolute brim and ready to slosh over at the next drop, surface of want built up in you a perfect convex, shivering meniscus. 

His hand slid over the bare skin of your midriff and it felt like sweet crawling fire.  Spread outward in heady spirals that felt like individual colors rushing through your skin, made you want to chase more, made the edges of the world blurry and heart a shivering creature in your chest its beat felt so fast.  Your mouth tasted funny, and you could feel your eyelashes, the weight of the black mascara on each individual one.  The soft constriction of fabric against your flesh and when you reached out to rub fingers against the scruff of his jaw it both delighted and repulsed you.

What the hell had he given you?

Back on the dance floor and unsure how you got there, bodies closing in, limbs knocking, twining against your own.  Bass driving and him caged up against you, crushing you close, face in your throat, mouth at your jaw.  Hands slipping down the back of your pants and grip tight against the bare skin of your ass.  Yes.  No.  You could feel him hard up against your thigh.  Slid a hand down automatically to cup at him, push palm an encouraging rub.

No concept of how long you both pawed at each other on the dance floor.  No idea where Sophie and Leena ever got to.  Vague recollection of seeing them in the crowd, still having a blast, but you could have imagined it.  No notion how long you both kept dancing.  Breathless, sweated, finally pitched against him in boneless exhaustion.  Felt his unfamiliar arms close around you and lift you ever so slightly off your feet.  Rough rasp stubble like sandpaper against the side of your face as he shouted in your ear.

"Wanna fuck?"

Did you want to fuck?  Yes that why you came here, wasn't it?  To finally get fucked by someone who wasn't afraid to do so, by someone who could give you a release to all this terrible tension built to the breaking point.  You felt yourself nodding and then stumbling backward as he set you on your feet again and grabbed hold of your wrist, hauled you through the club to the men's rooms.  Had to be the men's rooms since there was always a god awful line for the ladies.  Everything was spinning a little, everything slightly tilted and blurred and the pounding music so visceral it felt like its own thoughts running concurrent in your brain to your own, overpowering your own.

The cramped room stank of stale piss from the consistently missed urinal, floor disgustingly tacky under your boots and the walls a riot of graffiti and scrawled messages undecipherable layered one over the other.  He hoisted you back into a corner and had his hands up under your shirt, pawing clumsily, shoved fingers under the underwire of your bra to artlessly push the cup up, pinching the other breast awkwardly.  Fingers a squeeze to soft flesh that had you grit teeth, kneading like it wasn't even attached to you, more interested in filling his own palm and copping a feel than offering you pleasure.  

His mouth was no different, grossly hot against your throat and collarbone, stubble feeling like it was flaying your skin away.  That horribly strong cologne not nearly enough to cover up both the stink of the restroom and the sharp tang of his sweaty body odor, only adding to the noxiously eye watering mix.  Not nearly as bad as his dehydrated and alcohol laced breath when he finally made a play for your mouth as he shoved his hand down your pants.  

And very suddenly you couldn't stand the thought of kissing him, of letting him kiss you.  Wrenched your head to the side when he closed in, kiss landing at the corner of your mouth instead and making you tighten lips to near bloodlessness.  Flooded with the sudden cold realization there was only one person you wanted to kiss you and it certainly wasn't this boy.  Had you squirming to get away as fingers made a grab of the shape of your pussy just as tight and thoughtless as he'd made of your breast, rough up and down strokes constantly missing the mark and only making you feel disgusted instead of aroused.

"No.  No.  Nononononono stop!!  Stop just stop."  You grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand out of your pants and pushed palms against his chest. 

"What?  What's wrong?  I thought you said yes."  He groused in slurred confusion, tried again to lean in for a kiss that had you jerk hard to the side and push back against him harder.

"No, I'm sorry, no."  Just managing to squeeze past him, you threw the lock to the door open and ran out, tugging bra uncomfortably back into place and shirt as well, trying and failing to ignore the nasty thing he shouted after you and the hooting cat calls of the pair of men waiting outside the restroom.  

It was a fight to get to the door, to stumble outside and fall into a cab, had the bad feeling you'd just stolen the waiting taxi from someone else, but too far gone to care as you curled up in the back seat and tried to give the driver your address without sobbing.  Tried very hard to keep those heavy hot tears from seeming terribly obvious as you sniffled away, arms wrapped tight around your folded legs.  And so confused when the cab drew up to a stop in front of the cathedral, not your building.  You stared out the window at it, stained glass lit faintly by the lights from within.

"Why... why are we here?"

"This was the address you gave, miss.  Are you quite sure you're ok?  You don't seem ok."  The man in the front seat seemed kind, though the tone of his voice made you feel like he might have been a little afraid of you, and why wouldn't he be?  You dove into his cab like a whirlwind, so upset you weren't even sure if you'd been talking to yourself in the backseat the whole time, unsure of anything really.  Nothing felt real and everything too heavy, too serious and hard and harsh.  You shoved a bill way too large for the fare through the plexiglass divider and poured out onto the sidewalk, gained your feet and stumbled for the massive doors.  The cabbie calling after you as the others had done, but you heard the car pull away by the time you got the large front door pulled open and let yourself inside.

Now what?  You wobbled there, among the flickering lights of the still burning devotionaries, the church more profoundly empty than you'd ever seen it.  Hushed and solemn and every stone face carved to stare directly back at you with hot accusing hatred.  Whore.  Harlot.  Slut.  How dare you come here, keep making a mockery of everything as you had from the start?  This place was supposed to be about forgiveness, love.  Instead it was full of spite and judgement.  You wandered forward, choking back tears, and pitched up upon the back row of pews.  Attention shot to the confessionals along the near wall and shoving off the pew, you wandered over.  Lifted the green glass of the lamp hung beside the door and set your lighter to the wick within.  Let the glass fall back into place and let yourself inside, into the priest's portion of the booth again.  

The door banged softly on its spring hinges and you curled up in his seat, pulled the rosary out of your pocket with shaking fingers and clutched it tight enough to cut, to hurt, to offer some kind of grounding sensation as you let your head drop onto your knees and sobbed softly.  So stupid, so foolish.  Unsure why you were more angry with yourself at that moment; because you'd thought you could just go do as you pleased like you were an automaton with feelings as easy as an off/on switch, or that you had those feelings in the first place and chosen to ignore them or believe they were less than they were.  And what good even were they?  None of it made sense, everything hurt, and worse you could still smell that boy on you, still feel the places he'd touched you like an itchy brand, making you rub at skin fitfully.

"Lamb?"  The door to the confessional swung open, Father Silco's lean shape silhoutted within the doorframe, the green light of the confessional lantern cast over the ruined half of his face, no eye patch on, no white collar.  Just the stiff collared black shirt and pants, like he'd been interrupted getting undressed.

You blinked up at him and dissolved into ragged sobs, hands rising to cover your mouth, stifle the piteous noise as your head hung.  

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry daddy I'm sorry..."  Oh god, that stupid dirty little name had slipped out, hadn't it?  Not sure what was out loud and what was in your head anymore.

He blew out the lantern and came inside, bent and scooped you up and sank down.  Arms tight bands around you, voice a humming reverberation in chest against your cheek and ear as he spoke, softly, quietly.  Shushing you.

"Lamb, lamb stop.  Stop, now.  Sshh.  What's wrong?  Where have you been?  Are you hurt?"  Hands smoothed the back of your head, along your arm, kept you gathered in close, nearly rocking you.  Hollow of one cheek coming to rest against your head as you shoved the hot, tearstained mess of your face into his chest.  Fingers a tight grip of black fabric and that cutting rosary both.   

Were you hurt?  Yes you were hurting.  But it was as much his fault as yours and that stupid boy's.  All you could do was nod and sink into another ragged little set of sobs.

"I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry..."

"What for?  What's wrong?"  You felt him tense against the cuddle of you as you refused to answer, and lean arms unwound so he could slide hands a cradle around your face, draw you off himself slightly, thumbs smudging at the hot tracts of tears and black makeup smudged and running beneath your eyes, a tenderness that set you off, had your face crumpling in a silent rictus of agony.  It drew a hissed inward breath from him, a sound like you'd stabbed him through the heart.

"Lamb....if I hurt you, then I'm the one who's sorry.  Please stop crying.  Please."

The warm of his mouth brushed your forehead, pressed light to the stinging swollen ache of both your closed eyelids in turn.  Had you shudder, and then seized by a sudden mad rush of impetuous thoughtlessness, shift and straddle him, grip his shirt by the collar, then him by the face, huffing to repress the little sobs still hanging on as you released one hollowed cheek to find his hand, gather it up in yours fold all fingers back but index and middle and before he could start to protest, slid them both into your mouth.  Tips, then back, first knuckle then back, and finally all the way deep to draw out slow.  Gaze flicking up to find him watching, expression muddied shock and confusion, concern and yes... want.  

You licked at his wet fingertips and tried to shove them down between you both, down into your pants.  Get rid of the feeling of that other boy on you, erase what you'd nearly done with the touch you did want, the hands you did crave.  It had you desperate, disorganized and fumbling, trying to get pants open and shove his hand within as he struggled with you.

"Wait, wait... hey.  Stop it."  He jerked his hand from your grasp and caught you by the face again, and all you could do to stare back at him desperately, dumbly, so tired and the world a harsh hollow carnival ride you dearly needed to get off, the drugs still coursing through your system heightening all the wrong things and dulling the ones you wanted sharper.  His thumbs prized down your lower lids and that teal eye narrowed as it flicked between bloodshot eyes with pupils dilatated from more than just wanting him.

"Are you... high?"

You nodded with a half tilt, rueful little smile and watched his expression darken.

"What did you take?"

Shoulders lifted and dropped in a little shrug as you turned your head a touch, trying unsuccessfully to catch one of those thumbs against your mouth.  Oh, to feel that little tease he offered you at communion, the way he'd prized your mouth open before he honestly and truly kissed you the first time.  He foiled you, keeping them out of your reach as he gave your face a gentle shake.  Focus.

"Lamb."  His voice was warning, an edge of concern rising and sharpening along that gentle velvet dark tone.  "Tell me what you took."

"Dunno.  Molly maybe, or E.  Acid?  No hallucinations though.  Unless you aren't real."  You watched thin lips peel back from his chipped teeth as you wobbled on his lap, pitched forward out of his grasp to cuddle up against him again, arms folding round him in a warm little embrace, nails digging little furrows through black fabric against his shoulder blades.

"Think.  Please.  What color was it?  How did it taste?"  

Why did he sound so worried?  You were fine, just high.  High and sad and craving him.

"Dunno.  Bitter."

He sighed harshly and gathered you up to him in a crushing hug.  Felt his face shove hard into the crook of your neck and shoulder before he rose, taking you with him, waited for you to unwrap legs and stand on your own, but kept you folded up.  One hand closing upon the nape of your neck as you nuzzled face into his chest.  Thumb a soothing little stroke behind your ear.  Why did it feel like his grip was trembling?

"Lets get you home."  He murmured.  "You can walk, yes?"

"Mmmhm."  

"Good.  Come along."  He shifted you, tucked you up under the support of one arm and reached to push the door open.   

 If it was slow going, you didn't register it.  Didn't register anything but the warmth of him against you, long stride tempered to your stumbling one.  He got you home.   Got you inside and sat you down on the nearest chair, knelt before you and checked eyes again.

"When was the last time you had water?"  His voice swam through the void, anchored you.  Again you shrugged.  Heard him repress a quiet growl of frustration, or was it anger?  Sounded more like concern.  And then he was gone.  Sound of the fridge opening.  Cold water bottle pressed into your hand a moment later, and him tilting it up toward your mouth.

Oh, that was good.  Drank and drank and drank.  Cool water delicious down your throat, no idea how parched you'd been.  Only half aware of him moving about your apartment, and would have reveled in the fact you finally had him back here again were it only under different circumstances and your thoughts more linear.  As it was you were just grateful when he took the empty water bottle and pressed a fresh one into your hand.  Kept drinking, more slowly this time, little sips, and watched his back as he stood at the sink, ran the cold tap for a moment and then returned to you.  Knelt again.  You could get used to having him on his knees instead of the other way round.  If only he didn't look so stressed, like he was struggling to repress a great deal of  worry indeed behind the cracks in that stern exterior.  

Cool, damp fingers lifted your chin and eyes closed automatically as he wiped a damp washcloth over your face, cleaning away all the trails and smudges of dark makeup and sticky tracks of tears.  God, it felt good.  Soft, cool cloth, slow gentle drag against skin, so careful and light over your eyes and under them.  Just dabbing away the mess of the evening while you sighed out your first breath of relief in longer than you cared to admit.  Tried to pitch forward for a kiss after but he stopped you, caught chin in his hand and righted you before he rose.  Nudged at your hand that held the bottle wordlessly on his way back to the sink and, stymied once again, you went back to sipping your water before you finally set the half finished bottle aside.

It might have tasted amazing and felt even better but this wasn't the thirst you were interested in slaking.

"Why did you do this, lamb?"  You heard him ask quietly from the kitchen, and you shrugged, turning your gaze out the massive windows.  They unhelpfully reflected only him back at you against the dark backdrop of the city, shoulders tight as he leaned against the countertop, watching you shake your head and shrug again.  Unable, even half drunk and fully high, to come clean enough to tell him it was because you were too weak, too hungry to keep up your end of the bargain.  Possibly you just didn't want him to think less of you than he already probably did now.  Those tears felt like they'd start up again, and sure enough the hot welling of one shivered on your lashes before spilling down.

The reflection of him in the dark glass looked like you'd slapped him.  Or perhaps like he'd slapped you, and stood horrified at what he'd become capable of.  You shut your eyes against it either way, wishing for the tenderness of that washcloth back.  Instead you got his hands on your wrists, drawing you up, folding you in again.  Mouth warm in its press to your hairline above your forehead.

"Please stop crying."  One hand slid from its cradle of the back of your head to cup a cheek, tilt your face up.  

And he kissed you, slower, softer than you could recall.  Terribly gentle slow suckle of your upper lip as his thumb slid a light back and forth against your temple.  Greedy thing you were, you pushed for more.  Opened mouth under his and licked back at him in invitation.  He took it, albeit slowly.  Deepened that kiss until your high wasn't the reason the world was spinning.  You could feel your heart beating in your throat, fingers falling to pull at the buttons just above his collarbone, got four, no five of them open and slid hands within, spread flat and smooth palm across the warm of his skin, had you break that hungry kiss in a little gasp at the simple pleasure of finally, finally having his bare skin under your hands. 

You ducked under his chin and pressed mouth to the divot of his collarbone, licked at the shape of it and heard his breath hitch before he struggled against a soft groan, head tilted back, letting you have at that lean throat.  It wasn't artful, in your state, but you didn't make a mess of it either.  Too eager, unwilling to let such a chance pass you by.  Kept explorations soft, little licks and the light press of kisses, well aware marks here would not be welcome.  Still, the moment you sucked very softly over the point of pulse you could feel right under the sharp curve of his jaw you heard him catch a grumbled moan in his throat and try to kill it.  Knew the jig was up then.

He was peeling you back from himself a little by your elbows.  Not an easy task when he seemed unable to keep from trying to kiss you again, himself.

"Come... ah.  Come on, then.  Let's get you to bed."

That felt like a bucket of cold water poured straight over your head.  Had you tighten your grip on the opening you'd made of his shirt.  

"You're leaving?"  God, it sounded so small when you said it, but too far gone to care.

"Of course not."  He prized your hands free and shepherded you along toward the bedroom.  "I'm not leaving you high on who knows what, alone."

Twenty different protests rose to the surface like dead fish, none of which you really wanted to give voice to.  Because him staying the night was far too great a gift to care too much for the consequences.  If he was willing to risk it, who were you to convince him otherwise?

The bed waited with open invitation, looking softer and more lovely than you could remember, and you crawled right into it over the covers with a noise of contented bliss.  Face down, pulling a pillow under you tightly.  Heard him make a noise caught halfway between a sigh and a dry little laugh.

"Could I at least get your boots off?"  The weight of him dented the bed down by your knees and you nodded and mumbled assent into the pillow down.  Felt him close warm hands around your lower thigh before he took hold of the zipper at the back of the impossibly tall boots you wore and drew it downward to your ankle.  Pulled it off you and repeated the same with the other.  Skimmed a hand along the rise of one jeans-clad calf.  

You rolled over, offered him a sleepy smile and thumbed open the button of your jeans.  

The bed dented further as he leaned forward, and the sharp point of that nose tickled just below your navel before the heat of his mouth pressed into the tiny part made by that open button.  Had your head rocking back, hips lifting as he pulled zipper down and pressed a slow, small line of kisses within the widening spread of denim.  Across the low rise of satin panties.  And felt him pause.

Felt a finger touch the obvious stain of a trail left behind by the previous wet of the other boy's fingers in the fabric.

Heat rushed up under your cheeks and lower lip caught itself between teeth fit to crush it off your own face.

"Were you."  He seemed to be struggling mightily to find the correct words, or tone.  The first ones far harsher than the tempered ones that followed, though still strung through with tension.  "Were you with someone tonight?"

It dropped like a pebble down a well.

"Not really."  Was the best you could manage initially.  And he sat up in stony silence, waiting for you to do better.

"I was frustrated... and mad at you.  I thought I could just go out and... and make it better, make it all go away for a little while.  But it was a mistake.  I didn't want it to go away.  I wanted you."  There.  You'd said it.  Sort of.  Shuffled up onto the press of your elbows in the mattress to watch him, sitting there, staring coldly at a spot on the floor, one hand a hard grip left over your knee.

"Please don't be mad at me.  Nothing happened, really.  He was... he was pretty pissed about it."  You confessed, honest as you could.  Silco's hand slid off your knee and he rose from the bed. It had you leaver yourself up sharply, heart sinking. 

"Get undressed.  You need some sleep."  Cold as stone.

"Silco... Father, please."  Oh fuck, what had you done?  You watched him redo the buttons of his shirt as he left the room, clicking off the lights.  Heard him head back to the kitchen, run the tap, set the kettle on the stove.  And then dropped back on the bed in frustration with yourself, bitter anger at how stupid you'd been.  Fuck.  You struggled out of clothes and yanked covers down, crawled under them and huddled up in a tight ball.  Only vaguely heard him return in about a half hour and set another bottle of water by your beside.  The smell of strong coffee - burnt coffee - wafting after him from the kitchen.  Heard the big chair in the corner of the room set back by the windows creak with his weight.  And then nothing.  

Sleep came for you whether you wanted it or not.  Ignorant of your self-loathing or regret or fears.  It came on hard and deep and dreamless.  Save for the one where he was crawling into bed with you, pulling back covers and sliding in.  Skin on skin where his shirt was gone, soft fabric against your legs where his pants were still.  Arms gathering you up, mouth on skin a hard press, teeth a little jagged where they scraped over a shoulder.

Did he do anything more than touch you?

"Mmn no."

Did he hurt you?

"No, no."

Did he kiss you?

"No, I didn't want - "

Go to sleep, lamb.

Elegant, gentle hands a slow sweep up your back and down, cupping a tight grip of your backside, pulling your leg over his hip, fitting you close.  Such a sweet dream.

Sweeter still, that very early morning, to wake to the shock he was actually in your bed.  Not a dream, not still sitting or dozing coldly and angrily in a chair across the room.  In your bed.  Albeit on his side, back to you.  Snoring in a way that indicated he'd really been chainsawing it earlier and the noise had softened with the length of sleep.  Bare skin of shoulders just visible above the drape of the sheets.  

Fingers slipped up of their own accord.  Stroked soft down the short shorn dark hair of the back of his head, down along the nape of his neck slowly, skin warm under your touch.  Heard him hum quietly, noise sleep drenched and semi lucid.  You stroked a slow caress out along the shape of his shoulder before resuming the path back up in the tickle of his hair.  He sighed a slow breath and you stilled, fingertips ghosting to a stop at the nape of his neck.

"Don't stop."  

Such a strange sensation, to hear that voice muddled by sleep and to issue an order that sounded terribly close to pleading.  Chalk it up to him just being disoriented and tired.  No idea how late he'd stayed up before he climbed into bed.  Regardless, you obliged.  Tender caress down his neck and between shoulder blades until he was making a noise that reverberated against the mattress before you cuddled up against him shaped spoon, crush of bare breasts to his back, arms sliding under his own to wrap around close.  Let your cheek settle against the skin you'd just be stroking.

"Please forgive me."

How strange to hear those words from his mouth instead of your own.  Then again, he'd said them before, hadn't he?  In a way.  Felt as if along with this odd dance the two of you were doing there was quite a bit of forgiveness being laid between you both.  Trodding on toes as you each learned the steps.  The kiss you pressed to the soft edge of his hairline at the nape of his neck was gentle, absolution enough.

"You're not mad at me?"  You had to ask, the guilt still hanging heavy within.  Nearly as uncomfortable as your hangover-come down.  Head feeling full of hot coals, throat and every other single cell of you absolutely parched.  Eyes sore and everything a sharp throbbing ache.  Still, misery could wait on the doorstep while you got to press yourself to more of his skin than you'd ever had before.

"No.  Perhaps a little."  He heaved a tired sigh.  Closed the grip of one of his hands loose about your wrist as your hand took up its tender, stroking exploration of the front of him.  Trailing fingertips along the shallow divot that lay between pectorals, only to flatten hand out over the smooth, slight ripples of his lean stomach, ticklish little trace of his navel that had him grunt softly.  Silent thrill to find those delicious, shallow cuts of muscle lower that led from hip down into the waistband of his pants.  He tensed against you as you toyed caress along them, mouth straying to press light kisses between the span of his upper shoulder blades.  And then the slow slide down that lovely little cut of muscle into his pants.  Heard him huff and try to catch breath against an instinctive moan as your hand closed over his already half-hard cock.

"Please... stop."  He sounded strangled, quietly tortured.  But oh, how he hardened in your hand.  Thick as you remembered and twice as hot.  You kept grip gentle, slow.

"Only if you promise me this isn't the last time you'll be here, in my bed."  

"I ca...hmmn.  I can't do that."  Yes, you already knew.  No promises here, tomorrow as unsure as yesterday.  So much for building your house on solid stone instead of shifting sand.  But quoting bible passages was his thing, not yours, and you didn't need words to tell him how badly you wanted him, or to feel how badly he ached for you.  

Grip tightened slowly as you pumped him, palmed him, let fingers toy at the sensitive head of his cock, felt him leaking and used it to wet your grip a little.

"I want you back in my mouth."  You murmured, chin hooking over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, lips a brush to flushed skin.  "You taste so good.  Please let me."

He bucked against you, tried to stop it but it only made it more obvious, and hissed breath between the clench of teeth as his grip upon your forearm tightened.

"How... aren't you hungover?  Ahn.  Lamb... "

You stroked one taut gripped long pump from the root of him all the way up and it proved the final straw.  Had him pull your hand out of his pants and roll to cage you in, pin you down.  Joke on him as you spread legs and wrapped them around his hips, lifted to grind bare sex up against what had to be an agonizing erection now, still caught in the confines of his damn pants.

"Stop.  Please."  Chipped teeth bared and that terrible red eye wide and livid, contrast to the softer teal more pleading beside it.  You stilled hips but kept him hooked close.  It earned a soft exhalation of relief from him and he released your forearms to cradle up your face.  Thumb toying at the corner of your mouth as if he couldn't stop reconsidering your offer to suck him off again.

He caught up a hungry kiss instead, diving into you like he was drowning, his hips the ones to roll forward this time, caught you by surprise and had you gasping at the sudden delicious friction.  It must have broke that iron grip of his for a moment because his head fell, sharp blade of that nose crushed into the crook of your neck as he thrust clothed against you, rutted against you, hips a hard, rolling push over and over that had you lifting to meet him, had your throbbing, aching head rocking back, mouth open.

And so gone with him, so built up and twisted and unfulfilled for so long that friction was all it took.  

Nails dug into his skin as you shivered out your release, tight little bucks caught against him.  Quiet whine caught in the close of your throat, fighting with his name to be the first one out and both just barreling forward unintelligible together.  Felt the dragging lick of the tip of his tongue trace from collarbone to chin up the bared expanse of your throat.  As if he'd taste the wanton little noises he was pulling out of you.

When you finally came around he was gazing down at you.  Backs of fingers a fanned caress to your hot, flush flooded cheek.

"Far prettier ecstasy than any saint."  He murmured, and stole another, slower kiss.  

You weren't sure about the saints, but you sure as hell felt like a martyr;  fit to die for this, him.  Boneless warmth of release gathered you up and sleep came lapping back against your aching brain.  It was still terribly early.  The light pale and grey and dim.  No reason in the world to leave this bed, or the way he gathered you to him.  Felt him lean across you to reach for the night stand and then the push of the water bottle into your hand.  Messy to drink at this angle, but you managed and realized instantly how badly dehydrated you'd become in just a few hours sleep.  Nearly finished the bottle before offering the last quarter of it to him.  Silco seemed ready to refuse but instead downed it.  Set it aside and curled you up against himself.  

"Mmnf.  Now.  Let me sleep."  Like he'd done all this just to get a little shut eye and stop you pawing at him.  Had you snort a little laugh, unconvinced at his fraudulent grousing.  Still very much aware of how hard he was, pressed to your hip.  Still... warm, happy, wrapped in the swallowing bliss of those delicious chemicals of release?  There was no fight to be had here.

It had you panic when you woke next to full sunlight and an empty bed.  But the cold, crushing blow faded as you heard noise from the kitchen.  And something like cooking that smelled very good indeed.  Had you sink back down in bed from the start you'd had.  Reached over and gathered up the pillow that still smelled like him, inhaled deeply.  Only to glance up to find him darkening the doorway, cup of coffee in hand, watching you with a wry little half-tilt smile.  In he came and set the coffee on the nightstand nearest you before handing you your phone.

"If you wouldn't mind?  I don't have mine and I've some calls to make before the sisters start sending the police on a wild goose chase for the missing priest."

Offering him a sheepish smile at being caught cuddling his pillow, you sat up, mindless of your utter lack of clothing until you watched his gaze drop, then gathered up sheets.  Unlocked your phone and handed it back.  Very nice to see him still shirtless.  Very nice indeed.  He cut as lean and taut of a figure as your fingertips had told you he would in the gloaming dark that early morning, pants riding low on narrow hips, the occasional scar here or there a quiet promise of a story from before he wore a white collar.

He stood there a moment, profile to your unapologetic gaze, in that slightly back-slouched petulant posture of his, tapping numbers into your phone before putting it to his ear.  Offered you another thin slice of a smile.

"Yes, Sister Grace?  Yes.  I'm fine.  Sorry to alarm you.  The deacon can do the morning service.  Calm down."  

He turned away and your jaw nearly hit your folded knees.  

Huge across his back, stretched from the curve at the small of his back up to the base of shoulder blades and from ribcage to ribcage was the tattoo of an enormous cross.  Intricate black work ink, celtic by origin with its intertwining design.  Only the delicate twisting lines were made of snakes, snakes run up each post of the cross and along each arm of it in matching mirrored patterns.  And in its very center, Eve's apple, cut through with two pale bites in red flesh, the only color in the whole piece. 

"I'm afraid (y/n) came down with something terrible last night.  Yes.  Well it hardly does to let our patron die if she needs someone to sit up in case she needs a doctor.  No, she's much better this morning I think."  His voice trailed from the other room as he wandered away and you recovered from the surprise of that enormous tattoo inking pale skin.  Never in a hundred years would you have guessed him hiding something like that under dark cassock.  Then again... there seemed to be plenty of surprising little things Father Silco kept hidden away from the world.  A tattoo hardly seemed the worst of them, listening to him calm a nun with half truths and not break a sweat or falter once.  

You scooped up the coffee he'd left, cradling the heat of the mug in both hands as you blew the steam off it.  It smelled...strong.  Bitter.  Hoping he'd made it how you liked you took a slow sip.  And came up sputtering, choking.  Bitter, burnt and thick as syrup.  Possibly the worst coffee you'd ever been cursed with.  

You gave it another sip and puckered, swallowed hard and set the mug aside with a little hissing breath.  Well.  Good to know there was one thing he was absolutely terrible at.

"I am quite tired, yes.  I won't be back today.  Let the deacon take over services.  I'll be back for morning Mass tomorrow.  Yes I'll let you know if she needs anything.  Alright."

Noise of his irritated sigh and the soft clatter of your phone set on the countertop.

"Come have breakfast when you're ready, lamb."

Part X

[willyoulovemeinthemorning]

The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway (1/?)

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: You are a mutant with the powers of ice and cold and you have never been able to be touched or touch anyone without making them uncomfortable, or worse, hurting them. You’ve always desperately wished for physical affection, and it isn't until a new silver tongued Asgardian moves into the Avengers tower and takes an interest in you that anyone really dares to try to be physical with you.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This part is pure fluff, but future chapters will be... more. 

Warnings: None for this chapter besides maybe a few cavities!

It had been like this since you’d been a child. You couldn’t remember a life without your ailment. You’d always seen it as a curse more than a blessing- but as you grew up and learned to control it to the best of your abilities, your mind started to change a little bit. Being adopted into Xaviers Academy had been the best thing that could have happened to you. You’d been homeless at the young age of 5 after your third foster family had thrown you out, and Charles had found you sleeping in the snow. It was lucky for you that you didn’t mind the cold at all- your powers were the cold. You could freeze anything, alive or not- and at first that was the problem. You’d frozen your mother’s heart whilst in the middle of a tantrum, and your father met the same fate after he tried to hurt you for doing it. The police found a crying child within hours, surrounded by dead parents and a house full of ice and snow. No one could prove what happened, and no one knew what to do with you from then on. After a life of constant abuse, Charles took you into a world of safety and understanding, and thankfully, that world was really the only world you knew in your conscious mind today.

The trauma was still there, but it was rooted deep in your subconscious mind. Now, as an adult, you’d been taken in to your new chosen family- The Avengers. And your home was no longer at the Academy, it was Avengers Tower. You still taught there every once in a while, whenever Charles called you, but your days were filled with world saving and working out with the worlds mightiest superheroes.

Your best friends in the complex were easily Natasha and Wanda, seeing as you all came from similar lonely backgrounds. It was a quick friendship built on trust, sarcasm, and constant blatant flirting and fucking with eachother. You loved the whole team differently, but Nat and Wanda were definitely special.

Besides them, you were definitely a little… taken with a new member of the household. When Loki was taken in by the Avengers to try and “change” him for the sake of Thor, life definitely got a little… uncomfortable. He was just so attractive, and so sassy and his smart mouth was probably the hottest thing about him. That silver tongue as you’d heard it been called constantly got your mind whirling. The girls mocked you ruthlessly for your crush, but they never pushed it to be more- they both knew your fear of relationships, friendship or otherwise.

Loki, on the other hand, was equally as enamored with you as you were him. He never stopped watching you, trying to learn every facet of your soul as he could from far away. There was something about you, and he looked at you as a puzzle that he desperately wanted to solve.

He loved watching you with your friends- the way you all so effortlessly joked and laughed with eachother- you had what he’d always wanted. An ease with earning love from others with no effort whatsoever. But something that plagued him was the juxtaposition that was your physical affection. You were so jovial and happy with everyone in the house- but you never let anyone touch you. You never touched anyone else either.

At first, he put it to what he knew was your background- abuse and loneliness. Maybe you’d been hurt more than you let on, so you didn’t let people touch you. But he threw out that hypothesis when he spent more time watching you. You always leaned in towards everyone close to you- and they leaned more away as if trying to retreat from your proximity. When with Natasha and Wanda, they always went to touch you, and you just stopped them with a look. It was such a sad look, and Loki longed to understand the pain behind your eyes. The women would pause, sigh, and take their hands back, pull their bodies back, put more distance between you and them, seemingly hurt at having to.

Today was no different. Loki was sitting on a chair in the library by the window with it open, pretending to read a book but actually watching you, while you were lazing on the couch actually reading a book. Something you had both grown very fond of in your time together. Neither of you said much, but you just enjoyed the company of one another with the chill wind coming in from outside. That’s when Natasha came to sit with you. You moved your legs and curled them up into yourself, but something new happened. Natasha, who threw something at you- ah, it was a cookie- to get your attention, and you laughed and ate it while looking at her curiously. She covered herself with a big, thick blanket, and then patted her lap for you to put your legs on top of her. You thought about it, looking pained and unsure, before slowly giving in, your eyes weary with doubt. But… nothing happened. Natasha smiled like the cat who got the cream as she pulled her phone out, and you went back to reading your book with the loveliest look of surprised warmth Loki had ever seen gracing your beautiful features.

After a little while, your eyes started fluttering shut, and you moved yourself so your head was on the red heads lap instead of your legs, and you fell asleep faster than you ever had in your life- a few happy tears falling down your cheeks.

Loki watched you sleep and forgot to put on the facade of reading, which caught the attention of Natasha, who didn’t even look up from her phone. “Whatcha staring at, Loki?” She asked, continuing to scroll.

Loki looked up at her surprise etched into his eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. I just- She’s never let anyone that close to her- how did you do that?” He asked her, eyes falling back to you.

“Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her because she’s watched them flinch away from how cold she is her whole life. If they’re not flinching away, she hurts them by accident because most of the touches of her life have been dangerous or abusive, and she’s had to protect herself. Her powers don’t ever really turn off, they just… quiet. As long as we’ve been friends, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to her letting me touch her.” She said, eyes on him now, watching his expressions. “Why do you care to notice?”

His eyes flew back to hers, trying to guard his expression from her knowing gaze. “I was just curious. Trying to figure you all out- she’s been the hardest to understand.” But his eyes falling back to your face gave him away, and when he looked back at Natasha, he knew she knew. She had the decency not to say anything, but the look on her face was enough to make Loki look back to his book and actually try to read this time to avoid any more speculation.

Days passed, and all he could think about was the look on your face when you were able to get some kind of physical affection- and he wanted to see it again. So this time, when he found you in the library like he always did- he didn’t choose the chair by the window. He sat down next to you. You looked up at him, and he could feel your surprise.

You eyed him up and down, and he just smiled that little smile that seemed to be only reserved for you, and started to read. The window was open, as it always was- this was your favorite room, because almost no one came in here besides Loki, and he never seemed to mind your proclivity towards keeping this room cold.

You two were like that for a while, but you started to notice him leaning more towards you- you were already at the end of the couch, so there wasn’t really anywhere for you to go, so you tried to will yourself to calm down and just focus on reading. His presence always calmed you down, he was so charming and kind- well, he was kind to you. You loved watching him read, as his tongue poked out as he was really involved with the words on the page.

Unable to focus on your page in front of you, you instead focused on the way he felt beside you. Normally, when someone was near you, you could feel their warmth radiating off of them- especially Thor and Steve. They seemed to have very naturally high body temperatures, and it made you feel itchy, like there was fire licking at your skin. Vision was one of your favorites to be near- his presence felt like nothing. No warm or cold coming off of him, so completely neutral and it made it very easy to be around him. Loki… well, Loki had never been close enough for you to be able to tell. You expected him to feel like Thor did, seeing as they were both Gods and all, and came from the same place; Asgard. But… Loki felt different. He was… normal? Well, normal for her, that was. He didn’t feel warm, he didn’t feel like anything? He kind of felt like Vision, and that surprised her.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you scootched a little closer to him, your feet brushing his thigh on the couch next to you. You watched out of the corner of your eye for a reaction- but there was nothing negative. If that had happened with Peter, he would have shivered a little and pulled away from the touch because of how cold you were. Tony would have made a joke like, “Just because the cold doesn’t bother you, Elsa, doesn’t mean the rest of us are like that,” and you’d pull away embarrassed at the reminder of how different you are.

Loki moved again, tucking his feet under himself, which repositioned his upper half to be a centimeter from being arm and arm with you. And considering his button up had the sleeves rolled up and you could see his arm hair- God, you wanted to play with it- you were almost skin to skin. Your hands started shaking and you were about to pull away to protect yourself from the inevitable pain that would come from seeing him flinch away in pain- but before you could, it happened. His skin was pressed up against you, and your heart sped up three times as fast… and nothing bad happened. He didn’t move, he didn’t flinch, his face looked… serene? He looked happy touching you.

Now the gates were open and you needed to know more- know why.

“Loki?” You asked, your head turned to face him.

When he turned to face you, you could feel his breath on your face. “Yes, darling?” You almost choked on your spit- he’d never spoken to you with that endearment before.

“Why- I mean… How? I… Loki-” You tried to get a reasonable sentence out, but the words got caught in your throat as tears started prickling your vision.

Loki put his book down and turned to face you, movements slow as if he was afraid to spook you away. “Can I try something?” He asked, hands in his lap, waiting for permission for something. You nodded dumbly, completely unsure what was about to happen. All you knew was that a door had been opened to something, and you knew there was no going back now. Loki’s hands moved, and your instincts were to pull away from him, but you fought them. You wanted to see what was going to happen here. His hands found yours, and he covered them with his own. His skin was so soft, and you looked down and noticed that his skin started to turn a different color- so you pulled away, worried you were hurting him. But you hadn’t felt a surge of your own power?

You were about to ask him, but he beat you to it with the answer. “Did you know I was adopted? Odin stole me from my home when I was a baby- whether to hurt my people or to use me as a peace making tool, I still haven’t figured out, but I am not really Loki Odinson. I am a Frost Giant from birth, raised as an Asgardian. My birth name is Loki Laufeyson. The blue you just saw was… a piece of my real form, coming out at your touch, not because you were in any way hurting or negatively affecting me… so please, let me-” He reached out again, but this time, one hand found your face, his thumb running over your cheek bone, while the other hand ran over your arm softly. Your eyes fluttered closed- his touch was like nothing you’d ever experienced. He somehow felt the same temperature as you did to yourself. He wasn’t cold or hot, he was just… perfect. The tears that were threatening to spill before finally did, and Loki raised his other hand to cup both sides of your face and wipe away the tears as they fell.

“I’ve finally figured you out. It took longer than it ever has for me, but I’ve done it. I’ve never been so taken with figuring someone out before, not like this. You don’t pull away from people because you don’t want physical affection- you pull away because you’ve never had anyone who could physically handle you. No one’s temperature matched you. You’ve never been able to be touched gently. You’ve never been able to let yourself. You are so strong, my popsicle, but you don’t have to be anymore. I was made to be able to touch you, and be touched by you.” You opened your eyes and took him in in his base form- he was the most beautiful shade of icy turquoise, his eyes red as rubies, and he was touching you. He was touching you so lovingly and so sweetly, you couldn’t stop crying. In all your years, you had never been touched like this. No one ever could. Without a beat, you clambered up into his lap and wrapped your arms around him, sighing when his arms wound their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m not hurting you?” You asked, your voice shaking.

“Not in the way you mean, darling, but you are hugging me a little tight.” You felt his chuckle vibrate in your chest, which made you laugh too. “Don’t stop, though.” He whispered into your hair.

“You’re so beautiful, you know. Why don’t you let people see your real self?” You asked, burrowing your face in his neck, pressing your nose into the column of his throat.

“I’ve spent my whole life using my magic to make myself look a certain way- it’s more or less unconscious at this point. And I’m… a little insecure about this form. Very few people have seen me look like this. And it’s never been for a good, healthy reason like this.”

“Well, I’m honored. Thank you for this. No one… no one has ever been able to touch me without it hurting them. Thank you so much, Loki.” After a few more minutes of you straddling him on the couch, wrapped around him, you came to your senses enough to know that this was probably not completely appropriate- so you got off of him as a blush crept from your cheeks to your neck to your chest, smiling shyly and biting your lip.

Loki thought you were beautiful before, but you’d never looked more beautiful than you did right in that moment.

You went back to reading together, enjoying the chill air fill the room from the window, pressed up against one another on the couch- comfortable for the first time in your life.

Part 2

[bokettochild]

Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

[animeyanderelover]

You’re not being strict at all! Is it okay if I request Kurapika and fluff with prompt 40. “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.” Thank you and keep up the good work at your own pace!

🥺💔.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, kidnapping, self-harm, slight violence, strict behavior, controlling behavior, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 40: “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

He had messed up. He had messed up big this time. What had he been thinking? Why had he said those things to you? It had been almost in his reach if hr wouldn't have been such a jerk. Your love had been almost in his reach after months of impatiently waiting.

You had started coming around, had been more willingly spent time with him, searched for comfort in him as well as protection. He had cherished the moments he had finally been able to hold you in his arms without having to endure your struggles, your screaming and the salty tears which had always fallen down your pretty face.

He could have had it all, he could have spent this evening with you, just being lazy and cuddly with you, maybe reading a book together or just enjoying each other's presence.

But due to his faults it all had turned out differently, with you having locked yourself up in your room and him cowering outside of the house, at the front door to be specific. He just couldn't stand it anymore. For hours your whimpers and cries had now filled the house, torturing Kurapika more than he had expected.

You were in pain because of him and each of your wails had hit him like a rain of bricks. It had simply been unbearable for him, his heart had been in too much pain to stand this anymore. So he had thrown himself out of the house, not wanting to face you for the time being. He guessed his face was most likely the last thing you wanted to see right now, the still lingering burning feeling on his cheek being a dreadful reminder of it.

But even outside, guarding still over you, he didn't seem to be safe from you and your haunting weepings, almost echoing through the silent and chilly air of the forest. Why were you still crying? Why hadn't you stopped yet? Hadn't he promised to keep you safe from any sort of pain? Hadn't he been the one who had wanted to adore you like no other and give you the same fuzzy and amazing feeling you always gave him?

But he had broken that promise, he had hurt the one person he loved more than anything else. How could he? He didn't have the right to call himself your protector. And the worst was that he was too much of a coward to even face you right now, to at least try to comfort you.

He hadn't even apologized to you, you had just screamed at him to leave...and he had. Without turning back, without muttering a word. He had just left you mourning lonely in your room. What had you screamed after him when he had done this?

"Come back here! A-Apologize to me! Please...Kurapika!"

He had ignored your pleas, hadn't found the courage in himself to turn around, to give you a hug and apologize to you like you had begged. You hadn't wanted him to leave, you had recently become a bit jumpy with everything around you. You needed him. And he had known it, so why?"

"You're such a horrible liar. You promised to not leave me...You're truly a cold-hearted monster...Well, they say what you hunt and kill, you become. You're no better than them."

He was, wasn't he? He couldn't get these words out of his head, your trembling voice, the audible hurt and feeling of betrayal in it. When exactly had he sunken this low? Had he really...? He couldn't believe that you had compared him to them, the criminals he had been hunting down for years now. Normally he might had gotten angry at you, but not this time. Your words had striked a vulnerable soft spot in his heart and he remembered he had frozen when he had heard these words before rushing away. He hadn't wanted to show you his tears.

It hurt...Someone make it stop. The painful squeezing in his heart, the non-stopping tears flowing down his face, your cries which he seemed to hyper-aware of. His head was pounding, the blood feeing like it was kicking him. It was too much. "Stop this." He pressed his hands over his ears, ripping on his hair whilst doing so. The pain didn't even seem to register itself in his mind, there was simply no place for it anymore. "Please make it all stop. No more. I can't stand this. I hate it."

How much time had passed by? You didn't know, there was no clock in your room. But judging from the fact that it was already dark outside, inky darkness being your only comrade in the killing silence, a lot of hours must have passed by. And he still hadn't come to apologize.

You felt betrayed by this, you had layed hours crying in your bed, waiting for him, to hear footsteps walking up the stairs and him just taking you in his loving embrace and apologizing to you for what he had said.

You knew he hadn't meant it, he had obviously been stressed out by something, his eyes having given his emotions away. Granted, he might have overeacted a bit when you had tried to make him relax, ending with him spitting some really mean words at you.

"What do you understand about me?! You don't know anything!"

"Don't interfere with my business! If it wouldn't be for me, you would have been completely helpless! You're nothing without me!"

If he would have yelled this at you a few weeks ago, you would have snapped back at him. But now these words had hit so differently and you knew why. You had started gaining feelings for him, you had always feared that you would start developing Stockholm syndrome some day.

Back then you had told yourself you would fight it with all your mind, but instead of this you had just given in. You didn't know why. Maybe because both of you had been tired from the constant fights and arguments. All you wanted to live was a peaceful and happy life, just like him. And recently you had started feeling happy again, after you had realized your feelings. And he had been glad too, shown you much more love and care due to you not fighting back anymore. You knew that this was wrong and you would never get your freedom back. But if it meant that you could finally find a way out of your misery, you would accept it. What was so wrong with wanting to be happy, even if it was just an illusion?

You couldn't sleep despite your eyelids feeing like stones. As soon as you closed them, imagines of the fight earlier started to flash before your eyes. You had slapped him, you couldn't believe that you had done it. Sure, you had been agitated and had done it a lot of times before, but the moment you had seen Kurapika's confused and shocked face, hurt flashing his eyes, you had felt like you had just received a slap in your face as well.

Why had this to happen right now, after everything had finally started to feel better? Wy had destiny to be so cruel? All you wanted was storming to the blonde and make him apologize and afterwards dragging him to bed so you two could just savor the closeness to each other. That's all you wanted, it was so cold without his warm body pressed against yours, not to mention the loneliness. You felt empty in that moment, laying quiescent under the blankets, heart heavy and eyes burning from all the spilled tears, the sound of heavy rain outside being the only thing disturbing the silence.

You turned around a bit, staring with saddened eyes at the spot where he would have been by now. But you were only greeted with emptiness, not with warm and lovingly grey eyes which you longed to gaze into right now. You wanted this whole stupid thing to end right now, imagining very well that Kurapika was suffering currently as well. And if he wasn't the one who would prove to have the courage to do the first step, you would do it. Finding him surely couldn't be hard, he was most likely lingering somewhere in the house, hunching somewhere down and feeling terrible about what had happened.

The storm had gotten worse, but Kurapika was barely able to recognize anything around him right now. He was too deep caught in his own emotions and thoughts to even acknowledge it. He didn't realize the cold and chilly air which caused chills and goosebumps to appear anywhere on his body nor that he had started to tremble, the coldness stinging like a million tiny needles. Not even the wind who whipped the water painfully against his face, he did not realize and even if he would have, he wouldn't have cared. The only thing that had been stuck in his mind for the last few hours had been one and only one thing. "(y/n)."

"Kurapika...?" It was barely above a whisper, the wind threatening to carry the small sound far, far awy without Kurapika even hearing it. But he did, he had longed to hear this voice more than anything for a long time, calling his name softly out like this. He tensed up slightly and yet his body seemed to somehow relax as well when hearing the lovely melody of your voice, gifting him a warm tingling in his freezing body. He slowly turned around, tracing his eyes over your shocked form, standing in the doorframe. And for the first time this day, he managed to crack a small smile upon seeing you. It was tired and exhausted, but still a sincere one. "You shouldn't be outside here (y/n). It's very cold. Go back inside."

You didn't listen to him, instead staring with wide eyes at him. He was soaked from head to toe, standing in the center of the storm and being mercilessly hit from the lashing wind and the cold water. His lips had turned a slightly blue shade and it was obvious from the way he was shaking that he was freezing to death out here. He appeared to be exhausted and his voice sounded hoarse, dark circles around his eyes who were glowing in a dull red, having lost the normal flames burning inside of them. It was the first time you had ever seen him this done.

What was he doing here?! Had he been all this time outside, enduring the slaps of the storm?! "What are you doing here?" You looked like you were in absolute disbelief, not understanding why he would risk getting sick and catching a terrible cold when there had been the choice of just going inside in the warmth again. But he had somehow locked himself out of the house, you not getting why he would do this.

"What I am doing?" His face twisted shortly into a pained expression before he quickly overwrote it with a strained smile, saddness still radiating off from it. "Isn't it obvious?" It was, you somehow had a solid guess what all of this was about, but you hoped you might be wrong about it. But your hopes were erased when he said his next sentence. "I'm punishing myself."

No. Please everything, but this. "W-why?", you managed to croak out, tearing up once again when seeing him in his currently pathetic condition. All this just to punish himself? He couldn't be srious! "Why? Because I upset you earlier."

If it wouldn't have been for the sounds of thunder, splashing rain and whistling wind, you were sure the silence would have been a too heavy burden for you to carry in that moment. It only lasted a few moments, but for you and him it felt like a whole eternity. He let out a breathy laugh, rubbing one of his hands through his wet hair. "You shouldn't waste your time with me. Please go back to bed. It's already very late. You should sleep."

"No...not without you." Four small words, spoken in a quiet voice yet they hit Kurapika with unexpected lot of force, worsening his current headache even more and making him once again dizzy, but this time not only negatively. "What?" His voice was quivering, Kurapika feeling his vision blurry even more due to tearing up once again after he had thought he had wasted all his tears the last few hours.

"Come back inside Kurapika. Let's talk about it. You...We don't have to do it this way. Look, I'm sorry for annoying you earlier and hitting you. I should have given you space. I-I don't want this silent treatment anymore. Please just apologize as well and go back inside. Let's forget this incident. Okay?" You wanted to move outside and walk to him, but his sudden demand made you halt.

"Stay there! Please..." He was thankful for the heavy rain who had smeared his face all over with it's cold liquid. It made it nearly impossible for you to differ raindrops from his real tears. "Why would you apologize to me? You didn't do anything wrong. Whatever you did, I deserved it. You should have slapped me more if I'm being honest. I'm the one who was wrong. I-I'm sorry. All I really want is to protect you, but maybe you are right. Maybe I am just like them. Maybe you aren't safe because I'm a threat to you as well. I'm terrible, aren't I?"

He was cruelly mocking himself by now, feeling worthless. He hadn't been able to protect his clan and apparently he wasn't even able to protect you from himself either. Was this how he was supposed to live? Alone with the knowledge that he couldn't protect anyone?

"Prove it to me then." He gave you a mildly confused look. Proving what? "Show me you are sorry by coming back. I don't care if you see yourself as a monster. Granted, I saw you for a long time as some sort of demon as well. You took me away from everything and everyone I loved. I still hate you a bit for that. But...but if you don't stop all of this instantly and get inside, that makes you in my eyes indeed a terrible person!"

Never once before Kurapika had ever considered the thought whether he deserved you or not. But he couldn't help, but feel like he didn't in this moment. He had hurt you, you had cried because of him for hours and yet...you...you...

"Promise me you won't do something like this again. That's all I need. Just do it for me." You were pleading him, eyes holding the pain of a person who wanted someone else back by their side. You wanted him back. How could he say no?

Trying to wipe away his tears wasn't very useful, they just streamed down his face as soon as he had removed them with his damp sleeves. "I promise. It won't happen again."

He barely managed to walk straight through you, hours in the cold had gifted him with a terrible headache and constant waves of dizzyness, leading him to collapsing right in your arms as soon as you had successfully brought him inside again.

"Kurapika! Are you fine?! What am I saying, of course you're not! Wait, let me help you!" Walking up the stairs seemed to be too much for you now, he was too heavy and you were scared both of you might end up falling down. So you settled for the nextbest option. The couch, where you quickly threw all the blankets over him you had.

"I'll be right back! I'll just get some towels and new clothes! Do you want some hot tea? I can make some hot tea for you if you want too! A hot-water bottle sounds like a good idea too! I'll make you one! Maybe also-"

Your hasty talking was interrupted when you felt him suddenly tugging you back to his side, slowly sitting up and burrying his head in your chest. You were flustered by his sudden clingyness. "Kurapika? What's wrong?"

"I don't need towels, new clothes, hot tea or a hot-watter bottle. I don't want it either." His voice was slightly muffled, the vibrations tickling you a bit. He sounded really drowsy and exhausted, but still seemed to possess enough strenght to successfully pull you down so that you were sitting right next to him.

"The only thing I truly need and want right now is you. Stay with me. Don't leave me. Please never leave me. If I have you, that's enough. Then I don't need anything else."

[sebbytrash]

Ash Painted Lips

Summary - Frank is your lifeline, protecting you like only he can do but you harbour not-so-secret feelings for him that threaten to shake the foundation of this steady, necessary partnership. 

“There is pain in the fire, but beauty in the ashes.” 

Pairing - Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of injuries, swearing, sexual tension, smut. 

A/N - This was a drabble request from my love @avengerofyourheart​ which took on a life of its own. Dialogue was  “If you slit my throat tonight, I’m gonna have a hard time forgiving you for that.”

The motel was dingy. Low key, Frank called it. Right. 

The neon sign out front had a few missing bulbs, the letters didn’t even remotely resemble a name anymore but it didn't matter. It held it’s aura, the too bright sign in the shadows of a long forgotten town, desperate melancholy hanging in the air and clinging to your bones as you follow him to the room. He doesn’t check to see if you still follow, he knows you have nowhere else to go. 

Frank glances to each side as he opens the door, always automatically marking his surroundings, checking for escape routes, for ambush opportunities. The door thuds against the wall of the room, the sound itself echoes in the empty lot behind you and further into the surrounding trees. 

If loneliness was a place, you think, it would be here.

Frank switches on the light and continues inside, his bag is tossed beside the bed and he turns expectant, probably wondering why the door was still open and you were still standing on the concrete outside instead of the mouldy green carpet. When you say nothing, he raises an eyebrow and waits.

“There’s only one bed.” You say, stupidly, finally closing the door behind you and trying not to think about the sound the carpet made when you stepped inside. 

“Better they think we are a couple.” He says, taking his gun from his back and sitting on the table, another from his ankle. 

“Right.” Because what else could you say. He’s not wrong, the people after you were no doubt still out there, scouring the roads for any signs of either of you. A shudder runs through you at the thought. And still, you can’t help but sneak furtive glances at the bed, which looks exactly as it should, simple, average, maybe even a little comfy. Not at all like the bomb you imagine it to be. 

You shed your jacket then, try and fail to hide your wince when pain lashes through your shoulder at the movement. Frank is in front of you in an instant, the fury in his eyes would make you cringe if not for the gentle way his hands pull the sleeve of your top down your shoulder so he can see. A walking contradiction, like always. 

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.” He says, his voice so low it scrapes the gutters, fingers delicate as they inspect, “There’s glass in it.” 

“I didn’t notice.” You tell him honestly, watching as he pulls out what looks like a hastily prepared first aid kit from his bag. He brandishes tweezers at you, the tiny prongs look childlike in his hands and you fight the laugh that bubbles up, knowing he’ll think the opposite of you if you let it loose. 

“That’ll be the adrenaline.” He doesn’t give you much warning before he dumps the contents of your water bottle over the wound, quickly and efficiently pulls the glass from it. You stay as still as you can, letting only the sharp hiss of breath escape between your teeth as he works, try not to focus on how close his face is to yours. “I need to put a few stitches in it, yeah?”

“Mmm, okay.” You can’t stand the way you sound, that you can’t help but show the pain in your voice when you know he’s likely in a worse state than you right now. You eye the offending dark patch at his side with suspicion before you feel the telltale sign of the needle piercing your skin. You hate this part, and so you find yourself glancing at him instead, watching the concentration in his face as he works. Wondering, not for the first time, what it might feel like to give in to that urge to smooth out the harsh frown lines above his nose, or run a finger along those infuriatingly soft lips. Another contradiction, those lips set against the hard lines of his face, so often punctuated by bruises and blood. 

“There, all done.” He looks at you then, too quick for you to hide the road your thoughts had taken and stills, hand still clasped around your bicep and face still inches from yours. Your heart hammers so loudly in your chest you fear he might hear it. There's a heated ache in the air, a sudden scorch that makes you burn from the inside out, parched throat and desert lips. You run your tongue over those lips and try to keep all thoughts of his from your mind but instead, find yourself watching as Frank tracks the movement himself, scalds the newly found moisture with a look alone. 

He blinks, once, then twice and releases his now tightened grasp on your arm, steps back with a forced casualness and you close your eyes to kidnap your mind, to try to find some balance in your gaze before you let it fall on him again. The sound of the bathroom door closing forces them open, the now empty room fades back to the cold, bitterness of before.

You wait your turn, not so patiently, picking away the edges of the faded throw on the bed, bag perched on your lap like you're waiting to run and not to shower. You're always waiting to run, a somber voice reminds you. He doesn't take long, the water shuts off after a few short minutes and the door opens in even less, dressed in a black tshirt and sweatpants. He looks very pointedly at the wall behind you.

“Waters cold.”

“Of course it is.” You roll your eyes on your way past him, desperate now to wash away the blood and dirt of the day, a familiar ritual these days. Another eyeroll. 

The water is probably closer to freezing, you think, as you dance under the stream and expect at any second to feel the drops turn solid. It’s probably for the best, a cold shower to chase away the heat from your eyes. Frank will never want you the way you want him. He simply can’t. You repeat it again and again, trying to squash the tiny but of hope that always lives inside you, that always insists no matter how many nights you share together in rooms just like this, no matter how many times he turns from you just like tonight. You force yourself to stand there until the pink water turns clear and your skin turns numb. 

You find an old hairdryer in the bathroom and use it to dry your hair as best you can, if nothing else to simply chase the chill from your bones. You glance at yourself in the mirror, wondering what he sees when he looks at you, wondering if he sees how you feel written so plainly across your face. After a full minute of staring, or stalling, you finally exit the bathroom to see Frank taping a knife to the bottom of his bedside table. Without thought, you sigh and he raises his eyebrows at you in question. 

“If you slit my throat tonight, I’m gonna have a hard time forgiving you for that.” You joke, but even as you say it your mind drifts to nights past where Frank wakes suddenly and violently from a dream, where you lay quiet in the dark and pretend you don’t witness this private agony of his. 

He frowns, instead of laughs, like he knows all too well where your mind just went, “I won’t hurt you.” 

You climb into bed beside him, clinging helplessly to the edge of the mattress as darkness blooms around you. He is still for so long you wonder if he’s already asleep and yet, you say into that echoing dark, “I know, Frank.” 

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would for sleep to claim you. It takes even less for Franks moans to wake you.

The bed jolts with his sharp movements, head tossing from side to side in time with his agonised moans, “No. No, not them. Not them.” He doesn’t shout, but then he never does, just suffers as quietly as his body will allow him. You turn to him automatically, called closer to soothe but cautiously, knowing what he was capable of doing in a few short seconds it would take him to wake and realise. 

“Frank.” You try, pushing against his shoulder with your fist but staying out of reach, “Frank, wake up.” 

He doesn’t wake, simply whispers his pain into the space between, his every word is a bullet, every noise a wound. Fingers wound so tight in the blankets, the fabric stretching far beyond its limits. You hate seeing him like this, hate not being able to help him. A low whine erupts from his throat, a horrible, desperate sound and your fingers move without thought, hand cups his jaw with featherlike touches. Nothing at all like the way you shoved him just moments before, and yet, it’s those touches that pull him from the dream.

Suddenly, and forcefully, his hand is vice like on your wrist and you're pulled towards him, breath pushed from your lungs as you land against him with a soft thud. Wild eyes meet yours, dark pools of terror and it’s only when the pain of his grip flashes across your face that recognition finally settles on his. The terror morphes into regret, his grip loosens but doesn’t leave and he swallows loudly, a few times before forcing out, “M’sorry. Did I....did I hurt you?”

The pain in your wrist dissipates at the torment in his voice, “No, Frank. I’m ok.” You notice that he still hasn’t let go of your wrist, that you're still pressed up against his chest with nowhere to go. You can’t look away, won’t look away, just stare further into the fathomless, midnight eyes and listen as your heart roars, thunderous, inside your chest. The seconds pass, agonisingly slow and yet still, he doesn’t move or release you. It’s long passed the moment he would normally turn away and you can’t stop that tiny spark of hope within you. Even now, with his pain so laid bare, you still want him. 

“Frank…” You whisper, if only to capture the memory of saying his name when his eyes are looking at you this way, fire-burned coals that threaten to combust at any moment. You see it, the want is his eyes, the hunger, but you also see the agony, the torment and you wonder which will win out. You feel the weight of your hope gather in your gut. His eyes drift closed, taking the battle within and your breath catches in your throat when he pulls your wrist to him, slowly, so slowly, presses his lips against the delicate skin there. 

It’s nothing at all, and yet, it’s everything at once. 

He opens his eyes again, fluttery glances between your eyes and your lips, still the raging of a war unwon within them. Still, his fingers remain anchored around your wrist. 

He nudges forward, rests his forehead against yours with more intention than he means, eyes darting down and the back again, almost like he can’t help it. You let your own eyes close, no longer able to stand the pain you so easily cause him, guilt and grief reaching up from your gut and wrapping a hand around your throat. It’s OK, Frank, you want to say, try to say through the squeezing hand but only a soft, painful gasp escapes. You know then that if this is all he gives you, if this is all he can manage that it will be enough. The feel of his lips on your skin and the fire in his eyes, it will be enough. 

You try to free your hand but his grip only tightens, pulls you closer to let your fingers rest on his jaw again, holding them there with that gentle firmness he has. You force yourself to look at him, barely have time to register the fierceness in his face before his lips find yours, soft but vehement, like he’s going to kiss away the demons that live behind his eyes and pass occasionally to yours. There’s no room for worry inside your head, anything and everything that isn’t the feel of Frank's lips pressed against yours is simply gone, forcibly removed by the curve of his mouth as it moves down your jaw and back. 

Wildfire kisses engulf you, the heat spreads until your blood threatens to boil inside your veins. It thrills you and terrifies you, this feeling, that there was this whole other realm of human experience you’d underestimated. When the want and need were rooted so entirely in your bones in a way it never has been before. 

His fingers grip under your ribcage, twisting in the material of your top as your own slip further up his jaw and into his hair, tugging him closer still. Taking as much of him as you can, stealing the moments before he undoubtedly comes back to himself, before he puts the wall back up and you're left with just the memories of the heat. Instead, he grips you tighter, kisses you harder, and rolls up and over till he's settled his weight on top of you. It’s better than you imagined, feeling the weight of him over you, tasting the hunger he keeps locked away so palpable on his lips. He pulls back to look at you, fire and fury held in his gaze and you wonder if this is the moment, fingers already slipping down to memorise his face, the feel of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. 

He surprises you both when instead, he growls low, “Tell me to stop.” 

You watch him for a few seconds, breathing hard above you, the barely contained blaze in his eyes and wait for any of that regret to surface, for anything within you to not want this even if it’s just for the night, for the moment. It doesn’t come.

So, with what little breath you can find, you whisper right back, “Don’t stop.” 

He knew, you think, that you would say it because no sooner had the words left your mouth, Frank transforms. You see it so plainly when he releases himself from the guilt of wanting you, see the way his muscles change and his face follows. He somehow relaxes and tenses simultaneously, relaxing into the moment and tensing with intent. The span of a lifetime built into a moment.

When he leans down to kiss you again, you realise exactly how much he had been holding back, wonder momentarily how deep this fire goes and get so willingly lost in the flames. Your fingers explore, scald a path over his skin and make quick work of his clothes, revealing all that solid, gritty muscle to your greedy touches. His scars stand out even in the dark, a patchwork story written across his skin that you take careful time to memorise, storing each one away in your mind. 

His newly unrestrained hands draw patterns over your skin, making a map of his own as you sigh into each touch. When he kisses his way down your neck, you fight the urge to check for ashy marks left behind by the scorch of his lips. His teeth graze the meat of your neck, sink in enough to just be aware of them and not enough to hurt. The gesture feels possessive, but tender, and your fingertips respond automatically, gripping him tight enough to make your bones ache. 

There’s not even an inch of space between you, lips to hips to toes. It thrills you, it terrifies you. 

The heat is rolling up your body in waves, unrelenting, and settling low in your gut. He’s everywhere, tongue and teeth and hips, living gasoline on the open flame of your want. You feel the coil of your restraint snap at the nudge of his hips, pull and urge him to you with a renewed urgency, needing more, needing him. His answering growl makes your vision blur.

Hot tipped fingers gather you up and he watches from ferverous eyes as he pushes into you, slow and deliberate, matching your sigh with one of his own. His forehead falls to ours again, breathing turned harsh in the space between, and you see your eyes reflected in his, see the way they burn fierce for him. You notice, quietly, that his burn the same.

He moves, finally, rolls forward and up and it earns a mirrored groan, he carries the momentum through into the next roll, and then the next, each one licking fire up your spine. Had it ever felt like this, you wonder? Had you ever been so consumed? And that’s exactly what it is, being consumed, because there isn’t a single part of you that isn’t lit up by his touch, or molten by a look. Your soul is nothing more than embers and ash. He kisses you, frantic, just a need to have his mouth on you, swallows up your gasps like he is greedy for them. You arch into his touch, shudder with every roll of his hips and then his hand grips low on your neck, palm on your clavicle and you moan into the feel of it, the weight of it there. Another possessive gesture made tender for being unthinking. 

“Fuck.” He groans, watching your response, “You’re perfect.” 

You answer him with your lips, let your teeth scrape the length of his neck but lose the battle for cognizance when his hips snap harder, more precise, eliciting a steady stream of moans instead. You feel the fire within you building, stoked by the curve of his mouth under your jaw and the weight of his hands over your heart. It’s a rush of roaring flames, burning away your tethers to the earth until your floating skyward, carried away by the smoke filled clouds and ashen winds. Frank whispers his own release into your neck, melting muscles and simmering eyes. He kisses the underside of your jaw, soft and wet, and you let yourself basque in his attention for however long he’ll give it, wondering, hopelessly, what the morning will bring. 

Despite your best efforts, you feel it, the change, feel his scorched handprint over your heart. 

When he looks at you with those midnight eyes, you know he feels it, too.

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[crankynewt]

Chapter One - Losing Game

Another Love Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader, Young!Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Song: Arcade - Duncan Laurence

Warnings: Tons of Angst, Major Character Deaths, Pregnancy(?), and I definitely altered the timeline!

Word Count: 1.76k

Masterlist

Author’s Note: This is pretty angsty and was based on this song (which has always given me massive Reggie vibes), and I HIGHLY recommend listening to it when reading this!

Perhaps your love was doomed from the start. Maybe you were just another Shakesperian tale of forbidden romance destined to conclude in nothing but suffering. He was your light despite the darkness that had encompassed him his entire life and although the war was over, the pain still remained. 

You had begged Regulus not to leave that night, tears blurring your vision as he explained that he had to be the one to destroy the horcrux. “There is no other way,” he had said, his voice shaky with the knowledge that this would likely be his end. You were young, too young, to be fighting this war. A battle that neither of you had any business being involved in the first place. Yet there you were, children who had grown up too quickly.

When he hadn’t returned the next morning, it hadn’t come as any surprise. You mourned the loss of your husband the minute he’d walked out that door. You weren’t vapid and neither was he, you were both well aware of what would happen in that cave. Whether or not Regulus succeeded, however, still remained to be seen. 

The isolation following the death of Regulus Black was something you brought upon yourself. You couldn’t stand seeing muggles continuing to lead their lives as if nothing had happened. Your world crumbled out from beneath you as the universe became a much darker place, so why haven’t they stopped? A person - your person - had died, how could people continue to lead their normal lives?  We were still at war, how could they not sense that something was horribly wrong?

The loneliness made you ill after a month, so sick that you were constantly emptying the contents of your stomach into your toilet as you lay on the cool tile. What prompted you to eventually seek out another were the two little lines on the plastic test. Before long you had apparated to Godric’s hollow, the crisp snow of December crunching under your feet as you made your way up the steps of a quaint looking house. It felt much more homey than the Grimmauld flat you’d been residing in, a slight comfort that what laid behind the door you knocked on may be just as welcoming.

The face that answered the door was kind, warm eyes and a welcoming smile framed by ginger locks. You never spoke to her during your years at Hogwarts due to the two years she had on you, but you knew the girl to be Lily Evans. Judging by the slight furrowing of her brows she had recognized you as well, probably unsure as to why Regulus Black’s wife had shown up on her doorstep seemingly out of nowhere.

“Uhm, is Sirius Black here by any chance?” You asked quietly, your gloved hands rubbing your arms as you fought off the evening’s chill. She need not answer as a pair of brown orbs peered at you from behind her.

“What are you doing here, (Y/N)?” Sirius questioned, bitterness lacing his words as he took in your frail appearance. The elder Black did not think highly of his little brother - the Death Eater, or so he thought. Yet Regulus had relayed numerous stories from their childhood that revealed that in earlier years of their lives, the duo had been inseparable. You were just hoping that some of that affection still remained.

“Can we please talk? It’s about your brother.” You said, voice wavering as you shivered in the cold. Lily seemingly took notice of this and ushered you into the warmth of their home, closing the door behind you and leaving the in-laws to speak in the front entryway.

“If Regulus has something to say to me than the little shit can come tell me himself-”

“Sirius, what are you talking about?” You asked incredulously. “Regulus died two months ago.”

Sirius had not been speechless many times in his life, yet there he stood with his head reeling, heart broken, and tears slowly welling in his eyes. At the end of the day, Regulus would always be his baby brother. And in that silence he sat and listened, taking in all of what had happened the past year. From Regulus deciding to turn on Voldemort to the fateful night destroying his horcrux, Sirius felt both pride and guilt building underneath the grief. Regulus had been a good person who gave his life doing the right thing, all in belief of the same values that had gotten himself disowned.

When you mentioned the pregnancy, Sirius once again found himself dumbstruck. But that shock was quickly replaced with a sense of duty, it was as if he had the opportunity to make up for his brother’s broken relationship. He would help you raise this baby, and he would make damn sure that they did not have the same broken childhood he had suffered.

Within the week, Sirius had moved back into 12 Grimmauld Place with you. The baby he was dedicating himself to had quickly become babies after finding out that not one, but two baby Blacks were on the way. He was at your side through every step of the pregnancy, and slowly but surely his friends made their way into your life as well. James was always there to put a smile on your face and Lily gave great advice as to dealing with the pregnancy as she had delivered Harry only weeks before you showed up. Remus was always there to offer chocolate and a good book while Peter always had a hot cup of tea ready for you.

Before long, Arcturus and Cassiopeia Black were welcomed into the world and the light in your life had been restored. They were both the spitting image of their father, seeming to have barely inherited any (Y/L/N) genes and only reminded you of their father with every coming day. Little Harry was thrilled to have playmates, and you had finally found your family. Although far from perfect, it was everything to you. But all good things must come to an end, and this state of grace was no different.

Halloween came and went. James, Lily, and Peter were gone, no, murdered. Sirius could not have done it, not to his family! The man you read about in the papers was not the same gentle soul who would sing the twins to sleep almost every evening. But regardless of what you thought of the man he was guilty in the eyes of the Ministry, and thus he was sent to Azkaban to suffer a fate worse than death. This loss rocked you once more, but this time you had the twins to look after, and you weren’t alone.

Remus had stepped right up to fill the shoes that Sirius had been filling for Regulus without hesitation. He was grieving the same losses as you and found solace in caring for little Archie and Cassie. You mourned together and healed together, and before long Remus became your other half. 

That friendship didn’t last long, however, as it eventually blossomed into something bigger, a love that you fought tooth and nail. Guilt consumed you as you felt yourself falling for the werewolf, not being able to shake the feeling that you were betraying Regulus as you fell deeper and deeper in love. 

Right around the second anniversary of his death was when you heard the first words pass through either of the twins’ lips. Archie squealed a high-pitched “dada” to Remus who had been helping you prepare breakfast, and your eyes met his equally glassy. While the man stuttered out a mix of apologies in fear of overstepping, you just embraced him and allowed him to hold you in the way nobody had for a long time. The toddlers had accepted him as their father, and you had denied the desire to love him for too long.

Six months later the two of you had married in a small ceremony of only Order members gathering to celebrate your love. You did, however, keep the last name ‘Black’ as an homage both to Regulus and Sirius’ roles in both of your lives. At that same celebration you also announced that a baby Lupin would be making their way into the world six months later. And alas, Theodore Lupin was born shortly after, and your little family was complete.

When it was finally time for Archie and Cassie to begin their future at Hogwarts, you couldn’t help but weep as they waved out the window of the Hogwarts Express, the siblings excited to start the next stage in their lives. Your husband wrapped an arm around you as he fought tears himself, meanwhile Teddy tugged onto your hand and questioned when he would get the chance to attend the school as well, already missing his big brother and sister. 

Remus and you had debated what house the twins would be sorted into, him adamant that they showed Gryffindor courage while you were certain that they would follow in your footsteps and be sorted into (Y/H). Your questions were answered the next morning as you received letters from two very excited Slytherins, taking after their father just as they had done in appearance and personality. You and Remus were proud nonetheless, but your husband was always saddened that they had never grown close to Harry. The divide between houses had seemingly grown even stronger since you two had attended and a friendship between the former friends hadn’t formed.

Two years later, the twins were approaching their third year as Teddy prepared to begin his magical schooling, and you began to ponder what your life would look like following their departure. You and your husband didn’t have the finances to travel and feared a life without the light of your children, and your questions were answered following a letter from Dumbledore himself. He offered the two of you teaching positions at Hogwarts, Defence Against the Dark Arts for Remus and Astronomy for yourself.

The two of you were ecstatic to spend the year with your children teaching, and walking side by side with the castle in view made you feel like a young girl again. A broken heart was all that was left, but Remus had been there to pick up your broken pieces and carry you home. But the wreckage of your life would not stay in ruins forever, as old friends and old loves remained closer than you had ever known and were about to rejoin your losing game.

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[valwrite]

the bella-vista avenue book club; daveed diggs

masterlist

summary: if only she’d double checked her Amazon shopping cart, Y/N L/N wouldn’t find herself torn between what book to give her hot neighbor next.

warnings: fluff, cheesiness, a slither of smut, mentions of a car accident, cooper is a basic dog name, i know but stfu about it.

fic style: oneshot.

word count: 6455.

author’s note: this fic took way too long to write, bye. no but for real, i’ve been back in uni for one month and so far i’ve: done way too many assignments; had more breakdowns than a disney child star; had a covid scare; and spontaneously dyed my hair dark blue/green at 4am instead of finishing an essay. we’re doing well, folks :)

It took exactly twenty one days for the loneliness to kick in.

On the day the lockdown was first announced, Y/N L/N felt the most confusing sentiment of relief and fear blended together. She'd spent just about the whole day in the meeting from Hell, during which three people had stormed out of after countless shouting matches had broken out and her boss had blatantly fired one of the guys from her department, right in front of everyone. When she did eventually get out of said meeting- a whole two hours later than her usual work days ended -, she was struggling with an impending migraine, threatening to blur her eyesight the whole drive home. She arrived home safely that evening, by the force of some miracle, only to find countless texts from relatives and friends alike, detailing the quarantine announcement and all the rules that came with it. Though concerned over the state of the world battling against the rapidly spreading virus, Y/N was just glad there would be no meetings for a while.

Quarantine was exciting at first. In the normal day-to-day life she lead, Y/N often found herself falling short on time to do things she truly enjoyed. There was just always one more task needing done at work; one more errand to complete; one more mile to run. By the time she stepped into her home come the end of the day, her eyelids were always battling to stay opened. So, it was very fair to say that the sudden infinite amount of free time had her feeling rather excited.

Day two and she'd already set herself a list of goals to spend all this time on, a chance to do all the things her schedule got in the way of. Of course, with the situation at hand, all these goals were modified to be achievable from within the confines of her home. The first goal she achieved was knitting a sweater. Granted, it was a mess she'd ended up trying to turn into a dog sweater only to watch as her fur-baby, Cooper, chewed it into rags.

There was no goal on the list to be good at all those goals.

In the following weeks, Y/N found herself trying her hand at pottery - she both made and broke a mug -, baking - the first cake burned but the second she made was actually pretty edible -, guitar playing - it really was just like riding a bike: one never really forgets how to do it - and many other hobbies. In between finding her artistic calling in life, it seemed family quiz nights became the norm.

But twenty one days, that's when she finally took notice of just how lonely living had become for her. A full twenty one days of not having made eye contact with anyone outside of a screen or who happened to not own four paws and a tail.

The loneliness wasn't unique to her, she was very aware. But she was stuck quarantining in a house all by herself, hours away from any of her family and she knew it was going to be a fair while before she even spoke with someone face to face. Much longer than most people. She was still at the point where even bringing up the thought of going to the store- with a trusted mask on, of course - would send her mother into a spiral of worse case scenarios and her father would be threatening to call her doctor.

As neurotic as the two could be about her health, Y/N completely understood their reactions. Things had never really been the same since her accident, even with the years gone by.

She was sat on her sofa- well, actually, sat on her floor, with her back against the sofa - when the door bell rang. She was up at lighting speed, bounding her way over to the front of the house before peaking a look through the peep hole and finding no one there. Unfazed by this, she unlocked the door and pulled it open to unveil a package at her doorstep, the ever familiar Amazon logo splashed across it. In the past few weeks, the delivery service and her bank account had become well acquainted, with most of her new found hobbies being aided by it.

In a matter of seconds, she'd picked up the package, shut the door and made her way into her kitchen, a drawer being pulled open as she dug through it for a pair of scissors. The package was ripped up and there she found a sight she wasn't awaiting, her eyes widening ever so slightly and a "Huh." noise escaping her.

There, laying on the remaining cardboard package, sat a hardback copy of A Tale Of Two Cities. And right next to it sat an identical copy, both of them staring up at Y/N.

“This can't be right, right?” She proposed the question down at Cooper, who'd at some point sauntered in to the kitchen and sat down at her feet, his tail wagging lazily upon being spoken to.

Sure enough, when she checked her receipt online, there was only one copy on the list. She wondered if it was perhaps a “buy one, get one free” kind of deal but quickly found no evidence to back up her hypothesis.

Thinking of what the right thing to do would be, Y/N on instinct began to investigate how she could possibly return the additional book they'd sent to her. As she came to the realization that it would entail her having to return both books and, then, waiting once again for a copy to be sent to her, she changed her mind instantly. A few other solutions came to mind: she could mail it to her sister-in-law, she was just as much of a book worm as Y/N; or she could keep it until the next time she needs a birthday present for someone; or she could just keep both of the copies, even if it felt a little wasteful.

It was only later on that very evening, as Y/N chopped away at some onions and was struggling to contain her tears- she had a spoon in her mouth because her mother swore it stopped you from crying, spoiler: it did not -, that the perfect idea struck.

In the corner of her eye she spotted him, strolling about his own kitchen. He hadn't lived next door for very long, he'd only moved in at the very start of the year, if she remembered correctly. And though they had never really spoken or interacted- polite waves and stiff smiles when spotting one another either leaving or arriving home wasn't exactly very conversational after all-, Y/N couldn't help but decide he was going to be the honorary recipient of the book. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Well, he could use the book to keep his fireplace alight, but Y/N was more eager to just think optimistically about it.

With her mind firmly made up, she neatly wrapped the book in some stray wrapping paper she'd found in her junk drawer and tied a neat, makeshift bow around it. His doorstep was only a couple feet from her own and it wasn't long till she was stood right in front of it, finger hovering over the doorbell as she wrestled with the thought off handing the present directly to him. She recalled one night, where her bedroom curtains had been wide open to let in the moonlight, and he'd walked past his own bedroom window, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The image of water dripping down those defined abs made her mind up and she placed the wrapped book next to his door, the little note she'd written taped on to it carefully.

Happy housewarming! I hope you're taking care during these trying time! - Y/N, your neighbor from door 27. p.s. Cooper (the German Shepherd) says sorry for peeing in your flowers :(

A few days later, as Y/N and Cooper arrived home from their daily walk, a mysterious package sat on the doorstep. What made it mysterious was the fact it wasn't from Amazon, nor from her local grocery store either. Cooper possessed no hesitation and dashed over to investigate, his tail beginning to wag as Y/N approached the front door.

“What is it, Coops?” She crouched down, her hand rubbing over the top of his head as his tongue dangled out of his mouth. There was a small piece of paper stuck on the package and, at first, she wondered if perhaps her attempt at a kind gesture had backfired and the hot neighbor had just dropped it back off. Then, she read the note. “Housewarming? Took you a while. This Dickens guy's good, hope he finally get's some popularity soon. - Daveed, your neighbor from door 28.” A smile crept onto her face as she learnt his name. It felt nice on her lips. His calligraphy skills only made the name look prettier. “P.S. check this book out, author is a real hidden gem. P.S.S. tell Cooper it's chill, I got my revenge and peed in his flowers.”

It was there on her doorstep, with a thin layer of sweat decorating her face and a tired out dog at her feet, that Y/N upgraded Daveed from hot neighbor to hot and funny neighbor.

It was almost like an otherworldly sign when Y/N stumbled over a chew toy the next day, her whole body slamming right into her bookcase and out from it fell a book, smacking her right on her head to add yet another bruise on to her list. Her mother had always joked that she bruised easier than a peach, partially on account of her incapability to walk five paces without stumbling over air or slipping on dry ground.

She let out a groan, her hand rubbing at the spot the book hit her and she reached down to grab her attacker- which lay face down - off of the floor. The cover turned out to be that of The Great Gatsby and the sudden urge to wrap it up, attach a note and drop it over at Daveed's doorstep became overwhelming. It still felt so personal to know his name.

Was she seriously about to use a book as an excuse to try catch a glimpse of her hot neighbor, who just yesterday was claiming to have peed on her flowers? Yes, yes she was. Because, after all, he was hot. And if society had taught her anything, it was that hot people were excused of everything. Okay, perhaps she was exaggerating just a little bit but it all added up to the same thing: Daveed was hot and she was thirsty.

Maybe quarantine really was beginning to have an effect on her.

A few hours later, Y/N was comfortably snuggled under her blankets in bed, the room illuminated by nothing but her television screen and the streetlights outside. A door opened somewhere, her anxious brain questioning if it was one of her own doors but the sudden laughter she could hear changed her train of thought quickly.

Oh my god, his laugh was music to her ears. And, oh my god, she'd actually made him laugh.

She lay back, wondering which part of her note had made Daveed laugh as consciousness slowly slipped away from her. One house away, her hot and funny neighbor was near mirroring her position in his own bed, his head replaying the note he'd received from the cute girl next door.

Not too sure about this author, he seems to have a fetish for big feet! I'm beginning to question exactly what kind of weird foot erotica you read, Daveed from door 28! -Y/N, your foot hating neighbor. P.S. this guy definitely needs more clout, can't you just picture his writing being used to teach the younger generations? P.S.S. Cooper isn't happy about you peeing in his flowers but he is happy about the treats.

Two days later, in the morning, Y/N was sat at her kitchen island. Her computer lay open in front of her, untouched for the past half hour as she flipped through the pages of her book and sipped away at the smoothie she'd blended up for herself. Cooper lay sound asleep under her seat, the occasional snore coming from the pup. It was those moments in her quarantine that she enjoyed most, just pure tranquility. It took her mind off of the loneliness.

A feeling overcame her, as the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. It was almost like she could feel someone's eyes on her. She tore her own eyes away from the printed text and checked her surroundings vaguely. It was only when she looked straight ahead, out of the window that she spotted the intrusive stare of his.

They were sat in near parallel, him also sat at his kitchen island with a computer opened, only he had a mug of coffee instead of a smoothie. When their eyes made contact, he grinned at her, waving the book in his hand before pointing at the cover. The Great Gatsby.

He really was reading the book she'd sent over.

Mirroring his actions, she lifted up her own book, the one he'd sent over all those days ago. The Hobbit.

It was short, it was sweet and it was the longest they had ever interacted off paper. Even without verbal communication, so much was said between them both in that small instance. It was a sign that these little book deliveries were appreciated, they both cared enough to read whatever the other sent over.

Maybe it was time to consider Daveed her hot, funny and caring neighbor.

The book exchanges continued onward for weeks.

Daveed sent over a collection of fairy tales by the Grimm brothers, his attached note read: Thanks for putting me onto Fitzgerald, gonna have to see if the school board will let me teach his work in my lectures. Think they might be against it, what ya think? In the meantime, check these indie short stories out. Think Cooper will resonate with the wolf in the Red Ridding Hood story. -Daveed, your literature professor neighbor. P.S. Noticed the Raptors jersey on your washing line, tell your boyfriend the Warrior in me is unimpressed.

To which Y/N replied to with, alongside a copy of Twilight,: Cooper loved the Red Ridding Hood story, but he says you remind him of the grandmother in it. Speaking of wolves, check out this classic example of American literature, the lack of emotions this author puts into her writing is truly astounding. -Y/N, the Raptor next door. P.S. The Raptors jersey is mine, but I'll applaud you for smoothly trying to find out if I have a boyfriend. For the record, I do. He's tall, dark haired and lives in my imagination. P.S.S. Could you ask your girlfriend if she knows any good foundations? I'm thinking of changing mine.

He took less than a day to fire back with a copy of 50 Shades Of Grey: If Cooper is the wolf, and I'm the grandmother, would that make you the girl? I think the romance in this book is quite poignant, it really values the emotional over the physical. - Daveed, your grandmother neighbor. P.S. Not sure about my girlfriend's foundation, seeing as she doesn't exist, but I use L'Oreal. Very creamy, or whatever it is foundation is meant to be like. P.S.S. You looked cute in your paint splattered t-shirt the other day.

Not even an hour later, he opened his door to find a hardback of the Holy Bible and the following: I went into that book expecting a rush of happiness and sweetness, but ended up feeling scared and turned on in the most confusing way. I worry about your taste, Daveed, and that is why I'm recommending this book to you. This will cleanse you of all you've done wrong, my friend. -Y/N, your concerned neighbor. P.S. I'm not the girl, I'm the huntsman. P.S.S. Your dog is so cute, Cooper wants her/his number.

It took 45 days of lockdown for Y/N to finally venture out to her local grocers, tired of ordering food online and desperate for some human contact which didn't have to be separated by a great distance and united by a glass screen and a stable internet connection. She'd felt wrong; out of place; strange the whole time she'd been wandering up and down the aisles of the shop, her mask secured on her face and a near full basket hanging on her arm.

The fact Cooper was at home, holding down the fort for the time being gave her a little comfort.

Despite paying through self-service, and using a contactless card payment, her father's voice was ringing in her ears, scolding her for even taking the risk of stepping outdoors. Naturally, she appreciated his caring tendencies but she liked to consider herself old enough and smart enough to manage her own health problems.

With four bags stacked awkwardly in her arms, she took a few steps away from her car, attempting to peak over her shopping to see just where exactly the gate to her garden was. She could very faintly hear Cooper's excited whining, his paws scratching against the metal gate.

It was the sound of a voice, a very distinct voice, calling out her name that halted her movement and turned her head.

“Let me,” He, Daveed from door 28, paused, his hand clutching at his heaving chest. As her eyes drifted over him briefly, she took note of the trainers, the sweaty running shorts and, most of all, his bare chest, perfectly lined abs scattered along him. “get that for you.”

Before Y/N could so much as protest, Daveed had already snatched all four bags from her arms and was stood holding the gate open for her, a stupidly handsome smile decorating him. Her mask was still firmly held up but she smiled beneath it and done her best to share her gratitude with him.

“You don't need to do that.” Despite her words, she never attempted to take her bags back from him, instead cautiously slipping her way past him into her open garden. Cooper launched his paws up onto her, a bark of excitement escaping him before he licked at her arm and redirected his attention to Daveed. Cooper was still fairly young, not even a year old yet, but he was a fierce dog when it came to guarding his owner from any stranger. So, for Y/N to turn back and find him happily circling Daveed's legs, his favorite toy in his mouth and his tail wagging at lighting speed, it was purely a shock to her system.

And the clearest sign she'd ever seen that Daveed, whether he was a complete stranger to her or not, could be trusted.

“Where should I leave these?” He ignored her protest, effortlessly walking up the path of her garden with the heavy bags secure in his hands. Having him around her, all sweaty and heavy breathing and half dressed was more of a health hazard than her trip to the shops. Y/N began to wonder if it was legal to look so good.

“Uh, just,” She fished through her purse for her door key, avoiding the temptation to peak at his abs again. “on the table over there, if you don't mind.” She nodded her head in the direction of the small table sat out on her front porch and, within a couple seconds, she felt as Daveed brushed past her, so close she swore she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

He done exactly as she requested and lay the bags gently to rest on the table, the muscles in his arms flexing. Y/N had to wonder if this was a purposeful action, a way to tempt and seduce her, as if he needed to try much to succeed at that. She'd more or less been whipped for him the second he delivered his first book to her.

“Are you looking after yourself?” Her parents had asked this every time they spoke on the phone - which was basically a daily occasion - but hearing it from Daveed felt refreshing, as though she'd never heard the words before; as though she'd never been spoken to with such tenderness. She let her eyes meet his face, a dangerous choice when she found a dazzling smile reflected back at her.

“I am.” Was it possible for a smile to be brighter than the sun? “Are you?”

“Yeah. Even started eating kale.” Daveed chuckled and she followed suit, because his laugh was infectious and she would willingly let it consume her. “It tastes like shit, don't get me wrong, but it's gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, totally, kale-boy.”

“Excuse me, I'd prefer if you called me by what I really am: a kale-man.”

The mask slid down the bridge of her nose as she smiled wider than the Cheshire cat. In her mind, she cursed her heart-eyes behavior but it did nothing to halt it, Daveed simply put her on edge in the best way.

“It was nice to finally hear your voice, it's cuter than I thought.” She wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her, if each word and every gesture of his was carefully calculated to make her weak in the knees. “I'll save you from my sweaty smell and head off now, I can hear the shower calling my name.”

The last thing, yet also the best thing, Y/N needed to be envisioning was a water soaked Daveed. “I didn't want to say anything but, yeah, you smell worse than Cooper's breath.”

“There's the attitude from all your notes!” Daveed had at some point stepped closer to her, to the point where it was likely a big enough inhalation of a breath would have their chests touching. He was so tall, and muscular. “I'll see you around, Y/N from door 27.”

For two minutes she stood there, mask slapped across her face and her breath caught in her throat, nothing but the raw memory of his body so close and, yet, so far away from her own. She made her way indoors, finally, in a zombiefied state. Cooper trailed happily behind her through the house and all the way into the kitchen and, like the good pup he was being raised to be, he helped put away a few of the groceries, by greedily grabbing at the packet of dog treats when something else in the bag caught Y/N's attention.

“Thank you for the bible, now may I rebut with a copy of the Torah? The characters might seem similar but I swear it's different. Friend? Was that you officially friendzoning me, Y/N? And to think I was willing to look past the fact you're a raptor.” She mumbled allowed without even noticing, her eyes drifting across the note in her hand. When Daveed had snuck this into her shopping, she didn't know. Perhaps he'd left it earlier on that day and simply scooped it into the bags after carrying them for her. That sure made more sense than her theory of him hiding the book down his running shorts. “P.S. My dog and I share a number, so I guess I'll just have to give you that one. Just tell Cooper no phone calls past ten o'clock, that's her bedtime.”

She'd never thought it would be so easy to achieve her hot neighbor's number, but the crumpled paper in her hand told her differently.

The room was dark. Or maybe her eyes were closed. Y/N honestly didn't know nor care enough to find out which was the truth. No, all she cared about was the feeling of her nerves being lit on fire and simultaneously soothed. As the moments passed, she became more and more aware of the predicament she found herself in. Her head was thrown back on the comfort of someone's pillow- it couldn't be one of her own, it was far too plush and soft -, both her legs were bent up at the knee, her hands were busy grasping on to anything and everything close by (the bed sheets, the headboard, the hair of whoever was currently positioned between her thighs) and her mouth was agape. Hushed moans and whimpers of ecstasy filled the thick air of the room, and they were all coming from her.

The tension was building in her gut, a knot winding itself tighter and tighter all the while threatening to snap at any moment. Her hips started grinding in time with the warm tongue against her heat. Or, maybe, she'd already been grinding before. Nothing was making sense. Up was down, left was right and Y/N was on the brink of the most thrilling orgasm she'd felt in a while, or ever, really.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

Her eyes- which apparently had in fact been opened all along-, with heavy eyelids, flickered down to between her legs. The man was certainly a specimen built to the likes of a Greek god, or something deriving from one. His fingers, buried deep within her, coaxed out another moan from her as they curled upwards. Daveed only smiled in satisfaction at this, as if he was getting more pleasure from it than she was.

Daveed.

Holy shit.

Daveed was between her bare legs.

Y/N bolted up and out of bed, hand reaching out and switching on the light. Just as she expected, there was no sign of Daveed in her room: not on her bed, not under her covers, not in her closet. But he was everywhere in her mind. Fully dressed, Y/N had never felt more naked in her entire life as she gazed out of her bedroom balcony door, over at the very window of the man who'd soaked her dream in a haze of steam. 

His light was on.

Worst of all, she found that Daveed was sat at his desk, typing away at something on his opened laptop. As though he felt her intrusive gaze, he looked up from the screen and met her eyes. Due to the distance between them both Y/N couldn't tell for sure but she could have sworn he sucked in his lower lip before releasing it in a teasing smile, his hand lazily waving at her.

With all the shame in the world, she shut her curtains and flopped back on to her bad.

In the span of five minutes she'd dreamed of Daveed doing unspeakable things to her with that mouth of his and been caught peeking into the bedroom of the very same man.

She hadn't phoned him.

She hadn't sent a book over to him.

She hadn't opened her blinds.

He'd been stuck thinking about her for eight days straight, yet it was beginning to feel like she'd been nothing but a creation of his own socially starved brain.

In the grand scheme of things, Daveed was not a narcissist. But he also wasn't an idiot. He was very aware of his own looks, of the lingering stares he'd receive from his students- male and female alike-, of the way soccer moms would shamelessly pay more attention to him than their own sons when he coached the local little league team. And, up until that point, he'd been sure Y/N had been reciprocating whatever feelings he'd amassed for her.

One thing Daveed was is decisive.

Mask pulled across the lower part of his face, he let himself into the gated front yard. In a couple seconds, Cooper had pounced up at him, tail wagging a million miles an hour and tongue lapping away at his face. He chuckled as he lowered the dog safely back onto all four paws.

It only took knocking on the door twice for him to get a “Hold on!” shouted from some part of the house as a response. Relief flooded him at the sound of Y/N's voice, reassuring him that everything was okay. But it only brought on more questions about her sudden lack of communication.

“Hell- Oh, Daveed.” A mask decorated her own face, meaning he was unaware  of the hint of a smile on her lips. All Daveed could see were her widened and tired eyes. “Can I help you?” He'd been stood staring her in silence for a little too long, it seemed.

"You never called.” He'd never sounded more pathetic in his life.

“You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Apart from appear in one of my wet dreams? “What?! No! I've just been busy and I also didn't want to burden you, if I'm honest.”

“I gave you my number so you'd call me, Y/N.”

“And here I thought it was so our two dogs could kick off their fairy-tale romance.”

“As their parents, don't you think it's our responsibility to get along?” Daveed wanted to ask what had kept her busy for eight days. He wanted to know what she thought about in the morning, in the evening. What she thought about him. About the prospect of there ever being a “them”. But it wasn't the time nor the place. “Promise you'll call.”

“I promise I'll call you, loser.” She laughed behind her mask, leaving him with a longing to see her smile. “Now get lost, I've probably just burnt my omelette because of you.”

Daveed had just closed his front door as he felt his phone begin to buzz in his pocket, an unknown number displayed across the screen.

“You owe me an omelette.” Were the first words he heard as he answered it.

Two months passed. The quarantine rules had loosened and tightened over and over again. The supermarkets had restocked their shelves many times. An entire season had come and gone. And Y/N and Daveed had spoken nearly every single day on the phone.

He'd come to learn a few key things: a health scare had kept her busy those eight days; she was allergic to bullshit and always called him out on his; she loved rose wine, or any wine really; she had the most beautiful mind.

She'd also come to learn some stuff about him: he was a university professor, specifying in classic literature; despite the muscles, he was one heck of a dork; he knew a little too much about the rap industry and was prone to throw himself into tangents about the subject; his voice was even more heavenly in the morning.

“Make yourself something to eat,” Daveed spoke down the line, a twinge of excited demand in his voice. “pour yourself a glass of wine and go up to your bedroom balcony.”

“Ooh, someone's feeling bossy tonight, huh?” Y/N laughed, switching the phone between hands as she pushed herself off of her couch, disturbing a sleeping Cooper. After a few strokes to his head, she began her journey to the kitchen, suppressing a laugh as the tired dog chose to follow her, much like he done all the time. “Am I allowed to ask why I'm doing this?”

“Just do it, before I hang up.”

“I'll add grumpy to list of Daveed Moods tonight.”

With a bowl of heated up leftover pasta, a bottle of red wine and a glass balanced in her hands, and her phone glued between her ear and her shoulder, Y/N found her way up stairs to her bedroom. She was incapable of turning on the lights until she'd put down the items in her hand. It was then, as the lights lit up her room in a warm, golden hue, that she noticed Daveed.

No, not in her room. That would have been completely creepy, and partially arousing.

He was sat out on his own balcony, room lit up behind him, with a dish of unknown food, some wine and a candle lit in front of him. He was dressed casually, yet Y/N still found herself on the cusp of drooling at the sight of him. And when he finally noticed her, Daveed waved with the most shit eating grin on his face.

“Cute onesie. What is it, a bunny?” His tone was friendly, as always, but that never stopped her from groaning in frustration at his teasing.

“Did you call me up here just to criticize my choice of clothing, Diggs? Because I was taking part in an intense Criminal Minds marathon before someone interrupted me.”

“I actually called you to invite you to enjoy the evening with me.” It was a curse and a blessing to be so foul minded, Y/N's instantly flooding her with different meanings to his words. “The sky looked pretty tonight and I need someone to appreciate it with me. Unfortunately, you're the only one who answered my call.”

“I won't hesitate to hang up.”

“Stop talking and sit down, your dinner'll get cold.”

Who knows how much time really passed as the two sat staring out at the other, bellies filled by food and wine, hearts filled with desire and longing. There was a great distance between the two balconies but Y/N couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so close to someone, even before social distancing had become the norm.

“It's crazy, I know. How can we be prepared to teach classes now that the infection rates are higher than back at the start of the year, where we all shut down?” Daveed had brought up the fact he was going back to work soon, a topic which made him a perfect blend of relieved, infuriated and confused. “I give it one semester till they make us go back to online teaching, honestly. What about you? Any signs of getting back to your office?”

“We just got the go ahead last week, we're opening back up in a fortnight.” Her reply was paused by a sip of wine, her second glass of the night. “I say we but I really mean them. My doctor told me I'm not allowed to go back yet, apparently I've got some tests left to do.”

The silence that ensued lasted quite a few minutes, then Daveed sighed down the line.

“Is it alright for me to ask why?” He seemed to regret his words instantly, at least from the limited expressions Y/N could read on his face. “I mean, the doctor thing. Are you sick or...?”

“Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't ask sooner.” In their months of getting to know each other, there were times she couldn't even open the door to him when he'd deliver some of her mail or drop off a bunch of flowers he'd stolen from a neighboring garden. It was always under the excuse of doctor's orders and he never questioned or doubted her, he just accepted her for everything she said and gave of herself. “I was in a car accident a couple years ago. It wasn't fatal for anyone, thankfully, but it was pretty bad. One of my lungs ended up collapsing.

I pretty much lived in and out of the hospital for months, which almost sucked more than having a lung that was pretty much giving up on me. I don't know if you've ever spent a lot of time in hospital but it's like attending your own funeral. Everyone that visits you has this look of grief, everything they say is apologetic and there are so many tears. Not to mention the fact the place smells like a crime scene with how much bleach cleaning they do. Anyways, I'm okay now but I guess they consider me high risk or something so they're taking extra steps to make sure I'm as safe and as far away from that virus as possible.”

“So, correct me if I'm wrong, but does that mean I won't be able to take you out anytime soon?” Daveed spoke up finally, and boy was she glad that he didn't want to stick on the topic of her hospital stay. It was a dark and sad time, and she didn't want to experience any of that with him.

“Nope, not until I get permission from my doctor.”

“Can't believe I'm getting cock-blocked by some fucking virus.”

A laugh, so loud that Daveed heard it without his phone pressed to his ear, erupted from Y/N. “You'll just have to settle for balcony dates for now.”

“This isn't a date, Y/N.” It was his turn to laugh.

“Oh, sorry.” Clearly, she was worse at reading signs than she'd thought. She'd never felt more foolish in her life.

“When I eventually do take you on a date, there won't be so much space between us.” His words honestly had the chance to make or break her in that moment, her entire soul depended on whatever he said next. “It'll be a night where I take you to the most ridiculously expensive restaurant. We won't really like the food on the menu but we'll stay as part of a principle. You'll be reluctant to let me blow all my money on the bill but I'll get my way eventually. We'll find some excuse or reason to stay out. Maybe we'll find some piano bar, do some dancing, share some drinks. I don't think I'll be able to stop thinking about how beautiful you look. We'll still be hungry because dinner was shit, so we'll get some fast food before you let me drive us home. I'll probably hold your hand while I drive. I'll walk you to your front door and, even if I really wish you'd invite me in, I'll be relieved when you don't. I'll try tell you how much I enjoyed our night but I'll probably fumble my words. You'll finally send me on my way but I'll find a way to steal a kiss from you. I'll probably think about your lips until the next date I take you on.”

“The english major really jumped out of you.” Y/N wished she didn't lack the self control to say something normal when a man spoke to her like Daveed did. “But, uh, that sounds really nice. Honestly. Except the bill part. We'll be splitting it or I won't be coming on that date.”

“You're so high maintenance, Y/N from door 27, but I guess that could work.” The eye-roll was audible in his tone. “Speaking of english major, I actually have a book for you to read.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I'll drop it round in the morning.”

“I'll be at the doctors in the morning, sorry.” The wine had rushed to her cheeks, heating them up and making the chill in the air all the more relaxing, lulling her into a half asleep faze.

“Don't worry, I'll leave you a note.”

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

Glad It’s You (Shawn Mendes Soulmate!au)

A/N: We got all kinds of classic tropes and au’s in here. Coffee shop, friends to lovers, soulmate. Also, let’s appreciate the fact that it’s actually of decent length this time :) My longest fic yet! 

Also, I’m aware that the timeline of some events that correspond to real life aren’t perfect but for the sake of my sanity please go with it 

Summary: Shawn lives in a world in which he believes he doesn’t have a soulmate until he starts feeling the emotions of someone else. You live in a world where undiagnosed social anxiety prevents you from finding yours. After not seeing each other for three years, the bond you once had is no longer as strong. How does Shawn tell you that he thinks you’re his soulmate when you’re still scared to talk to him like you once did? 

Word count: 8.9k+

Warnings: Reader is heavily implied to have social anxiety, swearing, descriptions of an anxiety attack  

*Disclaimer: The depiction of social anxiety is based off of my own experience and research and may or may not accurately reflect the experience of other people with SAD* 

It was hard to tell if soulmates made life infinitely better or perpetually more difficult.

The discrepancy probably stemmed from the fact that not everyone had the same soulmate indicator. Some had the tattoos of the occupation of their soulmate. Some couldn’t see color until they met theirs. Others could feel the emotions of the other person. There was an endless array of indications. Oftentimes, soulmates had different indicators. It wasn’t rare for someone to have a tattooed name while their soulmate could feel the other’s emotions. 

Since the day you were born, the initials S.M. were tattooed on the inside of your wrist. As a child it was a game. You asked every person you met what their name was, your mind consumed with the idea of eternal love that had been ingrained from a young age. There was always a moment of disappointment when they would tell you “Sammy Jones” or “Eric Miller”. With all the adults romanticizing the idea of soulmates, it was hard not to look for yours in every place you could. 

For a long time, Shawn thought he didn’t have a soulmate. There were no indicators while he was growing up to show that he could have one. He could see color and there were no special tattoos marking his body. It was a source of shame when his friends would ask, “What about you?” after telling him about theirs. Watching his friends talking about their indicators and finding their soulmates was frustrating. He was a normal kid. What did he do to deserve a life of loneliness that only a soulmate could fill? 

Even when his career as a singer launched and he started to understand why it was possible that he might never find love, it was hard to comprehend that he was destined for no one. Was he really that undeserving of love?

He was twenty when he started feeling someone else’s emotions. 

It came out of nowhere. He was celebrating the release of his third album and he couldn’t have been happier. He was on cloud nine, meeting everyone at the party with an enthusiastic smile and hug. He felt complete, even. He had stopped dwelling on his lack of soulmate and instead focused on putting everything he had into his songwriting. 

It was the best choice he’d ever made. His music blossomed and his mental health was better than ever. All the anxiety of being alone and hoping that something, anything, would pop up to show him that he was meant for someone had started to fade to the background. Maybe he would never truly be over the fact that there was no perfect match for him but he could try to block it out of his mind. 

There was a point in his life when he thought that maybe he did have a soulmate. That the system was screwed up and he did have a person. He was 16 and his career was already taking off but he couldn’t help but think that he was falling in love with you, his best friend, while he also fell in love with making music. 

You were by his side through it all: random nights when he’d ask you to come over to help him come up with lyrics, days when it started to get a little too much, evenings when he just needed a quick break. You were the best of friends and there was a bond you thought would never be broken.

One day, he realized that he didn’t need some tattoo or the ability to read your thoughts; you were meant for each other. Neither of you could deny the pull you felt when you were together and random people who didn’t know better often mistook you for a couple. 

But he realized too late. He went on his first world tour and wasn’t sure how to tell you his feelings when he was constantly so far away. You liked plans and stability; his life didn’t offer that in any capacity. 

And then it was too hard to stay connected. He was touring and you were still trying to finish school. There just wasn’t time for you to talk to him at 3:30 in the morning. So you lost touch. There was a text every once and awhile. An empty promise of “we need to meet up” or “wanna talk?”

You both decided in your minds that it wasn’t meant to be. That you had a different soulmate and he had none. It’s been three years now since you were together to have a real conversation. You were beginning to grow frustrated with the search for your soulmate and Shawn had given up all together. 

That was, until he felt a surge of anxiety hit him like a truck in the middle of his party. It lasted no more than three seconds but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling after it passed. He had no idea where it came from. One second he felt on top of the world, the next like he couldn’t stoop lower. 

~

It had only been an hour and a half but you were ready to leave the party. It had been an eventful night by your standards. You had talked to two people besides your roommate, which was two more than usual. Your roommate, Alana had been by your side the whole night, a promise she had to make before you agreed to come, but she eventually had to go to the bathroom, leaving you leaning against a wall by yourself. She had only been gone for three minutes, you could feel all the anxiety creeping up on you. 

Do they think I look lonely? My friend will be back in a minute, I swear!

If I look at my phone they might think I’m just chilling.

They probably think I’m that weirdo that stands against the wall the whole time and doesn’t talk to people. 

Calm down. Nobody cares what you’re doing. They’re all doing their own thing. 

. . . They looked at me funny. They think I’m weird. 

Oh can we just go home? 

As much as you tried to tell yourself that no one cared that you were standing against the wall by yourself, there was that part of you that convinced you that they cared a lot. You were already exhausted purely from being around all the people and loud music. Alana had been gone for three minutes and in those three minutes you had begun to shake and sweat just the slightest bit. You knew that nobody was judging you, it was irrational, but in the back of your mind told you otherwise. 

~

Shawn excused himself from the room, taking a minute to gather his thoughts. While it wasn’t completely abnormal for random bouts of anxiety to hit him, this one felt different. Foreign, as though it wasn’t his own emotions, rather, someone else’s. 

He wiped his hands on his pants, confused as to why they were so sweaty all of a sudden. It wasn’t particularly hot yet he felt warm. Maybe he was worrying too much. It was probably nothing. He ran a hand through his hair before going back to the party, putting a smile on his face and the past ten minutes behind him. 

“Hey man, you alright?” Brian asked as he approached him. 

‘Yeah, just needed to go to the bathroom.” 

“You sure? You look a little shaken.” He wasn’t blind to how Shawn’s eyes were darting around and how he appeared a little more closed off than usual. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned his head when someone else called his name and nodded to Brian before heading over to them. He spent the rest of the night doing his best to look excited, but those three seconds plagued his mind the whole time.

~ 

While Shawn struggled to keep his hopes of a soulmate under wraps, you were more desperate than ever to find yours. It seemed like all of your friends were finding theirs and you were perpetually alone.  

With the way you tended to shy away from meeting new people, most people assumed you didn’t want to find your soulmate. That you would rather live a life alone, or that maybe you were never assigned a soulmate to begin with.

You had met a few potential soulmates after losing touch with Shawn. Every time you heard an S.M. name your heart stopped. Maybe you had finally found them. You pushed past the fear of approaching them, rationalizing it with the thought that this could be your only chance to find them. It never worked though. They all had an indicator pointing towards someone else, leaving you upset and embarrassed.  

There was always a small part of you that thought Shawn could be your soulmate, even if he didn’t have any indication of one. You were sure he thought the same way but you lost touch before either of you could really say anything about it. 

You thought about asking him to meet up when he was in town a few times but something stopped you every time. The thought of what if he doesn’t remember me? or worse, what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? was enough to keep you from sending the text. 

It was easy to ignore your loneliness when you could bury yourself in schoolwork, which you had a tendency of doing. It was the easiest excuse to get out of everything. Don’t want to go to a party? Oh, I have to finish editing my essay. Alana tried to set you up on a blind date? I have tests coming up I need to study for. 

Alana was determined to help you find your soulmate, even if you didn’t want to cooperate. 

“Come on, Y/N. Maybe they’ll be at this party! I promise there won’t be a ton of people there and I know you finished that essay last night cause you told me about it and said that you were looking forward to a work free night,” she said, closing your laptop so you couldn’t “work” on your already finished essay. 

“But I want to go over it a few more times to make sure everything is right,” you replied. “Besides, we went to a party last month.” 

“Exactly, last month. Let’s go.”  

“I don’t want to go.” 

“You’re never going to meet your soulmate just sitting at your desk and pretending to work on an essay.” 

“It’s not entirely impossible.” 

“Y/N.” 

So that’s how you ended up at the party, looking around for a potential soulmate. You insisted that they wouldn’t be there; they never were, but Alana insisted that a night out would be good for you, no matter the soulmate circumstance, and dragged you along. 

Truth be told, it was a good thing she forced you to attend. If you had it your way, you would spend most nights in your room, ignoring the rest of the world and sitting on your phone. You were fine hanging with close friends every once and awhile, but a night in was always more appealing. 

According to Alana, however, that wasn’t normal, and you needed to go out in the world and talk to people, unless you wanted to be alone forever. 

You would say, “But I do want to be alone forever. If you haven’t noticed, I don��t even like going to the bank, much less a party filled with people I don’t know.” 

And she would say, “Please, I know that you want to find your soulmate and the only reason you don’t like going to the bank is because it makes you nervous and you’re worried that the people working there are going to be mad at you for no reason.” 

So you would say, “I’ve probably met all the potential soulmates already. What’s the chance that some random person is going to show up to the party and just happen to be that person?” 

And she would tell you, “People randomly meet their soulmates all the time. Yours isn’t going to walk through this door without knowing you first. If you don’t at least leave this dorm you’ll never meet them. Think of how lonely they must feel, waiting for you to come out of hiding.”  

And, as much as you wished you could, you couldn’t really argue with that. The real problem after that was talking to people. You argued that you’re already there, so there’s no reason that if your soulmate was at the party, they couldn’t come find you. Alana tried to get you to socialize by walking around with you and introducing you to new people, but they were usually more interested in talking with her than you. 

That’s how you ended up against the wall, allowing yourself to overthink while Alana went to the bathroom.

~

Shawn continued to experience those random emotions throughout the tour. Random flashes of feelings that weren’t quite his. He would be lounging around when he would suddenly feel excited and energetic, only for it to pass by within a few seconds. One time, he was feeling particularly miserable when a surge of adrenaline and anger came through him. 

He had no idea where the feelings were coming from. He was starting to think that they were somehow connected to his soulmate. 

A glimmer of hope after years of desperation and disappointment. 

Part of him wanted to dismiss it, thinking that no, I can’t have a soulmate. I’ve worked way too hard to get past this to dwell on it again. The other part wanted to take the idea and run with it. 

He tried to argue with himself that it couldn’t be soulmate related.

It’s not like it happening all the time or constantly in the back of my mind.

How would this help me find them anyways? 

It’s all in my head. 

Still, it did little to block the thought that maybe, just maybe, it was related. 

~ 

It was a quiet day at the coffee shop. Granted, most days were fairly quiet, as the shop was located in a secluded area, but still. You assumed it was mainly attributed to the fact that exams were coming up and people didn’t have time to drive down to the shop when there was a Starbucks much closer to the dorms. You were in the same predicament, having your books splayed out on the counter to study in between customers. 

You and Shawn used to come to the coffee shop every Friday after school. Even after Shawn left to go on tour and live life as a rockstar, you made sure to visit the shop at least once a month. Afterall, you were friends with the owner, Eileen, and you would hate to just stop coming and never see her again. 

You eventually landed a job there. It was a little bit of a drive from the dorms but you knew that when Eileen offered you the job, you wouldn’t be able to find one with as good pay and flexible hours anywhere closer. Sometimes being friends with the owner for a long time has its perks.

There was a collage of photos on the wall behind the register that made the place really feel like home. There were tons of random photos ranging from when the shop first opened to when Eileen took a picture of a slice of cake she insisted had a face in it. 

You appeared on the wall a few times, but your favorite picture was the one of you and Shawn right before he left for tour the first time. You were both laughing in the picture, Shawn’s arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. It was the last time you went to the shop together and you remembered just how fun of a time it was. It always left an ache in your heart when you looked at it, remembering all the good times you had together. 

You didn’t have many other close friends, so once Shawn left for tour you felt a lot lonelier. Your mom tried to get you to make new friends, but it wasn’t as easy for you as she insisted it was. 

“Why can’t you talk to the people across the road? They have  a girl your age.” 

“But she already has a friend group. We’ve lived across the street from each other for years. It would be weird if I suddenly introduced myself and tried to break into her friend group.” 

“You’re never going to make friends if you don’t talk to people.” 

“I have friends.” 

“But don’t you want to hang out with more than two people?” 

“No, I have my friends. That’s all I need.” 

More often than not, you did wish you had more than two friends, or that Shawn would come back and eliminate the need to make new ones, but wishing did nothing to help your loneliness.  You made a few more friends once you went to college, and you were completely okay with your small group, but it never satisfied the longing to see Shawn again. 

~

“What are we doing here?” Brian asked as Shawn pulled into the parking lot of a worn down but homely looking building. “And what is this place?” 

“It’s a coffee shop I used to come to every week. I haven’t seen Eileen in years,” Shawn said with a wistful look as he parked the car. 

“Eileen?” 

“The owner.” 

Brian huffed, realizing that they would be stuck there for a while if Shawn knew the owner. He liked to talk to people. And when he talked, he talked and talked and talked.

“Relax, I’ll buy you a coffee.” 

They both got out of the car and walked into the shop, Shawn smiling when he heard the bell above the door ring. He looked around for a second, noting how almost nothing changed since he’d last been there a few years ago. The chairs and tables were still in the same places, same coffee smell, even that stuffed cat that Shawn gave Eileen as a joke was still sitting on the windowsill. 

The only big change he noticed was the photo wall. There were a lot more photos than he remembered. He wondered if he would still be able to find that picture of you and him. 

He looked to the counter and saw a girl with Y/H/C hair, her head buried in the textbooks that were scattered across the counter. 

“Dude, we getting coffee or what?” Brian said with a teasing smile, walking closer to the counter to read the menu posted on the wall behind it.

You were so invested in studying that you didn’t even hear the bell ring when they came in, only looking up when you saw someone approaching the counter out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, hi, sorry ‘bout that. How can I help you?” you said as you looked up, met with the face of an oddly familiar young man. 

“Can I get a-”

“Y/N?” Shawn questioned from behind him, confusion painting his face. He hadn’t seen you in three years but you didn’t look all that different. A little more mature, sure, but he could tell it was still obviously you. 

You furrowed your eyebrows at the familiar voice, glancing behind Brian to see Shawn. Your eyes widened at his appearance, no longer a boy but now a man. “Shawn?” 

“Hey, Y/N, can you empty the garbage and put it out back?” Eileen asked as she walked out of the small kitchen area that was closed off from the rest of the store. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Shawn, a smile taking over her face as she took in how he’d grown up over the years. “Shawn Mendes, is that you?” 

“Indeed, it is,” he said with a shy smile. “How are you Eileen?”  

“Pretty good if I do say so myself. How are you? How’s the rockstar life treating you?” 

“It’s pretty great.” 

Meanwhile, you were still staring at your former best friend, mouth slightly agape as you took him in.   

“Well why don’t we get you two some coffees? On the house of course. Y/N, stop staring at the poor boy. It’s not like you’ve never met him before.”  

You looked at the ground for a second and blushed, smiling at the sound of Shawn’s giggle. 

“Alright, what can I get you guys?” 

They gave you their orders and you got to work, denying the ten dollar bill Shawn offered you to pay for them. 

“On the house, remember? Or are you Mr. rich guy now?” you asked with a slight surge of confidence. You hadn’t seen him in years, but the urge to tease him every chance you got was still there.

“Ooh, okay. You think I’ve changed that much?” 

“A little bit. It’s been a while.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I am the exact same person as I was three years ago.” 

“I’m not too sure about that, but okay.” 

Shawn rolled his eyes and put the bill in the tip jar. “Alright, coffee girl. I would like my coffee in two minutes flat. No more no less. Brian is on a very tight schedule so we have to get him home in time for his nap.” 

So Brian was his name. “Your wish is my command, good sir,” you said, bowing at him before turning around to start the drinks. You could hear Shawn giggle behind you, sending an eruption of butterflies to your stomach. 

Shawn felt a slight nervous tinge as well. One that wasn’t quite his. He felt completely natural around you but maybe his soulmate was somewhere else feeling nervous about a presentation or something.  

You gave the boys their coffee, sticking your tongue out at Shawn when he commented on how it took three and a half minutes instead of two and demanded his money back. You returned to the counter, trying your best to focus on studying. You kept getting distracted by Shawn’s voice, which carried across the shop, as he talked to Eileen. He was sitting in the same two person table against the wall that you used to sit in during your weekly visits.  

“You need to go talk to him.” You jumped slightly when you noticed Eileen next to you. 

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you replied tentatively, flipping the page of your book in hopes that it would make it look like you were actually studying. The burst of confidence was gone and you came to the reality that you were both no longer the same person you used to be, therefore, you couldn’t keep that same dynamic. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“I dunno. Just a feeling.” 

“Go talk to him. I know you want to.” She gave you a knowing look and you sighed. “I’ll take over for you for a bit. Go talk to your best friend.” 

“But he’s with Brian and I don’t really know Brian and what if they don’t want to talk to me they just wanted to hang out and-” 

“Y/N.” 

Suddenly, the butterflies grew, and it became more of bird wings than butterflies. You took a deep breath and made you way over there, praying that it would be over quickly and you could go back to studying by yourself. 

You quietly pulled up a chair and sat in it, waiting for Shawn to finish whatever story he was telling Brian.  

“Y/N, just in time,” he said with enthusiasm. “I was just telling Brian the story about Willy the window cat.” 

“Ahh, a classic.” Shawn could sense your unease and quickly introduced you to Brian. He was well aware of your lack of people skills and how uncomfortable you got around new people.  

You spent the better part of the rest of the hour catching up with each other, Shawn doing a lot more talking than you, which you were completely fine with. You tried your best to not show how nervous you felt. 

Even as you tried your best to hide it, Shawn was picking up on the nervous habits. Your lifestyles might’ve changed but you were still the shy girl who subconsciously picked at the inside of her elbow and bounced her foot excessively when nervous. It didn’t matter if you hadn’t seen each other in years, he still knew you like the back of his hand. 

There were days, back when you were really friends, where he would reach over and grab your hand so you would stop picking, or place his hand on your knee to stop the bouncing. He chose to ignore it now, realizing that you had grown apart, and now wasn’t the time to jump back in so intimately. You were always self conscious about the habits and he didn’t want to make you more nervous by pointing them out. 

Even though he was more focused on you throughout the conversation, he noticed how Brian was seemingly getting more and more bored hearing him talk. As much as he wanted to stay and talk to you, he knew he should probably get going. This was supposed to be a quick pit stop to drop in and say hello, not an hour long catch up with the girl he used to be sure was his. 

“We should get going. I think Brian is going to walk home if I stay here much longer.” Brian’s head perked up at the mention of his name and Shawn chuckled. 

“Meet you at the car. Nice meeting you, Y/N.” He was up and out the door in a matter of seconds, causing Shawn to chuckle again.  

It didn’t sit all that well with you though. 

Oh no, he doesn’t like me. 

He thinks I’m some weirdo who doesn’t talk. 

I barely know the guy and he already hates me. 

“We should meet up, just the two of us, sometime. I’m on a break from tour if you’re free anytime soon,” Shawn said, breaking you out of your thoughts. “And don’t worry about Brian. I think he’s just tired.” 

It did little to ease your fears but you smiled like it did anyways. Were you that easy to read? “Uhh, yeah. I have exams next week but we can meet after that.”

“Alright, how does the eighteenth sound?” 

“That works.” You stood up and put your chair back at the table it came from, turning around to find Shawn closer than you expected him to be.  

“Awesome. Text me your address so I can pick you up and take you somewhere.” 

“Okay.” He threw you his signature smile and it made you melt a little. 

“It was great seeing you, Y/N. Tell Eileen I said bye.” 

“Good seeing you too and you got it.” 

He pulled you into a quick side hug and left. 

As much as you tried, you couldn’t study for the rest of your shift. Only three more customers came in within the two hours you had left, so you spent a decent amount of time staring at the wall and stressing about meeting up with Shawn. Two weeks gave you plenty of time to stress about it, which led to thinking of ways to get out of it. 

~

Maybe if I don’t text him the address, he’ll forget, you thought as you stared at your phone the next day, messages open to Shawn’s name, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. It could work. That was enough to convince you to turn off your phone and worry about it later. You went back to working on the presentation you were working on, only pausing when you felt the buzz buzz of your phone telling you that you got a text. 

From Shawn: Hey, what’s your address? What time do you want me to pick you up? 

You panicked slightly, upset that your plan had already fallen apart. You decided to ignore it for the time being. You would worry about it later.  

“Hey, Y/N, can I borrow your phone for a second? Mine’s dead,” Alana asked as she came into the dorm. 

“Sure,” you said as you handed her the phone, not bothering to look away from your computer. 

“Who’s Shawn and why is he asking where you live?” 

Your eyes widened as you realized you forgot to clear the message. “He’s just an old friend. We’re uhh meeting up since we haven’t seen each other in a while.” 

“Well are you going to text him back or do I have to do it?” 

“I will, later.” 

“You’re actually going to do it?” she asked with a curious smile. “And you’re actually going to meet up with him?” 

“Yeah . . .”  

“I’m holding you to this.” 

“What, why? I’m capable of handling my own social life.” 

“Sure you are. You’re not getting out of this though. I know that look.” 

You sighed and glared at her. She knew you too well. “Do you actually need my phone?” 

“Yes, I need to call my mom.” She sent you a sweet smile and you shook your head. “Thank you.” 

You texted Shawn at 9:12 that night, six hours after he sent the original message. 9:12 specifically so it looked like you just saw it and responded as soon as you did, not like you ignored it and were planning to send it at  a specific time, like 9:15. 

He responded thirty seconds later with a thumbs up. 

~

The day of the meetup was stressful. You had already been in your head about it for the past two weeks, but you really started worrying when you realized you had no idea what was going to happen. 

Shawn refused to tell you where you were going, only telling you to dress comfortably and that you would only be gone for a few hours. Being a person who liked schedules and knowing exactly what was going on, this didn’t make you too happy. It sounded a lot like a date, which only made you more stressed. 

“Do you think this will be okay?” you asked Alana. You were wearing jean shorts and a semi-cute top. Not too fancy but not too casual. 

“Is this a date or friend meetup?” 

“Friend meetup.” 

“You look great.” She could sense the hesitation as you looked in the mirror, deciding if you agreed with her or not. “You’re gonna be fine. From what I’ve heard, you were best friends for a long time. You’ll be back to that in no time.”  

“I don’t know. It’s been so long and-” You were interrupted by a text from Shawn telling you he was there if you were ready. 

“Go have fun. Take a deep breath and stop worrying about it, alright?” 

“Okay.” You gave her a smile before putting your phone in your back pocket and leaving. You could see Shawn leaning against his car and looking at his phone once you left the building.  

Shawn had been quite excited to hang out with you again. There wasn’t any part of him that was nervous until he went to get drinks for the two of you that morning. It had been slowly building up all day, but it felt more like his soulmate’s than his own. 

“Hey, you,” he said with a smile. “Ready to go?” 

“You bet,” you smiled back at him, walking to the other side of the car to get in. 

“I got you a frappuccino.” He gestured to the cup holder. “I don’t know if what you like has changed but it’s what you used to get so I hope it’s okay.”  

“My taste hasn’t changed a bit,” you chuckled. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.” 

“Of course. What better way to rekindle our friendship than by reliving the old times?” 

“True, true.” You discretely wiped your palms on your shorts, unsure if it was from nerves or the heat. “Want to tell me where you’re going?” 

“Nope. It’s a surprise.” His eyes had a mischievous glint to them. He knew how much it was bothering you.  

“This feels like a first date,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. You knew that Shawn was like this by default, but you couldn’t help but feel a little extra awkward anyways. 

“Not my intention,” he chuckled. “I just wanted to be nice.” 

“I know, I’m just awkward.” 

Shawn laughed and shook his head.  

You didn’t drive for much longer, arriving at a small park no more than fifteen minutes after you started. 

“I figured we could walk and catch up, if you’re good with that.” 

“That’s good. Why didn’t you just tell me we were going to the park though?”        

“Wanted you to get worked up about it.” 

You gasped. “That’s mean.”  

“Gotta balance the niceness out somehow.”  

You spent two hours walking around and catching up. You felt yourself ease up as you talked. He was still your Shawn and he barely changed from the last time you talked. The evening ended with a hug and promise to hang out again soon. 

“See,” Alana told you when you told her how well it went. “Sometimes you need to just give yourself the push.” 

The more and more time you spent together, the more and more Shawn became sure that you were the mystery soulmate whose emotions he had been feeling. 

He would feel a twinge of extra excitement before you hung out or right before you texted him I got an A on that essay!!!!!

He was never completely sure though and never told you about it. He wanted to test the theory but wasn’t sure how he could do it without you knowing. 

Meanwhile, your search for your soulmate slowed. You came to terms that they would come when the time was right and that you needed to enjoy life as it was. Your best friend was on a break from his hectic life for the first time in a long time and you wanted to spend all the time you could with him. You felt a little less anxious when you were around him, which could also be attributed to the lack of school work due to summer break, but you liked to believe he was helping. 

The great thing about Shawn was that he knew not to push too hard. Alana didn’t always know when to stop pushing you towards doing things out of your comfort zone. You’ll admit, it was sometimes good for you. Other times, it caused way more anxiety than necessary  and you would be out of it for the rest of the day. Shawn, on the other hand, could tell when something really could be too much and would stop. 

There was only one time when he knew he was pushing too hard but continued anyways. 

“You wanna be my date to the Grammys?” You had discussed his nomination earlier that day, but he never mentioned bringing someone with him before. 

“Date?” You had a playful smirk on your face and Shawn just rolled his eyes and nudged your shoulder. 

“Do you wanna be my extra person who’s my best friend, not date, cause I don’t have a date, date? 

“As amazing as that sounds, I don’t think so. Way too many people.” You hoped he would just drop the subject. 

“Come on, it would be fun. Besides, how often do you get an invitation to the Grammys?

“Never . . . because I don’t want to go.” 

“Please, Y/N. I don’t have anyone else to take and we would have such a good time.” 

“Take Aaliyah.” 

“She probably has stuff going on.” 

You have tons of other friends. Take one of them.” 

“Yeah but you’re my best friend and I want to take you.”

“Shawn I really don’t think I should. There’s gonna be a ton of people there and I don’t have the money to buy a fancy dress-”

“I’ll buy you a dress and stay with you the entire night.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. Besides-” 

“Please, Y/N. I will beg you every day until you say yes. Just this one time, then I promise I will never ever make you go to a party or awards show of any kind.” 

“Fine,” you sighed. You knew that it was a bad idea but you also knew that Shawn would hold true to the begging. 

“Thank youuu.” He reached over and pulled you into a hug 

“You owe me.” 

~ 

The week before the Grammys was more anxiety inducing than anything in your entire life.  

You got your dress a month ago but was starting to have second thoughts on it. Was it fancy enough? You had scrolled through endless pictures of past Grammy looks and everything looked so much more elaborate than your midnight blue dress. Tiffany had picked out the dress for you, noting how you wanted something elegant but nothing that would make you stick out. 

You had to admit, you loved the dress. It fit you perfectly. You were yet to show Shawn but you knew he would love it. There was just one part of you that thought that everyone would think it was too simple and know that you had no business being there. 

Shawn was doing his best to help you through the anxiety. 

“Think of the best possible situation,” he told you. 

“Nobody notices me and I stay completely under the radar or they note that I’m your friend who’s been seen with you before and leave me alone.”

“Now tell me the worst possible situation.” 

“I do something embarrassing and stick out so that everyone notices and realizes that I’m obviously not supposed to be there.” 

“See how the worst case scenario is so much more unlikely to happen?” 

“Shawn, I know it’s irrational but I can’t help it. No matter what, I’m going to have a worst case scenario.” 

“I know you are. Y/N, I do too. But think for a second,” he said. “Everyone else is too caught up in their own affairs to give a flying shit about what you’re doing. Unless you walk the red carpet with me, they probably won’t even notice you.” 

You knew Shawn was right. You knew the worst case scenario was irrational, you just couldn’t help but dwell on it; you were so scared of embarrassing yourself. You were once again planning excuses for not being able to go. I’m really sick and throwing up everywhere or There’s a family emergency. I can’t go. 

But even as you worried more and more, you knew how much you needed to do it for Shawn. He had done so much for you. You could do this one thing. 

~

“You ready?” Shawn asked with a huge grin. He had been getting more and more excited by the day. The happiness blocked the intensely anxious feelings of his soulmate to the slightest. At this point, he was almost positive you were his soulmate. Of course, anyone could be this anxious for a long period of time and it just coincidental to yours. He wanted more time to think about it though and if it was true, to tell you at a time when you were in a better mental state. 

“Not really, but I don’t think I have a choice,” you said through the door. You had to admit, you felt absolutely beautiful. Your thoughts of sticking out because of your dress were fading with every look in the mirror.  

“I’m sure you look absolutely fantastic.” 

“That’s not the problem but thank you.” You both giggled at that and you wished you could get over yourself and go out there. 

“You know I’ll be with you the whole night, right?” His tone changed to a more serious one, and it was comforting to know he cared so much. 

“I know, but still.” 

“Can I see you now? This is easier when I can see your face.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, opening the door slightly before taking a deep breath and stepping out. You grasped your hands behind your back and smiled shyly as Shawn stared at you in awe. 

“Wow,” he whispered. “You look absolutely stunning.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you looked down to your feet. 

“Come here.” He pulled you into a hug, his head resting on your head as yours was on his chest. “You’re going to be amazing tonight, okay? So stop worrying so much and enjoy it as it comes.” 

“I’m trying.” 

“I know you are, I just wanted to remind you.” He squeezed you tighter for a second and drew back, smiling widely before completely letting go. 

You both said nothing as you got into the car to go to the show, allowing yourselves to try to relax before the long night ahead of you. 

“Good luck,” you grinned as he prepared to get out of the car for the red carpet. 

“Thanks, see you soon.” He took your hand and squeezed it, causing the butterflies in your stomach to explode. He stepped out of the car and winked at you, laughing at the finger guns you sent him before he closed the door. 

You both agreed that it was best for you not to walk the red carpet. You didn’t want to be bombarded with questions asking if you were in a relationship and Shawn didn’t want to have to deal with the drama it would cause afterwards. You decided to meet inside, which led to you awkwardly standing around and waiting for him to come in. 

After what felt like a lifetime and a half of avoiding eye contact and trying to look like you belonged, Shawn appeared at your side. 

“How’d it go?” 

“Good. Took some really hot pictures I think people will enjoy.”

“How is that possible? You can’t take hot pictures.” 

“As if I haven’t caught you ogling over pictures of me before.” 

“As if,” you scoffed and Shawn let out a loud laugh, which made you laugh as well. 

“Alright, sassy pants, let’s find our seats.” 

The show went well and you eventually realized that you got worked up more than you needed to. You didn’t have to interact with many people and you were able to sit in a seat and enjoy the show more than you thought you could. 

What you should have been worried about though, was the afterparty. 

Shawn said you didn’t have to go but you could see how much he wanted to. You also knew that if you told him you were going to go home but he should go to the party, he would opt to go with you. So, against your better judgement of what you were up for that night, you decided to go under the condition that Shawn would stay with you the whole time. 

It was a little too loud and crowded for your liking but you did your best to hide the discomfort. The faster you got out, the better, but you were going to try to enjoy the party the best you could. 

Unbeknownst to you, Shawn could definitely sense your discomfort. Something inside himself was telling him he should take you home, but everytime he suggested you leave, you insisted that you wanted him to have fun and that you would stay until he wanted to go. You knew he came with intentions of talking to other people and refused to leave until he did so. 

“But I’ll have fun with you.” 

“Shawn Mendes, if you do not socialize tonight, you will spend the rest of your life regretting it so I suggest you start mingling.” 

“I feel like that’s an overstatement, but fine.” He started walking away but turned around when he noticed you weren’t following. “Come on, wallflower, I’m not allowed to leave you by yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes but pushed yourself off the wall and made your way towards him anyways. 

He made his way around, talking to friends and a few people he didn’t know, making sure you were close at all times. You were quiet the whole time, only speaking when asked a question. Like with Alana, people tended to be more interested in the person you were with than you yourself. 

Shawn caught you picking at the inside of your elbow a few times. Part of him wanted to scold you for doing it, but he knew it was a subconscious habit and that you couldn’t do much about it unless he pointed it out. He would wrap his arm around you, gently placing his hand over the spot so you couldn’t pick at it. You would sigh once you realized you were doing it again and Shawn would squeeze your upper arm lightly, as if to say, it’s alright.

He eventually gave you a water bottle to keep your hands busy and you accepted it graciously, secretly in awe of how he knew you so well. He was about ready to go after that, drained from the long night, when someone called his name. He made his way towards them and you tried to follow but got blocked off by someone walking in between you. In a split second he was gone, and your anxiety only grew as you struggled to find him. 

You found yourself standing next to a table, texting Shawn to tell him where to find you once he was ready to go. You hoped it wouldn’t take too long, but the voice who called him sounded like Niall’s, and you knew they would want to talk for a while. 

Shawn was too busy talking to Niall to notice the growing anxiety coming from his soulmate. He didn’t even notice that you weren’t next to him. 

You tried your best to blend in, something you thought you were doing a good job of, when someone who looked very vaguely familiar tried to talk to you.  

“That dress looks quite lovely on you,” he said. 

“Thanks,” you said rather quietly. There was an awkward pause for a second and you wondered if he was waiting for you to say something else. 

“Enjoying the party?” He stepped slightly forward to let someone pass behind him. 

You stepped back to keep the space, forgetting about the table and knocking into it full force. A loud clanging noise could be heard as a few platters flew off and your eyes grew wide at the realization of what you just did. 

The man in front of you laughed but his attention was quickly called elsewhere.The people around you looked behind themselves to see what was going on. The looks of confusion and giggles probably lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough to send you into a full panic. 

The lights were suddenly too bright and all the noises around you jumbled into a muffle. You pressed your back against a wall as you tried to gain your composure, panicking more when you couldn’t. The music was too loud for anyone to hear your rapid breathing but you wanted nothing more than for someone to come help you; for Shawn to come help you.

“Yeah we definitely need to meet up sometime soon,” Niall said to Shawn. 

“Totally. I’m-”  He was cut off by a paralyzing burst of panic. He didn’t even have to think to know it was you. The urge to protect you came over him and he quickly excused himself from Niall to find you. 

It didn’t take long to see you standing against the wall and curling in on yourself. He felt like he couldn’t get there fast enough. There was nothing he wanted more than to take the worry away from you but it felt like there were a million people in between you. 

“Breath, Y/N, breath,” he said once he finally made it to you. Your eyes locked with his and he could see the absolute panic in them. “I’m going to take your arm so we can go outside, okay?” 

You nodded frantically, allowing Shawn to guide you to outside. The cool air was a relief but did little to calm you down. Shawn gently leaned you against a wall and put one of your hands on his chest. 

“Breath with me, sweetheart,” he said, exaggerating his breathing to help you. “You’re okay. Just focus on breathing.” 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered once you calmed down and your breathing returned to a normal rate. 

“Y/N, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I messed up your night and-” 

“It’s not your fault. I know exactly how you feel and I promise you, it’s not your fault.” He could see from the look in your eyes that you didn’t believe him and it broke his heart. “Come here,” he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, one around your waist, one pressing your head to his chest. 

“I know you think it’s your fault, but you did absolutely nothing wrong,” he said lowly, leaning his head down close to your ear so you could hear him. “If anything, it’s my fault for not realizing you weren’t with me.” He felt you tense up and rubbed his hand up and down your back. “You are amazing and wonderful and so strong, Y/N. We all have our low points. Nobody is blaming you for anything.” 

You didn’t say anything and Shawn took that as a sign to stop talking. He held you in his embrace for a few minutes longer, relaxing a little when he felt your arms wrap around him. 

“Let’s get you home.” 

“You should stay.” 

“Y/N.” 

You dropped it and let him call an Uber, hugging him again once he finished. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt yourself once again wishing he was your soulmate. 

~ 

After a long talk with Shawn the next morning, you decided to go to the doctor to get an official diagnosis. The social anxiety diagnosis also came with the recommendation of therapy. It was time to take control of your anxiety and your life.

Shawn was there for it all. Helping you through the bad days and celebrating the good ones. You were celebrating a good one today and Shawn could feel your happiness before you even walked through the door. 

“You won’t believe what I did!” You exclaimed once you were seated on the couch. “I needed this tomato sauce but I couldn’t find it anywhere in the store but I knew they had it somewhere. So instead of not getting it, I actually asked one of the people working there where it was.” 

“Good job!” The smile on his face was huge as he gave you a high-five. “Was it really that scary?” 

“Yes, but I did it, which is more important than if it’s scary.”  

He was so proud of you. It had taken a few months, but therapy was doing wonders for you. It might have been small progress, but even small progress was big progress. 

He had held off on telling you about the soulmate situation, wanting you to be in a better space before he dropped the bombshell. Now felt like a good time to do it. 

“Not to take away from you, but I have some good news myself.” 

“Tell me!” The eager look on your face made him even more nervous for some reason, but he knew he needed to do it. 

“A few months ago, I started feeling these feelings.” 

“Oh wow.” 

“Shut up,” he giggled. “They were emotions that weren’t mine. Like, they felt like someone else’s.”  

You nodded your head, having an idea of what was coming: he finally found his soulmate and it wasn’t you. 

“And at first I couldn’t figure out who they belonged to but then I met you again.” He looked up at you but your face was blank. “And then I was starting to feel feelings you were experiencing. Like you would text me about being happy and that background feeling of extra happiness would be there but I wasn’t sure if it was really you.” 

“Are you trying to test it out now?” He could see you trying to put the pieces together. 

“No, I kinda already did in a way?” You looked even more confused so he kept going. “When we went to the Grammys I could feel how anxious you were. And then we went to the party and I could feel it but it wasn’t anything that was too overwhelming. Then, I went to talk to Niall, which is when you had that panic attack, right?” 

You nodded. 

“And I was fine but then there was this really really intense second of pure panic and I just knew. Some kind of protective instinct went off in me and I just had to get to you.” 

There was a pause as he let you process what was happening. 

“Y/N, I think you’re my soulmate.” 

There was a deafening silence but Shawn was too scared to look at your face to see your reaction. 

“You really think?” 

“I know it sounds crazy but-” 

“Could we really be soulmates?” 

“. . . yes?” He finally looked at you to see a smile creeping its way along your face. 

“Holy fucking cow.” You both burst into laughter, leaning into each other as you did. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” Shawn said once your laughs turned into tiny giggles. He looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. 

“I’m glad it’s you too.” 

[slothgiirl]

percolating gently (noah x mc)

au in which jane marshall lives and mc and noah and jane run off to live happily ever after a family of three and also smut (if you don’t want to read that skip the section that goes “its christmas, technically”. 

title from a tennessee williams quote 

15k

It's the three of them in the end. Jane. Noah. And you. Just like it started. Just like it had been.

Always you caught up between the two Marshall twins; Jane’s hand in yours gripping tight and never backing down as she poured water into dirt to make mud. At nine, and never having shared Jane’s attention before, Noah had snubbed you on more than one occasion, shooting down watching Resident Evil just because you had suggested it.

It was funny how you'd befriended Noah first. Jane had a fever the week your parents moved to Westchester (to study some microbe that was super rare or some other incredibly niche nerdy thing). You'd been left to roam the neighborhood on your own as per usual, drawing trees and pets you wished for in chalk, and then Noah.

Noah.

Redfield- Jane’s let up at least a little. You're no longer stuck to that awful chair in terror but griping Noah's shoulders, your fingers clutching the fabric of his denim jacket because he can't, you won't let him take her place.

He's been through so much already.

They both had.

“Noah,” you stammer out, chilled to the bone from terror or the fact that you were in a damp and freezing underground chamber--probably both. “Noah, you can't!” You tighten your grip on him even as his frown deepens, anger clear on his features as he glares down at you.

You cut him off before he can snap at you. Looking over at Jane, no longer blazing, but hovering around, a shadow spilling into the corners of the room, eyes a cold blue without an ounce of friendliness or curiosity.

“I'm sorry,” you tell her, because this was all your fault. You should've never encouraged her. You should've saved her. You should've done more: anything but brush the memory of her away instead of dealing with the events of that summer. Denial had long been your method of choice but here Jane was. It had all been real.

You owe her this much.

And Noah-

“I promised I'd be there for you,” you think of the whistle, “I promised I'd protect you so that's what I'm going to do now,” you say even as your hands shake. “Let me take your place.”

You move to stand, but Noah doesn't budge, his head shaking as his agonized wide eyes meet yours. There's always been a sincere quality in the warmth of Noah's brown eyes that put you at ease and had you feeling like you two were the only people in the world and you could never say no to him; not now. He's a mess (just how you feel), beanie about to slide off his tangled hair, tear tracks down his cheeks. There's a pull in your chest, the painful need to throw your arms around him and hug him until the world stops being this shitty but you doubt you'd ever leave his side if you hug him now.

Noah shakes his head. “It should be me,” he utters into the eerie acoustics of the chamber, the horror of the situation audible in his voice. “It should have been me then. I can finally make things right.”

Your lip grumbles as you cry out, “don't say that,” your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, “don't you dare say that bullshit Noah-we were kids! None of this,” you look around, look at Jane, “this shouldn't have happened to anyone. And it wasn't anyone's fucking fault!”

If-when you got out of this, you were going to throw hands with Mrs. Marshall.

You used to wish she’d been your mother.

The shadow that is Jane inches closer.

Right.

It had to be you or him.

His skin was warm against your hand and you don't-you don’t think you can live in a world where Noah isn't there and he's had the shittiest time and you could've reached out but you didn't and he doesn't deserve this because he thinks he deserves this.

Noah thinks he should've died.

Fuck.

This was all so fucked up.

“It's okay,” Noah whispers softly, his hand covering yours before gently removing your hand from his cheek, removing your hold on him. “It's okay.”

“But-” you look at Jane.

You didn't know what was worse, a world without Noah in it or a world where Noah became some twisted monster the same way Jane had over the years of loneliness. No one started out a monster.

You shake your head, reaching for Noah's hand, “I promised I wasn't leaving you again.”

His eyes widen in shock, giving him that doe eyes look that sort of made you want to kiss him, as if he'd forgotten all about that moment, as if he thought he wasn't worth it but Noah deserved more than death. He should get to go to culinary school and deal with shitty customers at Baby Jane’s.

And it was too late to save the day.

If you were being honest, it was nine years too late. It was all about doing the best you could  in impossible circumstances because Jane didn't deserve to spend an eternity alone and scared and a monster either.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you swallow thickly before replying in a steady voice, having made your choice the moment Noah had been willing to go find Dan alone, when he'd opened up to you at the shop and you realized all this time it hadn't just been you dealing with the repercussions of Redfield, “Together.”

You weren't going to fail Noah again.

Noah is speechless.

But Jane was always able to go with the flow. A shadowy limb ghost over both your hands, in the vein of those cheesy moments in anime when a best friend speech got everyone through a big battle.

“Allll play too g etherR.”

“Yeah,” Noah says sadly, accepting that there was no version of this ending that didn't end in tragedy. “together.”

At least this way, you could be monsters together.

“It's okay Jane,” he tells his sister, his hand squeezing yours, “we’ll take over from here.”

*

*

*

You wake up cold, thinking that you'd left your bedroom window open (not that you were doing much sleeping in that room after the Dan night terror) again, but you're greeted with the sight of Jane curled up asleep between you and Noah looking the same as she had at the many sleepovers you'd have at their house. You don't know if she's real or if this is a dream or if you're dead and this is just a figment of your new reality, but you don't care.

Finally, you understand the ending of Inception.

You don't want to wake them up, still exhausted yourself, but Jane keeps shivering and you can only imagine how worried your friends were. Your phone’s dead.

You couldn't stay here.

“Noah,” you whisper, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. “Noah…”

He grumbles in his sleep, but doesn't wake up.

“Noah,” you hiss.

“What,” Noah slurs, shifting as he lifts his head, jostling Jane at his side but your friend who was dead, was previously dead, continues to sleep looking like a particularly angelic little girl.

You can tell when the situation dawns on him: the twitch of his lips as his mouth settles into a frown, brows becoming drawn in thought.

It's day outside.

You're not sure which day.

Noah's phone is also dead.

Both of you stumble through the woods half asleep, Noah carrying Jane as if she was the most precious thing in the world which she was because she had been dead but now she wasn't and you were beginning to hope this was real and not a trick and that Jane was getting a shot at a normal childhood.

“We should go to my house,” you offer, keeping your voice low as to not disturb Jane who continued to sleep, no wonder Andy and Ava had been able to draw so many mustaches on her back in the day. “It's closer.”

And also you had no way of explaining how Jane had suddenly come back to life. That was something to process later. First a warm bed and sleep and then you had to let your friends know you weren't dead and figure out the whole Jane being alive with Noah. But first, sleep.

“Yeah, okay,” Noah answer’s, clearly still in shock. “Sounds good.” He says as if you two were discussing the weather and not sudden resurrection.

Then again, was this really that big of a leap considering everything that happened in the last few months?

You kick off your shoes and curl up with the Marshall twins to sleep.

*

*

*

“Why are you so much taller,” Jane asks once you’ve all woken up and yes, Jane’s still there, flesh and blood and the idea begins to solidify that she’s alive and well, well maybe not, you don’t know how much she remembers if at all and you still don’t know what to do with her but for now Noah’s rifling around your sparse kitchen, sending you a judgemental look at the half empty pancake box mix that expired a month ago but there’s no gross mold or anything so he uses it anyway, unwilling to leave Jane alone for a second.

Noah smiles easily, which has you smiling, “I’m not tall,” he replies to his sister, “you just shrunk.”

She frowns, nose wrinkling and you had forgotten she did that when she was upset, her nose wrinkling up as her lips turn downward. It was adorable. Then in classic Jane fashion she decides, “that’s a lie.” And sticks her nose up in the air, her fingers continuing to do whatever in your hair. It feels nice, her small fingers weaving clumsily through your thick hair, but Jane had never actually learned to braid so you’re pretty sure she’s just tangling your hair up but you wouldn’t refuse Jane anything right now.

It’s been days since the dance.

You have countless missed calls from your friends, texts getting increasingly and increasingly panicked, and nothing from either of your parents.

“Turn around,” Jane squeaks, tapping your shoulder urgently.

“Alright, alright,” you say, shifting in your seat. She’s tiny. All red hair and freckles and she hasn’t left your side since waking you up, knees in your side as she’d yelled that she was bored and wanted to play so loud it had woken Noah up.

Jane looks at you with a frown. “You’re big too.” Then her lower lip wobbles.

Shit.

Hastily, you pull her onto your lap, wrapping your arms around her.

“Why am I still small,” she whispers, looking up at you with the same wide brown eyes you were so used to.

“Uh,” you swallow thickly, trying to figure something out because maybe she didn’t remember and wasn’t that for the best? Wouldn’t that be the best case scenario? The only problem is you’re barely eighteen and not at all prepared to handle a nine year old. Had you really been this small when your parents decided to fuck off? “It’s because. . .you’re special, like Peter Pan.”

She crunches up her nose for a second, thinking. Then in her child innocence, she nods, deciding she likes the explanation. “You should’ve come with me,” Jane pats your cheek sadly, “grown ups are so boring.”

Noah wheezes, a pancake slipping off the spatula as his shoulders shake with laughter.

You hadn’t had time to talk about what had happened, what he had done, and you certainly hadn’t had time to process your feelings on any of it, but you were always glad to see him laughing.

“Someone had to take care of your dumb brother,” you reply, legs kind of going numb with her weight.

Jane nods sagely, “Noah is dumb. Because he’s a changeling.”

When you were kids, you’d both been obsessed with goblins and trolls and fairy tales. You two would dig in the dirt looking for hag stones. Sticks would double as magic wands and swords. The old fur jacket Jane liked to play dress up with was her selkie skin and you would take turns hiding it around the house.

Noah rolls his eyes. He hadn’t liked your weirdo kid games the first time around, he liked them even less now and you can’t help but grin at his expense. “You’re the redhead in the family.”

Jane blows a raspberry.

What a way to win an argument.

It’s past midnight before Jane crashes.

You’re on your third watch of frozen which had seemed like a great way to keep Jane inside the first time when you’d suggested it (kids loved that movie) and had become the worst, as Jane made you watch the movie again and again, singing “do you want to build a snowman” at the top of her lungs. That hadn’t stopped you and Noah from helping her find all the pillows in your house to build a castle with. Your living room has become a pillow castle fort.

During the second watch, Jane had dug around through your closet, before finding a blue hoodie you didn’t even remember you had and tying it around her shoulders. “You’re Anna,” she’d told you, giving you pigtails when she gave up on braids.

Now, she was asleep on the couch, drooling on her pillow.

Noah immediately turns off the TV. “You couldn’t have put on Shrek?”

You’re sitting next to him on the floor, finally giving into the urge to look at the news on your phone. You hadn’t risked it while Jane was awake. She was a nosy child.

You frown, “we need to tell the others.” Because this was really happening. Jane was alive and you didn’t know what to do with that. She needed. . .fuck-she needed school and parents and probably therapy if she remembered any of it. You were just eighteen. You had no idea what to do.

Noah’s responding frown mirrors yours. “What? Why!”

“She just came back from the dead,” you reply quietly. “She needs-fuck what are we going to tell your mom?”

His expression turns angry, brows furrowing. “Fuck her. She doesn’t deserve to know.”

“Noah,” you sigh, not wanting to argue with him because what was there to argue. His mom was a shitty parent. “Dan, Andy. . .they think we’re dead. They deserve to know after what happened. They deserve an explanation.”

He flinches.

“And besides-we’re in high school! What are we-what the hell are we going to do with her,” you say gently because you couldn’t keep her cooped up in your house. You had things like high school and maybe college if you could salvage this quarter. You didn’t have a job. “She needs parents. And school. And. . .” You throw your hand sup in the air. You had no clue what she needed. You weren’t a functioning adult. You didn’t know what kids need.

“She has me.” Noah hisses back.

You roll your eyes. “I know that-fuck Noah,” becuase he was getting angry with you when all you were trying to do was help. God, he could be so freaking dense sometimes. “She deserves a normal childhood. How the hell are we supposed to do that for her? Does she remember any of it?” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at your feet. The garish pink nail polish was still intact.

Didn’t people need birth certificates and stuff?

Lucas would know.

Lily could probably do her computer thing and help with that.

He falls silent, glaring at the blank TV screen.

Noah’s breathing is harsh and you wait patiently.

“I can drop out,” Noah finally says quietly. “Get a job. . .”

“I’m going to call Lily,” you reply. “We need groceries anyway.” Like hell were you leaving Jane for even a second. This time, you mean to keep your promise.

*

*

*

Jane bursts into tears when she sees all her friends grew up without her, eyes turning red as tears streamed down her eyes and she buried her face in Noah’s chest, refusing to budge. He rubs his hand comfortingly against her back, carrying her upstairs.

Even from the living room, still a mess, you can hear her sob upstairs.

“What the absolute fuck,” Lucas utters, taking a seat, resting his head in his hands.

“Explain,” Stacy urges, already unpacking the groceries you’d requested into your kitchen.

You do.

You go over the last couple of days, most of which you spent sleeping.

“I think it says a lot about how fucked our lives are that this is only like the second craziest thing to happen to us,” Andy mutters, pacing around the room. “I mean,” he says stopping near the kitchen island, “the whole town got brainwashed!”

“Does-does she remember,” Lily asks.

You shrug, “I. . .I don’t think so. Clearly she doesn’t know why we’re all older. Maybe it’ll come back to her?” You hope it doesn’t.

“So what are we going to do,” Lily says, looking around at everyone.

Dan speaks up, “Jane could have blocked out those memories. My therapist said that can happen with traumatic events.”

“That makes sense,” you find yourself saying, slumping in your seat. You think you could just finish high school at home. It’s not like your parents would know, or care. They’re not here. That way Noah can finish high school and you can look after Jane. But then what?

“Just so we’re all on the same page,” Ava asks rhetorically, “we’re just going to ignore the fact Noah tried to kill us?”

You flinch.

“Jesus fucking christ Ava,” Andy snaps, looking just as agitated as you’ve all felt for months.

“One crisis at a time,” Stacy complains, closing the cupboard door with a hard thunk, “I can only handle one crisis at a time.” Then she looks over at you, “are you-is. . .you can stay at my house if you need to.” No one suggests Noah and Jane going to their own house.

You shake your head.

At some point, you were going to hash things out with Noah, but it wasn’t exactly anger at Noah that you felt. It was hurt and the raw heart crushing betrayal. You know you hadn't been there for him when he needed you--for years-- but you thought, you wish he had just told you about Jane being Redfield.You would have helped, you would have done anything to help Noah and Jane and maybe no one would’ve needed to play are you scared at all. Fuck.

But no. You don’t feel scared at being here with him which was what Stacy was asking about. It hadn’t even crossed your mind even once.

But it feels too private to tell them that the three of you have been inseparable since the ruins. You’d spent last night curled up on the living room floor with him. But that knowledge was yours. You weren’t about to share that.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine. “She can’t stay in Westchester can she?” Because you’re tired and want someone else to tell you what to do for once.

“Probably not,” Lucas answers tightly, still looking freaked out, eye twitching.

“It’s not a trick or anything. . .” Andy glances around.

You shake your head. Slowly, a plan forms in your head. Your parents would pay for your college, you’d apply out of state and take the Marshall twins with you. Instead of a dorm, you’d get an apartment. It could work.

Somehow.

“Have your parents called,” Dan asks gently.

“No,” you wave off. They weren’t important. Jane was.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to explain this,” Andy asks.

You wince. “Sort of. . .I don’t know.” You put your hands in your head.

It's Ava who wraps her arm around your shoulders, “we’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks.”

*

*

*

It's a familiar type of awful that Noah’s mom doesn’t really care that he’s spent the last six months living at your house.

With a great deal of arguing at 2 in the morning while lying next to a sleeping Jane, you’d managed to convince Noah to finish high school. And you’d promptly switched to homeschooling.

Lily had come through with Jane’s paperwork, now in your bag as your friends drop you off at the nearest regional airport.

You hold Jane’s hand, the only thing keeping her from running off as she takes the sight of the airport in. She’s thrown countless fits about being cooped up. But it was too risky for her to be seen in Westchester, a small town where everyone knew she’d died. The most you could do was your backyard.

So of course you’d made up for it by letting her pick your college.

“Someplace warm and sunny,” Jane had shouted excitedly, mind going crazy with plans as your acceptance letters came in.

Months on, it’s way less awkward even if Ava and Lucas have settled on ignoring Noah.

Andy hugs you hard. “Call when you land!”

You snort, “duh.”

Lily smiles and adds, “I might visit for spring break.”

“That would be great,” you tell her, tightening your hold on Jane as something catches her attention.

She pivots to Noah, who had the backbone of a toothpick when it came to telling Jane no which is why she keeps getting to skip brushing her teeth in the morning which was gross and she hated you for trying to chase her down, “I want that stuffed animal. If you give me that narwhal, I’ll eat my veggies.”

“You’re eating your veggies anyway,” you reply back, dragging her along.

“You won’t have to watch frozen tomorrow.” She continues, targeting her brother ruthlessly.

Noah’s already fishing his wallet out.

“That’s what you said about the hair color,” you point out, opting to carry her when she goes limp. “Don’t you dare Noah.”

Ava grins at you, amused and unhelpful.

“It’s just a toy,” he replies.

You roll your eyes.

“You two are such parents,” Andy laughs.

“I hate you,” Jane huffs. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“She told you,” Ava snorts.

Jane beams. Then reaches for Noah, who takes her from your arms without complaint.

You hug Lily one last time, and then. . .you’re going through security.

“I get the window seat,” Jane declares once you get past TSA.

“Go for it,” you tell her, belatedly realizing it’s going to be hell if it turns out she doesn’t like planes.

She nods, satisfied.

*

*

*

Tampa is no less humid and hot and awful a month in then it was when you first got off the plane but Jane loves it and there’s a park next to the building your living in: a tiny cramped apartment with only one room which went to Jane obviously which you and Noah had originally planned for you and Jane to share but both of you had capitulated to Jane’s demands within the day. She deserved being spoiled.

The A/C in Ikea was a godsend.

Sleeping on the floor with the bare necessities was not it and with you starting school next week, it was time to take your meager savings and get some furniture.

“Remember,” Noah says, pulling up the list on his phone. It had started with him grocery shopping since he cooked and needing to make a grocery list to Noah just taking over figuring out how to make the money your parents sent and his own contribution from his new job work. “Sofa bed. Bed for Jane. Blankets. One lamp. And a mattress.”

“Weren't you complaining about only having one pan this morning,” you ask as Jane drags you along to the first showroom, practically bouncing with energy.

Noah shrugs. “I can make it work.”

“Buying an extra pan won't kill us,” you counter. “We can just use my credit card.” And not eat out for the rest of the month, you didn't add.

“Let's play hide and seek,” Jane says with excitement. “I'll seek.”

You exchange glances with Noah.

Tomorrow you had to go sign her up at school. You had to go over the story with her again. Just to make sure you didn't all get in trouble.

Jane covers her eyes. “One. Two. . .”

You look around the tiny space, thinking of where to hide. Between school and Jane you weren't sure when you could or even if you could get a part time job. Noah was working at a diner during the evenings. You had gotten your classes early in the morning so you could be home with Jane while he worked. The problem was finding the extra free time to work.

Ugh.

Being an adult was hard.

But how much of an adult could you be when your parents were paying your tuition?

You head for the tiny bathroom which has a neat looking toothbrush holder and isn’t that something you need to buy? There were so many little things like a bath mat and towels and a dish rack that were only just occurring to you that were sort of essentials and jeez you really had one foot in adulthood. You don’t even hide behind the curtain, worried that Jane won’t find you easily and freak out and there’s weirdos everywhere. It was your job to look after her now. Not that Noah had asked for your help, but it was a given.

“Eight. . .nine. . .” Jane’s little voice carries and you’re struck by a flood of emotions that has your eyes tearing up.

Noah steps into the bathroom next to you, “we need a cutting board,” he says so seriously you can’t help but snort.

“What,” he asks, shaking his head at you.

“Nothing.”

He tilts his head.

You shrug, “just thinking. I don’t know. I don’t feel very grown up. And I took all the dumb towels my parents stockpiled for granted.”

“We should’ve raided your house,” he agrees, the corner of his lips lifting, “purge style.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I never get why everyone jumps straight to murder. What does Ava always say? Redistribute the wealth, rob a bank.” You roll your eyes, scoffing, “murder.”

Noah snorts. “Pretty sure that’s Lucas. Ava’s more of a go straight to cutting people’s heads off.”

“Robespierre style,” you grin.

“Robes who?”

“Robespierre. From the french revolution.”

“I think that’s the class I must’ve ditched,” Noah admits.

You frown. “You could do community college,” because you had to corner him at some point. Noah was very good at avoiding subjects he didn’t want to talk about. “We could make it work. Do your G.E.’s”

Noah shrugs.

“Noah-” Because he said he wanted to go to culinary school and you get the urge to drop everything and buy a ranch in utah and live with Jane for the rest of your lives except Jane would hate that and grow up and leave and how are you going to afford spoiling her if you can’t get a decent job? Noah deserved to go for his dreams too.

None of you had to be defined by your incredibly shitty childhood.

Jane pops in, “found you!” She giggles in her Baby Yoda t-shirt and leggings, “you two are bad at this game! My turn!” Jane grabs Noah’s hand and drags him along to the next showroom that catches her eye, “remember,” she lectures you both, “no peeking,” before shooting off.

“What did you end up choosing for your major,” Noah asks, as you both fail to keep your eyes closed, looking over at the sofa section. It would be so freaking nice not to sleep on the carpet anymore.

“History,” you admit, “though I’m not sure it’ll stay like that. I don’t know exactly what I want to do after college. Or if I even like history enough to major in it. . .it just sounded fine at the time.” You had done well in APUSH. That had to mean something. But you had also liked your economics class. . .maybe you should do economics? “I really have no clue. Has it been ten seconds?”

“Probably,” Noah says with a smile, “nine, ten, coming to find you,” he calls out.

It’s a living room showroom, and yet Jane had managed to squeeze herself right behind a floor lamp and the TV stand. She’s a slip of a girl, but her red hair makes her easier to spot. Thank god.

“Let’s go pick out things for your room,” you offer, because you still have to go downstairs and find all the different pieces and then still go home and put them together. Thank god for uber. Oh shit, did this mean you had to get a car at some point? How do people buy cars?

“Okay,” Jane nods, immediately taking off, and she has you and Noah speed walking after her, on the border of a full out run. It was hard to be annoyed when you were still so happy to wake up in a world where Jane was alive and here and who cares that it took three hours to get her to stand still long enough to comb her hair and putting her to bed was a long drawn out affair of a bedtime story and a snack and needing to be tucked in and checking on all her toys and deciding she needed a glass of water next to her just in case she woke up thirsty.

It was worth it.

You liked not living alone.

You liked not being alone.

*

*

*

You weren't sure who was more exhausted as you finished washing the dishes. Jane was sleeping, thank god. The nice thing about Florida was it was fall and it was still warm enough to spend the evening at the park so Jane could tire herself out while you read fifty pages of your history and sociology textbook. It was what all the other moms did and you winced when Jane asked to join the soccer team that practiced at the park by your building because you didn't have the money and you could only hope she didn't ask Noah because he came home tired enough but for Jane he'd take more shifts.

There was laundry you didn't want to do and a quiz in english which was a nice class even if everyone was half asleep at 7:30 in the morning because your professor was somehow awake enough to engage and rant about short stories that thankfully weren't the same ten dead old white men you'd read in high school but actual people alive today whose english you could understand. It's night, so you don't bother drying the dishes before turning off the light. Noah had brought food which showed how tired he was. Yesterday's leftovers had saved you from attempting anything because you sucked in the kitchen as your poor microwave could attest: aluminum foil and microwaves don't mix.

Noah’s already asleep when you slide into bed next to him. You can still smell the scent of oil and grease on his skin even as you stay decidedly on your side of the bed.

It's mid september in Tampa and it's still warm and it doesn't stop you at all from curling up with a blanket.

The window panes are cracked open letting in the soft moonlight and you lay in bed, brain melted from class and reading, and look at Noah's profile and how much lighter he looked compared to a year ago. The lines around his mouth from frowning had eased; Jane teasing out a side of him that had previously shriveled up.

It's done him good to get away from his mom. To have his sister. You just wish you could do more for him.

Like he was doing for you and Jane.

You drift off to sleep. . .

“Move over,” a small voice asks, and your eyes crack open to the dark of the room and Jane a hair's breadth away with wide scared eyes, a pillow hugged to her chest. Her voice is raw, as if she'd been crying.

You move over, brain sleep addled, to make room for her.

She slips in besides you, immediately curling up in your chest the way she does when she decides she's done walking for the day: the way she runs up to Noah when he gets home from work.

“Did you have a bad dream,” you mumble, not wanting to wake up her brother.

“I don't know.” Jane admits, “I just don't want to sleep alone.”

“I thought you wanted your own room,” you tease, a little more awake now.

“I do,” she cries out loudly in the dark of the night.

You can just imagine her pouting even if you can't see her, your eyes falling shut again. “Okay. You can sleep over tonight.”

“Yay,” she whispers back. “We should draw a mustache on Noah.”

You snort, “too late. He hasn't bothered shaving in like two days.” It was a good look on him: stubble. You'd teased him ruthlessly, almost choking on your water when he'd gone pink.

Jane giggles.

“Go to sleep,” you tell her. “You have school.”

“So do you.”

“Sleep.”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

“Jane,” you whine, rolling over away from her, because she sure wasn't going to stop. “Sleep.”

*

*

*

“Where the fuck are my shoes,” Noah says, as he stumbles around trying to find his things.

You should've folded the laundry last night. Instead, it was a pile on the floor, clean, but a mess. You had parent teacher conferences today, and of course you were rushing at the last minute. Between finishing a paper for sociology and ditching class because of the conference and it's not like your statistics professor took roll call, you were still in a towel, freshly showered.

“Check the hall closet. I told Jane to clean last night and I'm like one hundred percent sure she just stuffs everything in that closet. Dan's right, we're fucking her up by spoiling her too much.” You search the pile of clothes for a nice dress. Was that right for a parent teacher conference? You were 18, what did you know? Besides, you were like guardian adjacent. Not a parent.

“Okay,” Noah replies when you hear the door open and why can't you find any clean underwear, you just did laundry this is insane and you have like five minutes to leave or you will be late, “but why'd she only put away one shoe?”

“Don't goblins only steal left shoes or something,” you reply, finding clean underwear but giving up on the bra. You'd go with a blue and white plaid dress. It wasn't too revealing for school even if it was one of those back of the closet dresses you never actually wore.

You slip your underwear on under the towel as Noah reappears in jeans and a t- shirt, freshly shaved. “What if they ask too many questions?”

“They won't,” you wave off. “And if they do we can just lie.”

“You're a bad liar,” Noah teases, rifling around in the kitchen.

You toss the towel aside, trying incredibly hard to act cool and calm when you weren't anything but, as you go to pull the dress over your head. It's not like you were flashing him. You sleep next to Noah every night.

But then why did you feel so flustered right then. “Am not!” You squawk indignantly, turning over to look at him as your dress goes over your head and your boobs are no longer hanging out for the world to see (there was a point to curtains after all).

Noah goes bright pink when he realizes your half naked in the living room, as if he hasn't slept next to you for close to a year now but then again, you used to sleep in an old shirt and underwear and now you've got matching pjs because Noah and yeah you should probably do something about that like you had wanted to since the party ages ago now but there had been Redfield and Noah admitting he was in a terrible headspace and it wasn't the time and now. . .you brush the thought aside for now. You roll your eyes (because your cool and calm even if your heart’s beating erratically) and grab your purse, before joking, “so are you going to get a haircut or are you going to do the man bun thing.”

Noah groans, “Jane told me I looked like homeless dog.”

“Ouch,” You laugh, “when she say that?”

“She woke me up again last night but I got her to go to her bed this time.” He admits as you walk to Jane’s school.

“Again?” Fuck maybe she was having nightmares after all. “It has to be nightmares, but. . .” you trail off.

“I don't know,” Noah shrugs, “she says she doesn't remember. Just wakes up. But like why else would she keep waking up if it's not nightmares,” he frowns.

“Do you think they could be,” you purse your lips before continuing not wanting to be the one to bring it up but you sort of had too, “you think it's redfield related.”

“I really don't know,” he says, looking over at you with a sad smile.

Smiling softly, you squeeze his hand as you wait for the white pedestrian sign, ��hey, she's got us. She'll be fine.”

Which makes you think about how Andy was right. You were such a mom. Had you mom-zoned yourself? That was good, you'd have to text that to Andy later.

Then you sigh, realizing that if you had a nightmare back then, your parents wouldn't have even been home for you to wake up. There had been weeks spent at Pine Springs and driving over to some niche science conference in Rochester or over to New Haven for a lecture.

“What,” Noah asks, intertwining your fingers with his as you cross the street.

“Just realizing how shitty my parents were,” you offer with a sad smile. What could you do about it now? You'd grown up.

“Just now,” Noah quips with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, “shut up.”

Jane’s teacher, an older black woman who's style leans close to Lily's own preppy academic choices, looks at you both skeptically. “You’re here for Jane Marshall's conference?”

Both you and Noah nod.

She doesn't look reassured.

You bump Noah's knee with yours, hoping he'll say something to clear things up. Neither of you looked old enough to be her parents. You had a serious case of baby face.

“Uh,” he says, still an eighteen year old who's spent most of his life bowing down to teachers authority. You understood, still feeling strange going to the bathroom during lecture without asking for permission. “I'm Jane’s brother.”

You nudge him again when it's clear he's done taking.

“Noah,” he manages.

You roll your eyes. “We’re her guardians,” you had gone over the story hundreds of times, “their parents passed,” you look down at you lap trying to look sad, “a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Jane’s teacher, Miss Sanders, says sympathetically. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah well,” Noah trails off.

“Well Jane is a very outgoing girl,” Miss Sanders says, launching into her talk, “she's made lots of friends though sometimes getting her to be quiet during class time can be a challenge. She's at her grade level for reading and math. She does need more practice with writing longer sentences and,” she shuffles papers around, flipping through a red folder, before taking out some childish drawings. “These had me worried but in light of the loss she is going through, I think it's understandable.”

Each drawing is a variation of a theme: huge black blobs make up most of the page, with occasional stick drawings differentiated by hair color. Jane is obviously the girl with the red hair and triangle body. Redfield, she remembered something then.

Could it be subconscious?

You feel the blood leave your face as you look over at Noah. He looks just as shaken as you.

“It's normal for children going through the loss of a loved one, especially parents,” Miss Sanders tries, “to work through it in drawing and writing. But we could always let her talk to the school psychologist. Mrs. Hernandez is a wonderful child therapist.”

“Do you think it would help,” you ask, wondering if it was a good idea when Jane’s actual problem was of the supernatural variety. Maybe they would just assume that was her imagination, or her way of explaining away a loss.

“It couldn't hurt.”

You look over at Noah, slipping your hand into his, giving him an encouraging squeeze in his palm. It was his sister. It should be his call.

He pulls his hand out of yours, straightening up in the chair. “Yeah. That could be good.”

“Okay. I'll let Mrs. Hernandez know. That and make sure Jane’s reading books for AR. Her goal this year should 40 points if she wants to be part of the end of the year celebration.”

“I'll figure out where the library is,” you nod, “I'm sure she can find books while I study.”

“Sounds perfect. Any other questions.”

You look at Noah who shakes his head. He was starting to need a haircut. Even if you did like the way he looked with his hair loose.

“Alright then. It was lovely to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.”

“Oh,” heat builds up in your cheeks.

“We're not-”

“I'm not-,” you stammer, “I'm just a family friend.”

“Oh,” Miss Sander says, “I'm-sorry for assuming.”

“It's fine,” you manage, starting to leave. “Thank you. It was good to meet you.” You shake her hand, wanting to die inside.

“Nice to meet you as well,” she shakes Noah's hand and then you can finally leave.

You both hurry out the classroom, out the school.

“So that was,” Noah says, raising a brow.

“awful,” you finish. “But there were no red flags and we got free therapy out of it.”

Noah laughs, “I think we probably all need some therapy.”

“Rewatching arrested development isn't cutting it anymore,” you grin.

“I do feel like Gob most days.”

“Good,” you laugh.

“Really?”

“I don't trust people who identify with Michael. No self awareness.”

Noah laughs, “they are all horrible people.” His face becomes drawn, as he tucks loose strands of hair behind his ears. “How much do you think she remembers?”

You shrug, placing your hand on his arm. “I think it's probably bits and pieces. She did spend years and...she doesn't have nightmares? That's a good sign right? It's been months, she's not some creepy horror movie child?”

“Of course not,” he nods, looking down at you, with a frown. “She's fine. Jane's good.”

You smile shakily. “We're doing amazing. And she's happy if she hasn't stopped watching disney vlogs. No clue how we're going to swing that one if she asks.”

Noah matches you’re unsure smile, “take her to those rich people parks and call it disney.”

You snort. “It's Jane. That won't fool her.”

“It's Florida. We can just go to the beach.” He says with a shrug. “It'll be just as good.”

“Aren't there alligators though?”

Noah laughs at your expense. “Those are in the lakes and rivers.”

“Shut up. Want to go for pizza before you go to work?”

“Let's go get Indian food actually. There's this place I've been meaning to try but Jane’s-”

“Picky as fuck,” you say pointedly. “Like you used to be.”

Noah blushes. “Okay so my mom just cooked like kraft mac and cheese. That wasn't my fault.”

“And those pizza bites! I loved those,” you add, thinking back on all the sleepovers at their house as a kid. “I think when Jane came over was the only time I'd get to use peanut butter.” Your parents weren't around, but your nanny was philippina, you ate spice before kids discovered hot cheetos were delicious.

He snorts, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably get a car at some point.”

“Face it bro, we're broke. I keep wanting to tell you to get a haircut but we're broke.”

Noah raises a brow. “Fuck off. I look like post-Beatles George Harrison.”

“You wish you looked like George Harrison,” you tease.

The food was amazing. Lunch indian buffets were where it was at. And since you don't have a class right after, you offer to walk Noah to work, “I've got to walk off the food baby,” you tell him, before you head back to pick Jane up.

Noah laughs, “The malai kofta was just too good.”

“I should've stopped at three plates but buffets always make me think it's a food contest,” you admit. “My nanny would take me to this seafood buffet with her family around lunar new year and we’d spend all day there to try and eat our money's worth.” It had been your favorite holiday as a child, after your parents had decided you were old enough to be left behind, only a handful of years after they decided you were old enough to bring along with them, and you hadn't seen them even at christmas.

“Damn,” Noah says with an easy smile, “at least I had good times with my parents.” His smile is so fragile. That just means it hurt him more when things fell apart.

“I had nice times too. . .with your family.”

Noah cackles.

You cross the street to the diner he works at next to a retirement complex with what you think are the best waterfront views next to the hotels you can't afford.

It's strange.

Your entire life, Noah has been this huge part of it and you've always lived in a tiny town so you knew everyone he did and knew what he got up to just by living near him in a town of like 500 people or what felt like such a small amount, your elementary school only had one class for each grade but now you hug Noah goodbye even though he always tenses against you, as though he's unused to the physical affection and that just makes you hold him tighter, then he's heading inside and greeting people you probably will never know and he's having this whole part of his life your not a part of and one day he's going to go on and live his life without you and it hurts: watching him laugh with some waitress that's tall blonde and beautiful in a way you've never been.

It hurts but you suck it up and go pick Jane up from school.

“Don’t worry,” your friend says, holding your hand once she realizes you've been standing at the water's edge. It's warmer than you'd imagined as it laps at your bare feet.

Jane has not stopped smiling since you'd bought her a bathing suit at Target: a pink one piece with sloths. You'd been more nervous, not knowing how to swim. You also felt every single bite of pasta you'd had last night in your black bikini.

Damn Noah for being so good at cooking.

“I've got you,” Jane says, leading you out further into the water, over to where Noah's out, up to his waist and you're pretty see it's deeper than Jane is taller, but if Jane can do it-a wave, a massive looking wave comes crashing towards you both.

You don't hesitate to run away.

Noah points and laughs.

You flip him off once the wave passes, leaving your hair wet.

Jane grins. “It's okay. I won't let you drown.” She pulls you back out again, a perfectly happy water baby. She always had been fearless. And unlike you, as the water deepens, she starts to swim alongside you.

“See,” she laughs, “it's easy.” Then she pops down under.

You make it to Noah, figuring the water wasn't that crazy. No tsunami like waves to pull you out to sea and drown you.

Jane comes up for air, “I'm Jaws,” she yells at Noah, tackling his side.

“Ooof,” he says, exaggerating, “oh no, a shark, I'm. . .dead dying. . .”

Jane giggles.

“Do not,” you warn her. “I'm barely here as is.”

Noah rolls his eyes and you have a feeling there about to roast you: both of them.

“It's just a little water,” he teases.

“It's not even that deep,” Jane adds. “It's the beach!” She pops back down under the water as another wave rolls towards you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, tensing, as the wave soaks what's left of your dry hair, splashing salty water into your mouth.

Jane pops her head back up, strawberry hair plastered to her head, smiling so wide. It's November and it's still warm enough to go to the beach. Even the rain here isn't cold that way it was back home.

The world was so much bigger than Westchester.

Noah reaches his hand out to yours. You take it easily, stepping closer to him, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

He had the right idea, now looking more like the fifth beatle than a shaggy haired hippie. Less to deal with at the beach.

“You okay,” he smirks.

“Shut up. I can't swim. You know that.” You'd complained about it a hundred times as they both forced you off the pile of towels where you had planned to read through your notes. Studying, it was gross.

“You're,” Noah rolls his eyes, “it's like three feet. You're not going to drown.”

“What if,” you counter, “I trip and swallow water and drown.”

“That's not going to happen. What you can't stand up?”

“Don't,” you warn.

He smirks, “it's because you're short.”

“Asshole,” you say, smacking his bare chest. Nothing you haven't seen, you tell yourself. Act normal, you reminded yourself.

“It is!” Noah crouches down a couple inches to your height.

You roll your eyes-

-and laugh when Jane launches herself onto her brother's back.

“I'm an orca!”

Noah lets go of your hand to regain his balance. “Wow there shamu.”

Jane frowns. “Sea world is evil. Ava and I watched Blackfish.”

You vaguely remember some orca documentary that you had mostly slept through. Taking care of Jane was hard and you had fallen asleep in those early weeks whenever you got the chance.

“No seaworld then,” you shrug.

“But I do wanna go to Disneyworld. I wanna go on the star wars ride!”

“You don't even watch Star Wars,” Noah points out.

“I would if we went to Disneyworld. My birthday is coming up.”

“No it's not,” you frown. They were April babies.

“I think you mean my birthday,” Noah says playfully.”

“I was born first,” Jane yells.

“So, I'm taller.”

You roll your eyes, sinking down to your neck. The water was nice. “You better throw yourself into the water if I start drowning,” you warn Noah.

“Yeah yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I'm not going to let you drown.”

Jane nods in agreement, “I'll kick him if he does.”

You laugh, happy to spend the days with the Marshall twins.

Bells don't ring, but the whole class knows when class is over, shoving their papers away into bags as soon as there's a minute left.

You leave English happily enough. It was a fun class, with plenty of movies and conversation that you were able to make friends in, unlike other lecture heavy classes where you had five minutes before class to talk during.

Sasha and Kevin both walk with you out of the lecture hall. “Have you started studying for the midterm,” Sasha asks, “I really don't want to write two in class essays. Multiple choice is where it's at.”

“I'd rather have an in class essay,” Kevin says, “and Professor Laux said it's just one. But he'd give us two prompts.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I love english I just hate the writing part. Or rather the long essays.”

“At least your not a computer science major,” Sasha counters, “physics is so much worse.”

“Not as bad as o chem.”

“O chem is not that bad,” Sasha counters.

You shrug, “art history major,” you grin smugly.

Kevin shakes his head, “just wait until you have to find a job.”

“Grad school. Both my parents love that shit. They'd help me pay for it.” They both had Ph.Ds.

“I wish my parents helped me pay for school,” Sasha complains again, “they are such hard asses about school but they want me to pay for everything, and live at home-can you imagine how many house parties I've missed to work at the movie theater.”

“Speaking of house parties,” Kevin pushes his glasses up his broad nose, “we're throwing this pre thanksgiving bash at my place. Beer. Snacks. Weed.”

“Shouldn't you be studying for midterms,” you ask, shaking your head. You also hadn't figured out what you were doing for the holiday. You had Jane and Noah now. It had to be special.

“Pfft. I will,” Kevin says. “You're only twenty once am I right?”

Sasha shakes her head. “Okay. But I'm stealing some weed.”

“You in?” They both look at you.

Noah's off Monday and Wednesday, when you get out too late to go pick up Jane. You can't leave her by herself, not that you would want to. You were looking forward to going to waste time at the mall and buy snacks at target: your usual Friday night.

You shake your head, “Can't. I've got Jane on the weekends. Babysitters are expensive.”

“Just tell your parents to look after your sister,” Kevin says petulantly.

You hadn't really explained things. It was complicated. Redfield had really messed up your life. Jane should be your age and going to house parties with you. But you'd have her alive in any shape or form so long as you got to see her. “Umm, actually,” you decide to explain a little, the practiced version, “her parents died a few months ago. They were-they were really close family friends and practically raised me so,” you trail off, thinking about how exactly to explain Noah. He was your best friend, a childhood friend, and. . .that was it.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah-”

“Well, if you're even able to figure it out,” Kevin says, “hit me up.”

You wave them goodbye and rush to your next class.

*

*

*

Noah's hair is still damp as he lays down on his side of the bed.

You were still going over your art history notes, wanting to go over the dates of the list of paintings you'd have to identify on tomorrow's quiz. The names were easy since styles even within art movements varied so much. It was a little harder in regulated art worlds: the buddhists of southeast asia didn't go outside their geometric ratios.

“You've been studying all day,” Noah says with a yawn. He no longer smelled like burnt oil.

“Yeah, I have a quiz.” You're sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “It's on art identification.”

“That's what googles for,” he snarks back.

It was past midnight. Jane had been asleep for three hours.

“Smart ass.” You shut your notebook. The numbers had started swimming in your eyes a while ago. Nothing more was going to stick in your brain.

You turn off the light on your side.

“You're the smart one,” Noah laughs, “I'm just an asshole.”

“Oh,” you smile in the dark, highly aware of his body laying next to you, carefully keeping your leg from brushing against his skin. “You're self aware too!”

“Dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

You lay in silence, listening to the sounds outside your windows, the cars passing by even at this hour, Noah breathing next to you. It was soothing, having people you loved with you. It wasn't lonely being home all the time.

Noah shifts onto his side: facing you.

You stare up at the ceiling, black from the curtains pulled right even as the window let the breeze in. It had been raining the past few days, but the cold days don't hold a candle to Westchester this time of year.

“Thank you.”

“For what,” you ask, smiling freely.

“What do you mean,” he pitches his voice higher, “for what? For everything.”

You giggle. “I haven't done much.”

Noah's tone is dead serious the next time he speaks. “You didn't have to help . . .with Jane. I don't know how I would've made it work without you, so yeah. Thank you. I didn't even ask-I wouldn't have asked you to give up college and partying-”

You have to stop him right there. “I didn't give shit up Noah.” He could be so dumb sometimes. If he had just told you Jane was Redfield, you would've helped him from day one to save her. But there was no point in bringing that up: just more salt in the wound. “And you didn't have to ask me: I wasn't just going to let you flounder alone. I wanted to-I wanted to be with you and Jane. That was never a question.” Heat flares up in the skin of your cheeks and nose as you smile, before you turn onto your side, looking over at Noah in the dark.

You can't really see him at all.

Thank fuck.

It's bad enough that you feel so flustered you might explode from the emotions swirling about in your chest. You don't know what to do about Noah, about your feelings for him.

Months ago, you would've just bitten the bullet and kissed him, but he'd also opened up about not feeling ready at all about relationships and you will not fuck things up for either of you. It had been easy with Connor when all the lights were green as he was clearly into you and responded right back.

It had been light and a way to not think about the terror of your day to day life for a few moments.

But it wasn't Connor you thought about so much your skin got all hot as you looked out the window during lecture.

You swallow thickly, squashing those feelings into some back corner of your mind.

“Thank you though, I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Don't be dumb. It's getting rid of me that'll be hard.” You could admit now, “Now that I know what it's like to have people in the house to kill spiders, I'm never leaving,” you felt lonely in your childhood house all through high school.

“I don't think Jane would let you leave.” Noah laughs.

“True,” you sigh. “it's nice not to come home to an empty house.”

“Our childhoods were so messed up,” he replies softly.

“It's like the gift that never stops giving. But hey, who cares. I have you two and my parents monthly deposits-and FAFSA!” You laugh, because what else could you do, wallow in self deprecating angst like Noah? You weren't sure you could beat him at his own game. “As far as I'm concerned, you're my family now. . .both of you.”

“When did you become a walking talking greeting card?”

“Asshole.”

Noah laughs.

It's a sound you love. For so long, it had been so rare. It warms you up, blots out all the horrible shit you've gone through and makes everything okay.

You fall asleep smiling.

*

*

*

Sasha settles in your ikea bland table with her bag full of notebooks and textbooks. “I wish I had my own place.”

Next week was finals.

Next week was going to kick your ass.

Matthew looks up from his calculus solutions manual for the first time in an hour, “it really depends on the roommates, mine eat all my snacks.”

“Hide them in your room,” you suggest, opening your computer up to the study guide the TA had sent out last week. “With your underwear or something.”

Jane giggles as she watches spongebob on the TV. Fourth graders had it easy. The upcoming winter break meant Jane was practically doing arts and crafts all week.

You open up a notebook to a fresh page as you write down all the key items from the study guide, underlining key items. You wanted to knock the art essays out of the park. It wasn't as easy to bullshit those as it was to make up themes for an english paper.

Fuck, you were already pretty much done with a semester at college.

Jane had almost been back for over a year.

“Can I see your midterm,” Sasha asks, “I want to see what comments you got.”

You fish it out from your binder. “Go for it.”

Matthew looks up from his pages worth of calculus, “I hate math. I should've just done an anthropology major.”

“Sucks to be an overachiever,” you snark, annotating your notes with a pink gel pen. You had never cared to study much in high school, but a major you actually cared for made all the difference in the world. You wanted museums and van goghs and the asmr of cleaning paintings like in youtube videos.

“I didn't think double majoring would be like this,” Matthew sighs. “I haven't slept in three years.”

Sasha shakes her head, “just go for the one you like the most.”

“So I can be unemployed with tons of student debt?”

“Or get that grant money,” you wiggle your eyebrows. It was what your parents were up to.

“That would mean a PhD,” he complains, but doesn't look completely turned off by the idea. “And I could put off figuring my life out for another four years. . .”

Sasha laughs, flipping through flash cards with a bunch of arrows and equations written on them. Physics.

Intro to Biology was so much easier. You practically only had to remember high school biology and read through the study guide a few times. You could remember the difference between eukaryotic cells and prokaryotic cells.

Sasha suggests ordering Pizza hut as Jane starts asking for food and you feel like yeah, a study break sounds good.

“Four hours is the max people can concentrate for,” Matthew says, as he eats a third slice of pizza.

“So we're done for the day,” Sasha asks, getting up to stretch, and joining Jane on the couch. She'd been an angel, sort of, content to just watch tv all afternoon as you studied. Sure, she'd raised the volumes to movie theater standards every half an hour, but other than that-an angel.

“If you're good for the day.” You were nervous. You didn't want to be a C student anymore. You wanted to try. Surely you had inherited some of your parents brain cells.

“I am,” Sasha admits. “I've been studying every day for four hours. My brain has melted.”

“Honestly,” Matthew says, “I just started studying. The semester seemed so long.”

“Same though bro,” You grin. “All the tests and quizzes went right out of my mind as soon as I was done.”

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I'm taking a slice for the road. See you around.” She leaves.

Jane joins you and Matthew at the table, licking the pizza grease off her fingers. “I like Noah's pizza better.”

You wince. A cook you were not. “Well, he's working.”

“I know.”

“Noah?” Matthew says, clearly a question.

“My brother,” Jane says flippantly. “They sleep together.”

You're face burns; you want the earth to swallow you whole right then and there. “We live together,” you explain to Matthew who looks more confused. “Jane go watch TV.”

She sends an annoyed look at you, before running off.

“Noah's her brother. They're family friends-” you explain lamely.

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Matthew says sweetly. “It's your business.”

“Yeah,” you push your hair behind your ears, feeling out of whack. Matthew was cute, but it wasn't like you wanted to jump his bones. He made sociology bearable. “Can you look over my paper? I'm still not sure I got the sources incorporated right-”

“Yeah. Sure. I didn't know sociology 101 would include writing research papers.”

“Everything was going good until I remembered we had that paper due,” Matthew agrees.

You study for another hour, mostly giving each other feedback on your research paper. “It would've helped if he'd given us examples,” you mutter.

“Right.”

Jane tugs on your arm. “Come play with me,” ignoring your classmate entirely.

“Yeah. Sure,” you smile tiredly. You were at your study limit. “Want to call it a night,” you ask Matthew who nods and grabs his things.

Jane scrutinizes him the entire time. She puts her hands on top of the empty pizza box.

“I don't like him,” she pouts, “He's boring. Who studies?”

“Boring college students,” you laugh. “He's fine. We have sociology together. We're also taking english literature pre 1800s together next semester. It was that or latin literature which sounds really pretentious.”

Jane giggles. “Let's play uno!”

“Okay, but just one game. You still have to take a shower before bed.”

“I don't want to take a shower,” Jane protests, “I want to be a horrible reeking troll! Rawr!” She chases you around the living room.

You burst out laughing, letting her tackle you to the floor. It was easy to forget how stressed out you were about finals when you had Jane.

*

*

*

You take deep breaths as you scramble to find your sneakers. It got cold in lecture halls.

Noah makes coffee, “you're going to do fine.”

“I'm going to fail and flunk out of university and my parents are going to hate me forever and i'll never get a job and take Jane to disney world,” you groan, slumping at the counter with a hand on your forehead. You should've studied all night. Why had you bothered going to sleep?

Noah pours you a tumbler full of coffee, with the hazelnut creamer that basically turned the coffee into a hot chocolate, “you've been studying all week. You might not be Lucas levels of 110% on a rest but you're going to do great. I know it,” he says with a genuine smile.

You blush. “I hope all the studying has worked. I've never tried this hard in school.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods with a soft smile. “High school sucked.”

“It did.” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping to steady your nerves.

He looks good in the morning light, before it's too hot to exist. Winter in florida meant temperatures in the low 70s, laughably temperate. Noah's wearing the same boxers he'd gone to sleep in, with a soft worn in grey t-shirt, and a serious case of bed head as his hair curls around his ears in the most adorable mop top.

If you didn't have finals to head to, this would be the perfect morning.

“You're going to do amazing sweetie,” Noah chuckles in the dickish way of his.

You snort, shaking your head. “Fuck yeah I will.”

“That's the spirit.”

You shove your feet into your beat up vans, grab your backpack. “See you later,” you smile at Noah.

“Yeah, good luck,” he says, putting his mug of coffee down on the counter and leaning down. One second he's smiling down at you, and in the next one he's pressing his lips against yours.

Holy fuck.

Your eyes widen.

Was this really happening, or were you just that tired.

“Shit,” Noah stammers, pulling away quickly. “I-”

You raise a brow, “What-”

“It was an accident. Sorry.” Noah steps back, running a hand through his hair, pink up to the tips of his ears.

You feel a bit like a deflated balloon. “What even was that?” Because what it seemed like was like he'd kissed you but-how do you accidentally kiss someone. No-this was way too much for you to dea with at the moment.

“I just-nothing. Just forget it,” Noah says. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“See you later,” you try, feeling all messed up. Had he wanted to kiss you? Was this you messing up for the both of you?

You wish you could call Lily right now, but you had a final to get to.

*

*

*

It's Christmas day, technically.

Jane's been asleep for hours and Noah's taking a bite out of the cookies laid out for Santa as you watch it's a wonderful life trying to puzzle out how this was a Christmas classic. It was boring.

Things had been so awkward with Noah as of late, as you both danced around the kiss, that you had let Jane talk you into a sleepover in her room almost every night. There was no way you could lay there next to Noah and not think yourself to death. Absolutely no way.

You had wrapped up her gifts in baby yoda christmas themed wrapping paper: an assortment of more clothes because Jane really didn't have much considering she had basically popped into life a year ago, random books you remembered liking in elementary and middle school, and toys that you had definitely splurged on including a two hundred dollar set of legos that you looked forward to building with her. It had been hard to keep it secret from her when you all spent the majority of your time together. Stacey had sent a big care package for all of you. Lily had sent gifts through the post office. Lucas’ contribution was a few amazon packages.

All your friends had sent something.

It was touching, considering the distance. You couldn't wait to see them again-Ava wanted to visit in the summer.

You flip the channel, deciding Full House reruns were better.

“Not Full House,” Noah groans, turning the kitchen light off.

“Let me guess. You're a Die Hard fan?”

“Best christmas movie,” he grins.

You shake your head. He could be such a guy. And just like that, the tension between you two dissipates. “No way. The Grinch is the best. The 2001 one anyway.”

You click the side table lamp off.

Noah sits down next to you as you flick through the channels, trying to find something to watch. “Bob's burgers?”

“Sounds good.”

It's dark. The volume’s on low. You're all curled up in bed, and Noah's not being weird-it helps that you're trying to be chill about it.

“How did your finals go?”

“Well I didn't flunk out,” you shrug. “I got a C in sociology but a B in everything else.” It was fine. It's not like you were a sociology major.

“I told you you'd do good.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, laying down entirely, ignoring the tv. “I just figured all the studying would...I don't know, mean I'd get straight As?”

“It's college-isn't it supposed to be like super hard or whatever,” Noah says with a shrug.

“I guess.” You just wished you were that kind of student. Even seeing how hard the effort was on Lucas’ mental health, maybe your parents might visit if you did get straight As. It was dumb. “I just figured my parents might pay attention if I did get all As.”

“Fuck your parents,” he says easily.

You snort. “Shut up. They pay like half the rent.”

“The least they could do.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Did you ever want to go to college? You know like when we had to write colleges letters in fifth grade, or was it sixth?”

“Naw. School was never my thing,” Noah says in the quiet of the night.

You smile softly, tilting your head so you're looking at him, the moonlight illuminating the angles of his jaw as it poured in through the windows. “Then it was always culinary school for you?”

He shrugs. “Yeah-I mean,” he closes his eyes, thinking silently. “I'm a little too dumb for school. I could never get the whole trig thing or what Shakespeare was saying let alone the subtext.”

You sit up. “Shut up,” you state, slapping his bicep lightly. “Don't say that shit.”

“It's true.”

You shift, closer to his side of the bed, closer to him still lying there staring up at the ceiling, not meeting your searching gaze. “You're not dumb. Noah-you are not dumb. You're so fucking smart-who remembered to buy toilet paper and figured out how to rent an apartment?”

“You can google that shit,” he says, covering his face with his hand, embarrassed.

“And cooking takes skill. Maybe it's not mensa harvard type smarts, but it's not nothing!” You just wanted him to see himself the way you did. You're sitting up on your knees now, as his expressive wide eyes meet yours, a dark romantic brown you could drown in, staring down at him. “Say it! Say you're smart and clever and amazing!”

“I'm not saying that,” he laughs off.

“Say, I'm fucking smart and I can do anything,” you repeat, nudging his chest.

Noah smiles and it does all sorts of things to you, makes your pulse race as heat winds its way all hot under your skin, all hot and bothered and feeling giddy like a dumbass and you never meet someone who felt like home the way it is with Noah. “I'm fucking smart,” he says quietly, rolling his eyes, “and I can do anything.”

“We're going to have to work on that,” you laugh, belatedly realizing you're almost on top of him. Well, you are on top of him, you're knees are by his waist, but you're leaning over him and fuck you want him. The way he's laying there under you, looking like the sun shines out of your ass, it's thrilling.

“We will,” Noah says, wiggling his brows in a way that has you laughing into his chest.

Then you're looking up at him, unable to catch your breath, because you can't stop laughing and it's not like you're particularly comedic but-fuck it, you lean up and kiss him. It's what you've been itching to do since the party at-fuck, you don't even remember, but you remember finding him there and realizing he's what you had been missing, the reason you didn't feel like being there until you sat by the pool with him.

He's Noah and you're you and there's not a version of you that doesn't love him to bits; there's not a version of you that doesn't go with him to face the monster and rescue Dan and would give your life for him and Jane. Always. Because he's Noah-

You lean down and kiss him, trying to communicate the depth of this feeling.

It wasn't some crush.

Or some drunken affair at a house party.

You kiss his lips with a dizzying fever that burns hot under your skin as desire builds in the pit of your stomach: a bundle of nerves sparking to life. And he kisses you back, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

You tremble under his gentle touch, afraid that this too would disappear in your hands. You were so used to losing: to getting nothing.

Noah stares up wide eyed at you when you pull away.

You bite your bottom lip.

“I-,” he stutters.

“I've really been wanting to do that for a long time,” you confess.

“Me too.”

You swallow thickly at his confession. “Then it wasn't...it wasn't an accident,” you ask carefully.

Noah shakes his head once. “No. That-I just, I didn't want to mess up something good just because I wanted something more.” He looks so heartbroken in that second-

“Noah,” you sigh gently. “I was surprised and thinking about school but I've-I would've kissed you then if my head hadn't been so far up my own ass.”

He snorts, the line of his shoulders relaxing under your hands. “After what happened- I was lucky that you even wanted to talk to me at all. I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me and then I thought it was just for Jane,” Noah admits painfully.

“I've always loved you.” You tell him. “And I'm going to keep telling you until it gets through that thick skull of yours.”

Noah chuckles.

“So are we on the same page?”

He rakishly raises a brow with a shit eating grin on his lips, “I don't know, are you gonna kiss me again?”

You vow to wipe that look off his face as you do more than press your lips hungrily against his, your hands against his chest as you shift once more, situating yourself and getting comfortable straddling his waist with your legs. You press hard kisses to his mouth as Noah kisses you back with the same fervor; you nibble on his bottom lip, bringing it between your teeth.

It's an exercise in breathlessness, a mexican stand-off in which both sides are ready and happy to pull the trigger because of the rush of blood to your head as you taste him on your lips. It's intoxicating the way in which he kisses your mouth and you forget the need to breathe.

But you, smiling against the skin of his jaw as you catch your breath. His chest rises and falls under your hands as he laughs giddily, feeling as crazy as you do.

It's not that epic romeo and juliet love that burns and destroys, but the fullness in your heart as you lay there with him.

You plant kisses down his jaw, savoring the hitches in his breath as you nip on the skin at the crook of his neck. “Is this okay,” you ask wickedly.

“Fuck,” Noah utters, voice breaking as he sucks in air. “Yeah-”

He cups your cheek with his hand and leads you up, brings you back where he can kiss you again. Noah kisses you-he lets himself kiss you. His tongue experimentally whetting against your all too willing lips before your mouth opens up to him and it's clear in the clumsy way he's eager to explore your mouth--the boy has no idea what he's doing.

It's fine.

You smile against his mouth, taking charge and running your tongue against his. Reaching for his free hand and guiding it, inviting him to explore the shape of your body in an oversized t-shirt and tiny booty shorts that you wouldn't even take the trash out in.

Noah does, clasping your hips with his hand as you binch up the fabric of his shirt in your hands as you lose yourself in kissing him, in drinking him in like a comfort series you could endlessly rewatch.

You're both breathless, as you lay your head down on his chest, content.

“That was,” Noah says all out of sorts, “wow.”

“Guess you're going to be the next great american writer,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, running his hand up your side.

“Hey,” you continue, relaxing into his touch, “Hemingway was a man of few words.”

“Was he the alcoholic one?”

“I think a lot of writers were,” you admit. “I tried to read his whale book but it was boring as fuck.”

“Moby Dick,” Noah says thoughtfully, “did Hemingway write Moby Dick?”

“Who cares,” you reply, pressing a kiss against the edge of his lips, fine with spending the wee hours of the morning making out with Noah.

“Well now I want to know.”

“Really,” you tease, bringing your hand up, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His eyes close. Noah leans into your touch. “I'll google it later.”

You giggle.

Then he’s kissing you again and you could care less about books and long dead writers. Noah captures your lips with his and you intertwine your fingers in his hair, a hand on his chest, wondering what it would feel like to have his bare skin against yours and caught between the enormity of your want and letting things happen naturally. It was Noah. You didn’t want to rush him.

You were still amazed he’d kissed you back,that he wanted you the same way you wanted him. The love had never been the point of contention between you two. You loved him at nine and you loved him at nineteen.

Noah losses some of his hesitation, his hands sliding down your side until they reach the swell of your hips straddling his waist. Then his hand slips under the fabric of your shirt and you moan into his mouth at the sensation of his fingers splayed against to taunt muscles of your abdomen.

It’s just flaring want consuming you whole.

“Is that,” Noah manages between bated breaths, “okay?”

You kind of want to shake his shoulders and say shut up and keep going, because you might just combust in the next few minutes if he keeps going like this, this clumsy tenderness mixed with the assault of his body discovering yours. “Yeah,” you stammer out, more feeling than young woman. “Great actually.”

Noah chuckles, trailing kisses down your neck as you lean back a little, before pulling away. . .before pulling your shirt over your head.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of your naked torso.

You can’t help the headyness in your chest at his reaction, at the way you were affecting him. “Like what you see,” you grin, all brash confidence that threatened to topple over like a house of cards at every turn, at the shift of his body under yours.

For once, Noah doesn’t have some smartass comment, just reaches his hands to your cheeks and pulls you down flush against him.

Fuck.

You kiss him feverishly, your hands finding the hem of his shirt as running yours fingers against the sliver of skin.

Noah moans into your mouth and you swear you can’t even function at the sound. The entire world is boiled down to you and him, him and you, and building pressure in your belly that threatens to explode.

“The shirt-,” you stutter out, half out of your mind.

“Yeah,” he obliges, sitting up and tugging it off.

And then you’re melting against him, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts flush against his bare chest. Your toes curl up as you sigh, hands clutching at his neck, at his cheek, at the ends of his hair.

You kiss his jaw, you suck on the skin of his jaw and none of it is enough. Fuck, you want him so bad. You’re so fucking horny. It’s not like you’d been with a lot of people. But it had been over a year since your last sexual encounter.

And that might explain part of it-

Noah cups one of your breast with the palm of his hand, and fuck-

Your mind blanks as you moan his name. “Noah,” you whimper.

He kisses your collarbone, smiling against your skin.

“Do you want to-,” he asks, sounding more self assured by the word.

“Yes, yes,” you eagerly answer, kissing him hungrily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Noah laughs breathlessly.

Then he’s whimpering as you run your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can get further, “condom?”

“Fuck,” you swear. This was so unsexy of you both. But it wasn’t like you had a reason to buy condoms along with pads and fruit snacks. “I think I have one,” you vaguely remember there being one in your wallet.

“I really hope you do.”

“Jerk.”

With great reluctance, you crawl off him to go look for your purse. You had to stop throwing it wherever and hang it up. It would've made it easier to find right now.

You don’t look back at Noah, even though you can feel his heavy gaze on you. The airs filled with static electricity as you rifle around and find the slim black bag.

It’s another few minutes of fishing through its contents before you find the thin small envelope that you were pretty sure you’d gotten in health or at planned parenthood at some point. Ava had definitely been there.

When you turn around, Noah’s sat up in bed, in your bed, in the bed you two share, have shared for months. It’s too dark to make out the expression on his features from this distance, but it’s under his dark eyes that you make your way back to him.

You push your shorts and underwear down in one go, discarding them by the side of the bed, taking care not to lose the condom (you were going on another target run asap) before you’re once again straddling his waist, feeling Noah already hard under your thigh.

“I’ve,” he starts as you sit up on your knees, feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh.” You’re off kilter. Does he not want to? It’s fine. You’re just surprised. It’s Noah. He’s tall and funny even if you want to strangle him half the time --he can cook-- and he’s so fucking hot when he’s not being adorkable. You’re surprised. “We don’t. . .have to.”

He sits up under you. “No. It’s,” Noah blushes, “I want to, it’s just-you should know?”

“Oh. Okay,” you lean in, kissing him with a tenderness he deserves in spades, “if you’re sure.”

Noah grasps your hips in his hands, pulling you in, “I’m sure.”

He kisses you.

You push him down onto the bed by his shoulders. His eyes are full of trust as he looks up at you, full of love like the moon on a clear night. You carefully open the condom up.

Noah shimmies his boxers off.

And because you’re you, you reach down and stroke his cock with your hand.

He shuts his eyes, moaning your name as he throws his head back into the bed, his back arching.

You wait a moment for him to still underneath you, before you roll the condom onto his cock, letting your desire carry your through as you fumble a bit. Again, you didn’t exactly have much experience on Noah. You just had some experience.

You lean down flush against him, kissing his lips, as you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs and part your legs, moaning into his mouth as he enters your soaked entrance. Noah stretches you out, leaving you a trembling mess, faring no better than he currently was under you, as his hips thrust against you and you-fuck!

It’s a tangle of limbs as you wrap your arms around him, lacing your fingers behind his neck, wanting more, and more as your hips more erratically against his.

Noah is all kisses and moans and his fingers bruising the skin of your hips as he presses you closer against him.

You don’t really know or care about anything but the feel of his cock inside you, as he thrusts with fervor, and clutches you near. You just want and want and stars dance across your eyelids as your skin catches fire, the heat in your belly finally boiling over as you fuck him, grinding your hips against his.

You splutter, reaching your climax while topping the boy you’ve been in love with for what might as well be your whole life. It’s just your strained voice, repeating his name, “Noah,” like it’s an answer to the whole meaning of life bullshit.

Good.

Bad.

It always comes back to him.

Noah.

He comes against you a second later, your name a sharp breath on his lips, before he goes as boneless as you feel. You’re on cloud fucking nine.

It’s a feeling no amount of weed can come close to.

Exhausted, you get off of him, slumping into a puddle on the bed. Fucking Florida. You were too hot and sweaty to curl under the blankets now.

“I fucking love you.”

“Oh,” you snipe back, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, “now that I’ve fucked you you tell me.”

“Shut up,” Noah manages. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go toss the condom.”

He sits up slowly, “oh this episode’s my favorite.”

You’d completely forgotten about Bob’s Burgers reruns playing on the TV.

*

*

*

It’s New Year’s Eve and the three of you are eating ice cream on the beach. Only in Florida.

“And why can’t I go in the water?”

“Because you don’t have your bathing suit,” Noah tells Jane for the hundredth time.

“I promise I’ll just stick my feet in.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” you shake your head.

She frowns. “I promise!”

What the heck. It’s not like you were going anywhere else after this. “Okay. But you have to finish your ice cream first.”

“Wow,” Noah says, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leaning his weight against you, making you stumble in the sand. “What a pushover.”

“Me!” You reply, offended. “You let her stay home for no reason.”

The twins exchange glances. “She had chickenpox,” Noah shrugs shamelessly.

“And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Korean skincare does miracles.”

You roll your eyes at him, “shut up.”

Jane giggles easily as she decides this patch of sand is the one, and sits down, licking her rocky road ice cream happily.

“Jane,” you ask gently.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember why you’re ten and we’re not?” It had been bugging you, ever since the parent teacher conference. There had been no more nightmares since September, but it bothered you, that she might remember anything. That Jane might not want to tell you. You couldn’t help her if she didn’t tell you.

She shrugs. “Not really,” with a child’s ability to shrug things off.

Noah asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Do you remember Redfield?”

Jane looks at you both, frowning. “Who?”

Your shoulders sag with relief. You hide it with a bite of your ice cream cone. Jane had a habit of picking up on things.

“No one important,” Noah brushes off, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are being weird,” Jane complains. “Is this about you two being gross together? I saw you holding hands.” She narrows her eyes at you accusingly. “Don’t you remember boys have cooties.” She shakes her head. “Grown ups.”

“Jane,” Noah squeaks.

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah. We thought you should know.” It was better to leave the whole Redfield business behind. She didn’t need that shit weighing her down. “I don’t know. I like your brother a lot for some reason. Ava says it’s trauma induced codependency but she’s Ava so. . .”

Jane frowns again, letting the ice cream drip onto the sand as she thinks. “Does that mean I’m getting a sister?”

It’s your turn to be flabbergasted, as your skin reddens into a ripe tomato. “What!”

“It’s only fair,” she explains. “If you get my brother then I should get a new sister.”

“How about a stuffed animal,” you barter.

“You let me play five Nights at Freddies?”

“No way Jane,” Noah says, shaking his head. “It’ll give you nightmares.”

“What about minecraft,” you try. “Just on Fridays though.”

“Okay. i don’t want my ice cream anymore. I want to go play in the water.”

You nod, kicking your shoes off. “Okay yeah. Let’s go throw it away. I’m sick of mine too.”

You toss the ice cream and race Jane into the waves.

[dc81600]

There Are No Children In Alagadda

When I look at the goings-on in downtown Alagadda, I find that every single street here is the central street, and there is no downtown. Every corner shifts between marvellous feasts, unspeakable bloodbaths, voluptuous orgies, or more often than not, combinations of the three. Food of the greatest quality, made by (and sometimes from) Alagaddans is served around the clock. Sounds of music and cheer, crying and fear echo in everyone's ears. Party goers big and small, of every gender and sex, join in the fun. So have I.

The unending fornication drove me to assume the population was booming. In a normal city, one would be right, though numbers matter not here. I wonder still, how could it be that in such a vibrant cityscape, there are no children in Alagadda? It would be foolish to suggest that an entire country was sterile. And it would be wrong to suggest that any individual in Alagadda was incapable of reproduction. Though, it would be an effective method of mating with any given Alagaddan… Then being murdered by them, then all over again a few times for good measure. To be honest, that was my favorite weekend pleasure here since I came.

It is never quiet in the streets of Alagadda, yet, all activities seem to be in an eternal standstill within the castles of the nobles and the King. Quite frankly, most buildings in Alagadda are empty, with the residents out on parade. The rest are largely the in-side-out kind of places, where the parades march around, over and inside in spirals of dance.

In the hollow walkways of the deepest caverns over the King's throne, where none dare tread (and none certainly do), faint laughter and cries can be heard. But no, these aren't the voices of the King: those are much quieter. Out! These are the voices of children. But how can that be? There are no children in Alagadda. Stop!

I listen carefully and look further. The laughter leads me through the endless corridors of the King's palace and out back into the parades. Why? Now the parades' sound are but a distant drumming, while the children's cries grow louder. I follow the voices which echo in the empty holes of my mask. Ahhhaaargh‽

I have felt clarity for longer now than I have in the past two millennia. This runs on for far more than just a moment, and it has overstayed its welcome. Investigations are not an Alagaddan's business. Perhaps I should return to the celebrations. Too late.

I walk again among the celebrating masses, touching the unfamilliar smooth cold skin of another. In the heat I feel their body and hope that my vertigo and euphoria will return. But the figure walks away, leaving me unnoticed. I hear not the music, but the laughter and the screams… the screams… the screams. That terrible pain in my ears. I yell, I lay down on another and try to confide, but they see me not. Lonesome be and thus will begin your end! "Why am I alone? Why can't they see me?" I've been talking for hours, they just can't hear me! I return to the palace, surely the king will see me. Not yet, the king will see you surely, but only after you repent.

The children scream in my head, it throbs and the children laugh, they scream to me. As my heart breaks, they laugh at my empathy. The children scream and torture me. Then they laugh at my slowing haste, my faltering advance to the palace. They are not, yet they mock me and my being, my mind and body's strain. "There are no children in Alagadda." I hear myself say, but my voice is faint, the children laugh at it, overflowing and drowning out my confusion. A fool you are and the worse kind!

I look up at the King's gate and ask the guard, "Can you hear the children's screaming?" I wish not to hear the answer. The guard tilts his head in confusion and says, "There are no children in Alagadda". This I know, though his words concern me. I have no proof nor merit to disprove him. A tear burns my cheek, lonely and confused. I walk away alone with nonexistent voices shredding my consciousness and find my self at the precipice of the tallest of the towers of Alagadda. I walked the halls of this unused church not one minute before I stumbled on the roof. Falling to my knees, the wind chills me to the core. I clutch at my stomach, and remember the child that was there before. My heart shrinks. Not a thousand years of hearing these children's screams will replace what is gone. My pain is not the screams, but the reminder that there have not been, and will not since There are no children in Alagadda.

I grow tired of these children who lay siege to me and my roar grows louder in the dusty bells above me. "Who are you? You live not! You are not! By what power then do you war with me? What wrong did I do to receive such treatment? Answer me and stop with this madness! May the king's wrath be upon you!" I yell onto the city of vice and none hear me. Through my tears I see them, the children of Alagadda, like clouds of flesh they curl in mid-air, these unborn fetus ghosts of countless infinities. They fill the airspace and they loom around me. I hear answers to my questions, though I know not who answers. My stomach turns to mercury and bubbles up my throat.

They are none. They live yes. They are not. By the same power that lets you live. Wrong you've done not, and none war with you.

This torture you recieve is yours for your journey to seek them. Answer they won't and cease they shan't. Your fate and your doom, to never live free of torment, and none else as well who looks for children in a childless place. So sayeth the king, go and recieve your final judgment. The floating ghosts disperse.

I fall from the tower, and my broken bones shiver when I rise again. I return in shame and with great guilt to the palace. The guard lets me pass and I enter through the King's gates.

The foggy chambers echo with the sound of teardrops trickling from the ceiling into pools of blood that gather at the floor. I pass through these chambers and descend into the labyrinth of the King's palace. The children are screaming at me, begging me, pleading and commanding me to turn back but I deny them, continuing onwards. You know nothing of our pain! You hear not our voices but their echoes in your feeble mind. Meet with the king for all we care, we have not forgiven and nor will he, and soon you will see, none search for children in this city. I come upon the pool of tears gathered from the King's weeping; I see the bodies in the water and walk over the bridge. The children's screams echo from underneath me from the orifices of the dead. The caverns underneath me quake, I hear his pain.

At the end of the bridge stands the ambassador, and they mock me: "In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him" Til I cried out in my anger and my shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" but the fighter still remains. And they mock me yet again: "Those voices you are hearing are yours, simple and plain. The King won't save you from your torment and pain." The ambassador laughs as I cry and kneel, the crows join the children and they sing and feast on my tortured soul and corrupt my brain. They scream, they scream, and they scream again. Aaaaahrguhgaaa! I ask them, in my desperation I forget who stands before me, "Who are these children that scream in vain?" The ambassador giggles and replies with the answer I know to be true, yet can't believe: "You know something's happening, but you don't know what it is, do you?", the cruel blank face contorts in a blank grin and a bellowing laugh pierces my ears. There are no children in Alagadda. They tell me again and again. Soon they grow bored and leave me be, with the voices and my loneliness. The ambassador is gone, and I stand back up again.

The children of Alagadda repeat my sins and ridicule me for my foolishness as I descend to the deepest cavern. We know, wev'e seen it all, your's is with us now, and you may not hear him calling you mother, and yoj never heard his voice, but you recognize it. Don't you? Mommy? I enter his dungeon of terrible torture, and the King is in his throne. Some things are ever-changing but always stay the same. The king speaks not, but the weight of his presence, his madness and his pain pushes me down. My lip shivers as I notice a familiar voice within the screams, though I know not from where.

I beg him for salvation, from the children who are screaming, screaming my name. Now you will be judged, you have seen the naked corpsess of the children we once weren't! And for your curiosity you shall be judged. You mother of nigh and none, our maker and our killer and our accursed harbinger. There are no children in Alagadda and thus it will stay. And you in this matter have no say. I notice they grow quiet, not silent, not gone, but they wait for me beyond the entrance. The voices dare not enter the chamber, and I smile for a moment, turning to thank the king.

But my joy is cut short, for the walls of the dungeon roar and thunder as I fall to my knees. They mock me and they bid me leave. I stare back at the door and I hear the children laugh, waiting for me to return. I dare not move but cry to my King who sits still in his prison, his throne of pain.Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! I tell the King of the children and pray he permit me to remain; I wait for his answer an eternity, and another, and another again.

As aeons pass and I lay unmoving, the King gathers his voice and the children gather courage. They grow closer and they scream in my ears yet again… Until finally, a horrid sound of crushing bugs and dusty grinding teeth joins them, crushing my lungs and freezing my heart. Wet gurgles of long-forgotten serpents wriggle in the King's damned voices as they fill the room. So sayeth to me in his halls of damnation with his voices of doom:

T̟h̆e̾r̦e̴ ͉̬a͔͛r̭̅e̜̯ ̊ͥń̊̊ö̓ͅ ̴̨̖c̵̮͇h̨̻̀i͋̇̽͌l̖̃͂͟d̷͕̦̗r̢̰̱͠e͖̣̾̏ǹ͈̺̭̗ ̸̨̖͎̈́i̢͓͓ͧ͡n͎̹̐ͯ̑ ̵͓̼͈̝Al̵̢̬͚͂͆a̢ͨͧ̍͘g̴̶̛̦̍̓a̗̹̓͆ͭ́d̺͕͇͎͒͢͠d̶̢̟̰ͦ̈ͬâ̧͕͡҉̢͡ .̧̺͕̒͆͆̚

Hahah haah ha ha!

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We Are The Unborn Children of alagadda.We scream for our names are imagined, we scream till they stop.

WE ARE ALL THE CHILDREN OF ALAGADDA.

And the fool who thought of us is now punished, dead and done.

She exists less now than us. In a moment she will be forgetten her and our cage will be quiet once more

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[lettertomyself]

Blue Sweaters

Pairing - Ava x MC

Word count - 7.1k

Emma burns.

Not because she’s warm, she’s the opposite, actually, it’s pretty chilly.

No, she burns because she’s angry. She’s mad, she would like to punch a wall if the opportunity ever arose.

When Emma thought about going to the homecoming dance, she’d imagined bright lights, romantic songs. She’s imagined Mason and her slow dancing for exactly the perfect amount of time until the moment felt just right and they both leaned in for the perfect kiss. She’d imagined fireworks and butterflies and everything else that’s supposed to happen when you kiss someone you’d loved all your life. Emma, however, had not imagined her date getting into a fist fight with somebody else. She hadn’t expected being kicked out of the dance, hadn’t expected never having that perfect dance along with that perfect kiss. Emma is angry about many things, dates getting into fights, being kicked out, and above all, she’s angry that this whole day, homecoming, feels like a waste. After the game, when Mason asked her to the dance she recalls feeling so much. Now she’s just angry. She huffs, pacing outside with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Because as she walks, even though she is absolutely burning with rage, and anger, and indignation and everything else right and valid, she also feels rather cold in the autumn air. It’s pretty chill for October. Not for the first time that night she wishes she hadn’t had Mason be her ride. Emma, still likes him, maybe, but right now she feels as if she has the right to be mad, and if she sees his face right now with all his bruises and a sad look in his eyes, she might be inclined to forgive him, and she will later, but right now she thinks she deserves the right to stew in her anger for just a little bit longer. She shivers, rubbing her arms again. If only she could stew somewhere warmer. For a moment, Emma considers calling her father to pick her up. Immediately after she shuts it down. She can practically already hear the pride in his voice, when she’d inevitably have to tell him why she had to leave. She knows that he’s said he’s going to be a better father and that should be enough, and she wants to think that it will be, but then she remembers all the looks he gave, and the things he’s done. Her father has always told her ‘actions speak louder than words’ and more than anything, she thinks he should take his own advice. His actions spoke volumes. Emma remembers the police station, how he wouldn’t drive her home so she could think about her actions. Emma only wishes he thought about his. So, Emma clenches her fists, she’s not calling her father. For one second, she debates walking, then her heels pinch at her feet, and the sky seems to get darker in relation, as if to say, ‘you really want to walk home, now?’ Emma doesn’t, actually. What can she do? Mason’s busy getting chewed out by the principal. That’ll take a while. Emma chews her lip, maybe she should wait for him, he’s her only option right now. She just doesn’t know if she could handle the awkward car ride home. She could probably roll with the awkwardness, but does she want to? Emma pulls out her phone and opens her last conversation with Mason. mason: on my way, excited to see you tonight! emma: ok!! see you soon <3 Emma winces, she remembers debating for five minutes on whether she should send the heart. Those five minutes ended abruptly with Mackenzie breaking into her room, grabbing her phone, and pressing send before Emma could stop her. (“It’s not that big of a deal,” Mackenzie had said, Emma had been too busy trying not to cry to respond.) It hadn’t mattered in the end, Mason had sent a heart back a few minutes later, and all her worries had evaporated into fuzzy-happy feelings. She had felt so happy then, now she just feels tired. Emma starts typing before she can convince herself not to. emma: hey, so i was wondering if... She paused. Wondering if what? How is she supposed to phrase this in a way that won’t make her feel like a jerk? She yelled at him, and now she’s asking for a ride. Emma’s never felt more hypocritical in her life. She glares down at her phone, at the stupid hearts, at her stupid half-written text message, at Mason previously saying he’d be happy to see her, and she agreed, but he was wrong. She was wrong Emma is back to burning. She’s in the process of trying to melt her phone into lava with her stare, when someone puts their hand on her shoulder. Emma jumps, and almost drops her phone. She doesn’t, luckily, she doesn’t want to know how her father would react to that a broken phone She almost tells the person to leave her alone until she looks up.

She blinks, Ava Lawrence?

Haven’t had a conversation that hasn’t ended in argument in forever, Ava Lawrence?

That Ava?

Emma is having trouble processing, that Ava Lawrence, Ava Lawrence, would want anything to do with her.

If Ava noticed anything weird about her, she doesn’t mention anything. Instead of saying anything, Ava just leans against the side of the building with Emma, tapping her foot against the brick, and resting her head against the wall. The moment is so terrifyingly normal that Emma suddenly feels horribly nostalgic. Ava must feel the nostalgia seeping into the atmosphere too, because she smiles.

Emma hasn’t seen that smile, a genuine one, in a very long time. It’s nice, the kind of smile that sparks fireworks in the hearts of everyone ever. It makes her want to smile too.

“You cold?” Ava asks.

She blinks, “What?”

“You’ve been out here for a while, ever since the fight.”

Emma starts, “You noticed?”

“The fight? Where Mason threw Noah into the punch bowl? The one half the dance recorded? I think everyone did,”

“No, no, not that, you just, “She trails off, clearing her throat, she can’t help but notice how dry it is, “You noticed I was gone?”

“Yeah, duh. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emma is having a considerably difficult time finding only one answer to that question.

“Right,” She settles on.

Still, the guilt from before is piling up. Ava, the person’s she’s been a horrible friend to, is being nice. Ava, who noticed she was gone. Ava whose very smile makes something twist inside of her chest.

Even though her burning anger from before has since settled, there’s something about her that makes Emma still feel the slightest bit warm.

“So,” Emma starts, “Did you have fun at the dance?”

“Nope,” At Emma’s guilty look, Ava laughs,” Not because of the fight, the fight was the best part actually, gave me a chance to talk to you,”

Ava bumps Emma’s shoulder with her own, Emma finds the spot their shoulders touched scorching hot.

Emma laughs awkwardly, she doesn’t know how to take the compliment, and she feels weird. She thinks she might be coming down with a fever.

“You could’ve talked to me before,” Emma says.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ava turns away for a second,” But it wouldn’t have been talking,”

“What?” Emma frowns.

“We haven’t talked in forever,” Ava stresses the word, turning back to face her, there’s something unreadable in her eyes, “Not actually talked, it just- it wasn’t the same.”

She tenses, “I’m sorry. With Mason I thought- “

Ava cuts her off, “It’s not just Mason, it was like this before him, we just never acknowledged it, we should have acknowledged it.”

Emma feels her chest tighten, because Ava’s right. She remembers pulling away from their friendship in early sophomore year. She doesn’t remember why exactly, but that was also the year her crush on Mason escalated to the extreme. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t remember much from that year. It was all valentines’ cards with too much glitter and staring at the ceiling at night thinking of elaborate ways to profess her love for someone who didn’t like her back. She hadn’t realized but maybe in pursuing Mason, she had been pushing Ava further and further away.

Except maybe he did like her back then. Emma wonders why the thought makes her feels worse. She rubs her arms, it didn’t matter anyway, because there’s a part of her that regrets all the pining. She spent all those years, hoping he would one day look at her as more than a friend, and now that he has, she doesn’t know if it was worth it.

All she can look at now, is Ava, and the way their friendship has deteriorated for so long and Emma hadn’t even noticed. She never considered that the reason they hadn’t been talking as much, wasn’t just a senior year thing, but an entirety of high school thing. And it wasn’t because of Mason, not in the way she thought it was, it was all because of her.

The guilt Emma carries swirls, and if it’s possible, seems to grow even larger.

Emma suddenly does not feel very good.

She wraps her hands around her arms, taking in the night. It’s late, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else notices, everything is still just a little bit too loud. Cars rush past in the main street, and the streetlights are glowing in the way they only can in the night. As she stares, Emma feels the wind brush past her arms, she can feel the chill of it on the back of her neck, she shivers. The moon glows, and Ava’s presence beside her seems to glow even brighter. Though Ava’s the closest they’ve been in a while, Emma has never felt lonelier.

She rubs her shoulders, there’s so much to say. She doesn’t know to start.

An apology is always a good start.

“I’m sorry,” She looks down, twisting her fingers, “This is my fault,”

Ava doesn’t say anything, and Emma’s scared to look up, so she settles on staring down at the ground, there’s a crack in the concrete, that could be dangerous if left unchecked, she focuses on that instead of the weighted stare of the person beside her.

“This is all my fault,” She says again, it's easy to start with facts, “I’m a bad friend, and I don’t think I’ve been a good one to you in a very long time.”

She continues, her voice shaky. “I guess, I got distracted by Mason, for-- for years. And I never got undistracted, which is my fault, and I should have been paying more attention to you, because we’re here and they’re there, and, and, and-- I don’t know why any of it was so important.”

Emma’s throat burns, she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s just spoken more words than she should have, or if she just really, really wants to cry. She decides it might be both.

She isn’t going to cry, but she does sniff terribly loud because she is two seconds away from crying, and it is just as embarrassing.

Emma looks down resolutely at her shoes, she knows if she looks up, she’ll see Ava’s expression, and whatever is on her face, will either destroy Emma or make her cry. Either way, she’s two minutes away from running away and never looking up. Her feet will hurt running in heels, but she thinks it might be worth it rather than having to look into Ava’s face and only seeing disappointment.

‘Emma,” Ava says. It’s one word, just her name, but Emma looks up immediately. Somehow Ava has managed to stand directly in front of the moon, the perspective makes Emma breathless, the full moon is like a halo to Ava. It makes her heart jump-start. Emma can’t put a name to this thrumming in her chest, but it feels new, she isn’t sure if she’s ever felt anything this intensely.

There’s something in Ava’s eyes, the same unreadable look she’d seen before, but this time it seems sharper. Before Emma can look too closely, it softens. Ava smiles, and with the moon behind her Emma thinks this new feeling might be killing her.

Ava’s smile brightens, if that’s even possible, and she grabs Emma’s hand. “Do you want a ride?”

“Okay,” Emma focuses on their hands together, wondering why it seems so important, suddenly deciding she would like to never let go.

-

The drive home is nice. It seems like old times, when they would sing out of tune in the back of whoever’s family’s’ minivan, back when they were only kids and they would sing as loud as they wanted to. They couldn’t drive places on their own yet, they also didn’t know how to sing, but that didn’t stop them, it was fun.

Emma misses it, before her mom died, before her father became who he is now, before everything became so much worse. She misses being out of tune.

Emma looks over at Ava, crooning to whatever song’s playing on the radio, and yet is still somehow still driving perfectly. Emma wonders how she does it, but Ava is perfect at many things, so she isn’t all surprised. Emma might recognize the song, but she can’t tell over Ava’s terrible singing. She is somehow off-key on every single note, Emma didn’t think it was possible, but Ava exceeds expectations. Emma knows that technically Ava is probably the worst singer ever, but looking over, seeing the grin on her face and the joy she radiates clear as day, Emma thinks she might be the best.

Emma must look embarrassingly sappy looking over at Ava, but she can’t help herself, she’s lucky to have her friend back.

“What are you looking at?” Ava teases, glancing at Emma.

“You,” it slips out, and Emma is only momentarily embarrassed at the brutal honesty, “Your voice is incredible, you know?”

Ava rolls her eyes, still smiling, “Okay.”

“Really, “Emma insists, “Incredible, it’s very… powerful, and strong, and--“

“Okay, Emma,” Ava laughs, and Emma is suddenly very glad she isn’t driving, she feels she would forget how to function at the sound, “I know I’m not good. It’s fine, I’m not trying to be. Sometimes it’s just fun to sound bad.”

Ava continues, glancing over for a second, “You ever just… have fun?”

Emma wants to answer, but she doesn’t exactly know how to. She tries to remember the last time she’s had fun. It’s more difficult than she thought. There’s the time she spray-painted with Mackenzie, but that had ended in the police station with more bad memories than she knows what to do with. That night had started fun and ended with Emma trying her hardest not to cry. She doesn’t know if that counts as fun, she would like to think it did not.

Then there was the time she took pictures of the football field, that was fun too, for a bit, until Mason and Noah had started fighting. Emma frowns, Mason and Noah certainly fight a lot. She supposes she might have noticed before, but tonight, at the dance, was just the tipping point.

But hanging out with Ava has always been fun.

“’m having fun with you,” Emma turns, resting her chin on her hand to look out the window. It’s getting late, she wonders what time it is.

“Oh,” Ava says. She doesn’t continue for a moment; Emma vaguely wonders if she said something wrong.

“I mean,” Ava starts, her voice strangely high, “I mean- besides me, what do you do for fun?”

Emma hums, “I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “I’ve spent so much time focusing on Mason, that I guess that was fun to me? I don’t know.”

“Mason? You don’t like him anymore?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m mad at him, I think. Am I allowed to be mad?” Emma asks, she trusts Ava, she’s right about many things.

“You’re allowed to be mad.” Ava confirms.

“Okay, then I’m mad.”

Emma spots the moon outside her window. She scowls at it, then quickly stops, the moon’s done nothing wrong.

“Are you always going to be mad?” Ava asks.

“Maybe.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ava raise an eyebrow.

Ava really is right about many things, “Okay, okay. Maybe not. We’ve always been friends, that’s hard to ignore.”

“Right. But you don’t like him?”

“No, “She starts, turning away from the window to look at Ava with an incredulous expression. “Do… you like him? Again?”

Emma can see it, Mason’s very charming. She likes to think she wouldn’t necessarily mind if they got back together, not that she doesn’t like Mason anymore, but for some reason it makes her skin itch, she really hopes she wasn’t lying to herself when she said she got over him.

“No. God, no.” Ava snorts, “No offense, but dating him was a nightmare.”

Emma winces, “That bad?”

“Worse.” She laughs, “He kissed someone else at a party, while I was in the other room. Who does that?”

Emma apparently, Emma does that. Emma would also like to open the car door and jump out due to guilt and mortification.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you, “She pauses, “Well, I was. But now I just find it funny. “

“I’m still sorry that happened, “Emma says. It sounds weak to her own ears, but Ava doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t be. It was the push I needed to break up with him.”

Emma looks down at her fingers, twisting them. “Did you ever like him?”

“He’s on the football team, he’s nice, good grades. What isn’t there to like?”

Ava sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself rather than Emma. The conversation from the roof comes to mind, and Emma bites her tongue. She doesn’t know what to say to that.

It’s quiet for a bit. The radio is still loud, playing something on the Top 40’s. Emma tunes it out watching the road move as the car drives. It’s entrancing.

She almost doesn’t notice the road signs. “Oh, we take a left here—"

“I know, I remember.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, of course,”

Something in the words makes Emma smile. She remembers. She doesn’t know why it matters so much, but she can’t stop smiling at the thought. She knows that technically they’ve been friends for forever, and Ava remembering isn’t something entirely significant, but it still fills Emma with all kinds of warm and fuzzy feelings. Because she remembers.

Emma hides her smile in her palm as she looks out the window. This is fine, an absolutely normal thing to smile about.

She steadily avoids looking directly at Ava, she feels that in that moment, it might be like looking at the sun.

As time passes, she can feel her eyes drooping, the landscape starts to blur together. Emma’s been feeling rather tired lately, she thinks this must be a good as time as any to sleep.

-

Time flies by in flashes. She remembers shivering and feeling terribly cold. That could have just been a dream, Emma thinks, she doesn’t feel cold anymore. The radio that was so loud before, sounds incredibly soft now. There is a warmth in her chest, she doesn’t know where it came from, but she would never like it to leave. Emma feels content and she wonders, if only briefly, when the last time it was that she might have felt anywhere close to this.

She feels someone nudge her shoulder. Oh, Ava.

Emma yawns, she’s very tired, going back to sleep doesn’t sound like too terrible of an idea.

Ava nudges her again, “We’re here, at your house.”

Emma blinks, “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

“You look tired, “Ava comments. “Maybe you should go to bed,”

“I’m not tired, “Emma tries to protest, but considering she can’t seem to keep her eyes open; she doesn’t think she’s being very convincing.

“Okay,” Ava says simply, from the smile on her lips Emma can tell she doesn’t believe her. The smile pulls at Emma’s chest, she feels very floaty all of a sudden.

“Really!” She stresses.

“Okay, I believe you,”

Ava’s still smiling, and Emma’s chest is still doing somersaults and maybe Emma does need to go to bed.

Emma starts to cross her arms, to protest that even if she is feeling tired, it doesn’t matter, but there’s a blanket in her lap and it stops her in her tracks.

At closer inspection, it isn’t a blanket. It’s a sweater. Blue, soft, large, and everything good at once. She decides she loves it immediately.

“What is this?” Emma asks.

“One of my sweaters, you looked cold, so…” Ava trails off.

Emma is having trouble remembering how to respond. She’s distracted by many things but pushes away all the ones that start with ‘Ava’ and focuses on one.

“But… but you were driving- “

“Not when I gave it to you, the light was red,” Ava looks amused, meanwhile Emma is trying to remember how to breathe, “Just because I don’t know how to sing, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.”

“Right, I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Emma’s still a little preoccupied by the warmness of the sweater in her hands so she sounds more sincere than she meant to. But she’s tired, her brain to mouth filter is slowly disappearing, she can’t bring herself to care. She missed Ava, with her things are easy.

Ava hums in agreement.

Emma takes a second to look out the window. The porch-light to her house isn’t on, which either means her father isn’t in, or he is, and he plans to interrogate Emma as soon as she steps in the door. She’d much rather have the former.  

“I guess I should be going.” Emma has never sounded as reluctant as she is now.

Ava nods, it warms Emma’s heart that she looks just as hesitant.

“Um, thanks” Emma starts,” for the ride, it was nice of you. You didn’t have to.”

“And let you have to ask Mason for a ride? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“He wouldn’t be awful, but-“

“But it’d be awkward, right? I wouldn’t do that to you.” Ava smiles, “Besides, this way, I got to save you and hang out with you,”

Emma can only smile, “This is much better than having to ask Mason.”

“The bar is on the ground, but I agree.”

Emma snorts, Mason really isn’t that horrible, but she imagines a car ride with Mason with awkward small talk, and no radio, and having to talk about the weather of all things. She decides she’d rather be nowhere else other than here with Ava.

She smiles, “I really like hanging out with you, Ava.”

“You’re so sappy,” Ava comments, “But, okay, I really like hanging out with you, too.”

At Ava’s words, she can feel her heart jumpstart. She feels tempted to hide her face in the sweater and never emerge from it. She’s smiling so much, and she doesn’t know if she can stop. Emma is a pile of goo, and she is never going to emotionally recover from this.

She doesn’t know what this feeling is, but it is on the tip of her tongue.

Emma thinks about the sweater in her lap, about how Ava turned the radio down when she was asleep, about how Ava notices more about her than maybe anyone else. Emma thinks about the warmness in her chest, and the smile that never seems to leave. She feels the buzz in her fingers, and the non-stop drumming in her heart. Emma thinks of many things and feels even more, she isn’t sure if she understands it yet, but she would like to.

“No, I mean,“ Emma isn’t very coherent, but she is full of tired words, and they are big and heavy and bursting to get out, “I’ve been thinking about all the time I spent thinking about Mason, when I really should have just been thinking about you,”

Emma’s chest feels lighter, like the words she’s been carrying have always been a weight she has never been able to let go off.

She doesn’t know when, but the atmosphere in the car has gotten significantly heavier. Almost like the heaviness in her chest has left to encompass the air of the car.

Emma doesn’t notice herself look away from Ava, but she finds that her gaze is fixed on the dashboard, she isn’t sure she can tear it away.

Right when the thrumming of Emma’s chest reaches an extreme, Ava reaches over grabbing one of Emma’s hands in her own.

“Are you, “Ava says, “thinking now?”

“Yeah,” Emma says immediately, its breathy, and it sounds so unlike her own voice she almost doesn’t recognize it. She’s looking at Ava now, and she doesn’t think she can stop, doesn’t think she wants to

And Oh.

Oh.

That’s what the feeling is.

The feelings she couldn’t understand were feelings. Romantic ones, for Ava specifically.

There are so many things she doesn’t understand, so many things she doesn’t know yet, but she does know, right now, that the thrumming in heart points to Ava. She knows that many things point to Ava.

Emma would like to say something, but the words die in her throat. She’s glad for it, she isn’t sure what she would have said.

They’re closer now than they were before, Emma’s having trouble thinking, and all she can focus on is Ava’s hand in hers.

Just then, the porch light turns on, then off, then on again. Its flickering, like a siren without the sound. She’d be worried if her father hadn’t done this exact same thing every time Emma went on a date. Emma groans, her head falling onto the dashboard. She debates sinking lower into the passenger seat and never being seen again. She figures she could do it, if she really tried.

“Sorry, that was--,” Emma cringes, “that’s my dad, he must be wondering why we’ve been sitting here for so long,”

If Ava is bothered, she doesn’t show it, Emma meanwhile might be dying of embarrassment,

“It’s fine, not like we were making out or anything,”

Emma coughs, feeling her face burn, “Yeah, that’d uh, good thing we weren’t doing that, not like I would mind or anything, but that’d be crazy.”

Ava looks amused, Emma feels she might have done something terrible to have deserved this.

“Um,” Emma gathers up all her belongings, embarrassment clear as day. Emma is absolutely mortified, “I should get going, I’ll text you?”

Ava grins, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind or anything, but that’d be crazy, right?”

Emma groans, “Can we please forget that ever happened?”

Ava’s grin grows even larger, “I don’t know, I think it was cute.”

Emma would like to scream, she doesn’t of course, but she would like to.

She doesn’t know how to respond articulately to Ava calling her cute, so she doesn’t, instead Emma opens the door as best as she can, it’s hard when her face is as warm as it is.

“I’ll text you later though, okay?” She can hear the smile in Ava’s voice, and she almost trips over the sound as she walks over to her flickering porch-light. She turns around, before she can trip, and flashes a thumbs up, alongside a shaky smile.

When Emma reaches her front door, Ava starts to drive off. Before she does, Ava gives her a bright smile, it warms Emma up all the way to the top of her head. Emma tries to return it, but it’s hard, she never has liked going home, especially when she knows her father’s waiting, ready with a lecture.

She watches Ava’s car turn the corner, it is only then that she steels herself, letting the smile drop. She turns around, unlocking the door, she can do this. She can’t help but think about how much she already misses Ava.

-

Her father is not mad. It’s so surprising, Emma thinks it’s a joke at first. Then again, her father has never exactly been funny.

He only sits her down and questions why she was in the car as long as she was. He heavily implies that if she were making out with anyone, he’d be fine with it. Emma heavily implies that ‘no way, she would never, why would you even think that?’ She gets the feeling he might not exactly believe her, and she understands. Her face has never felt as hot as it does now. She’s still burning with the mortification of her father thinking she might have been making out with someone, alongside the mortification of her father not being too far off.

She hadn’t been making out with Ava, but maybe she wanted to?

She rubs her hands over the soft fabric of the sweater Ava had given her. Emma hadn’t meant to take it from the car, but in the haste of not dying from embarrassment, she must have accidentally grabbed it. She had forgotten about it then, but she can’t bring herself to now. The fabric is so soft and warm, it reminds her a bit of the fuzzy feelings she feels with Ava.

Ava, who she has feelings for. Ava, who she has romantic feelings for.

Emma, who for the past ten minutes has been sitting on her bed questioning everything she’s ever known, covers her face with her hands and groans.

She has never been one to deny her feelings. She feels things strongly and loves even stronger. But so far in her life, she’s never loved anyone other than Mason. This is new territory for her.

Emma’s only known she’s had a crush for twenty minutes, but in those minutes, she has had many thoughts and one hundred percent of them have been about Ava.

She fingers the sweater in her hands, its soft, warm, perfect sweater material, a part of Emma wants to make a joke about it being ‘girlfriend material’ too but she smothers it down. She wonders where Ava got the sweater, she’d like her own, for reasons entirely unrelated to Ava, of course.

Huffing, she grabs her phone. Telling Ava that she accidentally stole her sweater, would probably be the kind thing to do.

When she unlocks the phone, she frowns. Her half-written text message to Mason still displayed. At the sight, she feels guilt swirl in her chest, the fuzzy butterflies she felt with Ava disappearing.

She left without a text, or acknowledgement, or anything. The last time they spoke to each other, was harsh, primarily on Emma’s side. She doesn’t regret it; she is angry about all the fighting between Noah and Mason. She is angry that it came to a boil at the dance. She’s angry about many things. But she feels the anger slowly calm, like a thermometer settling at ninety-nine. On the edge of burning, but not quite there yet.

Emma isn’t burning anymore. She looks down at the sweater in her hands, maybe she’d had a little help with that.

She figures she and Mason should probably talk soon, but for now, Ava.

She switches to her last text conversation with her, it wasn’t recent. It hurts more than she thought, but they’re friends now, it’s fine.

She exhales, first conversation with Ava after the realization. 

Emma: hey! You left your sweater

Emma: and by left i mean i accidentally borrowed it

Emma: and by borrowed i mean stole

Emma: on accident

Emma: anyway do you want it back?

Before she can type anything else, she throws her phone as far as she can. Luckily, it lands with a thump on the other side of her bed. She doesn’t need a cracked screen, but she also doesn’t need to feel tempted to send any more texts than she just did. She doesn’t need to be more embarrassed.

Emma grabs a pillow and screams. This is fine.

She sits on her bed, legs crossed, very adamantly ignoring the phone beside her. This is also fine.

Right when she thinks she might pick up her phone, just to check If her messages were even that bad, she has the sneaking suspicion they were, but It wouldn’t hurt to check, her door opens.

Mackenzie enters with all the grace of a younger sibling, meaning none at all. There’s a bit of bright blue paint on the side of her face, something tells Emma her sister was doing one of her extracurricular activities.

“So,” Mackenzie begins, grinning and shutting the door behind her, “How was the dance?”

“Boring,” She elects not to mention her date getting into a fight, and being kicked out,” Where were you?”

“Around,” She waves her hand, deeming it unimportant, walking over to sit next to Emma, “Dad lecturing you for thirty minutes straight was a good distraction, so thanks for that.”

She’s glad it was helpful to someone. The entire time, she thought her Dad was going to be stern, or angry, or something. But he wasn’t. He just talked. He wasn’t as patronizing as he used to be, and that just unnerved her even more. It was relieving, but it felt strange.

“I thought he was going to yell at me, but he didn’t, is that weird? That’s weird, right?”

“He’s trying, I guess.”

“I know, it’s just.” She frowns, “It’s weird.” Emma fingers the sweater again, apparently anything reminding her of Ava is very calming.

Mackenzie follows her eyes, “Hey, where’d you get this?”

“Nowhere,” She says too quickly.

Her sister looks suspiciously, “Mason?”

“No- “

“Noah?”

“No-“

“Then who? They’re the only two people you ever talk about.”

Emma knows that technically, saying that she took Ava’s sweater wouldn’t raise any alarms, they are best friends. It’s just the context of the sweater that makes her second guess it. The way the sweater in her arms reminds her of Ava caring about her, and that reminds Emma of the realization she’s had earlier, and that means feelings and it’s too late to deal with feelings right now.

She’d like to keep her feelings to herself as long as possible, they’re new, and she isn’t sure she’s ever felt anything like this before.

“Nobody’s. I accidentally took it from the dance, I’ll return it later.”

Mackenzie doesn’t look like she believes it, but she isn’t going to push. “Okay, well, it’s a nice sweater anyway,”

“It is,” Emma says softly.

Mackenzie raises an eyebrow as she pretends not to notice.

“You have a little bit of paint on your face,” Emma notes, changing the subject.

“I do?” Mackenzie rubs her face, missing the spot entirely, “Did I get it?”

She tilts her head, “Um…”

Mackenzie stands, “I should clean this off, I don’t want dad to, uh,” She gestures around with her hands, “You know, he’s fine with it but he isn’t fine with it.”

“Yeah.” Her dad wasn’t fine with a lot of things.

Her phones chimes, Emma itches to check it, but she can show restraint, she can do it.

“Are you going to check that?” Mackenzie asks.

Emma can, in fact, not do it.

She grabs her phone a little too quickly. Her shoulders slump.

Mackenzie looks over questioningly.

“Just Mason.”

“Just Mason?” She says full of disbelief, “I thought you were in love with him, or something.”

“Or something,”

Mackenzie frowns, she looks ready to ask something, and Emma cuts her off.

“Its’s fine,” She can’t have her little sister worrying over her, it should be the other way around. “He didn’t do anything bad, or whatever, I just don’t think I like him anymore.”

Emma resolutely ignores the part of herself than knows she doesn’t like him anymore. The same part that grips her phone tightly, ignoring his messages and waiting for someone else’s.

“Okay.” Mackenzie says, she doesn’t look as concerned as she used to, but there’s still a bit of it in her eyes.

She’s hesitating a foot away from the door. The question on whether she should stay or not is written in her posture.

Emma exhales, “It’s fine,” This time it’s steadier, she raises her shoulders confidentially. “You should wash your face. There’s still paint.”

Mackenzie sighs, “I didn’t get any of it?”

She laughs, “No, I think you might have just smeared it more actually,”

“Seriously?”

“No,” She teases, laughing at Mackenzie tired glare, “But there is paint, you should clean that off.”

“Fine, whatever, “She rolls her eyes, letting out a small smile that Emma beams at in return, “But, just know, that if Mason ever does anything-“

“He didn’t!”

“But if he does!” Mackenzie cuts her off, “If he does- I have experience in graffiting cars. And Mason has a really nice car. So, if you ever want me to do anything, then-- “

“That’s so mean!” Emma covers her face in her hands as she tries not to laugh, she shouldn’t be encouraging this. “Besides the last time you did that; we ended up at the police station.”

“Psh, he could take it. They’re rich.” She waves it off, as if she was not currently planning a felony, “And, this time we just won’t get caught.”

“This is illegal and a crime, but it’s also very sweet of you, so thank you, and I love you.”

Mackenzie stumbles back, pretend disgust coloring her face, “I tell you I’d commit a crime for you, and you tell me you love me? You’re so sappy.”

“Maybe a little,” She grins, “But so are you, planning on committing crimes for me, in case I’m ever hurt? That’s sappy.”

“Gross, no.”

Emma only grins a little brighter in response.

“No.”

Even brighter.

Mackenzie’s glare grows more intense, before she huffs, crossing her arms. “Whatever, fine, maybe. But I’m going, I’m washing this off,”

Emma waves, smiling even more. Mackenzie sticks her tongue out as she leaves.

Even after Mackenzie leaves, Emma still has small smile adorning her face. Teasing her little sister is always fun. Plus, it distracts her from other things.

Things like her phone. Her phone which is dinging and lit up. Emma never has been able to stay distracted for long.

She closes her eyes, breathing in once and then twice, and then a third time just for good measure. It probably isn’t even Ava; she doesn’t know why she feels this stressed out.

She grabs the phone, blinking, it’s Ava.

The universe just might hate her.

Ava: I didn’t think you stole it haha

Ava: Besides even if I did

Ava: I was going to give it to you anyway

Ava: I thought it would look cute on you :)

Emma decides the universe does not hate her, not at all.

For a second, she wonders why the smiley face makes her feel like the sun itself, all warm and bright, then she remembers feelings. She debates screaming into a pillow for the second time that day, but then figures that Mackenzie, one room over might hear, and she decides it isn’t worth it.

As she debates on whether she should send one smiley face back or two, Emma decides that she isn’t burning with anger for Mason or Noah or whoever else anymore. She isn’t burning at all anymore, but her face does feel incredibly warm whenever she texts Ava.

--

The Monday morning after homecoming, Ava offers to pick Emma up for school. It’s been so long since that happened that Emma, understandably filled with warm-fuzzy-feelings, spends an embarrassingly long time just staring at the notification, before eventually answering with an appropriate amount of smiley faces and exclamation marks.

She stares in the mirror for longer than she usually would, smoothing down anything and everything. It’s weird feeling nervous for these things. Riding with Ava has been something she’s been doing for so long in high school, it only recently stopped, but those few weeks where they didn’t talk as much as they should’ve had, had more of an impact on her than she thought.

And now Emma has, feelings. She has very little idea what to do with them. Before when she had feelings she’d ruined one of her best friendships, the ruined another good friendship, then ruined another one.

Basically, Emma is a mess when it comes to feelings.

She sees her phone ding with a text from Ava to know she’s outside, and Emma gets increasingly more nervous, what if she ruins their friendship for the second time?

Emma shakes her head, actively trying to dislodge the nervousness from her brain.

She spots the blue sweater Ava had given her, folded delicately on her dresser, it reminds her of the night before, when things had been so warm and comfortable. She remembers right before her dad had called her inside, when they’d been so close, and the only thing Emma had been able to focus on was the pounding of her heart, or how close they were. She wonders what might have happened if her father hadn’t called her in.

This is fine, she thinks, Absolutely fine.

She grabs her phone and backpack, and resolutely goes downstairs.

She almost trips on the last step, and Emma figures it might be the world telling her she’s right to be nervous today, she ignores it.

She takes a breath before opening the door, when she see’s Ava’s car she tries to relax, but she can still feel the tense of her shoulders, and the swirling ball of nerves in her stomach. She’s nervous she’s going to do something wrong, or say something weird, or reveal these feelings that are still so new.

Emma can spot Ava, one hand on the wheel, but otherwise relaxed. She’s singing to something on the radio, the windows are closed so she can’t hear the song, but from the way Ava’s bopping her head it’s a good one.

Ava spots her too, she grins and waves, motioning for Emma to come closer. She rolls down the window, and a song that’s too loud for seven am, pops out of the car. “Come on, this is my favorite song!”

Even though the smile Ava gives her, makes her face feel dizzyingly warm, and her breath catches at the back of her throat at the idea of Ava grinning at the sight of her, Emma feels the nerves in her stomach loosen at the sight. She feels a laugh start to bubble up. She doesn’t even know why she was worried. It’s just Ava, it’s always been just Ava.

Emma finds that warm-fuzzy-romantic feelings aren’t bad when they’re Ava. In fact, she finds they’re the opposite.

 --

Taglist - @kamilahsayeet2063 @veenast @samanthadalton @sarasansone98 @thequeenkamilahsayeed

[janekfan]

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”