#luckily this latest pass through has seemed to click a lot better

[asmfic]

Still working on my current chapter, but i've got roughly 15k more words of ASM done atm

[folkloreguk]

Mirror, Mirror (m)

A/N: I will never ever determine which body type the reader has, but I want every single one of you to know that it’s okay to feel empowered by the way your nude body looks, you’re absolutely beautiful and no size is a limit to how sexy you can be!!! You go queens!

words: ~5.4 (I’m sorry idk how to write short things anymore asdfgh)

genre: smut, optional bias (male) x reader (female), kinda fwb??, sexting

[H/N means “his name”]

There’s no feeling quite like the one of trying on your new clothes that just arrived in the mail and loving how they looked. Especially when said clothes were lingerie and you felt like you could conquer the world, even when you were just standing in front of your mirror at 7 pm after you had just stuffed your stomach with lasagna. And what better way to enjoy your happiness than to share it with your best friend?

In fact, you had two best friends. One, a girl who you could trust with your life, and two, a boy who knew all your deepest secrets. One of the central differences between the two was that you would never think about asking the former about his opinion on your new lingerie. You almost laughed at the mere thought while you went through your contacts list and selected your friend’s name and clicked ‘send’. “It’s new. How do I look?” you typed and sent quickly, before throwing your phone onto you bed. You were feeling sexy, but for the rest of the evening there was only one way you wanted to feel: Comfortable. So, you changed into your pajamas instead.

You wondered what she would say about your photo. Sending almost-nudes to your friend might have seemed odd, but for the two of you, it was a completely normal occurrence. You loved making sure you both felt beautiful and confident by complimenting each other. Happily, you walked back to your room after you had picked up some snacks in the kitchen. You grabbed your phone as you plopped down on your bed. While you stuffed a handful of crisps into your mouth, you unlocked your phone to check your messages. You had expected a text from your best girl friend, but instead you had received one from H/N, your best boy friend. Pure horror consumed you when you clicked on the chat and saw your almost-nude there. Sent at 7:01 pm. Seen at 7:05 pm. And worst of all, he had replied before you could have clarified the mistake.

H/N: Idk where this came from but…you’re hot

You: SORRY THIS WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU

H/N: Okay that kinda offends me…you have a bf and didn’t tell me???

You: NO OMG THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING HELP…it was for GF/N just for fun!!!

H/N: Ohhh…in that case…

You watched the dots signaling that he was still writing while you were still wondering how you would ever look at him without getting embarrassed from now on. It wasn’t like the two of you never talked about sex. In fact, he knew a lot about what you liked and didn’t like in the bedroom. Not because he had witnessed it. But thanks to multiple sleep overs with late-night conversations, when your lips became a little loose, you had discussed more sexual topics than you had ever dreamt of. Your cheeks were still feeling hot when you received another text.

H/N: How do I look?

Without missing a beat, he had attached a photo of him. Shirtless. His hair was disheveled, as if he had just removed his shirt, which he probably had. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he stood in front of a mirror. He had tilted his head a little, showing off his jawline while he gazed at the camera with hooded eyes. You felt more embarrassed with every second you kept staring at his body.

H/N: OMG sorry this wasn’t for you!!!!!

Now you could only laugh at his stupid message.

You: Stop making fun of me!!

H/N: I’m trying to make you feel better!! Do I not get a compliment?

You: Thanks and you look great…can we please NEVER bring this up in the future?

H/N: Sure if that’s what you want…but if you ever need someone to rate your underwear again you know where to find me

~~~

And he really kept his promise. The next time you hung out, he was joking about everything but your little accident. You were thankful. But not mentioning the memory didn’t automatically delete it from your brain. And that’s where your newest problem begun.

You had never really looked at him in a sexual way before – sure, you thought he was handsome – but after than one damned picture he had sent you, you seemed to see him in a completely different light. There were no romantic feelings involved. But something felt profusely wrong about the way you thought about sex when he reached for a glass on the highest kitchen shelf and a small part of his abs was revealed. Or the way you instinctively licked your lips when you watched him stretch his neck in front of you. Or how your head spun when he lifted his shirt to wipe away his sweat when you worked out together.

One day was particularly bad. He had asked you to go to the public pool together, and being his best friend, of course you had said yes. As expected, he made you laugh until you were crying, scream when he playfully wrestled you in the water and giggle when he chased you on the water slide. And yet, you couldn’t help but notice his body. You almost felt bad, but then again, it wasn’t like you adored his character any less. You simply had some added adoration for another part of him. What were you supposed to do when he looked this good acting out a comic character while you played charades in the water? You might have been laughing on the outside, but you could barely tear your eyes off his neck and chest. Lately, you realized, the amount of thoughts you spent on wanting to kiss him had become problematic to you.

When you returned home at night, you couldn’t deny feeling sexually frustrated. Not wanting to give in to the inappropriate thoughts about your best friend, you turned on a tv show to distract yourself. But before you knew it, you were spending more time looking at your phone than at the tv screen. At first you browsed social media, but somehow you mustn’t have payed enough attention to your unconscious mind. You had miraculously landed on his Instagram, and when that didn’t entertain you anymore, you found yourself going back to your text messages with him. When you started at the shirtless picture he had sent you, you regretted not deleting it and forgetting about it right away. You wondered if he could ever feel the same way about you. You didn’t need any romantic feelings from him, in fact, you had no interest in a relationship at the moment. But you had never wanted someone this bad before and it was driving you crazy. So, before you could have stopped yourself, you were typing a message to him.

You: what r u doing??

H/N: do you miss me already?

H/N: ok do you really wanna know?

You: shut up you usually message me first!! and yes I do

H/N: I was about to jack off but you interrupted me

You almost choked on nothing when you read his message. Pretending you didn’t care, you replied quickly.

You: oh no am I killing the mood?

H/N: I didn’t say that

You: ????

H/N: don’t take this the wrong way but if you ever thought about sending me nudes again now would be the time

You: are u crazy?? are you actually asking me for nudes rn

H/N: it was worth a try ok let’s go back to being best friends who would never hook up

If you were freaking out about his previous messages, this one made you lose your mind completely. What was he saying? As confused as you were, you were also equally as sexually frustrated as he seemed to be. So, without a second thought, you chose the latest underwear picture you had taken and sent it to H/N.

You: that’s the most you’ll get…I won’t send complete nudes

You stared at the three dots indicating that he was writing a message. It felt like five minutes had passed when he finally replied.

H/N: fuck you’re so hot

And then he sent another shirtless picture. His bulge was prominent against his pants and the sight of it didn’t exactly help you with the pent-up frustration inside of you. But maybe it didn’t need to, because apparently, he felt the same way about you. You wanted to tell him about it. But there was no way you would be sexting your best friend at 11 pm, horny and frustrated. You knew you’d regret it and you’d only end up being embarrassed the next day. With no idea what to send him instead, you opted for simply waiting to see if he would say something. But he didn’t. Whilst waiting, you looked at his picture again. His jawline, his shoulders, his abs…and his boner straining against his sweatpants. For a moment you wondered if he was thinking about you too. Was he imagining it was you who was touching him when his hand wrapped around his cock? The more you let your thoughts run free, the worse your frustration became. And before you knew it, your hand was between your legs.

~~~

The next day you went about your duties, trying hard to pretend the previous day had been nothing but a fever dream. Luckily, you weren’t going to see him for another few days, so you could already practice an explanation of why sending nudes to each other had been a crazy idea. You worried about whether you could ever be the same around him after what had happened. But no matter how hard you tried to come up with a good reason why you should never even mention it again, you couldn’t. You were best friends who found each other hot. So what? Things could be worse. By nighttime, you had changed your mind. You were in the process of getting ready for sleeping, when your phone vibrated on your nightstand. His name lit up the screen.

H/N: you up?

You: not for long…whats up

H/N: I’m sorry for what I said yesterday about us not hooking up and so on…I was tipsy and you know my loose lips when I’m drunk

You: there’s nothing you need to apologize for

H/N: I was being weird and creepy…you’re my best friend

You: and you’re mine…that doesn’t stop me from finding you attractive

H/N: so I didn’t creep you out asking you for nudes?

You: I sent them to you, didn’t I… so what do u think

H/N: btw…thanks for that

You: likewise

…

H/N: so you’d do it again?

You: you’re not drunk now are you?

H/N: no just horny

You: dude I was about to go to sleep

If this had been a random guy you were occasionally talking to, you would have declined the request right away. You were tired and didn’t exactly feel too confident in your physical state. Nonetheless, you walked over to your mirror, pulled your shirt up until your bare breasts were almost exposed, and snapped a picture. Maybe it was the fact that you knew he’d return the favor and send you something back, or the immense trust you had in him. Posing in different ways, you took a few more pictures before you jumped back onto your bed. Impulsively, you chose the pictures you liked best and sent them to your best friend.

You: the things I do for you

H/N: fuck you look so good

You: have you always thought like that about me?

H/N: have I always found you hot?

You: yeah

H/N: I mean I never not found you hot

You: thanks I guess??

H/N: maybe we should have done this way earlier

You: agreed

Your eyes widened when he sent you a picture. He was still in his underwear, but his hand was wrapped around his visibly hard member outlined by the dark fabric. You had wanted to sleep, but somehow after looking at the photo for a little too long, you were wide awake. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, you let your head imagine whatever came to your mind. Never before had you noticed how much you liked his hands. Or maybe it was a temporary thing, now that you were already thinking inappropriate thoughts. You imagined it was his fingers softly touching the inside of your thigh, squeezing your breasts and playing with your nipples. The first time you moaned his name quietly, your cheeks heated up. But the more you thought of him, and the more you allowed yourself to wish it was him between your thighs, the more natural his name sounded between your whimpers.

And the two of you didn’t stop there. You might haven’t had time to hang out with him for another week or so, but you were texting each other more than ever before. Almost every night, you sent pictures to each other. With every passing day and every time you came thinking about his body on top of yours, you became more comfortable. Your messages to each other turned dirtier with every day and every picture was a little riskier than the previous one. By the way you cried out his name every night, your neighbors must have thought you had gotten a new boyfriend. One that was exceptionally good in bed, by the sounds of it.

Now it was exactly one week and a day after you had first sent him a picture of you. You had just stepped out of the shower and had a towel wrapped around your body as you entered your bedroom.

One could’ve thought you were going to be less horny, the more time you spent texting him about your inappropriate thoughts. It should have gotten less exciting at some point, shouldn’t it? To you, it was the complete opposite. He was all your thought about at night. So when you noticed your phone on your bed, you couldn’t stop your urge. You grabbed it, unlocked it and went straight to your messages with him.

You: please tell me you’re alone

H/N: yeah I am…do u need something?

Even though his text might have sounded innocent to anyone else, considering what you had done for each other all week long, you instantly got excited.

You: I have a present for you but since you’re not here I’ll unwrap it for you

H/N: I love presents

You had taken multiple photos. Starting from your with a towel covered body, you had slowly revealed more skin to him, until you had dropped the fabric completely. In the last picture you were covering your nipples with one hand across your chest, making sure your slightly parted lips were in the frame as well. After you had pressed ‘send’, you got comfortable on your bedsheets, not so patiently waiting for his reply. You hadn’t been able to get him off your mind while you had been showering. Now you didn’t even need to touch yourself to know how dripping wet you already were.

H/N: this is what you do to me

You were surprised when you saw his message. He had attached a video. Up to that day, it had only been photos you had sent to each other. So, when you clicked the ‘play’ button, you almost felt nervous. But the nervousness changed into something wholly different within the first two seconds of the video. His hand was down his pants, clearly stroking himself. He wasn’t speaking, but even the simple sound of his breathing behind the camera made your head spin.

H/N: do you want more?

You: I wish you were actually here

A blink of an eye after you had sent the message, instant regret hit you. Had you crossed a line? There had never been serious talk of the two of you actually hooking up, although you surely had thought about it more than you wanted to admit.

H/N: me too

You sighed in relief. So he wasn’t thinking you were going too far.

H/N: but its late and we’ve got work tomorrow

You barely had time to even think about a reply. The sole fact that he was seriously considering coming over or letting you drive to his place right now only justified the saying “People want what they can’t get”.

You: you’re right…this will have to do

…

H/N: let me know if you need more

But you already had your hand between your legs, his name on the brink of falling off your lips.  

The next day, you were surprisingly focused on your work. Of course, you thought of him. He was your best friend, after all. Who would you have been if you didn’t wonder what he was up to or if you didn’t wish he was having a nice day? But that was about it. No dirty thoughts, no random sexual frustration at 2 in the afternoon. That was, until your phone vibrated in your pockets and you opened his message.

H/N: wanna hang out at my place tonight?

It was finally Friday. After over a week of not seeing him, you didn’t just want to meet him because you wanted him sexually. You missed his silly jokes and the way he made you feel careless after a stressful day. So, needless to say, you agreed.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Were you just going to hang out, the way friends do? Were you even going to mention your texts to each other? Your nerves were going mad when you drove to his place in the evening. It was a weird feeling to have about your best friend, you had to admit. But then again, you had every right to after the past week.

When he opened the door for you, you didn’t feel half as awkward as you thought you would. His hug felt the way it always did, and his room still was like a second home to you.

“Do you wanna order take out?” he asked.

“What’s in your fridge?” you returned the question.

“If I’d have to guess I’d say two eggs, half a bottle of soda and some yogurt,” he said. You laughed, already pulling up an app to order some food.

“Take out it is,” you grinned, falling onto your stomach on his bed. He followed your example. His shoulder was touching yours while you tried hard to focus on scrolling through the different offers of meals. But your look was drawn to his hands too close to yours and from one moment to the other, your mind was flooded with sinful pictures. You thought of him here, in this very bed, jerking off to the thought of you. Taking pictures of himself so you could do the same. Too many times you had imagined your face buried in his pillows, letting him hear the way you had been crying his name all week long, being able to make him cum with your own body and feeling his lips on your skin. Was he thinking the same things right now? Was he also struggling to focus on the simplest tasks?

“You’ve been looking at that chicken for a while now. Are you gonna order it or not?” he asked, making fun of you. How were you going to sit here, waiting and then calmly eating your dinner as if nothing was different? When you didn’t reply, he grabbed your hands along with your phone, making you look at him. You couldn’t instantly read his expression. All you knew is that in six years of friendship, he had never once looked at you this way. Inevitably, your eyes went to his lips and back to his eyes.

“Aren’t we going to mention this whole nudes-sending situation at all?” he suddenly asked, grinning cheekily. “What? You’re thinking about it too, aren’t you?”

You swallowed thickly. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

“How badly I wanted you last night,” he said. His face was close to yours. If you only bent forward slightly, you could kiss him.

“As in…now you don’t want me anymore?” you asked. He chuckled.

“Do you really think I didn’t want to push you against the closest wall and make out with you the second you stepped into my house today?” he asked.

“Then why didn’t you?” you asked, smirking and inching your lips closer to his. “Because I would have loved that.”

Instead of answering you, he finally leaned in to connect your lips. Within the first seconds you were moaning, and his tongue was on yours. You abandoned your phone on his sheets, swinging one leg over his waist to straddle him. He groaned into your mouth when you pushed your hips against his, your crotch rubbing over his bulge. Judging by the way you both reacted, neither of you had plans to take this slow.

His hands wandered over your sides and to your ass, squeezing it a little. You only moaned again, your fingers getting busy with his button up shirt. Teasingly, he bit your lip while he pushed your shirt higher, goosebumps rising on the skin he touched. His breathing became heavier when you let your hands roam his chest, pushing the fabric of his open shirt to the side eagerly. When you rolled your hips over his bulge again, you felt his erection more prominently than before, making you smile to yourself. For a moment you pulled away and pulled your shirt over your head.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long,” he confessed, watching as you discarded your bra onto the floor.

“Me too,” you agreed. He had sat up as well, and you helped him remove his shirt eagerly. “I’ve been wondering what your hands feel like.”

At your words, he pulled you back on top of him, playing with your breasts softly. You reacted, leaning over him, so he could take one of your nipples into his mouth. You whimpered at the way his tongue pressed against your sensitive skin. He gave the same attention to the other side, his breath leaving behind a cold sensation where he had kissed you.

Then, you bent to his level again, lips meeting in a needy kiss. You let his tongue lead yours for a while. Meanwhile, your hands sneaked to the waistband of his sweatpants. He hissed into your mouth as you grabbed his length through his pants, palming him through the fabric.

“Are you still into biting?” you asked, referring to a late-night talk you had had in the past. He smirked, nodding. Softly, at first, you nibbled on his neck, occasionally licking and kissing him. You got the exact reaction you had expected when you bit him, not to harshly, but probably leaving a purple mark nonetheless. He moaned and threw his head back, only exposing more of his neck to you. As time went on, you made your way down his chest and his stomach, settling between his legs. As much as you enjoyed hearing his moans and attempts to make you hurry, you were just as impatient, if not worse.

In one go, you pulled down his pants and underwear. He lifted his hips so you could fully take the clothing off his legs. Your mouth watered at the sight of him below you.

“If you had told me two weeks ago, I would be sucking your dick today, I would have called you a clown,” you chuckled.

“Look how the tables have turned,” he said, laughing with you. But his expression hardened the moment your hand wrapped around his length. You stroked him a few times, before lowering your head. Your tongue licked a stripe up the side of his shaft, until you opened your lips just enough to take his tip into your mouth. He cursed under his breath when you batted your eyelashes at him.

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Why? Don’t you like it?” you asked, your hand continuously touching him.

“I like it maybe a little too much,” he said, only making you grin. His expression read pleasure, his brows furrowed and his lips hung slightly agape.

“There’s no such thing as liking something too much,” you said. Purposely, you watched his face when you wrapped your mouth around his cock, tongue pressing flat against the tip. Steadily, you bobbed your head, your hand covering the rest of his length. His thighs were flexing under your hands and his stomach was rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. He propped himself up on his forearms, watching you intently.

“This feels so much better when you do it,” he said, followed by a groan when his cock touched the back of your throat for a moment. Your hand was covered in your saliva by now, eyes tearing up a little bit, but you blinked the tears away quickly. Every time you pulled away a little, you made sure to swirl your tongue around the tip. Right away, you had noticed the way he hissed at that specific action. Again, he cursed under his breath and you made eye contact once more. His lips looked pink from where he had been biting them and his cheeks were slightly flushed a rosy color.

“Oh my god-,“ he moaned. “I’m so fucking close.”

You bobbed your head faster now. After another few seconds you pulled away, replacing your mouth with your hand. The muscles on his stomach were tense and he had his hands balled to tight fists next to his body. You enjoyed his moans for a while longer, before you could feel him twitch in your hands. When he reached his high, he let his body fall back, his arms no longer able to hold himself up to watch you. The evidence of his pleasure spilled onto his abs and you slowly let your hand come to a rest. One of his hands was swung over his forehead as he breathed heavily. When you looked up at him again, he still seemed exhausted but was grinning from ear to ear.

“Give me a second and I’ll return the favor,” he said, sitting up. At his words you realized once more how much you wanted him. Quickly, he cleaned himself up. As you rolled over to lay on your back next to his sitting figure, you yawned briskly, getting comfy in his sheets.

“You’re bored? If you want we can also just watch a movie, or if you feel like-,“ he said with raised eyebrows.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” You sarcastically laughed, rolling your eyes at him. “I’m open for whatever. Right after you’ve made me cum on this mattress.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, turning so he hovered over you. “I think we can arrange that.”

He went straight to kissing your stomach and hips, while he unzipped your pants for you. His kisses tickled you a little, but the sensation was quickly forgotten by how close his hand was to where you wanted him most. In order to let him take off your pants, you lifted your hips a little. When he had thrown your pants aside, he couldn’t hide the cocky grin on his face at the sight of your underwear.

“This looks familiar…where have I seen these before?” he asked innocently, placing his hand on the material. You flinched a little when his fingers hovered over your center. It was a fleeting touch, but the lack of attention had made you needier than you would have thought.

“Imagine I hadn’t accidentally sent you that first picture,” you said.

“I don’t even want to imagine that,” he said, his dramatic tone making you laugh a little. Abruptly, your laugh turned into a whimper when he pressed one of his fingers against your covered clit.

“I get that you’re in no rush anymore, but I’m not gonna lie, I am,” you said, wriggling against his hand. He chuckled again but seemed to obey your request. His hand slid into the hem of your underwear, fingers instantly coated in your juices. In response, you only hummed contently when he curled his digits against your clit. Within seconds you relaxed into his touch. You put one of your arms under your head and closed your eyes for a while. Now and then, he teased your core by almost pushing his fingers inside of you, but then not doing so. As frustrating as it was, you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. With skill, he rolled your clit between his digits. His free hand pulled on your underwear slightly, but not quite enough for it to come off. You whined at his teasing, looking into his eyes with a pleading gaze. He watched your expression for a while, probably enjoying the fact that he finally had the real you underneath him, instead of having to stare at some photos on his cellphone. So he finally obliged, making you feel empty when he pulled his hand out of your soaked panties, but simultaneously thankful.

“You have no idea how many times I imagined doing this within the last week,” he said. Then, he lowered his head and took your clit into his mouth. You had only opened your mouth to reply, but the words seemed to be deleted from your brain before they had time to come out, replaced by empty curse words. He didn’t waste any time in taking it slow, but you couldn’t have minded less. When he inserted to of his digits into you, your toes curled in pleasure and relief. With the way you whimpered desperately whenever he curled them against your walls, he had found your sweet spot in almost no time.

For more than a week you had been imagining, demanding for his touch, so deeply that now you could barely think straight when you finally got what you wanted. His tongue could do so much better than your own fingers could ever satisfy you. It was the unpredictability that made this so much more enticing than when you touched yourself. Would he slow down for a while, giving your breathing time to calm down, only to suck on your swollen clit feverishly out of nowhere? Would he curl his fingers inside of you almost painfully slowly, or would he almost pull them out completely, only to slide them right back into your core, until your vision felt so blurry you had to close your eyes? The more you thought about how good he made you feel, the quicker you felt your orgasm approach. One of his hands softly stroked over your belly, a strong contrast to the way your insides seemed to tie themselves into a tight knot that took up all your attention.

“Oh my god- please don’t stop,” you only moaned. Of course he didn’t. He only hummed against your center, only adding to how incredible you felt. As much as you loved watching him between your legs, there was no force that could have kept your eyes from shutting anymore. Your back arched off the sheets and your hands tightened in pleasure when the familiar feeling washed over your mind. You whimpered and struggled hard to keep your legs from closing around his head. For a few seconds you were blinded by the bliss, until your sensitivity began to set in. You softly pushed his head with your fingers in his hair, and he slowed down and drew back.

It took you a while to come down and until your breathing had regained its normality. Your eyelids fluttered open, while he plopped down next to you. He swung one of his arms around your waist, an action he had done multiple times in the past – only now neither of you was wearing clothes.

“That was amazing,” you said. “And here I thought I’d forever regret sending you that photo.”

He chuckled. “Agreed. So, what do you say? Are we able to focus on what to order for takeout now?”

You nodded and laughed, hoping this instance wouldn’t be the last time this happened between you two.

[trashyazeohane]

Perforated stars

Part 1/Part 2

Summary: There was another string of silence, a sudden heartbeat that leaped in his chest, a compassionate exhale.

Then Gary interlocked their small fingers together and let their hands rest on the pillow above Little Cato’s head.

“The three of us against the world? I like that. I would like that. It sounds absolutely fricking amazing.”

Avocato ginned tiredly under his nose.

Additional comments: Fluff, Slow Burn, Angst

Not beta-read, so it may contain some mistakes!

You can also read it on AO3! Enjoy!

Part II ミ★

Avocato was confused. It was a feeling he got familiar with. Welcomed even. Comforting. Soft as a delicate hue coming from the cosmic dust. Similar to a warmness of a sun touching the skin.

But that confusion this time rested in him. In his behavior. In his way of perceiving the world. He was fairly sure he knew himself to the deepest core. He knew all the ticks, all the gears, all the hidden doors that he had shut and then had covered with wooden planks.

He thought he knew himself entirely. That he knew his needs and when he could stop.

But he was never so wrong.

He had thought that what he had been feeling had been a passing trace, a sudden momentum, a guest that had popped in for a light coffee and tea before going on its merry way. But the feeling had stayed for days, then for weeks which slowly had morphed into months.

It stayed even now.

And the feeling was getting stronger. It had found a warm, cozy home inside his heart and didn’t plan on leaving.

Avocato was confused about that.

“Everything alright, dad?”

“Yeah, uh, sure, everything is okay.”

“Are you really very much incredibly sure?” Little Cato nudged, looking up at him with cunning eyes.

“I think Gary is rubbing off on you.” Avocato sighed.

“Am I doing what now?” Gary asked, leaning above table to glance at them.

It took a lot from Avocato to not suddenly jump in place, but he did indeed feel the fur on his back standing up. How had he not noticed or heard Gary walking up to him, while he had been observing him literally ten seconds ago, was a mystery.

Damn, that sounded bad. He hadn’t been staring at Gary in any weird way, he had been just staring and Gary had happened to be in his line of vision.

(It was a lie he was telling himself everyday to feel better, but it rarely worked nowadays. It rarely had worked in the past.)

“Dad is saying that you rub off on me too much.” Little Cato said, swishing his tail back and forth and resting his paws on the table to hoist himself higher.

“And is that a bad thing?” Gary hesitantly asked, lifting his eyebrow and glancing at Avocato.

He swallowed hard.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just… he has a lot of similar to yours behaviors right now. Not necessarily bad.” Avocato sighed. He really felt like he was explaining things to kids. Which was true only in one case.

Gary suddenly burst. In the good meaning of this word. His mouth stretched in a wide grin, so wide and bright that it would shadow even the brightest sun. His hand moved to wrap around Little Cato, who yelped in return, not expecting a sudden show of affection.

“Aww our little boy is finally taking after the more handsome dad.” Gary cooed, moving his fingers through the blue locks.

“Dad, stop. ugh, you’re messing my hair!” Little Cato whined, trying to swat the attacking hand away.

“You don’t know that natural look is the latest trend in fashion!?”

“Who told you that?”

“Ash?”

Little Cato sighed.

“Don’t listen to Ash.”

“Why shouldn’t dad listen to me?”

Everyone turned their heads in the direction of the door where Ash stood, looking at them with quite bored look.

Little Cato huffed.

“Because clearly you give bad fashion advices.”

“Pff says who.” The girl snorted, grinning delicately, although a little bit maliciously. “A person who thinks that jeans with holes are stylish.”

Avocato would be a bit angry that she was speaking to his son like that, if he didn’t actually start to like her too. She had fire inside of her and he respected that. Plus Little Cato never was offended by their bickers, so why should Avocato be? His son could clearly stand his own ground when he wanted to.

“Hey, those are stylish.” Little Cato said, although his voice was a tad quieter and more uneven than before.

“In your dreams.” Ash smirked at him. “Now when we come to dreams, I walked past your room a few nights ago and I heard quite–“

One interesting thing about Ventrexians – they were fast. Lightning fast if they felt that they were in any danger. The muscles could contract ten times faster than usual after the instinct went off and the small doze of hormones got into the head.

Just like right now, when Little Cato leaped toward the door, reaching with his hands to shush Ash by clapping his paws across the mouth.

And clearly the girl knew what kind of reaction she was getting from his son. Because she was prepared for it, laughing like crazy while floating away from the common room, leaving pinkish clouds after herself and angry shouts coming from Little Cato who followed her.

So that was an interesting development.

“That was well… that was something.” Gary coughed, clearing his throat first and then glancing at Avocato.

Who wanted to look away, but found out that he couldn’t.

“Something is definitely a good word to use here, yes.”

The male laughed, a short sound that seemed to rattle the chest – a tad embarrassed, a tad hesitant, but still warm.

“Kids.”

Avocato only smiled in return.

Gary grabbed a tablet from the table and clicked a few buttons on the screen, coming up with a map of the nearest galaxy and the star systems. A soft bluish hue lighted up his face, making the wrinkles beneath the eyes and around the mouth more visible than before.

(They had to land somewhere to fill the tanks. And the ship also needed some repairs, so spare parts would be also greatly needed. Luckily currently they were far away from any enemy.)

Gary moved his fingers across the screen, enlarging a specific part of the map and looking closer at the plants inhabiting this part of the universe. His mouth moved, almost like he was speaking to himself, but no words were coming out. The eyebrows furrowed, got closer to each other and then smoothened when a sweet grin split the lips and eyes shone with happiness.

It often happened when Gary came up with a plan.

There were another several quick taps, sudden blink of the eyes, spark so bright that it could put any sun to shame, another soft snort leaving the lips, accompanying that grin which simply took Avocato’s breath away whenever he was seeing it.

It made him want to do things, things he shouldn’t be doing. Yet the traitorous images, ideas, possibilities still sneaked into his mind, making a comfortable nest there, nearby his ears, so they could whisper sweet promises into them.

A tilt to the right, three blinks, a twitch of the nose, similar to a sniff, puffed out cheeks, turn to the left, a scratch on the chin, pinched lips, confusion clearly written in the eyes, replaced quickly by an understatement.

He wondered if Little Cato caught up to Ash.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been starring, so I assumed that I you know… I have something there.” Gary said, clearing his throat first and then lifting his face up from the screen.

Avocato’s brain lagged, with errors jumping in front of his eyes.

“I… no, ugh… you have nothing there. I just got lost in thoughts. And you just happened to be in my line of vision.”

It wasn’t that, but the truth was even worse. Worse than black hole pulling in. Worse than the blazing heat of the nearest star.

And it had to be Avocato’s eyes playing tricks on him. Some kind of error in the space-time line of events. Some mistake during the formation of atoms. Because he could swear he saw Gary being sad about Avocato’s answer. But it couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t be dishearten about such thing.

He simply couldn’t.

“Oh okay.”

Gary returned to scrolling through the screen.

Avocato took off the gun from his belt, put it on the counter and started to disassemble it, cleaning specific parts which were rusted due to the passing time.

They sat in the room for a pretty long time, not speaking, just being there, with Gary scrolling through the tablet and Avocato simply cleaning the gun.

Yet Avocato couldn’t simply stop himself from stealing a few glances at his companion. And whenever theirs stares crossed, his mind played another set of tricks on him as he was seeing Gary blush a bit and smiling wider under his nose.

***

Avocato wasn’t a very emotional being. Living and serving Lord Commander had been a tough life, a never ending enigma filled with cold stress that could break the bones and force the hearts into submission. Emotions had been something that had had to be kept under control.

Avocato had known the drill.

But when it came to Gary it seemed like all the lessons slipped past his mind, leaving only an empty space in the notebook. An hollow spot on the orbital after electron jumped off.

Gary made him want to do stuff he normally wouldn’t want.

Observing had been one of the most basic tasks he had had to do while being under Lord Commander’s rule. He had had to be constantly on watch, observing the situation in front of him, behind his right and left shoulder, beneath his feet and above his head, searching for any kind of anomalies. One mistake could cost him life.

Avocato was used to observing, knew for what to search, what kind of behaviors were suspicious, for what types of abnormalities to look in people, aliens and all other types.

But observing Gary had other annotations, other grounds beneath it.

He did it because he simply liked it, nothing more, nothing less. He could get lost in the time as he stared, feeling his heart beating loudly behind his ribcage, playing some strange cacophony that drummed through the bones and muscles.

He observed because it was safe. Only staring didn’t mean anything. It was just staring. Something natural. Something living beings did. And what if he was noticing things other didn’t – muscles nearby nose tensing as Gary had seen something displeasing or sudden twitch of lips as HUE was telling a joke. These were normal things. Ventrexians were perceptive, it didn’t mean much.

(Only the meaning had been set so long ago and Avocato was denying it on every step.)

Gary had one job.

One fucking job. Not getting lost. A simple job. Anyone could do it by following one of the teammates, family members even, holding onto their skirts or belts. It was an easy task, anyone could do it.

But not Gary. Definitely not Gary.

He just simply had to disappear in the middle of a fucking alien market, where the wanted posters with their faces were hanging everywhere.

“When I’ll see him I’m going to kill him so hard –“

“Not unless I’ll find him first.” Avocato mumbled, peeking into a space between the stalls.

Quinn glanced at him, but didn’t comment it.

They had been walking around the market for what seemed like hours, searching for the familiar mop of blond hair, dirty boots, brown jacket or metal hand sticking out of the crowd. With no luck.

“Seriously, you give this dumbass one job. One! Don’t get lost. Keep close to one of us and what does he do?” Quinn continued speaking with the words pouring from her mouth like atoms.

“He disappears.” Avocato gladly helped, muttering under his nose and turning his head left and right.

“He disappears, exactly!” Quinn sighed, pushing her hair away as she came to a stop at the intersection, because a wooden cart was just about to run her over. “He is probably laying in some ditch right now, with his insides out.”

The image wasn’t that pleasing, but unfortunately Avocato had to say it may be closer to the truth than they wanted.

He didn’t say anything, but nudged Quinn and they both ran forward, glancing frantically around, searching for the familiar hair, face, leg, hand, voice, just anything!

Nothing.

Gary could be already being shipped on an enemy ship towards the Lord Commander’s planet or nearby station, bound and beaten, with blood dripping from broken arm and legs. He could be laying in the dirt somewhere, already dead with ribs hollowed out by forceful kicks and covered with holes in size of bullets! He could be bleeding somewhere and they were –

“Avocato? Hey, wait up!”

Only now he noticed that he had been a good few meters away from Quinn who was now running to him, kinda out of breath.

Avocato tightened his fists.

“Okay…” Quinn inhaled deeply, touching her chest while exhaling later on. Her hands moved to a device on her wrist and brought up a holographic image of the area. “Clearly searching together doesn’t work, so we need to split up. I’ll take the north, and you’ll take the south part.” She continued, pointing at specific areas.

Avocato nodded. He liked that about Quinn, always being level-headed in stressful situations.

(Avocato usually was too, but there was something about Gary and Little Cato that made him frenzy inside. That made him suddenly hyper aware of all the possibilities that could be happening and he would be too slow, too far away, too incompetent to –)

“Hey, hey, woah, tiger, slow down your breathing. We’re going to find him! He’s probably alright, talking with some stranger about caterpillars or whatnots.”

Avocato felt her palm on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“I know, I know.” He said, moving his hand to pinch the eyes. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Quinn added, smiling to him, probably hoping for a small joke, but Avocato wasn’t in a mood for jokes. “Hold tight, everything is going to be alright.” She turned off the holographic screen. “Meet me here in an hour?”

“Sure.”

Quinn sent him another smile and then swirled on her heel to run in the other direction.

Avocato turned too, took a few deep breaths to calm his racing mind and also started to move.

Time ticked by as Avocato passed stall after stall, maneuvering around bodies of various aliens. Their chatters were getting louder in his head with every step as his senses sparked to life. His eyes moved from left to right, needing only a sparse millisecond to assess the situation in front of him.

No sight of Gary here and here and here. He wasn’t in any alley Avocato checked. He wasn’t also nearby any stall that he passed.

He just had disappeared. Avocato knew that it wasn’t possible, but he didn’t have any other explanation than Gary disappearing from the planet, atoms of his being dismantling, moving away from each other, making the coherent image lose focus.

It wasn’t possible, but right now Avocato would believe it.

It was better to believe that Gary just had disappeared than that he was being brutally punched while being on his way to Lord Commander and Invictus. It was better to think he peacefully dispersed the molecules across the universe than to imagine cold shackles on bruised wrists with blood seeping from cuts across the abdomen.

Avocato ran and searched and ran and searched and ran with no good results. The images were getting worse in his head, the possibilities, the futures that could be unfolding in front of them more terrifying than anything he had lived through before.

(The last time he had felt like that had been when Lord Commander had taken Little Cato, had snapped him from his grasp like a rag doll and had hung above his unable to reach hands.)

The hour was coming to an end and Avocato was now one hundred percent sure that something had happened, that he had been too late, that the cold eyes were now blindly staring at the universe unfolding in front of him which –

“Twenty Roxanian rubles and we have a deal!”

“I told you sir one hundred times and I’ll tell you one hundred more. One thousand Roxanian rubles and you can have it. Other way no deal!”

“Twenty one?”

Avocato halted in his steps, almost crashing into some old lady who started cursing at him, and backed away to glance into an alleyway filled with shops, randomly laying boxes, vases, buckets and more.

And there, in the middle of it, standing in front of a small alien was Gary, with red cheeks as he flipped through the money in his hands.

Avocato would be relieved if the anger didn’t spike first, taking control over the fear that had spurted inside his body, forming a new, burning star. His feet quickly took him closer to the human who still didn’t notice his presence.

“No deal, mister.”

“Twenty one and a cool looking rock?”

“I already said –“

“Gary.”

Both Gary and the vendor turned their heads to Avocato.

“Oh hey man, I was just trying to buy…” The words halted in Gary’s mouth, gluing themselves to the tongue. “Is everything alright?”

Alright? Alright?! Gary dared to ask if everything was alright after he and Quinn had spent almost two hours searching for him!?

Avocato felt like exploding.

But in the end he only grabbed Gary’s hand and dragged him out of the alleyway and through the stalls towards the meeting point Quinn had assigned, holding tightly, maybe a little bit too forcefully.

But that grasp was a promise, was a confirmation that all the atoms were there, that Gary was fine, that he was trying to keep up with Avocato’s quick pace while tripping a few times. Everything was alright, no crew member was missing. Gary was there, behind him, walking, breathing, living. Nothing happened.

“Hey, Avocato, could you slow down a bit, let a human being catch up with you.”

But Avocato didn’t slow down, only tightened the grip and moved through the crowd, pushing aliens around.

There was a small gap between buildings, allowing easily for two people or alien beings to pass through, away from the curious eyes of the guards still looking for them.

Avocato directed their steps there, finding no comfort in the voices of the crowd quieting a bit.

“Hey, hey, man come on, please stop for a moment, I need to catch a breath.”

Catch a breath? Catch a breath!? He could have been dead with lungs not being able to fill up ever again, laying in a pool of his own blood and Avocato would be too slow to save him –

“Avocato, bro, everything alright?”

He halted and then turned around to the human who was looking at him with perplexed look.

“What have you been thinking?” Avocato quietly asked, feeling the anger slowly moving to the surface. Similar to a rocket reaching the thermosphere.

Gary blinked.

“What?”

“What have you been thinking! We told you not to wander off and what do you do a few minutes after stepping out of the ship? Walk away!” It seemed that Avocato couldn’t stop, that the more he spoke the faster and louder he was getting. “You know that there are people looking for us, just waiting to chop our heads off, but no, you just walk away from us to argue with a seller! Did you even think about that! About us? Quinn and I have been looking for you everywhere for almost two hours!“ He felt the fatigue inside his bones, inside his throat, the anger and fear so audible in his voice which shook and trembled. “What were we supposed to think when you suddenly disappeared like that with the enemies everywhere around? What do you think we –“

And then there was a soft hand on his cheek, a warm, human, living palm touching his skin.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear. I just saw something cool and you know… followed it.” Gary said in a quiet voice.

“You could have been dead.”

“But I’m clearly not.” Gary happily added, but quickly ducked his head when Avocato glared at him. “Sorry, that was… well that was shitty of me to do. Sorry. I shouldn’t do that.”

Avocato inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling awfully lightheaded with the fire burning in his mind. Everything was alright. Everything was okay. Gary was alive, standing right in front of him. His heart was beating and his cheeks were red and his lungs were working and everything was really okay.

So why was Avocato having problems with believing it?

“Hey, hey, bro, my man, calm down, everything is fine and dandy. See, I’m okay, I’m okay.” Gary spoke in that soft tone he often used while speaking to Little Cato or whispering tiny goodbyes to him and the rest of the younger crew at the end of the day.

Gary wrapped his own hand around Avocato’s paw, where the warmness mixed with the coldness of the metal, and he moved it through the air to rest on his chest which was slowly moving up and down.

Avocato glanced down and looked back up at Gary’s hesitant, blushing, but smiling face.

“See, I’m okay. Everything is alright.”

Avocato inhaled shakily and straightened his fingers, pressing them into the living body, spreading them and feeling the clothes rumple beneath the touch. The heat was emanating from the chest as it slowly rose and fell. Behind it was a lone echo, a beating sensation so familiar, yet strange that shook Avocato’s core, but then made it more calm than ever. A sound of a beating heart.

Avocato exhaled and flexed his hand, but not moved it away, opting on keeping it there.

Gary didn’t loosen the hold on it either.

“I’m alive. Everything is fine.”

“You could have been dead.”

“But I am not. I’m fine.”

Avocato closed his eyes and evened his breathing, letting the heartbeat reverberate in his hand.

Only after a few seconds he opened his eyes.

“Just don’t do it again.”

Gary grinned, brightly and warmly, making Avocato’s own heartbeat accelerate like a starting ship engine.

“I’ll try.”

Avocato let out a dry laugh and shook his head, keeping his hand on the chest a tad longer than necessary before dropping it.

Gary sent him another smile.

They started their steady journey back to Quinn one more time.

Only after exiting back into the loud world of the bright stalls, Avocato dared to ask:

“What grabbed your attention back there anyway?”

“Oh.” Gary said, opening his mouth a bit. “That guy there was selling Oppy and I tried to buy it.”

“Oppy?” Avocato parroted.

“Opportunity, one of the Mars rovers?”

“I have no fucking idea what that is.”

Gary pouted and started a very long explanation, describing in details exactly what he had seen back at the vendor’s stall.

Quinn was both happy and mad after meeting them and she didn’t wait a second to punch Gary hard, before sweeping him in a tight hug that almost crushed his ribs. And after getting to know the story, she even let out a broken laughter while hearing about Gary’s sudden affection.

“It couldn’t be the real Oppy.”

“Why not?”

“The real Oppy was like one and a half meters tall. And the one you saw was like what? Barely half a meter?”

“It could be the real Oppy but shrunken! Like Avocato shrank on that weird bioluminescent planet!”

“Whatever you say, Gary.” Quinn said, shrugging, clearly admitting to defeat.

Gary even argued that it had to be the real robot when they were walking back to the ship. He still did it when Avocato broke away from them, sent Quinn a quick message about his whereabouts and moved back to the stalls.

***

Avocato wasn’t a needy being per se. He clearly had his needs and things he wanted, but most of the time he could control it.

But when it came to safety it seemed like his mind was stopping working correctly, making him do things he normally wouldn’t do.

(Like buying that stupid piece of junk called Oppy Junior which now proudly roamed  the ship, not doing anything productive or necessary, but putting smiles on some faces. And well keeping people safe by simply being there.)

Avocato had to admit he always had had a problem with worrying too much and trying to keep his sparse loved ones safe. He only had noticed it after Little Cato had been born. It had only taken him a second to know that he would do everything to protect that smile or grimace.

Back when he had been under Lord Commander’s command and Little Cato had been out late, Avocato had stayed up all night, waiting for his son to come back, pacing nervously around the house.

He had seen too much not to be worried. And in Little Cato’s case it all had been justified, considering what had happened in the end. Before all of that he had been scared, but then he had been terrified and horrified. It had been only a possibility before, yet his nightmares had become reality.

The chances were against them.

They had to admit that they were living in a state of constant fear, with Invictus and Lord Commander being only a few steps behind them, breathing onto their necks with sick smiles.

Avocato was overprotective. When he wasn’t sure what was happening with his close ones he was starting to panic, losing footing beneath himself.

At the beginning it had been only Little Cato, but then the circle had grown, expanded, swallowing more and more people. Like a black hole, using the gravitational field to pull everyone in.

Avocato couldn’t imagine losing his son. Neither could he imagine losing Gary.

So sometimes he could overreact. He could feel his mind getting frenzy and heart accelerate with the sudden need striking through it to do something.

“Faster!”

“I am going as fast as I can!”

“Well then we need to go even faster!”

“The engines won’t withstand it.”

“They are gaining on us!”

Gary huffed, tightening his grip on the stick. There were a few droplets of sweat rolling down the forehead and cheeks like comets about to crash down.

“Nightfall, how are our weapons?” Avocato asked into the mic, keeping it close to his mouth and staring at the cosmos becoming a blur behind the ship walls.

There was a creak and static jumping left and right.

“Almost dead. We don’t have much time.” The woman exhaled, clearly irritated by something.

A sudden explosion nearby quickly gave Avocato insight into what she was pissed about.

The whole ship shivered in its wake, moving spastically from left to right, while rotating.

AVA’s robotic voice echoed in the room.

“We’re taking critical damage. If we don’t move away soon I think we will be –“

“Toasted?” Hue proposed.

“Yes, toasted.”

Toasted was a faint and light word to use in their current situation. Avocato would say that they were currently staring into Death’s eyes and taunting her. But she was only staring at them, with a kind smile on her lips, like they were a bunch of kids playing on the playground.

(And maybe to her they were.)

“Gary!” Quinn hissed, gripping tightly her seat and looking through the window.

“I know, I know!”

Avocato could understand being terrified and stressed. He was scared too. Even more than scared. He felt the adrenaline taking control over his muscles, seizing them, making his brain work at top speed, forcing the oxygen through his lungs at faster pace. The sweat rolled down his paws and he wasn’t even the one piloting the ship.

Everyone could feel the bitter breath of death on their necks, a freezing blow that could overtake the core, make even the brightest star die and crumble down.

Gary bit down his lip, drawing blood.

“AVA I need you to activate the dimensional drop drive on my command and then after two hundred meters light fold the ship!”

“Gary –“

“Just… on my command.” The second part was added in a quieter tone of voice, almost like a plead that was thrown to the wind.

Everyone inside the bridge quieted down and tightened the grip on whatever they could hold onto without anyone prompting them too. Everyone was conscious of the consequences. Everyone also knew what would happen if they failed.

Avocato stared at Gary – at their so-called captain who had clung tightly to the role, to the position, to this point everyone had started to respect that.

(In the whole crew’s mind, at some point of their journey, this seat had been taken by an overly enthusiastic person.)

He stared at the furrowed eyebrows, at the scared, but focused eyes, at the pinched in a tight line lips with a drop of blood gathering at the corner, at the shaking hands which gripped tightly the controls, tighter and tighter and how Avocato wished he could –

“Now!”

It all happened almost in the blink of an eye. For a moment Avocato floated in a blissful state where gravitation was an abstract, something that was only a theory or an additional letter in a formula. Everything inside of him squeezed as images of his son jumped in front of his eyes, hoping that Little Cato was alright, that even if something happened he would be able to get out, escape, move far away from here, disperse somehow.

Avocato prayed that his son was alright.

His lungs hurt and his chest swelled as he desperately proportioned energy to the segments of the barrier which now really needed it, trying to protect the most important parts of the ship in the same time.

He felt like he was floating, like he was here and not, both in the same time. He was made of matter and antimatter, mixing and swirling together as the danger licked their necks, clawed their arms and wrapped them in a cold embrace, tightening the chains on the throats –

Then there was a burst of light, a sudden gravitational force pulling and pushing, a yell somewhere, his hand tightening the grip on the console, a sudden fear, a cascade of sparks, a wind and a desperation so bright that Avocato was afraid everyone could see it.

And as fast as it all started, it was gone. The tension, the anticipation, the pressure, the magnitude, it all was gone.

They were drifting slowly through the cosmos, together, alone, alive.

“Engines are in critical condition. We are unable to move forward.” AVA said robotically above them. Then like an afterthought, very lightly added. “But at least we’re alive.”

They were alive. And away from danger.

Avocato moved away from the controls, letting the barrier drop, disintegrate into holographic pixels first and then into nothingness. His hands were shaking terribly, so much that even brushing his forehead was a task. His throat was a mess, tightened to the brim, barely letting any air pass through.

The whole bridge was dead quiet for a moment, a short, tensed moment where they all prepared themselves for the worst. But the worst didn’t come.

They were alone in this part of the universe.

“We did it?” Quinn hesitantly asked, trying to loosen the grip she had on her chair, but failing.

“We really survived?” Ash slowly whispered, holding tightly onto the wall.

AVA hummed above them.

“No sign of any enemy ship in this quadron.” A short buzz of calculations. “We’re safe for now.”

Another short spasm of time enveloped them, caressing the sweaty hairs and pecking wrinkled foreheads.

Then a long sigh left Quinn’s lips.

“I… I need a drink.”

“Count me in.” Ash added.

Quinn somehow got out of her seat, swaying as she did so while stealing a glance at the girl.

“Are you… even allowed to drink?”

“After a day like today? Definitely.”

“Fair enough.” Quinn nodded.

Both of them exited the bridge, glancing at the rest of the crew for a moment.

Avocato still needed a few minutes to defuse. Still needed a coherent thought to pop into his mind which would get rid of the dark clouds. It seemed like his mind couldn’t exactly calm down. He felt like they were still on the edge, almost tipping over.

There was a quiet whisper coming from the com.

“Dads, are you coming?” Little Cato asked.

Avocato shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Yeah, yeah, in a moment.”

A short break.

“Dad?” Their son hesitantly inquired.

Avocato glanced to his side at Gary who still clung to the controls, staring at the cosmos spreading behind the window.

A hum of machinery resonated in the space between them.

“Gary?” Avocato tried, whispering it first.

It did little to nothing. Cross that. It did nothing. Gary still stared with wide eyes at something that wasn’t there, with hands tightening the grip on the controls. He seemed frozen in time, drowning in below two hundred and seventy degrees temperature in the space-time continuum, not being conscious of anything that was happening around him.

“Gary?”

Still no response.

Avocato stood up, moved to Gary, dragging his feet beneath him and feeling his tail barely twitching in curiosity and fear of what was about to happen, and raised his hand to touch the man when –

The door swished open and Little Cato barged inside, looking around.

“Little Cato?” Avocato asked, glancing at his son.

The boy quickly moved closer, lifted his hand, but stopped midway, not even touching Gary, but furrowing his eyebrows. His ears flicked back and forth, with whiskers moving hesitantly as a pout appeared on the mouth, crossing it like a shooting star.

“Dad, can you like… go with the rest?”

“But I –“

“Please, I’ve… got it.”

Avocato wasn’t sure what was happening. He hadn’t been here, alive, long enough to know everything. He simply knew that something was off and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Even though he wanted to do something.

Yet Little Cato looked at him with pleading eyes, with resolve so strong that Avocato bent beneath it and nodded.

“Okay.”

And with that he left the bridge.

From the sounds he knew that most of the crew was in the main dining hall, moving around a bit, most likely drinking, while mostly remaining silent. There were a few shushed tries at conversations, but it seemed like no one really wanted to talk. They just needed to stop, get back onto the rails after such stressful day.

Even KVN was quiet, slowly pushing the cookies into his processor unit.

Avocato paced around the ship, trying to get the feeling back into his legs and hands, easing the stress that had taken control over his body.

He didn’t move far away from the bridge, but he didn’t eavesdrop either. He respected Little Cato’s and Gary’s privacy, so he just stayed nearby.

Mostly he was worried. He felt the sudden fear gripping his heart, squeezing it painfully and it had nothing to do with the close to death situation from a few minutes ago.

They were alive. Somehow they had escaped. A task which was getting more and more difficult with each passing day. But they had done it, they were alive for now. And this was important.

Avocato wasn’t sure what was happening in the closed room, but whatever it was he knew Little Cato got it. Avocato trusted him, he believed in him. And yet he was worried, terrified even.

So he walked around, with nothing better to do.

The door opened with a too loud swish several minutes later. Long minutes that seemed like eternities and lightyears, stretching into infinity.

Avocato snapped his head back, looking as Little Cato exited the bridge, massaging his tired eyes. In a few strides he was in front of his son, kneeling and putting both his hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Little Cato looked perplexed at him, blinking a few times.

“Uh, sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“The attack?”

“Oh, I’m yeah, I’m like… totally fine. A few bruises here and there, but nothing major.” Little Cato nodded, massaging his arm and looking at him.

Avocato sighed, feeling like at least half of the weight crumbled down from his shoulders, sputtering debris everywhere.

(He knew that Little Cato was amazing as a defense, operating the cannons, turrets and guns, but it was still one of the most open and unprotected position on the ship, one that could be easily blasted away.)

Avocato’s chest expanded as he took a sweet breath, letting his one hand move down, almost tracing the cold ground beneath them.

But there was still an incredible weight on his shoulders, dense, thick, invisible weight that pushed him down.

“And –“

“Gary is also okay. A little bit shaken, but okay.” Little Cato butted in, looking at him, only to glance at the ground.

Avocato opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it and shut one more time, only to nod in the end, feeling something inside of him coil and twist painfully.

(Whatever he had seen before definitely hadn’t looked okay. But if Little Cato was saying that it was okay now, he believed him. His son and Gary had a connection that ran deeper than it was visible. There was a thread somewhere inside only they could see, a language only they could understand.)

“Okay.” Avocato said, still resting his hand on Little Cato’s shoulder.

The Ventrexian looked at him.

“I’m going to grab something to eat and then I think I’m going to sleep.”

“Good, good.”

Little Cato moved and wrapped his hands quickly around Avocato’s chest, resting his head in the crook of his neck, exhaling quickly and tightening the grip.

Avocato hugged back, feeling all the pieces inside of him vibrating with fear evaporating somewhere, like a meteor disintegrating while moving through the atmosphere. It was a short moment, a heartbeat, a sudden stillness, an eternity squeezed into a second, a calmness, a familiarity, a comfort and a peace that they desperately needed.

“See you later?” Little Cato asked.

“Definitely.”

Little Cato smiled at him and then moved away, directing his sluggish steps toward the main dining room.

Avocato stayed in his spot, only moving up so he was standing instead of kneeling. His eyes jumped like electrons between orbitals, staring at the door to the bridge and the retreating form of his son.

Should he go inside or not?

“If you ask me I think dad could use a friend right now.” Little Cato said, looking at him above his shoulder.

Avocato looked at his son, opened his mouth, but then closed it and nodded. He only caught a glimpse of a smile as he turned to the door directing him to the bridge.

He raised his hand, moved knuckles closer to the door and then faltered.

Should he really do that? Maybe Little Cato was wrong, maybe Gary wanted peace, maybe Avocato shouldn’t step inside?

But then it seemed like Little Cato knew Gary more than anyone else did, so why should he be wrong?

So in the end Avocato simply said:

“Gary, I’m coming in.”

And he did just that.

The bridge was covered only in soft, sparse hues coming from the control panels and boards spreading at the very front and nearby the seats. Some lights were blinking, some were turned off and some were shining, but it seemed like the energy was toned down, conserved, giving only the minimum of power.

(Or maybe they were dimmed down on purpose?)

Avocato looked around the familiar room, quickly locating the lump sitting in the main chair.

Gary was curled in on himself with hands wrapped around his legs and head hidden in a small nest made between his arms. For a moment he seemed still, like a statue, a stone, frozen in a space void, but then his shoulders moved, dropped down an inch.

Avocato swallowed hard, feeling his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, and then stepped forward.

“Gary?”

Gary did twitch and it was the only thing which showed Avocato that he was listening and more important conscious of the things that were happening around him.

The vast universe spread in front of them, universe where the danger lurked, but thousand, if not more, light-years away. For now they were away, safe, alive. But for how long? When would be the next time their necks would be put under the guillotine of time? When would be the next time when the cold hands of Death would wrap her hands around their throats, quietly apologizing in their ears?

The future was an unknown, a terrifying unknown, a scary place to step into.

But for now they were alright. They were breathing, their hearts were beating and they could rest for a moment. A blissful moment. And this was what mattered.

Avocato clenched his fists, released the tension, tightened them one more time, braced himself and then stepped forward.

“Is everything alright?”

A dumb thing to ask about, but somehow this one question left Avocato’s lips.

For a moment Avocato expected Gary to not move, to not answer in any way. But then the head slowly moved in a shaking motion, scattering blond locks everywhere.

“Do you mind if I… sit with you?”

Another shake of the head.

They were at least getting somewhere.

Avocato slowly approached Gary and then flopped down on the armrest nearby the lump sitting on the seat. He put his hands on his lap, fiddling with them a little and glancing at Gary from time to time.

He wanted to do something, something to ease the tension, to brush away the fear that had taken hold of the heart, something to push away the bad thoughts that plagued the mind, something to help, something to just make it better.

(He didn’t have such strong feelings in a long time.)

Yet Avocato wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know what kind of things were okay in such a situation. What would their relationship allow him to do?

(Avocato wished it was something more than a friendship, but he was happy with what he had. But there were these urges, these needs, these whispered pleads which filled his mind.)

But he was also a man of pure instinct. It didn’t mean he always acted on it. No, of course not. But he trusted it when it proposed ideas, possibilities, plans and methods. It was his savior in dire situations, his last chance to escape every danger.

His helper.

So he decided to trust it again.

Avocato slowly moved his hand, flew it across the atmosphere, feeling the gravitation of the ship taking its toll, and then landed it like a spacecraft on Gary’s palm which grasped tightly the jeans. His pads traced the skin, moving into the crook of the gripped fist.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then Gary loosened the grip, letting Avocato’s hand to sneak closer and interlock their fingers, feeling them click like two gears, a perfect combination of imperfect lives.

It wasn’t much. Just a delicate movement, a sign of trust, of familiarity, of support, of too much and not enough, of stars and planets and comets and stories about space pirates spoken in hushed whispers surrounded by dimmed light. It was love – but in different forms, yet mixed together.

Gary squeezed Avocato’s fingers.

Avocato softly brushed his thumb on Gary’s skin.

They stayed like this for a long time, with the constellations and nebulas passing them by, with their breaths evening out, with their heartbeats slowing down, with everything sparkling to life and then dying.

But not here, not right now.

Gary moved and leaned on Avocato’s thigh, resting his head there.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, not letting go of his hand.

“No problem.”

So they stayed like this for a little bit more time.

***

Some people would call Avocato a bad person. Or well, a bad Ventrexian. He could understand them. He deserved the title. He had done bad, terrible things. Things that couldn’t and shouldn’t be forgiven.

He wasn’t fine with that, but he had learned to live with it. No matter how horrible it sounded.

(From time to time it made his skin crawl with fear so deep that he barely could move.)

But he loved helping others - others close to him.

He would do everything for Little Cato. He would steal thousands stars and pass through countless dimensions to keep his son safe.

And for a long period of time Little Cato had been the only one for whom Avocato had harbored strong feelings of wanting to help. But that had changed after boarding Galaxy One, after becoming a part of the team-squad or whatever Gary called it.

Avocato found himself wanting to help others. Wanting to do something to ease the pain and let them take a sweet breath, so much needed for their lungs.

(He had to admit it that the feeling was the strongest with Little Cato and Gary.)

He had thought before that it would make him weak - having such needs. That it would break all his walls and make him lose focus on what was important. But he had been wrong. It made him even stronger than before.

“Dad, dad, dad, can I have it?”

Avocato glanced down at Little Cato who excitedly showed him a box filled with screwdrivers, laser cutters and other mechanical stuff. He felt his eyebrows raising on the forehead.

“Don’t we already have like ten of these back at the ship?”

Because the engine room was filled to the brim with such gizmos, making it almost impossible to move without crashing into a box filled with gears here and a bag of screws there.

Little Cato rolled his eyes at him.

“Yeah, but we don’t have equipment to repair things from sector 67b! What if we accidentally crash our ship and we will have to change it and we won’t have needed supplies to repair the nearby ship and we will be stuck and –“

“Okay, okay, okay, I got it!” Avocato sighed and then patted his pockets, finding a few slips of money. “Go buy it.”

“Aw thanks dad, you’re the best.” Little Cato turned on his heel and glanced at the small robot trailing next to him and the green alien glued to it. “Come on Oppy Junior and Mooncake, let’s find what more we can buy.”

The robot yipped happily and drove after the Ventrexian to yet another stall, carrying Mooncake with it.

At this pace Avocato would be broke in several minutes.

He closed his eyes and relaxed the muscles, feeling a familiar presence getting near him.

(He would recognize this smell everywhere.)

“Ha, and you told me I was too soft on the kid when I bought him the hoverboard he wanted.”

“You just bought it, because you couldn’t stand his puppy eyes.” Avocato snapped back, not even prying open one eye.

“Don’t you mean kitty eyes?”

“Don’t test me.”

Gary chuckled and leaned on the same wall Avocato had been and still was supporting for the last few minutes, letting their shoulders lightly brush.

Aliens of different races passed in front of them, talking excitedly between each other with smiles gracing their faces. Kids ran around, following each other with mouths dirty from sweets and knees covered with dust. Some vendors shouted loudly to get the biggest crowd around their merchandise, letting the curious eyes wander around until they would lock onto shining and sparkling gizmos.

Festivals – a moment of joy, a time for relaxation, a sweet pause in working to enjoy themselves.

(When Little Cato and the rest of the younger part of the crew had found out that there had been a festival on a planet nearby they had begged them to stop there. And well Gary had been quick to yield, wanting to go too. Avocato had been second to lose, making Quinn and Nightfall being the last to fall.)

“Enjoying yourself?” Gary prompted, looking at him.

“It’s not the worst.” Avocato started, glancing around. “But I’ve seen better.”

There were definitely too many aliens around. Aliens who lurked and warily looked around, aliens who sneaked past the crowd in search of something, aliens who clearly tried to find specific things or beings.

It wasn’t safe out there for any of them. But for now they managed to somehow blend with the crowd of too cheerful kids and tired parents.

In a way, he and Gary were like that too. Two very exhausted dads taking care of their kids who ran around, getting their hands on sweets and games.

(Just a few minutes ago he had had to give Fox a spare change, so he could try to win some price in a shooting range.)

“It’s actually my first time in a place like this.” Gary said, correcting his position.

It wasn’t the most comfortable place to lean on, but it was far enough from curious eyes.

“Really?” Avocato asked, raising his eyebrow.

Gary nodded, glancing around too. It seemed that after saying it, he wasn’t in a mood to prolong the topic. Or that some memories surged forward, flew up like a rocket, trying to breach the atmosphere of a planet.

“Yeah.” He said in the end. “I suppose I never had anyone with whom I could go.”

Avocato knew there was more under that. That beneath it were layers of cosmic dust, molecules and compounds so complicated, that distinguishing specific atoms would be almost impossible. But for now he accepted it as a fact, not drilling it further, letting the time work its magic and appear back on the right time.

“I suppose I didn’t see that many either. Lord Commander wasn’t really up for organizing festivals on Terra Con Prime.”

“Uh yeah, can’t imagine him doing that.” Gary quickly said, looking skeptically at Avocato, but with a small smile on his lips.

Avocato grinned too, but the dark clouds gathered around his head.

Somehow Lord Commander was back, even stronger and more dangerous than before. But was he really the same person? Or was he simply just another puppet in the hands of Invictus? A doll made of bones and muscles, with limbs and mind tied with strings, easy to maneuver around and manipulate to the pleasing of the creator?

(Before all of that even Avocato could sometimes almost see the image of the old person Lord Commander had used to be, but that someone was gone now, erased from the history and existence.)

“He only organized parades to praise his own glory.”

“That sounds more like him.” Gary snapped his fingers, laughing under his nose, replacing the sudden darkness which tried to sneak into the warm eyes.

Avocato closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the smile forming on his own lips. He didn’t want for it to appear, but somehow he couldn’t stop it right now. Not when Gary was nearby and they finally had a free day to roam around and enjoy themselves.

“So, if you never have seen any festivals, then what are you doing here? You can go out there and explore.”

To be honest Avocato felt quite comfortable like that right now. Away from the prying eyes, but with a nice company. Calm. Comfortable. Safe. It seemed almost too nice to be true.

(And to be fair there were days when he felt like he was dreaming, like he was floating in a faraway land under the influence of a sweet sleepiness that took control of his whole mind.)

Gary glanced at him and shrugged.

“I don’t know. It sounded a little bit sad doing it without any company.”

“You could always go with one of the young ones.” Avocato proposed.

Gary waved his hand.

“Nah, they shouldn’t have to hang out with a grandpa like me.”

Avocato huffed. When Gary put his mind to something, there was no way of changing it. He literally would have to disobey the laws of the universe to change this man’s mind about something and he definitely didn’t have necessary equipment for it.

(Trying to do it was like trying to get out of the black hole, only with a stapler. Impossible.)

“If you’re a grandpa then what does it make me?”

“Super grandpa?”

Avocato snorted.

To be honest he wasn’t up for walking around. There were too many aliens checking every stall, too many unfamiliar faces that could hide secrets, too many hands that could sneak into their pockets, too many securely hidden weapons, ready to blast them off.

Avocato preferred to observe the crowd from far away, searching for any symptoms of people noticing who was here exactly. Here he could clearly watch people pass him by, see the guards patrolling, but not exactly yet alerted about anything.

He definitely preferred to play safe.

But he was weak when it came to Gary Goodspeed. The man probably didn’t know that, hell, he definitely didn’t know that a small question could turn into a thousand things Avocato would do to make him smile. It had been probably a simple thought Gary had wanted to get off his chest. No higher and hidden reasons.

Yet the second the words had left his mouth Avocato had known what he had wanted to do.

He brushed softly Gary’s arm with his own and then pointed with his head at the stalls.

“So are we gonna stand here for like an eternity or what?”

Gary stared at him for several seconds, before the concept of what Avocato had proposed finally got registered by his brain. And the reaction was immediate – a smile, giant, radiant, warm formed on his lips, stretching it to almost painful for Avocato levels. Then there was a squeal leaving these lips, a high-pitched sound that could shatter the drums in every ear, but somehow sounded like a beautiful music to Avocato. And then there were hands, clumsily gripping his elbow, shoulder, hand and tugging him in the direction of the music, colorful aliens and cheerful kids.

Avocato obediently followed, rolling his eyes at the childishness of the man, but deep inside being quite fond of it. There was something endearing in the eyes sparkling like supernovas, with the cheeks burning like stars and the smile spreading like universe.

(Plus it almost sounded like a date. It definitely wasn’t a date, but who could blame Avocato if he called it like that in his head? No one, because no one could hear it. So he definitely could do it. In his head. It wasn’t hurting anyone. Maybe only his poor heart when it was met with the reality.)

Gary dragged him from stall to stall, excitedly eyeing everything aliens here had to offer. It didn’t matter whether it was jewelry, books, gizmos, part of machines or food. It all was appealing to him. Maybe the food part the most. It seemed that after snapping the invisible thread that had kept Gary at bay his mouth wasn’t shutting, but was always open, talking, chattering, whispering about everything and nothing in the same time. He was a ball of constant, never-ending energy, vibrating, shivering with so much power that it felt too much for Avocato.

But it was worth it.

It was even more worth it when Avocato managed to win a giant mascot of a Pyrruvian Exalate – something that reminded Gary of an Earth dragonfly. Only those were like twenty times bigger and more deadly. It didn‘t matter to Gary as he hugged the mascot closer to his chest, with sparkling eyes and even bigger grin.

(And if Avocato had had to intimidate the vendor to get it, then what? They were wanted criminals, it had to have some perks, right?)

“Oh my gosh, Gary, how did you get it?” It was Ash, staring at the plushie in the man’s hands which were wrapped securely around it.

“Avocato won it for me!” Gary happily answered.

“Lucky!” Ash said, clasping her cheeks and looking mesmerized at the mascot.

Gary was proudly puffing out his chest.

Avocato only sighed at that, glancing at Quinn who fondly shook her head at the antics happening in front of her eyes.

“So you won it for Gary?” Little Cato asked, standing next to him and then glancing up for a second, only to focus in the end on Ash trying to pry away the plushie from Gary’s steel hold.

“Yep, fair and square.”

Little Cato glanced at him skeptically.

“Yeah, about that. I actually saw some alien furiously pointing at your poster while talking to the guards, so you know.” Little Cato shrugged at the end, smirking.

Avocato sighed.

When the guards came four minutes later, they were already above the planet’s atmosphere.

***

Mostly Avocato spent his time working. He didn’t have that much free time and even when he did, he tried to fill it to the brim with something useful. Repairs here, steering the ship there, cleaning weapons after a fight, preparing food for Little Cato at the end of the day. No matter what it was, Avocato was doing something.

(If he stopped doing them, his thoughts would catch up and he definitely didn’t need that. He had to be in constant move.)

Avocato hadn’t felt like he had needed to spend time with others before. Before Little Cato that was. And even after Little Cato had been born he never really had felt the need to have free time to spend it with someone other than his son.

With Little Cato it was different. He hadn’t had much time while working for Lord Commander, but whenever he had had some, he had spent it with Little Cato – repairing stuff, building machines, teaching him how to shoot and other useful tricks.

For the longest time Little Cato had been the only person Avocato really had wanted to spend time with.

And then had come Gary. And somehow the prospect of having free time to spend it with him wasn’t so terrifying anymore. On the contrary, he wanted to do that. It was a selfish thing – being able to spend as much time together as he could.

(Yet if he had to choose between Little Cato and Gary, he would always chose his son. But he knew Gary would do the same.)

Avocato always found excuses to hang out with the human. Whether it was playing cards, steering the ship, planning their future steps, eating supper, helping with cleaning the engine or other things. Most of the time Little Cato tagged along and Avocato had to admit he adored those times – when there were just the three of them and the wide universe. It was a time filled with jokes and laughter, possibilities of the future, stories from the past and so much more.

(One crooked but whole family.)

Those were the precious moments filled with no worries about the world, titans, Invictus, Lord Commander, death that was threating to take them away. It was just the three of them.

But sometimes Avocato wanted some alone time with Gary too. In a different way than he wanted some alone time with Little Cato.

Spending time with Gary left his heart in a haze, drunk on emotions so deep and bright that it made him exhausted. And yet, those were one of the most calming moments of his life. He felt utterly content while talking with Gary, laughing about stuff or being submerged into a conversation so dark that even shadows scattered away from them.

With Gary Avocato felt like he could open himself fully and the man wouldn’t judge him. And he was doing it, slowly, step after step. But to be fair he wasn’t sure whether he was doing it for himself or because it seemed like Gary was happier the more he knew about Avocato.

It felt like their bond was stronger the more they shared. And the needs became bigger and mightier.

“Oh my gosh, they are so disgusting!”

“They are just kissing each other.”

“Disgusting!”

Gary snorted and then threw popcorn at Little Cato who had done a tube from his hands and was shouting at the screen where a pair was kissing.

“It’s a romantic drama, what else did you expect?” Avocato asked, raising his eyebrow.

Little Cato huffed and slumped further down on the couch.

“I don’t know, but I expected something better than lame kissing scenes.”

“Come on, Spidercat, it’s a classic back on Earth.”

“Your classics sucks.” The small boy said, reached and then grabbed a handful of popcorn to put into his mouth.

“You will love them when you’ll be my age.”

“So when I’ll be a grandpa?”

“You little –“

Gary grabbed Little Cato, heavily ruffling his blue fur at the top of the head while grumbling under his nose.

Little Cato started laughing loudly, moving his hands up and trying to swat the attacking ones away, but failing miserably due to the tremors which ran through his chest.

The hands that rested on the head, moved to the armpits and stomach, tickling every space possible and making Little Cato almost shout in short spasm of laughter. His eyes were closed tight shut. His small body wiggled left and right, trying to get away from the attacking palms, but being quite unable to.

“Stop, stop I yield, I yield!”

Gary’s attack stopped, halted in a moment and then he moved away.

“I hope that taught you something.”

Little Cato was already opening his mouth to disagree with that statement, but Gary simply lifted his hands and it shut the small boy up for good.

Or at least for another few minutes.

Avocato wasn’t really the biggest fan of romantic dramas either. Or romantic comedies. Or romantic thrillers. Or romantic anything.

Mostly because whenever he watched one, it gave him ideas, possibilities that couldn’t be fulfilled, soft moments that he wished he had and could live through. It made him miss all those simple things he yearned and wanted and hoped could happen – but knew they never would.

(How Gary didn’t catch him glancing almost every minute at him was a mystery.)

Gary seemed enamored by the movie, so Avocato said nothing and simply watched it.

After some time Avocato sensed a stable weight being put on his shoulder and glanced down to see his son lulled to sleep.

Little Cato had his mouth open a little, with a bit of drool rolling down his cheek. His chest was moving steadily, raising up and falling down – oh, so precious movements – with one ear flicking from time to time.

Avocato smiled fondly and leaned to brush the saliva away, scratching the cheek in the process.

“Did he doze off?” Gary whispered to him, moving to grab a remote control and stop the movie.

“Yeah, he did.” Avocato nodded.

“Ah, the movie had to really bore him then.”

And yet he stayed.

Avocato moved his palm through the tuff of hair at the top and when his son didn’t wake up, he moved to gently scoop him up, letting the legs hang limply in the air.

Little Cato did little to no movement, letting his head loll to the side and rest on Avocato’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take him to his room.”

“Okie dokie.” Gary said, twirling the remote control in his hand. “Are you planning on… coming back?”

Avocato’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at Gary’s pleading eyes.

In the darkness of the main room they looked like two moons, reflecting the light of the nearest star. There were swirls, galaxies of emotions moving through them and Avocato wasn’t sure he could name all of the feelings. He had a vague sensation of knowing some of them, but it could be wishful thinking.

So in the end he opted for a selfish answer.

“Yeah, I’ll be back baby.”

Gary nodded at that, smiling to him like the sun.

Avocato carried Little Cato back to his room, laid him down on the bed and then covered thickly with a quilt. He patted the head and kissed the nose, whispering a sweet good night into the ear.

Little Cato snuggled further into his bed, throwing the quilt almost over his head, making Avocato smile under his nose.

(He would blame Gary for that later on, but he also moved to Fox, laying below Little Cato, and brushed his forehead softly, wishing a good night sleep too.)

His steps back echoed loudly in the silent ship drifting through the space. One, two three, four and so on and so more. The sounds and vibrations were accompanied by his heavily drumming heart. It was an otherworldly cacophony inside his veins, inside his body. It was a weird feeling. They had spent time together a lot of times, losing sleep while playing games, steering ship, repairing stuff or simply while talking or sometimes not even doing that.

But now, weirdly, he couldn’t calm down. It seemed that there was a fire beneath the fur, a sudden tornado and storm, rattling his nerves, making him twitch with anticipation.

(Anticipation for what? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t for anything specific, it was just there, moving through his veins like black matter.)

Gary sat in the same position Avocato had left him, looking through the tablet which was laying on his lap.

“Oh, you’re already back.” Gary said, glancing up at him as Avocato flopped down.

“Should I have taken longer?” Avocato asked, raising his eyebrow.

“No, no, no of course not. Pfff what are you even thinking?” Gary quickly clarified, not clarifying anything at all. But that was a part of him.

(A part Avocato clearly adored.)

Gary grabbed the remote, almost dropping it in the process, and then moved it closer to his chest.

“Should I?”

“Go on. It’s a stupid movie, but I’m kinda curious how it’ll end.”

Gary nodded, beaming to him and clicking a button.

It was kinda true. But to be fair Avocato wasn’t sure whether he wanted to see the end because of the plot or because of Gary. Maybe he wanted to see the end to be able to sneak a peek of how Gary would behave while seeing it.

Even though he had said he had already seen it at least seven times.

Observing Gary while he watched a movie was always an intriguing experience. One Avocato clearly loved. He adored looking at the small changes on the face, sudden gasps, bewildered whispers, mouth spread in a wide grin after a joke or eyes filled with tears during a heartbreaking moment. It was a never-ending compilations of movements and emotions, cinematic show filled with vivid animations.

Avocato observed, cataloguing every emotion passing through the façade, wondering for how much longer he would be able to look at them like that, freely, alive.

Then there was a change, a sudden sparkle of life, a supernova coming, spreading the heat, a small open movement of the mouth, wide eyes, sparkling and needing, gravitated or pulled towards the screen. There was curiosity, clear, astonishing, childish even, bright, so radiant curiosity that it almost hurt to look at.

Avocato glanced at the screen to check what got Gary so interested.

Oh, the pair was dancing, looking at each other with adoration. The music swam slowly around their bodies, hugging them delicately and whispering into the ears, making them smile.

It looked awfully cheesy. But well cheesy was what Gary adored.

Avocato glanced at the pair, moving their hips gently, looking like the whole world didn’t matter, and he felt this sudden need. This sudden urge and longing, yearning so deep and heavy that it almost crushed his lungs. The echo of a heartbeat moved through his chest as a sudden stutter appeared in his brain.

Avocato stood up and reached his hand toward Gary.

“What… are you doing, my dear friend?”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but he pushed all thoughts aside and simply answered:

“Are you going to let my hand hang in the air till the song ends?”

Gary opened his mouth, glanced at the screen, back at Avocato, one more time at the screen and then it seemed that what Avocato had been implying finally was interpreted by his brain.

He grabbed Avocato’s hand and let the Ventrexian haul him up.

They almost bumped into each other, due to the stress running through his limbs, but somehow he managed not to rip Gary’s hand off. Then for a moment they stood in front of each other, staring and not really being sure what to do.

Avocato hadn’t planned so far.

He just had wanted that, so he had done the first thing that had popped into his mind.

But at this point the song would be over soon, so they had to act.

Avocato quickly checked the position the people on the screen were in and tried to imitate it in the real life. He rested his one hand on Gary’s hip, holding the other at their shoulders’ level.

Gary quickly caught on, moving his prosthetic to rest it on Avocato’s shoulder, letting the coldness seep in through the material of his shirt.

Another short glance to check what other things they were doing. Swaying their hips while making small steps. This was easy. He could do that.

They tried recreating what the people on the screen were doing, moving, stepping around while stealing glance after glance at them. And it was of course a recipe for disaster. Gary managed to stomp on his foot twice and Avocato almost made them stumble into a table, but in the end managed to save the day by only hitting his knee on it not so softly.

Gary laughed at that.

“We’re pretty bad at it.”

“Yeah, quite terrible even.”

Avocato glanced at the screen and then huffed.

“You know what, let’s just ignore what they are doing.”

“Right after you, big cat.”

With that in mind the whole process was definitely easier. From time to time Avocato had to glance down to check whether he would step on Gary’s foot or not, but other than that it was okay.

It felt actually really nice. Being able to dance slowly through the main room, moving and swaying their bodies to the delicate beat which thrummed in the air around them. Being able to feel the presence and the warmness seeping into his body. Being able to sense the heat of a burning star in his hands. Being able to admire the sight of the galaxies swirling in these eyes. Being able to enjoy the gravitation pulling him in.

It was a moment filled with warmness and peace. A serenity that moved through the atmosphere, precipitating in form of sweet happiness on their eyelashes.

Gary looked up at him, smiling softly.

And too soon the song ended and they were left standing in the middle of the main room, looking at each other.

They stood there for an eternity and for a second more, until Gary opened his mouth:

“Would it be incredibly stupid of me to rewind the movie so we could do it one more time?”

Maybe for some people it would be stupid. Maybe they would argue that the magic of the moment would be long gone, that it would flee away, sailing away on the imaginary ship to the other worlds.

But Avocato didn’t want the moment to end. His heart beat so loud, so hazy, so strongly in his chest that he couldn’t, didn’t want to let it go yet.

“No, it would be just the right amount of stupid.” His mouth managed to say.

Gary grinned and with one hand blindly searched for the remote control. In the end he managed to go back in the movie to the beginning of the dance.

So they repeated it.

They swayed and danced and floated and it all was too beautiful to be really true. But it was. Avocato could feel his every nerve touching Gary’s body, he could sense every smell that was getting into his nose, he could see the blond curls standing in weird directions on top of Gary’s head.

It was too much and not enough, both in the same time.

Near the end, Gary delicately rested his head on Avocato’s chest.

He said nothing about it, only let their bodies sway together more.

In the end, they replayed the song three more times.

***

Avocato thought of himself as a man of logic. Every movement was pre-calculated inside his head. Every possibility thought through at least two times. Every situation laid out in his mind as a plan. He clearly thought then did things later.

Other way he wouldn’t be able to live for so long.

But there were and had been a few exceptions. With Little Cato he was never sure how he would act. There had been several times when he had burst into a shouting match with his son due to the sudden fear ripping his chest apart, especially back when he had still worked for Lord Commander. However there had been other times when he had been doing things without thinking, like hugging and kissing the top of the head and staying beside the bed till the late hours just to admire the soft rises and falls of the chest.

Little Cato made him act irrational. So did Gary. But due to totally different reasons.

Gary made him do things without consulting them with his head. His heart simply would take the lead, marching forward on its mission. He would say and do things which were normally unnatural to him. He didn’t regret them, but it would be nice to have some kind of warning before he felt that his heart and mind could combust due to a close proximity or something similar.

It was an amazing, soaring sensation and yet similar to falling down into the epicenter of a black hole.

“Oh my gosh, what do we do, what do we do?”

“Calm down, Gary.”

“I’m calm!”

He definitely didn’t look calm and Avocato wasn’t planning on trusting him anytime soon.

Gary paced around the small room, grabbing his hair and almost pulling them out, with the heavy droplets of sweat rolling down his face. His cheeks were flushed with stress and the overwhelming nervousness.

Avocato would laugh, if it didn’t make Gary so furious. And he knew it did, because he had tried before.

“Yeah, if pacing around you call being calm, then yeah, suit yourself.” He said, shrugging.

Gary opened his mouth, closed it, opened and then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe, just maybe, I’m not ca–“

“You definitely can be a little bit quieter.” Little Cato whined, glancing at them from behind the cloth that had been put on his eyes.

It was like a switch being flipped. Gary immediately jumped to the bed, kneeled down and brushed his hand across the blue patch of fur on the top, now glued to the ears and forehead.

“Sorry, Spidercat, my fault. How are you hanging little buddy?”

The small Ventrexian moaned as he turned on the bed, looking at the human with red eyes and runny nose which he brushed with the end of the quilt after he had sneezed.

Avocato quickly moved to grab a tissue which he then moved towards their son’s nose.

Little Cato took the offered gift and blew his nose loudly.

Gary smiled at that, scratching the boy behind the ear.

“I’ve been better.” Little Cato finally said, making a ball from the tissue and throwing it in the direction of the trash bin, but failing quite a bit.

(Avocato can pick it up later.)

“Can I get you anything? Water? Blanket? Ice cream?”

“We have ice creams on the ship?”

“Not really, but I’m sure I can think of something.” Gary admitted.

Little Cato laughed, but it made his entire body shudder terribly with the coughs rattling the bones and chest, making the poor boy sit up to fill his lungs with sweet, delicious air.

Gary frantically moved his hands around, in the end resting them on the kid’s back and massaging it slowly to help with the shudders running through the body.

“Thanks, dad.” Little Cat wheezed at the end, flopping back down on the bed. “I think I have everything.”

“But if you need more you can always tell me.”

“I know.”

“Just a word. Nothing more. And I’ll get it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So don’t strain yourself and just rest and let me take care of anything you may–“

“Dad, I’m really okay.” Little Cato whined, rolling a little on the bed, so he could face Gary who was kneeling in front of the bed. “Don‘t worry.”

“I can’t help, but worry!” He yelped.

Avocato smiled and put his hand on Gary’s shoulder.

“Gary, it’s okay. It is just a common Ventrexian cold. Little Cato will be fine in no time.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, dad.”

Avocato could see that Gary wanted to fight him on that, but zipped his lips and patted their son’s cheek softly. He smiled tiredly under his nose, grabbed the bucket filled with, well, with vomit and took the cloth that had been resting on Little Cato’s eyes.

“I’m going to wash it and bring you a new one.”

“Thanks.” Little Cato tiredly mumbled.

Avocato exited his room, sighing softly in the corridor, inhaling the empty of any smell air around him. It was a little bit stuffy in the room, with the terrible smells and scents mixing together. He definitely didn’t mind that, but now that he was outside he really noticed how foul odor was actually floating in his room.

As promised he went to the bathroom, washed the bucket, soaked the cloth in the cold water and then walked back.

The lights in his room were as dimmed as he had left them, but he could see the lump kneeling in front of the bed, caressing softly the cheek.

Little Cato was breathing, kinda heavily, but steadily and calmly. It seemed like during those short few minutes he had been taken away from the world of awake and into the sweet dream-filled land.

It was good, sleep was the perfect remedy for someone who was sick.

Avocato put the bucket down nearby the bed, delicately as not to wake up their son and then moved to place the cloth on Little Cato’s eyes and forehead.

The boy moved a little, but other than murmuring a few words under his breath he didn’t do much.

Gary was kneeling in front of the bed, resting his head in the small basket made of his arms. It was tilted a little bit, so he could observe the hesitant, but steady rises and falls of the boy’s chest.

Avocato glanced down.

“Are you planning on staying here for the whole night?” He asked.

“I was.” Gary answered, voice muffled by the material of his shirt. “But if you’re kicking me out I can totally –“

“No, no, no, I’m not kicking you out.” Avocato quickly clarified, gathering the last remaining tissues from the floor and throwing them into the trash bin. “I just thought you would feel more comfortable on the bed?”

“But Little Cato is on the bed.”

“He is.”

“And you were planning to sleep next to him.”

“That is correct.”

“On the same bed.”

“I’m inviting you for a sleepover and you’re refusing? Are you the real Gary?”

Gary quickly moved away from the bed, waving his hands in front of him.

“No, no, no, I’m definitely not saying ‘no’. It’s totally a ‘yes’. Yeah, like super cool and all that.” He whisper shouted. “It’s just –“

Avocato leaned and grabbed Little Cato’s blouse that had welcomed the ground after he had started feeling too hot.

“Just?”

“Isn’t this bed a little bit too small for three people?”

Avocato glanced at the bed. It wasn’t the biggest one, it definitely could fit two people more or less comfortably. Three could be troublesome, but then Little Cato wasn’t that big and Gary was incredibly flexible.

Or maybe that wasn’t that. Maybe Gary was simply searching for excuses. Reasons that could be used to escape the situation. Tiny mistakes and errors that he could exploit. That could be it.

(Avocato hated how that thought made his heart drop. How it made his breath still and crash down.)

“Gary…” He started, trying to find something to hold onto and failing. “If you don’t want to stay–“

“No, I want to stay.” Gary quickly said, raising up to his feet and almost falling down when his legs got mingled beneath him.

“Then stay.”

“But are you like super okay with that? Because if not I can totally sleep on the ground or you know, grab a blanket, make a fort, lit some scented candles –“

Okay, what the heck was he babbling about? It seemed like the words simply poured from his mouth, mixing, forming something new, something intangible.

But Avocato had to put a stop to it. Somehow.

“Gary, if I wasn’t okay with this, I wouldn’t ask, okay?” He said, pushing words aside to add his own, a little bit tired, voice.

Apparently he had had to say something good, because it immediately shut Gary up. And that was an incredible feat.

Avocato wasn’t sure what Gary saw in him, but it had to be something, because he quickly looked away and mumbled a simple:

“Okay.”

Avocato nodded and then glanced at the bed where Little Cato was sleeping, letting out a few pained snores from time to time. His fur was glued to the skin beneath and it seemed tangled at some parts, forming swirls of galaxies. There was a hue to his cheeks, too deep to be called healthy, which moved as a groan left the chapped lips.

“You want a spot near the wall or near the edge?” Avocato asked, like it was the most normal question that could be asked.

“Near the wall, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, okay.”

Avocato tried to sound confident. But to be honest he was a mess inside. The cables were sparkling and crackling inside his veins. His brain was a mushy mixture, a reaction filled with the steam and heat and vapor so dense that he couldn’t exactly see the reasons and consequences of his actions.

At first he had proposed the idea because he had known that no matter what Gary would insist on staying by Little Cato’s side and he hadn’t wanted his best-friend to lay on the ground. But only now, the after-effects were reaching his brain and heart.

Had he seriously asked Gary to sleep with him? In the same bed!? What was wrong with him? His poor heart couldn’t take it. It didn’t have any additional armor around to protect itself from the harm and cardiac arrest.

But he couldn’t back down.

(Not that he really wanted to. Or wanted Gary to sleep on the ground.)

So bracing himself, Avocato simply said.

“Get yourself comfortable, I’ll get us some blankets.”

And with that he went out to go to the storage room. He didn’t even look back, just darted through the door, letting it close behind him.

The cold air around the ship once again calmed his racing heart and buzzing cheeks.

Nevertheless he didn’t want to be out for too long, in fear that something could happen to his son. He trusted Gary, of course, but he wanted to be near when Little Cato needed him. So the trip to the storage room and back took only around five minutes, maybe even less.

He stepped into his room and immediately glanced at his son.

Gary actually had climbed onto the bed and had pushed himself between the wall and Little Cato, who had moved to the biggest source of heat currently occupying the space. He was staring lovingly at the small boy, petting the cheeks with the back of his hand.

Avocato exhaled slowly and then moved closer to the bed.

“Here, for you.” He said and then passed one scratchy blanket.

Gary raised his head at him and leaned forward to take the gift.

“Thanks.”

Avocato nodded.

He didn’t really need to change his clothes as he was already wearing casual ones. Plus they were dirty with Little Cato’s sweat, snot and, well, other substances – gladly, not so smelly. It would be counterproductive to change clothes, when the state of them would be soon the same.

So that left only laying down.

The hardest part.

But he could do it.

Avocato slowly sat down on the slice of bed that was secured for him, nearby the edge, straightened the blanket, then laid down and at the end threw the material across his body.

Like a robot.

Okay, okay, he got it. He was just laying with the person he really, really liked in the same bed, with their son between them. There was nothing weird about it, totally not. It was normal. Maybe not fully, but still kinda normal in Gary’s world.

Avocato could live through it. He had lived through worse things under Lord Commander’s rule. He could do it.

He turned on the bed, so he was facing Little Cato and Gary.

Little Cato was currently turned towards Gary, curling under the quilt and shivering like a leaf on the wind.

Gary was patting their son’s cheek softly, but when Avocato moved, he raised his head up a bit, so he was able to look at him.

Avocato felt like his breath was punched out of his chest.

“So… we probably should try to fall asleep.” Gary murmured, barely raising his voice to be audible.

“That would be the best choice here.” Avocato nodded.

“Great! Let’s just do that. Together. But separately. Sleep.” Gary continued, nodding alongside. “Perfect. Sleeping right now. Going to do that.”

Avocato huffed at that, but he did close his eyes, hoping for the sleep to take his hand and guide him away.

He was incredibly tired. Today had drafted the energy from his body, leaving only a few drops at the bottom. A barely visible spectrum of strength inside his mind. He felt empty, like a shell, a conjuration of something that should resemble a body.

(Little Cato being sick did worry him. He knew it wasn’t a terrible illness, quite common one, but still he couldn’t help but worry.)

He tried to fall asleep, as he was incredibly, astonishingly tired. But no matter how hard he tried, how much he calmed his breath and emptied his mind, he couldn’t do it.

Seconds moved, minutes ticked, forming an hour in the end. Still with no sleep.

It seemed like one of those nights.

Avocato laid some more on the bed, listening to the uneven breaths of Little Cato, the small coughs and sniffs escaping his mouth and nose, the rustles of the blanket or quilt whenever someone changed position and the delicate murmurs of the machinery around them.

Until he turned on the bed and opened his eyes.

Little Cato had turned so he was facing Avocato now, still curled into a ball.

Gary was laying with his head resting on one hand. The second one was settled on Little Cato’s arm.

It all seemed so peaceful, like there were no worries in the world. Like there were only them, drifting through the cosmos, dancing across the string of the universe, playing cards with the fate and winning, in the end pulling the coins towards themselves.

(But for how long could they keep winning? They were running out of luck, precious luck that gave them life. Avocato knew that sooner or later it all would end. He knew that at some point he would lose this small slice of time filled with serenity, calmness and pure happiness. He knew that it all was a matter of time, but he hoped that he could hold onto it for just a little bit longer.)

Avocato corrected his position, resting his head on his arm, mimicking Gary’s position a bit.

And then Gary opened his eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, whispering the words.

Avocato shrugged, feeling his heart suddenly hammering inside his chest.

“Something like that.” He murmured.

“Me neither.”

“Clearly.”

Gary frowned at that a little, but the look quickly smoothened, probably due to the exhaustion dancing and skidding in his eyes.

A funny thing, both of them were incredibly drained, but couldn’t fall asleep.

Avocato did feel bad about snapping like that, but before he could focus his mind on opening his mouth to say something, apologize, the human beat him to it.

“His fever stabilized.” Gary whispered, moving his hand across the forehead of their son.

“That is a good thing.” Avocato mumbled, copying Gary and resting his paw on the forehead.

The skin was quite hot, but still less so than two hours ago. The medicine had to be working.

“Yeah.” Gary grabbed the quilt and moved it to cover Little Cato’s trembling shoulders. “I hope he will feel better in the morning.”

“It’s not his first Kylmäkissa flu. Definitely also not the last.”

It was in the end a quite common illness among Ventrexians and Tryvuulians – so Fox had to stay away from Little Cato for the time being.

“Still…” Gary started, then moved his head, laying it flatter on his hand and resting the other one on their son’s arm once again. “It has to suck.”

“It does.” Avocato admitted. “I’m sure you humans also have colds. Or something similar.”

Gary hummed, nibbling on his bottom lip while closing the eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, we do. And it’s always a pain in the ass.” Gary sighed. “But it’s the first time I’m taking care of someone sick.”

The concept was a tad weird at the beginning, but the longer Avocato really thought about it, the more he could actually understand it.

“I never tended to anyone before Little Cato either.” Avocato said, blinking a few times when a wave of tiredness hit his eyelids. “I didn’t have a real family before him to be honest.”

Gary tilted his head a bit, looking at him.

“Really?”

He nodded.

It was weird, opening up to someone. He rarely did it. Or like he couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. He knew he had done that at some point of his life – probably while being drunk – but now every memory about such occurrence was fogged in his head.

“Yeah, I had to learn everything from the beginning. How to change diapers, how to hold him, how to put him to sleep, how to make him stop crying and also how to take care of him when he was sick.” Avocato moved his hand and slowly caressed Little Cato’s cheek, finding pleasure in the small movement of whiskers answering the touch. “Just like right now.”

Little Cato let out a soft sight and then moved further under the quilt, almost covering his face and making Avocato smile softly.

“It always has been just the two of us against the world.”

Little Cato had been the center of Avocato’s life the moment he had laid his eyes on the small baby. His very own Galactic Center. Everything he had done in his life had been for him. He had been the reason he had woken up in the morning and had gone to sleep at night.

But that had been before all of this had happened. Before his mind had expanded like a universe. Before his heart had been shattered into a million pieces and had been glued back together.

Now he had more people he cared about, who rotated on the orbits nearby the center.

(He also had Gary now, a burning star that sizzled and sparkled, warming his face and chest with one radiating smile. Smile that could tear him apart and build anew.)

Avocato glanced up, catching Gary’s gaze for a moment, before the man directed it elsewhere.

There was a hidden, saddened undertone to his eyes. A darkness that swallowed the light which tried to escape it. A vantablack covered the irises, not allowing anything to pass through.

There was a small crease on the forehead, a twitch of the mouth, sudden movement of the nose similar to a sniffle as Gary bit the bottom lip.

“That sounds nice.” He admitted in the end.

“That is nice.” Avocato agreed.

Gary curled in on himself, staring at the back of Little Cato’s head and the ears perking up to find the source of every noise on the ship.

Avocato moved his one hand, straightening it above his head first and then slowly sneaking it towards Gary’s one. The material whispered beneath his palm, creasing and wrinkling with its every movement.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say to Gary. A million things he wanted to ask about. A milliard things he wanted to do.

The feelings he had harbored had found a comfortable and cozy home inside his chest. Something that had been unbearable some time ago now was a never–ending companion on his space journey. Reassuring even.

Avocato slowly brushed his hand against Gary’s palm.

“But I think that the three of us against the world sounds even better.”

Gary snapped his head up, staring at him like Avocato hung every star on the sky just for him.

(And if he could, he totally would do that.)

There was another string of silence, a sudden heartbeat that leaped in his chest, a compassionate exhale.

Then Gary interlocked their small fingers together and let their hands rest on the pillow above Little Cato’s head.

“The three of us against the world? I like that. I would like that. It sounds absolutely fricking amazing.”

Avocato ginned tiredly under his nose.

They didn’t talk after that. Gradually both of them let their eyes slip shut, allowing the exhaustion of today to slowly lull them to sleep and take care of their minds.

Their hands stayed connected on the pillow.

Until around three am, when Gary woke up Avocato with a simple, hoarse word.

“Bucket.”

Avocato wasn’t sure what it meant after being suddenly ripped away from the dreamland. He simply added the imaginary meaning to the real one, in one swift movement reached for the said bucket and pulled it up to the bed, pushing it towards Little Cato.

Who shot up and then leaned above the quickly placed bucket, emptying the barely eaten content of his stomach into it.

Gary slowly massaged their son’s back.

Avocato kept the bucket in place, not allowing it to slip through Little Cato’s trembling palms.

When the heavy shudders stopped, the small Ventrexian lifted his hand and brushed his mouth with the back of it.

“Absolutely disgusting.” He mumbled.

“You still look better than me while being hungover.” Gary said.

Little Cato hoarsely laughed.

And maybe it had been the three of them for a very long time.

***

The terrible thing about the stability was the fact that it could disappear in a spare second, not even leaving any trace after itself.

Avocato had been a lonely man. He had preferred the solitude of being alone, than being surrounded by people, aliens, different races and other humanoid or not things. He had preferred the empty nights, than the ones replete with bodies pressed together. He had liked the calm mornings filled with warm drinks, accompanied by nothingness – more than someone taking the empty spaces.

Like with all things in his life, Little Cato had changed that.

He was his son, his friend, his precious boy. It had been the two of them during breakfasts, during days, during dinners and during night-times. For some time Avocato had felt that it had been enough for him to be happy.

And he was still happy. Gosh, how delighted and ecstatic he was to be able to still be with his son.

Their family of two wasn’t missing anything. And yet Avocato felt like he wanted to add another member to it

Avocato wanted Gary to be here through good and bad, through the storm and calm sea, through Little Cato starting a rebellious stage of teenage years and through him turning into an adult.

Avocato wanted him by his side till the end of the world.

No matter when it would happen.

But in the end he was a coward. Somewhere deep inside he hoped he had more time, he had more days, more weeks, more months to tidy up the mess in his head, to find the courage to let the words out. He had lived in a comfortable life between worlds, not exactly moving in one or other direction. He had been afraid that if he had moved forward, he would break something fragile that had grown between them and he couldn’t imagine himself ever stepping back. So he had stayed where he had been, gripping tightly to the in-between which had harbored his heart.

He had thought he could live there for long enough time to be able to show without words what he was feeling.

Only he hadn’t noticed the crack on the hourglass, making the sand slip away way quicker than intended. And before he could even say a short word, the container was almost empty, letting the last few particles slowly drip down.

“You are not going!”

“Little Cato listen–“

“No, I won’t listen! You are not going there! This is like super obvious trap! They are going to kill you!”

“Well if I don’t go, they will kill all of us and I don’t want that to happen! I have to save you all and Mooncake!”

“Gary, calm down.” Quinn quietly said, putting her hand on Gary’s shoulder.

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, but shut his mouth and looked down at the ground.

There was silence between all of them. Heavy silence that precipitated in the form of invisible dust on their shoulders and weighed them down. Hollow silence that crushed the lungs. Cold silence that gripped the throats and squeezed, preventing from taking a breath.

How it all had gone so wrong so quickly?

“I’m sure there is a way out of this.” Fox hesitantly said, fiddling with his fingers and looking at everyone.

“Both our engines are dead. The turrets are out of ammo. The energy is at seven percent and the oxygen filters are disrupted.” There was a clear hesitation, before AVA continued. “I don’t think… we can escape this one.”

Everyone knew their luck had to run out at some point. They couldn’t escape forever. But somehow, deep inside, each and every one had hoped that they could pull it off one last time, that they could still outrun the chasing hands.

That didn’t happen.

They stood nearby the edge, feeling the heels of their shoes slipping down into the abyss that just waited to consume them all.

The silence spread further around like a disease, burning the skin and taking away breaths. It cradled them in its arms, caressing the hairs and petting the cheeks, keeping safe and yet as prisoners, locking them away.

Avocato tightened his fists, feeling his heart falling apart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not like this. Never like this.

“There is only one way out of it.” Gary continued, but quieter, looking at everyone. “I’m going there. Alone. And you keep your butts here. Safe. On the ship.”

“And what? Are we supposed to watch you die too? Bring popcorn? Take bets which limb will be ripped off first?”

Gary flinched, biting hard the inside of his cheek.

“Little Cato, stop.” Nightfall whispered, raising her eyes at him. “We know your point of view.”

“My point of view? Are you all seriously siding with Gary right now?”

“No, we’re not.” Quinn bit back, gripping her own shoulders in a cold embrace. “But shouting doesn’t help anyone.”

It was true.

Everyone was agitated, angry, tired and above all scared.

Little Cato shut his mouth and glared at the woman, tightening the fists hanging near his sides.

They had been at this since the battle – which had lasted several hours – had ended. The lost battle. The devastating battle. The fight during which with every passing moment their hopes had been crushed, destroyed and disintegrated.

Invictus and Lord Commander had caught up with them. They had taken Mooncake. And now they were surrounded by the enemy with their own dying ship being their tomb. There was no running away, there were no escape routes that could save them all.

Lord Commander and Invictus had given them two options – either they all were going to die or Gary could give himself up and the rest of the crew would be spared.

Both options sounded terrible. Horrifying.

It had been easy to guess which way Gary had picked, not even paying any mind to the other option. It had been almost natural for them to disagree with it. And the fight and war had been storming around since then.

Nightfall sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. There were dark shadows, spirals of dust, around her eyes.

“It’s getting us nowhere. Not even one of us is thinking straight.”

It wasn’t really late, but at this point they were up for more than thirty six hours and neither of them could think clearly.

“So what do you propose?” Ash quietly asked, brushing her now dirty fringe away, letting her trembling fingers rest on the forehead.

“Sleep first and then let’s all of us think it through tomorrow. We have till midnight to decide. So let’s meet again in eight hours.”

Avocato nodded at Nightfall, showing that he agreed with her plan.

“Sounds reasonable enough.” Quinn added.

“Same here.” Ash said, dropping her hand

“I’m okay with it.” Fox mumbled.

“I also think this is a good idea.” Hue robotically said.

Nightfall turned to Little Cato who still angrily looked at the ground.

“Little Cato?”

The Ventrexian tightened his fists, letting the hair on his back stand up for a moment, bristling them, before finally letting go of the stress.

“Fine.” He snarled.

The woman turned her head to Gary who still didn’t speak. Similar to his son he was staring at the ground with lips pinched in a thigh line. But there was something in his eyes, some hidden depth, galaxies swirling, turning and circling, an ocean moving with a storm, sputtering white foam everywhere.

“Gary?” Nightfall started. “Do you agree with the plan?”

Gary didn’t answer.

Everyone turned their eyes to him.

“Gary?” Nightfall furrowed her eyebrows.

A beat of silence echoed, shimmered and sizzled in the charged atmosphere around them, making the hairs on the arms stand up, taking breaths away and gripping the throats in a delicate, yet firm grip. A touch that was there, threating, but not doing anything just yet.

“Okay.” Gary said and then stepped back.

Everyone exhaled, dropping their shoulders.

“So we’re set.” Nightfall straightened her back. “I advise you all to get some sleep. We’ll deal with it all later on.”

And that was the cue. Everyone slowly shuffled away from the destroyed main room, dragging their feet on the dusty ground, covered by the faint, barely shining lights above their heads. They held tightly onto consciousness for just a few more minutes, before their heads would land on the pillows, allowing their red eyes to rest for several restless hours.

Avocato hugged Little Cato, kissed his matted hair at the top and sent him to his bed.

The small boy obediently stepped into his room, letting the door close after him while glancing back at Avocato.

That went better than expected to be honest.

He wondered for how long it would stay that way.

Avocato was exhausted. He felt it in every atom and particle of his body, a heavy weight that pushed him down, more and more, making it harder to put one foot in front of the other. The tiredness clung to his bones, wrapped his muscles and seized him up, dragging towards the bottom of the black hole.

But he couldn’t rest.

Not yet.

He knew something was coming. It was tiptoeing forward, sneaking behind the corners, crawling in the vents, waiting for him to turn his back, so it could simply get past him.

But Avocato knew he had to wait for it, had to hide and wait for the moment of its mistake. He had known it the moment the words had left the mouth, he had known it the second he had heard the demands, he simply had known it since the very beginning.

(It had shattered his heart and had stolen his breath, sending the corpse into the space.)

He had to wait.

So he did.

Avocato spent the time in the hangar, staring at the space spreading in front of them, staring at the enemy ships that threatened their lives with weapons ready to attack, at the bits and pieces of their ship floating around, reminding him of the moving time, of the air slowly, but surely escaping the metal protection around their bodies.

Life was a fragile thing. He knew that. He accepted that. It was a knowledge he had forged in his mind.

And yet, whenever he was meet face to face with it, it surprised him nevertheless.

(But before he always had felt that there had been a spark of hope of escaping the situation. But not right now. Right now there was a hollow void inside his heart, inside his chest. Somehow he knew they were on the verge, hanging above the darkness trying to consume them all, being pushed forward on the plank of their ship, with the guns pointed at their backs.)

Avocato waited, counting the time in his heartbeats.

Then there was a shuffle, a small movement in the space-time continuum, a shift of an invisible silhouette.

Or at least a silhouette which tried to be invisible.

But Avocato was prepared for it. Yet he let the invisible invader believe it for a few more minutes, opting for staring at the shadow creeping along the walls, glancing warily around, checking if anyone beside their lost soul was around.

Avocato waited and observed, letting the shadow feel safe. And only then he pounced.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Gary shrieked and jumped in the air.

“Avocato, man, what the hell? You scared me!”

He raised his eyebrow, slowly stepping out of the shadows which concealed his entire posture.

“Not my fault that you were loud like a Loxodon.”

“Uhh like what?”

“Very loud.”

“Ah I strongly disagree, my dear friend.” Gary puffed out his chest. “I’m quite certain I was super amazingly sneaky and quiet. Like a ninja! It’s not my fault you Ventrexians have some crazily sensitive hearing.”

It was the truth, but Avocato wasn’t going to yield.

“I’m exhausted, sleep deprived and I was hit in the head twice. And I still heard you.” Avocato said, crossing his arms. He cocked his eyebrow, feeling that he was winning the fight when Gary’s eyes started to jump all over the place. “So no, you were not sneaky.”

“There goes my plan of being a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ long lost brother.”

What the heck? Avocato’s brain couldn’t deal with it right now. He was too tired to be dealing with it all. He just wanted for it all to pause, to halt, to stop spinning, circling and moving.

But he knew it wasn’t possible.

“So if finding me sneaking very sneakily around was your only goal, then please pardon me my friend and allow me to resume my merry trip.” And here Gary turned on his heel, planning on going further into the hangar, right towards the only available ship which could still fly. A one-person ship.

“To where?” Avocato asked, stepping after him.

“To visit my dear old friend. Yeah, you know we didn’t see each other in forever. We have so much stuff to catch up on. Stories to tell. Jokes to laugh about.”

Avocato hummed.

“An old friend.”

“Uh totally. A good friend. You know all this fighting got me missing them, so you know, I thought I would pop in for a moment, right now, when everyone was sleeping, not counting you. ‘Cause you know we have a lot to talk about and you know –“

“I know you’re going to Invictus and Lord Commander.”

Gary stopped in the middle of the hangar, but didn’t turn around to face Avocato.

There was a brief, dense silence that moved around and between them, pinching the muscles and breaking the bones.

Avocato could see Gary stiffening. It was a sudden spasm that contracted all body parts, locking them in place for a short moment. Almost like he was getting prepared for an attack, an ambush, a strike.

Avocato wasn’t going to attack.

“You won’t stop me.” Gary finally whispered, raising his shoulders. “I have to do it.”

Avocato knew it would happen. He knew Gary would do that. He had known it the moment they had been given their instructions. Every part, every compound, every atom in his body had been conscious of the possibility.

He also had known what he would do from the very beginning too. And it had broken his heart.

“I know.” Avocato said and he felt like he was crumbling, disappearing, disintegrating right here, right now. “I’m not stopping you.”

Gary swiftly turned on his heel and stared at him with wide, terribly scared eyes.

“You can’t go with me either.” He said, breathed out, croaked it even like there wasn’t enough oxygen around.

And maybe there wasn’t. The tanks and filters were broken, disturbed, leaking the precious atoms.

Avocato was collapsing like a star, he was decaying like a tree, he was deteriorating like a machine. He was living and breathing, but it felt like there was a hole in his body, an empty space from which his life was escaping.

Avocato slowly shook his head.

“I’m not going with you.”

What a terrible thing to say. But a thing he had to say.

He was slowly turning into a shooting star, right now, right here. Right in front of Gary.

The man stared at him with beautiful orbs, which were twitching, shivering and trembling in fear, fear so deep and genuine that it hurt Avocato almost physically to see them.

But he couldn’t go and he had to let Gary go. Even when it pained and destroyed him inside. He had to let Gary do it, if they wanted to have any chances.

(They had to keep Little Cato and the rest of the younger part of the crew safe at any cost. Something they both had agreed on with no words spoken between them.)

“Okay.” Gary said, then turned on his heel and stomped forward.

Avocato followed.

Their steps echoed in the empty, hollow hangar, jumping off the walls, leaping, running after each other, playing a game of tag.

Gary was walking and even though he wasn’t getting farther away from Avocato, the Ventrexian felt like he already had lost him. Maybe he had lost him the moment he had heard those words, when his heart had said a simple ‘oh’. Maybe he had lost him the moment he had heard the footsteps, even when some part of him had hoped it would not happen. Maybe he had lost him long time ago, even without having Gary there in the first place.

Maybe in the end Avocato was never supposed to actually have him.

Avocato felt like he was disintegrating, like someone was picking particle after particle from his real body and letting them float in the space, leaving only an empty shell behind, something that once upon a time resembled a living being.

Gary slowly approached the only available ship and looked up at it.

Now when Avocato could take a closer and longer look, he noticed that Gary didn’t take anything with him. It was just him, his usual clothes and the never-ending goodness that was masked under layer and layer of crystallized comedy. It was just him, his trembling hands and mind that was probably a tangled mess.

Avocato stopped next to Gary and stared at the ship. At the dusty metal plates. At the rusty bolts. At the crooked bow. At the wheels touching the ground, but seeming almost permanently glued to it.

It was a good ship.

“Avocato I…” Gary suddenly started, but closed his mouth when Avocato turned his head.

His eyes were directed forward, but it didn’t seem like they saw anything there, anything in front of them.

Avocato wasn’t sure any words could describe this moment. Because how could any words even show the pure, terrifying sadness that seeped from the minds and hearts, crushed the lungs and stole the breaths away?

What kinds of words could be used when one person was on the verge of taking the step into the other world, crossing the line of the living beings? There was no place for hope. Everything was filled to the brim with the dark fear that consumed every particle.

Avocato didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if anything could be said right now.

“I’m… I’m really glad I… met you.” Gary finished, inhaling deeply at the end, letting his chest expand, only for it to collapse a second later.

It seemed like a simple message.

But Avocato was afraid that it held more than simple words. That there were galaxies, other worlds hiding inside, memories intertwined together, forming threads that could make a whole universe or be thrown on a tired body to warm it during a terrifying and dark night.

Avocato wasn’t ready to let go. He wasn’t ready to let the precious life slip past his fingers, watch the guillotine falling down, ready to snap the neck and tear a soul away.

“You know usually when someone says such things, the other person says something in return and you know, doesn’t let the other one hanging. I mean if you don’t want to say anything that is totally fine–”

“Gary.” Avocato whispered and somehow this one word could break the curse.

Gary still didn’t look at him, but swallowed hard.

Avocato wanted to say something, anything that would lift the spirits in this terrible situation, but he found out that he couldn’t find the perfect words. No, he couldn’t find any words in his mind, in his chest, in his heart that could be said out loud. Or maybe that was wrong too.

There were too many things which needed to be said and so little time, too many possibilities of outcomes, each and every one worse than the previous one.

Avocato slowly reached his hand, letting it float in the air for a moment, hesitant and unsure of the fate and future in front of it, before it grabbed Gary’s palm, gripping it softly.

Gary twitched, but other than that didn’t look back at him.

“Hang on tight, we will come for you and Mooncake.”

It was probably one of the worst things Avocato could say, but the words had left his lips before his mind could catch up with them.

They rang in the empty space between them.

It sounded like a lie. Not because of the meaning, because that was the honest, harsh and loving truth. The lie was hiding in the outcome. Outcome he was too terrified to admit was most likely to happen.

But Gary lied too as he answered:

“I know.”

In the end they were both white liars, hoping to make the other one feel better.

When the Death was staring straight at them, peeking into their eyes, raising her hands gently while getting closer and closer with every passing second, the words started to lose their meanings, leaving only empty shells after themselves.

(Something that once upon a time had been beautiful stars, but now were filled with tiny black holes.)

Gary gripped Avocato’s hand back and it seemed like too short time had passed before he stepped forward.

Avocato desperately wanted to hold onto that warmness in his palm for a little bit longer, but it took only one step for their hands to stop being connected.

Avocato’s heart squeezed, desperately beating for a release.

Gary slowly approached the ship, no bag, no backpack, and he grabbed the handle to thrown open the door. It hissed lowly, tiredly, making space to form a dark hole which only led inside into the unknown.

It seemed like a final line, a last stop, the moment of no return.

Avocato wanted the time to stop, he wanted to shout and scream, rip out the cables of the universe to let it all reset, but know he couldn’t. He could only hopelessly stare at his friend stepping into the ship that would bring him to his death.

(A price that had to be paid so the rest of them could live.)

Gary stopped, one hand on the door, one foot already in the ship.

There was a part of Avocato which hoped that the man changed his mind. That he would turn around and step back to stand right next to him, where he belonged.

(But the other part knew the truth. Knew what was the most important right now and it wasn’t Gary nor Avocato.)

“Avocato?” Gary softly whispered, voice barely audible above the hum of his heart.

“Yeah?”

“I know it will sound stupid, but this… really feels like the end.”

Avocato swallowed hard, feeling as the air escaped his lungs in quiet hisses.

“Yeah… yeah it does.”

Gary exhaled, a trembling sound left his lips as he gripped tighter the metal handle that had helped him hoist himself into the ship.

But he didn’t step inside. It seemed like he was mulling over some idea inside his head. Something was preventing him from fully going inside. Like there were tendrils, cosmic hands holding him in their wake.

He turned on his heel and looked at Avocato with some kind of resolve shimmering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, ready to say what was on his mind.

And no sound came out. Then he tried it again, still with the same result. He tightened his fists, looked down at the ground, inhaled through his nose, rose his head and opened his mouth, but also this time the only thing that left it was:

“Avocato, I…”

And no more words.

It almost seemed like he was put under a spell.

Gary tried two more times, letting his eyes jump all over the place, barely even now landing on Avocato.

He whined, frustrated with something and then closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Avocato wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew that there was a big internal fight, a war inside Gary’s mind and he didn’t want to interrupt to not tip the scale toward one side.

Then there was a simple whisper leaving Gary’s mouth, barely audible and probably not even supposed to be heard by Avocato:

“Okay, here comes nothing.”

Gary looked right into his eyes, stepped down and in just a few strides he was in front of Avocato.

Avocato had a brief moment of coherent thoughts which tried to make heads and tails of Gary’s behavior, before he felt a warm sensation on his lips.

And his world stilled to a halt.

Avocato could feel the heat in his chest, in his heart, in his mind, wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket made of constellations. There was a ramble and a deafening silence inside his skull, when his brain connected the impulses with the images, coming up with a quite simple deduction.

Gary kissed him.

The weight on his lips stayed for a moment, a brief tick, a short pause, a tiny bit, a slice of time snatched away from the reality. It was like a familiar breeze, like a warm light of a fire on the cheek, like a comforting taste of coffee in the morning. It was everything and nothing in the same time.

Avocato’s heart jumped high in his throat as his mind simply gave up trying to understand what was happening.

He could feel Gary on his lips, a hesitant touch, barely even there. He could smell the typical scent of the human, clouding his nose and making him lose focus. He could sense the heat of the body, being near, but not close enough to bring him pleasure.

And after a short moment, terribly too short moment, Gary moved away, letting his cheeks burn brightly in the darkness of the hangar with the eyes sparkling in shame.

“Ah uhh I mean… I know I shouldn’t do that, like it was totally uncool and like… but you know… I know… it’s just… I wanted to do it for so long… and well… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t… you can punch me if you want… but I didn’t want to die without –“

Avocato didn’t want to listen to Gary. The world swirled in his head, tumbled, rolled down the hill, disappearing in the black hole of his already messed up mind.

He wasn’t sure what was happening. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things. He wasn’t sure whether he was doing a good or a bad thing by not stopping Gary. He wasn’t sure whether he was a good person in the end. At this point he wasn’t sure about almost anything.

But in this very small moment, he was sure that it was Gary who had kissed him and this mere thought, this simple idea burst like a star inside his chest, consuming every intelligible thought that was left, letting his heart decide for his fate, allowing it to take his hand.

So he stepped forward and shut Gary up by kissing him.

The silence that appeared between them was lost in his loudly beating heart which hammered and rang and stormed inside of him, ready to fall apart.

Avocato felt like he was crumbling down as his lips touched Gary’s ones, giving it a comforting weight, stepping close enough to feel the heat, but far away enough so that the man could step away if he wanted to.

(But Avocato wanted to step forward, wanted to get even closer, sense the warmness on his own body, be able to trace it with his own fingers, map it inside his head, write it down as a sweet memory to remember.)

There was a beat, an echo, a sudden emptiness when nothing happened, when the world moved, but still stayed in one place.

And when Avocato was ready to pick up the discarded pieces of his heart, Gary tilted his head, pushed forward a little bit and moved his one hand to Avocato’s shirt, gripping it tightly, bringing him forward, closer, nearer, even closer, letting their chest touch, smash together, fit and click like they always belonged there. The other palm sneaked across his arm, resting on a shoulder to trace Milky Ways on his neck, curling around the fur desperately, needy and lovingly to this point Avocato was sure he could faint any second now.

(For someone who could conquer entire Galaxies, his legs quite quickly turned to jelly.)

Every small bit of space between them was too big for Avocato as his heart leaped happily.

Avocato pushed forward, almost smashing their mouths together, trying to feel more, get more, touch more, map the paths and trails in his head, sense the typical shivers of Gary’s mouth on his own as he moved his hands to the human’s waist and back. He held onto him tightly, feeling the fear so wildly burning in his bones that he was almost sure Gary would disappear if he let him go.

(Maybe something like this would happen. He was too afraid to check it.)

Their mouths moved, astonishingly delicately against each other, like they were afraid of what may be in front of them. Two timid space companions, astronauts floating in the wide universe.

Avocato slowly opened his mouth, only to bite down on Gary’s bottom lip, dragging it with his teeth, probably leaving two dark points where his canines should be, getting a small gasp in return and a tighter grasp on his neck.

(He probably should tone it down, but it felt like every barrier was broken and he could only count on his needs and emotions.)

Avocato could feel the purr climbing his throat, spilling out like a cosmic wave around them, reverberating in his chest, when Gary slowly pried open his lips, breathing heavily against Avocato’s mouth.

For a moment he was afraid that the man would move back, stop it there, but oh how wrong he was, because Gary gripped him tighter. He wrapped his hands around Avocato’s neck to bring their faces incredibly close, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

(There probably was no tomorrow for Gary.)

Feeling already addicted to something he still didn’t taste, Avocato tilted his head and sneaked his tongue inside, letting it slide across, feel whatever it could. He sensed the heat pooling in his stomach, fireworks going off in his mind, planets spiraling in his chest as Gary’s tongue quickly moved to brush Avocato’s one, almost like he wanted to steal something precious from him.

There were several collisions of the teeth, awkward tilts of the heads, weird movements, noses smashing together, small breaks for a gasp here and there, saliva almost dripping down near the corners of the mouths, fingers getting caught in the fabric, moans and hums.

It was clearly an inexperienced moment. But a moment filled with so much love and warmness that Avocato felt drunk with sweet adoration that he harbored for the man, the human he wanted to hold close for as long as he could, keep him safe in his arms, where there was no wrong, no fear, no danger and no pain.

Unfortunately eternity for them ended in less than a minute, when Gary suddenly moved away and hid his face in Avocato’s chest and neck, holding tightly onto him.

And in this very moment the whole world stood in front of Avocato, reminding him of all the wrong and good that he had done. Of all the bad and good that was happening around. Of the happiness and fear that consumed their hearts.

And simply as that, Avocato felt like he was pushed underwater. Like dark hands wrapped themselves around his throat and pushed and pushed, clenching harder to prevent him from taking a breath.

He wanted to flail, but the only thing he could do was hold onto a lifeline and hug Gary closer, sensing the trembles and shivers running through his spine, feeling the heat, warmness and sweet life still in the body while whispering a simple:

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.”

Like some kind of a spell. Or maybe a curse.

Gary embraced him tighter and, in the stillness of the universe, he simply whispered, right into his neck:

“I’m scared, Avocato.”

Fear. A family to some people. A greatest enemy to the others. But for them it was like a friend, although the one which could stab them with a knife in the back when they weren’t looking, looking remorsefully at the falling down corpses.

“I’m scared too.” Avocato said, moved his one paw to Gary’s hair and brought him even closer, finding some kind of comfort in the sensation of the blonde locks between his fingers.

“I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t.”

“Please, don’t lie to me.” Gary sniffed. “Not you.”

Avocato wasn’t sure how to answer that. What more he could say?

He probably couldn’t say more. Everything that needed to be said had been already lost to the time which had passed them by, without them even noticing it. Time that was ticking, bringing them closer and yet further apart.

“Okay.” He said in the end.

So they held each other, close and even closer, feeling the warmness spreading through their bodies, listening to their hearts beating together in some kind of a sad dance, swirling, moving, twirling when the cue was ringing above them.

They held and tried to remember this moment, etch it in the minds.

Then – too soon – Gary slowly moved away, untangling himself from the embrace.

And Avocato let him do it, let his hands slip down, losing the sparks of ember that had glided across it just a few seconds ago.

Then Gary made a step back – a step back that felt like light–years between them – and looked back up at him with a soft smile.

“Will you open the hangar doors for me?”

“Of course.”

Gary opened his mouth, closed it, but then leaned forward and pecked his cheek.

(Just like he had done so many months ago.)

It was a sparse touch, a freezing chilliness and a burning fire, that still scorched the skin, even after Gary had moved away.

“Take care of Little Cato and the rest.” He said.

“I will.”

Gary smiled and then turned on his heel to walk towards the ship.

Even though it broke his heart and destroyed his bones, Avocato turned around too and exited the hangar, letting the door close behind him with a hiss. It echoed loudly in the emptiness of the ship, even when Avocato looked back and glanced into the hangar through a small window.

Avocato could hear rushed footsteps behind him, getting closer and closer with every passing second.

Gary tapped several buttons on the console, changed something on the radar and then inhaled deeply before turning to him and showing him a thumbs up from the pilot cockpit.

Even from so far away, he could see the red circles around the eyes, the shivers running through the hands and the sudden hollowness in the irises. He could see the destruction that laid beneath their feet and the trail of blood they had left behind.

And in this very moment he wondered if the fate simply liked to play with them, tugging on the strings tied to their bodies to let them play on their own theatrical stage, finding pleasure in their misfortune.

Avocato flipped a handle and observed as the pressure in the hangar dropped, moving towards the red colors on a circular scale.

“Dad, no, wait!”

Gary was staring forward, but if Avocato wasn’t mistaken, there was a tension to his shoulders, almost like the man could hear Little Cato’s cries from the corridor.

(But that was impossible, was it?)

“Please wait!”

Avocato glanced at the small window, at the silhouette of Gary sitting in the pilot seat and then, before Little Cato could catch up, pressed the button.

The hangar doors opened

“Dad, no!”

Avocato turned around, observing his son running towards him through the silent ship. There were unshed tears in his eyes, small crystals accumulating near the corners and threating to fall down.

Their stares crossed and Avocato felt like the worst of thieves.

Little Cato turned his direction and leaped towards the console, reaching with his hands and hoping to mess something, to close the gate and prevent it all from happening.

Avocato moved forward, grabbed his son and in the same time they both heard engines bursting to life behind them. A sudden snap, a giant roar, a pained cry and then the ship shivered when Gary left the hangar.

“No, no, no, no, dad, let me go. We need to stop him.” Little Cato shouted, struggled, pushed, threw his hands around, trying to escape the hold Avocato had on him. “Dad please!”

But Avocato only clung tighter, feeling that he was crumbling inside. He was afraid he might do so, if he didn’t hold onto something real, something meaningful.

His chest was being emptied, leaving only a black hole behind, void, emptiness that resembled something, maybe beautiful worlds that had dried out.

Little Cato fought bravely, fought diligently, fought strongly, trying to escape, trying to twist his body, trying to run away, trying to brush him away, trying every small and big trick known to him to get away. But after a few minutes of struggle, his hands fell down, limply hanging near the sides.

Avocato felt his own strength leaving the body and he fell to his knees, holding tightly onto his son.

“Dad?” Little Cato said, voice hoarse and croaky, crooked due to all the wrong reasons.

“I’m sorry.” Avocato whispered, hiding his face in Little Cato’s body, embracing and hugging him, bringing him closer to feel the warmness that once had swum in his body, trying to find something to hold onto. “I’m so sorry.”

Little Cato stiffened for a moment and then crumpled down with Avocato, hitting his knees hard on the cold floor beneath them.

Soon there was wetness, terrible wetness on Avocato’s chest, heavy shudders that crackled and thundered around them, inside their chests, a pain that squeezed the hearts. A star of remorse exploded inside, destroying everything in its wake, letting them only hold onto each other, hoping for some kind of warmness, but finding vacuum of coldness instead.

They stayed like this for long enough that the enemy ships started to drift away, leaving their own ship alone, in the middle of nowhere, with destroyed oxygen tanks and engine that couldn’t move them forward. Left them to fend for themselves.

But they left them alone.

And in this loneliness, holding Little Cato tightly to his chest, Avocato looked up and saw a small dot behind the window, falling down and leaving a sparkling tail after itself.

Gary would call it a shooting star. Although from astronomical point of view it wasn’t that. Neither a star, neither a falling one.

(Maybe in the end it was only a perforated belief.)

Avocato knew it wasn’t possible. It had to be some kind of a meteor, burning in the atmosphere of a nearest planet or a comet drifting by. He knew it couldn’t be a shooting star. He knew it simply couldn’t be true.

Yet his heart whispered a silent wish.

(Although wasn’t it a little bit horrible? Trying to get one last wish from a poor, dying star?)

Avocato stared at the universe and hugged his son tighter, listening to his cacophonic heartbeat and feeling it resonate in his own perforated chest.

 the end

 “I'm coming wait for me

I hear the walls space repeating

The falling of our feet and

It sounds like drumming

And we are not alone

I hear the rocks stars and stones meteors

Echoing our song

I'm coming”

- Anaïs Mitchell

is it?

[hazelandglasz]

OMG They Were Zoommates

Based on this post 

I really couldn’t resist, and like @tchrgleek said, “Everything is a Klaine prompt”!

On AO3

All things considered, yes, this quarantine is a huge hassle.

Kurt doesn’t particularly like to be forced into confinement, and while he can put on a professional face like pretty much any thirty year-old, he doesn’t like being forced into social interactions through video conferences.

He may be an introvert, but even he needs more than this second-best choice to get in touch with his colleagues and partners.

Speaking of which.

“Mrooow?”

“Oh, stop being judgmental, Wildcat Jackson,” Kurt tells his cat, who is sitting on his bed and looking at him with what is, truly, a judging look. “At least I put on pants.”

The cat looks down at his legs before rolling herself into a ball, away from him. 

“They’re pants,” Kurt mumbles. Yoga pants, sure, but they are still pants.

And Kurt put on his pristine pink shirt and his brooch.

From the camera’s point of view, he’s every bit the professional he needs to project for this meeting with their new partners.

The Zoom meeting is not planned before 2pm, but it’s 1:50pm when Kurt logs in, because that’s just the kind of person he is. And yet, he’s not the first one in the Zoom.

“Um, hello? I just logged in.”

The person was away from his computer, and Kurt had just enough time to see a bookshelf filled to the brim with books, manuals and several Funko Pops. 

Nothing unusual from a company specialized in developing educational apps for teenagers and young adults.

But then the man slides back in place, and wow, that is not how Kurt pictures Dalton's CEO.

“Hi. I’m Blaine Anderson.”

The man looks like a lot of things—a model from the 1950s, a romantic male lead, a wet dream in the flesh, your pick—but not like the man who sent several emails regarding the intellectual property of both parties and who was a stickler for proper language.

Kurt waves. “I’m Kurt, Pavarro’s founder and CFO.”

Mr. Anderson smiles, waving back at Kurt. “Looks like we’re the early birds.”

“I always prefer to be early. Fashionably late is too 1990s.”

Blaine nods, waving his hand toward Kurt. “Though you seem to know a thing or two about fashion.”

Kurt looks down at his (visible) outfit and cocks one eyebrow at Blaine. “So do you,” he replies appreciatively, swallowing whatever flirtatious sentence was about to follow when other participants join in the conference room.

Blaine straightens up, his hand smoothing down his tie, before smiling to the camera.

Kurt can’t help but notice it is a very different, tighter smile than the one he had before.

“Now, I want to begin this unusual meeting by thanking all of you for agreeing to the accommodations we all had to make…”

---

They are at the very beginning of the negotiations to include Pavarro’s music sheets and vocal coaching videos to Dalton’s latest app, designed for high school students wanting to focus on the Arts.

After a dozen or so Zoom meetings involving different members, it quickly comes down to only Kurt and Blaine meeting through Zoom, either to explain the technicalities ...

“No, Kurt, I’m not saying this coaching lesson is wrong, all I’m saying is that maybe the coach shouldn’t look …”

“What.”

“Constipated.”

...  or to compare their business models and projected numbers.

“Blaine, if I may …”

“Of course, Kurt.”

“You seem overly enthusiastic about the potential breakthrough we would have in the Midwest.”

Through the meetings, both Kurt and Blaine have relaxed, both in outfits and composure.

Kurt is this close to say that they’re friends (for want of anything closer).

Blaine sighs and leans back in his chair, his yellow polo slightly stretched over his chest causing a hitch in Kurt’s heartbeat. “It’s where I’m from, Kurt. I need to be optimistic about my home state. I need for it to grow to become a place of origins for artists.”

“Midwest, uh?”

“Ohio.”

Kurt sits up, leaning toward the screen. “Ohi--no way! Me too!”

Blaine looks startled. “Really?”

“Lima!”

“Westerville!”

They both start laughing, before Blaine returns his attention to his notes. Kurt takes advantage of the moment to admire Blaine’s face so close, his eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheeks in the soft glow of his screen.

“We may have been just a teensy weensy bit enthusiastic, though,” Blaine finally says, looking up and surprising Kurt who can feel his face heating up immediately. “I’ll get over it with Wes and we’ll have to meet again in a couple of days.”

“Ah, the hardship.”

“Ha, ha.”

Blaine has mastered the art of talking with his eyebrows, and his cocked one clearly says “I see through your bullshit, Hummel”.

“I’ll let you set up the next meeting, then,” Kurt rushes to conclude the meeting before he lets himself blurt something totally unprofessional and embarrassing. “In the meantime, Tina will send David the singing coaching videos we developed while in confinement, so please disregard the poor quality and focus on the subject, ‘kay?”

“Will do. Take care, Kurt.”

“You too. Good evening, Blaine.”

As soon as the conference window is shut, Kurt picks up Wildcat and screams into her soft belly.

This crush has to stop.

…

It won’t stop, will it?

---

Kurt knows that he’s in the right conference Zoom, because he clicked on the link Blaine sent.

That’s the only element he has to know that he didn’t get “lost”.

Because right now, filling his screen, is not Blaine’s gorgeous mug.

An adorable mug it is, sure, but not the one he was expecting.

“Blaine?”

“Oh shit, ‘Gana, move!”

Blaine rushes into the screen, picking up the smiling corgi and unceremoniously pushing her away. His shirt is opened and Kurt wants to thank whichever deity is having fun right now for the sight, both of Blaine’s chest and of his blushing cheeks.

“I am so, so sorry for that, Kurt,” he whines softly. “I don’t even know how my dog came up here.”

“That’s a cute corgi you got here.”

Blaine runs his fingers through his hair and smiles, obviously relaxing. “She is very cute. And very stubborn.”

“What’s her name?”

Blaine’s blush is back at full force. “Um …”

“Come on, I promise I will level the field.”

Blaine cocks his head to the side and shrugs. “Fine.” He moves away before returning with his dog in his lap. “Kurt, meet General Pupgana Anderson, leader of the Resistance.”

On the Corgi’s collar, Kurt does notice a couple of buttons that give clues about Blaine’s political leaning. 

Particularly, a rainbow one.

Interesting.

“Your turn.”

Luckily, Kurt’s cat was just out of frame, lying on his desk to catch the afternoon Sun. He picks Wildcat and presents her like an offering. “Here is Wildcat Jackson Hummel,” he says, and Blaine frowns, resting his chin on top on his dog’s head before snapping his fingers.

“Hey look me over, lend me an ear

Fresh out of clover, mortgage up to here

Don't pass the plate folks, don't pass the cup …,” he sings, not even off-key.

Wildcat opens one eye and bats the camera, interrupting Blaine’s singing in favor of laughter.

Kurt really doesn’t know which sound he prefers. All he knows is that he should have recorded it.

“I didn’t know you were a singer too,” he comments, letting Wildcat walk away in a huff.

“Oh, yeah,” Blaine says, absentmindedly fluffing up his dog’s already fluffy ears. “I was the leader of my school’s choir, back then.”

“Choir?”

“Ok, Glee club. Happy?”

Kurt beams at the camera. “Would be if you had proof.”

“No.”

“So you tell me if I search Blaine Anderson choir on YouTube, nothing will come up?”

Blaine mumbles something.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It. Better.”

Kurt bursts out laughing. “Okay, fine. I won’t look it up.”

Blaine cocks one eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I will look it up, but I won’t bring it up.”

“Hm-hm.”

“I won’t make it a big deal.”

“Right.”

“Pinky swear.”

Blaine smiles crookedly at the camera, a look of disbelief on his face, before he does hold up his pinky in front of him.

Kurt mirrors him, all while quietly and internally losing his shit over how cute Blaine is.

That level of cuteness and geekiness and just gorgeousness should be illegal.

“Now, back on the matter at hand. Let me show you the new numbers we cranked up for our Midwest penetration …”

Oh Lord, Kurt thinks while putting his glasses on, do not let me focus on the idea of penetration for the next hour.

…

Try again.

---

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but the files have been compromised in the transfer.”

Tina looks like on the verge of tears, and Kurt himself is this close to cry.

“How did it happen?” he simply asks.

“Artie is looking into the tech of it, but in the meantime, we, um …”

“What?”

Tina glares at him. “Don’t bite my head off, Hummel, I can smack you down via video and we both know it.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “What?” he repeats, softer this time and with a smile plastered to his face.

“We need to re-record the songs we planned to send to Dalton.”

“You know what we could do, instead?”

“Fling ourselves through the window because nothing matters?”

Kurt blinks. “Err, no. No. We’re not going to do that. What we are going to do, is mirror what the musicians from the National French Orchestra did.”

“Play Ravel’s Bolero?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, but we can have a Zoom conference with Blaine and David--”

“Blaine, uh?”

“Yes, Blaine.” Tina’s smile could rival the Cheshire’s. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you and Blaine managed to build such a good relationship while apart.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to glare. “I see what you’re trying to imply, Cohen-Chang, and it’s not--it’s not that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I may wish it was that, but it’s not, so can you please drop it and brainstorm something with me for a good …”

“Audition?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

Tina’s smile is softer as she ends the call, promising to come up with a list of songs they wanted to add to their catalogue anyway.

As the call ends, Kurt swirls around in his chair, worrying his lower lip.

Has he been so obvious?

Does every participant into their Zoom meetings see how he feels about Blaine?

Does Blaine know?!

Blaine must know, oh shit.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, pushing himself off his chair to get a well deserved homemade pumpkin spice coffee because he needs it and he’ll be a cliché in his own damn home if he so chooses it.

--

“Blaine?”

For once, Blaine seems very unfocused today on their meeting. He frowns into space, asks Kurt to repeat what he just said and just seems … upset.

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Kurt asks, pulling Wildcat into the frame.

Somehow, along the weeks, adding their respective pets to the discussion has become a signal that the meeting is about to take a turn for the more personal.

Blaine hesitates, before leaning down and picking up Pupgana, who seems delighted to see Kurt.

“So, what’s going on in that cute head of yours?” Kurt continues, throwing caution to the wind, mostly because Blaine doesn’t react one way or another to his little flirting.

Which is both a blessing and a curse for Kurt’s mental well being.

“I had tickets for a play for tonight,” Blaine says softly. “And I understand the lockdown, I understand the quarantine, I understand the necessity and the safety of it …”

“But.”

“But,” he repeats, smiling sadly at Kurt. “There is no way to be sure that the play will be reprogrammed for a later date. I have been reimbursed and everything, but still.” He sighs. “I was looking forward to it, and it may make me sound like an entitled white man, but …”

“But,” Kurt echoes. “I had tickets for an opening last week, too. One of my best friends plays in it, so I had first row tickets too.”

“Oh? Which show?”

“Six.”

Blaine straightens up immediately. “No. Way.”

Kurt can feel his jaw clicking open. “No.”

“Yes!”

“You--”

“And you!”

Kurt leans back in his chair, a startled, breathless laugh escaping him. “Wow.”

“Took the word out of my mouth.” Blaine chuckles. “Which part was your friend supposed to play?”

“Ah, Mercedes was supposed to be Queen Catherine of Aragon herself.”

“Mer--your best friend is Mercedes Jones?!”

Kurt preens a little. “Yep. Since high school.”

“Wow. You keep getting more and more interesting, Kurt.”

His face heats up enough to make him worried about getting a fever, but Kurt knows it shouldn’t have anything to do with the pandemic. “...Oh.”

Blaine’s cheeks do pink up too, but he doesn’t lose his composure. “I mean it, Kurt. You’re probably--no, without a doubt, the most interesting man I have ever met.”

“And we haven’t even met yet.”

Blaine leans his head against his closed fist and stares into Kurt’s soul--that is, into his camera. “Do you really feel that way?” 

Blaine’s voice is soft and low. Intimate, in a way Kurt cannot comprehend or translate or interpret in his emotional state.

“I …” he starts, ready to deny whatever Blaine is imply, but he can’t.

Kurt can’t lie to those golden green eyes.

“No, I don’t. Feels like we have known each other forever.”

“It does.”

Kurt sighs, and Blaine follows.

When Pupgana imitates them, they chuckle and look away, focusing once again on arranging Pavarro’s demonstration for Blaine’s board.

---

It goes pretty well, if Kurt may say so himself.

Adding the Beatles has always been a goal of his, if only because his dad loved the British band so much, and performing “Blackbird” to the camera, while Tina provides backup and Artie plays the guitar, along with their teaching methods, was a stroke of genius.

Everybody agrees that the demo is a success. Wes, David and Trent leave the Zoom chat first, having another appointment with investors, and Artie spends some time talking to Blaine about how their codes could be more compatible--a conversation that flies over Kurt’s head--but after a while, it’s just the two of them, alone again in their Zoom meeting.

Blaine seems thoughtful as he looks at Kurt every two seconds, his eyes and fingers otherwise busy typing away.

“I could get used to this,” Kurt says to break the heavy silence.

“Hm?”

“You, me, working together. It feels right.”

Blaine bites his lip as he nods before pushing his keyboard away. “Kurt, I have to tell you …”

This is it, Kurt thinks. He’s going to tell me that I have been inappropriate, that we’re barely friends, that we need to stop talking to each other every day…

“... I didn’t expect to feel so emotional about your performance.”

Ah.

Ah?

“I mean, I heard recordings of you singing before, but that was … You moved me, Kurt.”

“Oh, really?”

“I had to restrain myself from clapping when you were finished.”

“Blaine …” Kurt takes a deep breath. “You know that a lot of the subjects we talked about during our meetings were not my forte.” Blaine cocks his head to the side with a frown. “Why did you decide to have them with me anyway?”

“Oh.”

“Not that I mind, but it just feels …,” Kurt hesitates and lets his silence fill in for him.

It just feels … odd.

Abnormal.

Surprising.

Like it’s leading to something else, please tell me if there is something else, because I am feeling that “else” too.

“You know, Kurt, since we’ve been in lock down, I didn’t think I would--,” Blaine pauses, looking away and muttering something Kurt doesn’t catch. And then, Blaine looks back up, jaw squared as if getting ready to enter battle. “Kurt.”

Kurt has never been more focused on the sound coming from his speakers.

“There are some people you meet along your Life’s journey, and it doesn’t feel like a meeting but like a reunion with someone you already know. When we first met, I thought “oh, there you are”, like I had been looking for you forever, like all my decisions ever since Ohio were meant to bring us back together.”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

“And I know it may sound like a rehearsed speech, and yeah, I did, a little,” Blaine continues, running his fingers through his curls and chuckling self-deprecatingly, “but I didn’t have to look for the words. I had to rehearse to be able to say it all without stuttering over my own heart. Because he’s in charge here, and he told me to do anything necessary to spend more time with you.”

Kurt is about to faint, and he doesn’t even care.

“I know we met in an unconventional way, but I can tell you that all I want right now is to kiss you, if you’d let me.”

“I would.”

“Oh,” Blaine blushes, looking surprised (and, really? Surprised? So he didn’t know?), relieved and, well, ecstatic, really. “I guess we both know what we’ll do the first time we meet without cameras between us.”

“Oh, I do. Describe it.”

Kurt knows he’s pushing his luck, but a cute, intelligent guy just made him the most romantic love declaration, he is high on feels.

Blaine cocks one eyebrow, his smile turns into a slightly cocky one and he leans closer, describing in excruciating details all the micro-actions that would lead to their kiss.

Truth be told, Kurt is no longer a blushing virgin, but it still leaves him blushing fiercely and hot all over.

And that was just a virtual first kiss.

They don’t know how long this confinement is going to last, but Kurt knows one thing.

It won’t be boring with his new boyfriend.

*

Wildcat Jackson Hummel

General Pupgana Anderson : https://www.reddit.com/r/corgi/comments/b11ngx/pancake_would_like_to_facetime/

[fantasyjoon]

holly and ivy ; min yoongi.

since when was your definition of a perfect christmas a cosy night in with your cute neighbour and his dog?

↬  pairing ┇  neighbor!yoongi x gender neutral reader

↬  genre ┇  fluff, LOTS of min holly, not that much romance? they’re shy cuties, but lots of warMth

↬  warnings + rating ┇  a constantly distressed but very cute dog, totally g

↬  avalyn’s notes ┇  happy holidays ! i hope you && your loved ones had a lovely christmas<3 here’s a very late little festive oneshot drabbly thing that i couldn’t manage to post on time bc i’m busy and unorganised && don’t trust my queue to post fics xx enjoy !

↬  word count ┇ just over 2k does this still count as a drabble?? is it a oneshot ?? uhh

[  masterlist  ] — ♡

You shuffle inside, warmth engulfing you completely as you tap the front door closed with your feet, the impact shifting the snow off your boots and onto the doormat. Heaving your shopping bags onto the kitchen floor with a huff, you switch on the kettle and allow the blissful bubbling to invade the silence. The winter air no longer bit at your fingers from within the confines of your apartment, but you still refused to remove your scarf and gloves from your shivering body.

You start shoving away the groceries into the cupboards until pausing when you realise that you had, once again, forgotten to buy your beloved coffee grinds. With a groan of annoyance that mildly depresses your festive mood, you sullenly make your cup of hot chocolate (you do the best with what you can, right?) and move to the living area. This, plus a Christmas movie and the lights of the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner — minus your minor inconvenience, sounded like the perfect way to spend your Christmas Eve eve. You sip at your drink, your legs folded underneath you on the sofa and the soft velvet blanket Namjoon had bought you last Christmas sprawled over you in an extra attempt to conserve heat. Your thoughts and the background noise of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York playing on your TV are blissfully accompanied by the endless snowfall outside your window that seemed tamer now you were indoors, and the calming ambience of your warm abode.

After a couple of minutes, a crash sounds through the opposing wall, followed by incessant yapping, what sounded like intense scampering over vinyl floor, a possible yelp? (you’re unsure from which party) and some excessive cursing.

Guess your Christmas wish wasn’t coming true.

With his sleekly, black locks and brooding gaze, Min Yoongi was more often than not a noisy neighbour — though usually due to his inability to hear below the annoyingly loud decibels he played his music at, and not at all because of his adorable dog.

Holly was an absolute gem; a beautifully brown toy poodle with soft curls that tickled your skin when he came to visit. Though, his owner was not of many words — he came across as pretty introverted, pretty kind, and pretty quiet.  You’ve always wondered why a man so quiet owned a dog so loud (and played his music even louder).

It was not out of the ordinary for Holly to patter across the shallow, gated balcony that connected your apartment to Yoongi’s and tap at the glass door with his nose, whining solemnly until you let him in for cuddles and a dog biscuit, his sheepish owner slowly trailing behind after some time passes.

“Hey,” he’d mutter after you let him in from the balcony, wringing his fingers together anxiously.  Soft yapping from behind you both catches his attention momentarily. “Sorry about Holly.”

You trot back over to the sofa, the dog immediately hopping onto your legs. The toy poodle adored human affection, often residing to snuggle at any given limb whenever you see him. “It’s all good, Yoongi. Make yourself at home.” He gives you a court nod, walking past the both of you and disappears into the kitchen for a while, appearing five minutes later with a hot chocolate mug that he places into your hold, a coffee for himself, and a warm smile.

Yoongi settles next to you after you pat the empty space, carefully watching his dog fall asleep on you under the pretence of watching the movie. You chat idly with updates of your conversations from the last time he was here. He likes the way your eyes widen in disbelief when he tells you that your mutual friend, Jimin, dumped his long-term boyfriend, and you enjoy the way a smile spreads over his lips when you tell him about Seokjin’s latest cooking disaster.

After he sips the last of his drink, he’s quick to steal Holly away from your grip, silently thanking you for the company before sneaking back out the balcony. They’re only gone a mere few seconds before you miss them both.

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Following the commotion and the increase in volume in both Yoongi’s ignored commands and Holly’s barks of retaliation, you’re almost tempted to go see what the racket is.

Holly scrambles across the balcony, haphazardly sprawling on the ice and slipping around, barking madly at you in hopes to open the door. You slide open the glass, watching him scuttle in towards the heater, closing it immediately behind his tail as a few snowflakes drift in to your once cosy home.

The cute dog darts around erratically, his ears flapping wildly in tandem with his tail; you can’t tell if he’s stunned from being out in the snow or happy from the warmth of his new environment.

Holly then dives for your feet, his caramel curls tickling the skin exposed by your fuzzy socks. You pick him up with ease, taking both of you back to the couch and pulling the blanket over you.

“Hey, what’s up, buddy?” He stops yapping, nuzzling into your hold and you’re guessing he’s fatigued. After a couple of minutes, he’s out like a log and you lay him on the sofa, covering him with some of your blanket and petting him softly.

At the glass door is Yoongi, and luckily you’ve managed to open it just before he knocks. He catches your eyes with surprise, but then looks past you with relief as he spots his dog asleep. You pad over quietly, sliding open the partition whilst trying as hard as possible not to make any sound.

“Thank goodness,” Yoongi mumbles, walking over to Holly.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, inviting him silently. “What happened?”

Your neighbour sits himself on the edge of the couch, gently running his fingers through Holly’s softness. “He pushed over some of the presents I had wrapped and they smashed, so he got scared. I shooed him to one corner but then he left.” You nod, “I would’ve come earlier but I wanted to clean up before I brought him back.”

Threading your fingers through the dog’s luscious coat, you hum, “It’s no trouble, Yoongi.”

Yoongi swears his name has never been his name until you say it. He’d listen to nothing else in the world except you saying his name if he had to.

“We should go, though. Don’t want to impose on your Christmas Eve eve.” His weight shifts awkwardly between his feet, though he’s trying as hard as possible not to come across as awkward. You stifle a giggle at the sight that somewhat resembles a five year old with a small bladder.

“I’ve no plans, you’re welcome to stay if you’d like to.” You watch his inner turmoil, his decision making put into full drive as he considers giving up his plans to spend time with you. “Or maybe drop by tomorrow?” His childish mannerisms continue; his eyes light up as if he’s seen Santa. You’d never tell him, but you heard him on the balcony earlier hastily co-ordinating a night out tonight with his friends over the phone.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that.” Yoongi scoops Holly up into his grasp, the dog huffing gently in his slumber. “See you tomorrow, Y/N. Thanks.”

“Oh, and Yoongi?” He’s halfway out the balcony door when he turns to meet your gaze, “Bring your dog.” He chuckles, sends you a gummy smile that melts your heart before stepping out into the winter winds.

As the snow continues to fall outside, and a young Macaulay Culkin smiles up at the pigeon lady you still have doubts on, you grow hungrier and lazier; craving food but honing an inability to obtain said food.

Your neighbour couldn't have had better timing. There's a soft knock on the glass door that you almost mistake as the heavy patter of snow on a frosty Christmas Eve. Behind it stands Yoongi, his teeth chattering, with a box of mince pies in one hand and Holly held in the other. A grin plasters itself on his lips and you swear there’s no better sight than this.

The door threatens to suck out all warm air when you slide it shut after you usher in a shivering neighbour plus equally cold dog. Snow from their clothing that falls off onto the vinyl melts on touch as they inch further into your warm home. Holly’s long been set down, his paws clicking with every leap he makes away from the pair of you.

“I brought some food, I figured you had like movies or something,” It’s this moment where you realise how high school-esque this is of you, blushing at the boy next door’s attempt to make small talk. You nod through your shyness and direct the both of you to the kitchen.

“Hot chocolate?” Yoongi turns his nose up sourly at the offer. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You don’t have coffee?” You mentally scowl as he reminds you of your incompetence.

You still your movements, almost pouting at the empty mug in front of you. “Forgot to get some,” you mumble lowly. Yoongi hides his smirk from you by looking at the artwork you have pinned to the fridge.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I’ll just have a mince pie.”

You can hear next door’s Christmas carols that Yoongi hums along to under his breath. It’s when you’re watching the back of his head bob to the beat that you realise how much you know about him but how much you don’t know him. You know what he studies, you know about his friends. But you don’t know his favourite album or how he even likes his coffee. When the kettle clicks off, your thoughts are switched off, and you let out a relieved sigh.

There’s an air of awkwardness that you were trying so hard to avoid, but you’re incredibly thankful Yoongi fills in the gap, “Sometimes I think you only talk to me for my dog.”

His assumption teases a snort out of you as you stir the drink, “Psh, of course that’s the case.”

“Yea— wait, what?” He turns to watch you toss the spoon into the sink, shrugging.

“It is what it is.”

Yoongi’s munching on his mince pie following you into the living area when you both see Holly swiping at your beloved and you squeal, immediately settling down your hot chocolate to swoop her up into your arms.

“What is that?!” Yoongi bellows, Holly bounding to be at his feet. “Is that a giant rat?!”

“No! It’s my sister’s cat!” The feline purrs loudly, still not happy with her newest company. Yoongi’s eyes narrow to see the white fluffball curled in your arms. He steps forward cautiously — much to Holly’s dismal, who whines defeatedly. His gaze flits up to meet your momentarily, though you don’t catch it, before settling on the cat’s beautiful ivory coat. Yoongi’s hand warily comes up to pet her, and once she doesn’t flinch, he runs it through her silky hair, her purrs of bliss ringing as music to his ears.

“She’s a sweetheart. What’s her name?”

“Ivy.” Said cat takes the call to jump precariously onto Yoongi, landing into his arms elegantly before using him as a step to drop onto the floor. Your neighbour’s somewhat startled at the impact, but laughs it off sheepishly.

You both watches as Ivy strides towards Holly, who cowers into a nearby pillow, before she pauses in thought, giving the dog an approving look as to say, ‘You and your owner are actually okay, I guess’, before springing onto the sofa, turning a few times and sitting down delicately as if she hadn’t just made a scene.

Yoongi scoffs, picking up a neglected Holly and sitting on the other end of the couch, leaving you to perch in between them and the graceful cat that now purrs quietly with pride. With the remote in your hand, you change the TV to Netflix on an already-decided Christmas movie.

As the opening credits music fills the room, Ivy bounces into your lap, Holly eagerly shuffling his way in between you and Yoongi.

“Holly…”

“Ivy!”

Yoongi splutters, “Holly and Ivy?”

You grin at him, “Yeah, I guess!”

He admires the way your eyes crinkle when you smile with glee, “Cute,” he says to himself.

Many shy whispers later, you're left to bask in the warmth of the twinkly golden Christmas lights that gently illuminate the bleak evening and the beautiful face of the man beside you. With the leftover cream and marshmallows sat at the bottom of your mug, Holly and Ivy curled up by your feet, Yoongi cuddled into your side, and Home Alone 3 progressing through its denouement: you couldn’t have possibly asked for a better way to spend your Christmas Eve.

[gaming-rabbot]

Rabbot Reviews: Far Cry 5

Great taste, empty calories.

Far Cry 5 is the latest game in quite the lineage of a series known, as you might surmise, as Far Cry. Game number 6, actually, dependent on how canon you feel Primal was. FC as it stands now, though, is a bit of a… how to put it? A long call? A distant yell? An outlying wail? A remote shout? No, a far cry from the original two games, before Ubisoft bought the franchise.

(Yeah, that’s the phrase. Glad I thought of it, though I don’t know where I got it.)

((Incidentally, Remote Shout is the name of my new indie punk garage band. Album drops: never, because this is a joke.))

Starting after Far Cry 3, Ubisoft has been telling their dev teams to make lightning strike twice. Thus, each game hereafter has been an excited waiting game of seeing how they’ll try and ultimately fail to match the demented, yet incredibly charismatic villain that was Vaas.

And 5 feels like this illogical conclusion of just that. Because you have not one, not two, but four scenery-eating, rompy villains. Less a refined, precise attempt at the concept, and more of a blunderbuss approach; hoping to tickle a little of everyone’s villain fancy.

That, I feel, is the perfect metaphor for the game in general.

Last call to avoid spoilers.

Speaking of fitting descriptions of the entire game, let’s start with the intro. Because I have mixed feelings about it, at best. There’s a lot it does right, and some things it simply gets wrong, in regards to the rest of the narrative as a whole.

The pacing and atmosphere are phenomenal. The very air feels heavy around you as you enter into the church, here to take the titular Joseph Seed away from his flock. The pressure of the stakes are established flawlessly, leaving a feeling of palpitation, and a true understanding of just how dangerous Joseph is. Surprised as I was, the game even managed to shock me a little.

In that respect, it’s fantastic.

But then the game uses the cop crew you rolled in with as your motivation for the entire rest of the game, in the form of saving them from the Seed family, and oh god, it’s Fallout 4 all over again.

Just like the Bethesda example above, this aspect of the intro simply doesn’t work. And not just because it’s asking me to unconditionally care about cops.

This sequence of the narrative focuses on every other aspect of narrative setup except for the characters that you’re supposed to get invested in. You get but the most cursory taste of who they are as people. Such a small amount of time can mainly attach their personalities to a specific emotion.

Whitehorse is the calm voice of reason. Marshall Burke is frustrated. Pratt is nervous. And Hudson is… there too, I guess. Look, I’ll be honest, I had to look up half these people’s names for this review. Which I’m sure is only a good sign.

With so little to go on, I found I simply didn’t care whenever a cultist bigwig dangled one of them in front of me on a string, expecting me to bat like a good little kitten. Instead, I yawned and wandered off to play with the packaging the toy had come in.

Like a mischievous little kitten.

Which is such a shame, because there are so many other more interesting characters I actually did care about. And in the few scenes where the Seeds held them to ransom instead, the game suddenly had actual stakes.

Nick and Kim Rye were delightful every time they showed up. Virgil was so honestly sincere, I couldn’t help but like him; and his past, as it unfolded, was interesting to dive into. And Jerome was pretty much cool by default, and an excellent concept for a foil to the cultist bad guys, and everything they stood for.

But the story feels almost unconfident in its execution. Like the team is scared you’ll get bored. So the solution, write more story, or rather, several seemingly self-contained stories across the three separate regions.

With no overarching theme or plot threads besides “Joseph Seed probably gave the command for this at some point,” however, the connection feels loose at best. And this looseness makes the narrative feel all the weaker.

I’d much rather the story had been more focused and condensed. If they’d honed in on about one third as many characters, and if the villains felt a little less redundant, the overall narrative could’ve been much more refined and interesting.

Even the gameplay, while fun, has the same issue.

When traversing from place to place, you can’t drive for five minutes without a dozen random encounters passing you by, whether they travel by wheel or foot or paw. What should be a ten minute trek can sometimes take 30.

Again, it feels like the game is nervous. Like it’s worried that if I’m not firing a gun every two minutes, I’m losing interest. Look, I know this is the age of the internet, but my attention span hasn’t deteriorated that bad.

What were we talking about again?

But it’s sad though, as it detracts from what could be some very nice vistas and scenic routes. I can barely enjoy the quiet, introspective new addition of fishing without a randomly spawned cultist with an exaggerated country accent shouting “Fay-oond ‘eem!” and scaring away all the darn fish with a wild assault rifle volley.

Speaking of guns, let’s talk about politics. Something that could only ever be fun and only ever go over very well.

I don’t want to get too deep into this, as it’s been covered to death, and more eloquently than I’ll probably put it. For a better dive into the subject, I’d recommend watching Errant Signal’s “The Art of Saying Nothing.” To sum it up though, while at face value, FC5 might seem as though it’s about to lay down a scathing indictment of certain aspects of American culture, it really doesn’t.

Not for lack of bringing it up though.

The lady who owns Peaches the cougar, that is to say, the former owner of this sweet large kitten (no I’m not looking up the name this time; she’s not even a narrative footnote), is a prejudicial old woman who lives alone in the woods.

Immediately upon entering her domicile so I could acquire my new kitty and leave, she mentioned that my player character looked vaguely Italian, and made an off-color comment about not wanting her silver/jewels to go missing.

What is this, the turn of the century, last century?

At Hurk’s place, you can meet his dad, who wants to build a wall. What, no, not a wall down there. A wall in the north, to keep out those accursed Canadians and their liberal ideology.

Addressing controversy by obfuscating the real world equivalent is cute, but it lacks the punch that makes it such that it’s proving some kind of point. Here, it’s npc’s that you’re expected to stay on good terms with, so that you can get more quests and goodies, like a new pet or ride.

(Shame you never get a new pet who is also your new ride, though.)

And why? Because they’re supposedly better than the cultists who only physically hurt and impede people different than themselves? What’s the takeaway here supposed to be, that it’s only physical extremism that’s bad and--oh god wait no, it’s Bioshock Infinite all over again.

Of course, we all know the real reason why. To offend as few people as possible. Because every offended party is a potential lost sale. Hence why despite clearly using Christian/Baptist imagery and motifs, no cultist ever actually mentions Jesus by name, and the peggy symbol only vaguely and technically resembles that of a cross.

I’ve bad news for you, though, Ubisoft; it’s too late. If you wanted to offend as few people as possible, it was already over the instant you let writers set it in a rural, dominantly Christian, dominantly white community, in America. Right wing talking heads were lining up to be officially offended the instance promos started showing bad guys toting guns, bibles, and the American flag.

Because despite bragging about having thick skin, when it comes down to it, they typically don’t.

At some point, you almost want to lean in uncomfortably close to the game’s face and tell it “Go on. Say what you really mean.” And it never does. Making it satire with no teeth, which isn’t actually satire, but parody. It’s a flag-waving, gun-toting parody of American culture. It’s an American beer commercial meets Saint’s Row. It’s a romanticized outdoorsy rural locale with tacky looking guns and gruesome murder set to made-up gospel and old rock hits.

Which doesn’t feel that far off from a Saint’s Row game, but it wildly conflicts with the tone Far Cry 5 very quickly establishes for itself. And it’s such a waste, because to use an on-theme colloquialism, “bless its little heart.”

It’s trying so hard, and there are some things I can’t help but enjoy about it.

There was a moment early on, when I was creeping through the bushes of a small neighborhood as slowly and quietly as I could. I had not but a bow and a pistol to my name. Cultists were stacking dead bodies while their speaker-mounted truck played their very own choir, singing about water washing away sin. As they were finishing up, they began to sing along.

It was as First Blood meets Jim Jones as the entire game felt, and it all just clicked. The gameplay and tone all lined up so perfectly and felt so right. Where did that go?

Luckily, the game is also pretty charming in various other inadvertent or otherwise unintentional ways.

Obviously it’s cute and wholesome that you can pet all the non-hostile animals. But it’s completely adorable how Peaches growls at you when you go where she can’t follow.

There’s also random npc’s you can recruit for the game’s buddy system, aside from the nine named specialty partners. At first, I seriously wondered how any of them could compare to Peaches, the oversized mewling kitten, or Grace, the cool as a cucumber sniper lady.

But then I found some lady named Evie, who looked like somebody’s mom, and I honestly found it hard to part with her. There was something so ernest and amusing about the idea of somebody’s mom who used to embarrass them at every PTA meeting or bake sale, now in an awkwardly-fitting militia vest yelling “Get some!” to every other cultist who dared cross our path.

The gameplay is also varied enough with timed races, and puzzling treasure hunting segments. The latter in particular, I really enjoyed. They had me doing everything navigating mazes of fire to hopping and swinging along successive grapple lines under a bridge, skirting river water along the way. It’s good, varied fun.

I also really appreciate the organic way in which story beats are unlocked, which is really saying something for a sandbox. Normally, there are specific missions that unlock the next cutscene that actually matters, and everything else feels like so much filler and padding.

Far Cry 5 had the genius idea that everything should contribute to an overall progress bar. This makes it that nothing feels like padding, as you’ll always be working toward the next story beat, even if you’re doing what feel like side quests.

But it’s one step forth and one step back with you, isn’t it Far Cry 5?

Once you’ve unlocked the next story beat, you’ll be whisked away to the next cutscene to have one of the villains get in your face for the next five minutes, whether you were ready for that or not. It gets annoying after the second time, and downright numb the fifth or sixth.

It’s also where the writing starts to fall apart some more.

You know that old James Bond trope where the bad guy has him right where they want him? But then because the villain is so contrived in how they want to handle him, he ends up getting away? Well that happens almost every time. It’s cheesy.

Also where some of the worst writing in the game comes into play.

Jacob Seed has a neat gimmick, I’ll admit. He’s all about classic conditioning, A Clockwork Orange style. Alright, interesting enough. And instead of escaping, you wake up, presumably days later, having finally escaped his mind control. It was a neat twist at first.

What’s incredibly stupid though is everyone points it out. Dutch, Eli, all characters who know about Jacob’s MO, and none of them think anything suspicious about it. Nope, just “Hey, now that I can finally get in contact with you after an entire week of you not responding, come back and get uncomfortably close to me and people I care about.”

Nobody thinks anything’s up with that? Even after it happens three or four times?? And not even my own character thinks to warn them that I’m being psychologically manipulated to kill them???

Oh. Look at that. The game made me kill Eli. How very unsurprising. What is that, something like four hours of build up to a twist anyone could see coming if they’ve ever seen a story?

“Who cares, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

I mean, yes, sure. It’s very fun, in fact. Fewer things have been more satisfying than timing it just right to take down three baddies at once, with a sniper shot from Grace, a mauling from Peaches, and a throwing knife from myself.

And like I said before, the gameplay is just varied enough to not grow dull. But what should be a good game is held back by mediocre writing and a lack of commitment.

Weirder than any of it though is the troves of people lining up to say it doesn’t matter, because the game is fun. Listen, I can enjoy the gameplay for hours of mind-numbing fun, but still be able to pick apart everything wrong with the overall experience. There’s nothing really wrong with that. It doesn’t completely impede what enjoyment I, or anybody else, was able to get out of it.

I really don’t get this, though. This is no critique of the game itself, mind you, but it is at fault for bringing it up again, even if by accident. So it bears discussion.

Clean Prince was right when he said that Far Cry 5 brought up a lot of what’s wrong with modern gaming culture. Yet I can’t help but disagree with his reasoning behind this statement. Because he, like many, asked why any of it matters, so long as the game is fun.

Look.

Gamers clamored for years, demanding our hobby be taken seriously. Entire groups and brands like Extra Credits formed, to try and gain for games the same respect film and literature already had.

Nowadays, we have critics aplenty, like Super Bunny Hop, and the above-mentioned Errant Signal, who regularly dissect games with the same attention to detail movies, shows, and novels receive.

We did it. We’re here. We made it, right?

No.

People tear down bad writing in games, and suddenly it doesn’t matter. The game being fun is the only feature that matters, now that it’s convenient to dismiss anything that seemingly gets in the way of your enjoyment.

Even though it doesn’t.

If Far Cry 5 were a film, people would be trampling over each other to repeat the critics’ disregard of its milquetoast shotgun approach to writing, and lack of commitment to an actual point, despite advertising itself as any kind of satire.

It’s not like having an actual statement is foreign to Far Cry either. Far Cry 2 had a well implemented theme of deterioration in every aspect; your character’s health thanks to the malaria, the guns falling apart from being old, fire spreading wildly out of control.

It’s not even necessarily a Ubisoft problem either.

Far Cry 3 was all about the lengths you’d go to for the people you care about, and how growing and changing as a person ends up alienating you from them anyway. There was also an underlying theme about there being no real winners in a setting so deeply seeded with violence.

Ending sucks too. That’s not a good transition, but it’s as good of one as it deserves, to be frank.

It’s awful, but not because it’s unsatisfying and you don’t get to technically win. Not every game needs to end on a positive note, just because you work for it. Spec Ops: The Line had some of my favorite gut-punch endings in a game.

But the takeaway is just bad, for either ending.

Either you walk away from Joseph at the end, and Jacob’s conditioning kicks in again, and you kill everyone you just saved, or randomly and completely out of bumbling nowhere, several nuclear warheads go off around the tristate area. And everyone you just saved dies in irradiated fire anyway.

What’s the takeaway here? That we should just let dangerous people get away with violent uprisings, because hey, who knows, they may actually have been right all along?

The nuclear ending especially is just bad writing. It’s a twist out of left field meant to shock, and take you by surprise, but only because there’s nothing to indicate it’s going to happen. It’s trying, and failing, to ape the nuke scene from the first Modern Warfare game. But that scene was the dramatic release after an entire level’s worth of building tension regarding the bomb which was mentioned earlier. Of which said established tension, there’s simply none here.

Each region even caps off with you burning out the cult’s various bomb shelters. Only to find out, what? That you should’ve given up and let them kill and maim and steal all they like, so you could huddle down next to them in their bunkers? All because some uninformed zealot who doesn’t even sound like he’s actually looked at a bible lately made a lucky guess?

No thanks.

Instead of inspiring shock and awe, the ending feels random and nonsensical. Once again destroying any coherency the overall tone the game could’ve had. Is this supposed to be a fun, silly game to be enjoyed with a beer or a friend? 

Or a serious and somber game where you face the deepest human fear of all: how people manage to justify overt acts of pure evil as “the right thing?”

All in all, Far Cry 5 is like a cheap burger from a fast-food joint. The taste is fine and it’ll tide you over, but it’s probably not very good for you. And you can’t help but think about how much better it looks in the pictures on the menu.

[quarra]

Ficlet Challenge Prompt

Yo. Tagging these folks because IT CONTINUES: @kat-atomic @tinybearswithjetpacks , @brooklynbetty, @mariastill    plus @colorcoated01  because they seemed interested. Also, I credit @needmorefiction  with Steve’s opinions on pants.

So, I dug up a little more time, and here is Part Two of the Sloth Prompt. This has even more crack and more pining. Also, a great deal of swearing. Poor, poor Bucky. It’s a little long, so again, it’s under the line.

After all, how bad could it be?

Turns out, pretty fucking bad.

It had only been three days and already Bucky was contemplating a life of intrigue as an internationally wanted fugitive and assassin. Because anything was starting to look good compared to dealing with Steve’s fucking lazy ass.

“Buuuuuuuuuck, the TV remote is really far away!” Steve yelled from the living room.

Bucky paused in picking up yet another pile of wrappers from the hallway to bang his head against the wall. Not too hard, because if he broke through the drywall and had to clean up after that too he really might actually shoot himself.

“What’s your fucking point, Steve?” he yelled back.

“Help!”

Steven Grant Fucking Rogers, folks. Mr. I Don’t Need Help With Anything. Mr. I Can Storm The Base All By Myself. Mr. I Can Making It On My Fucking Own.

But he needed help getting the TV remote. Because it was too far away.

Fuck the bullet to himself, Bucky was going to fucking shoot Steve.

Just as he was pulling a knife and trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t really do any damage to Steve, he’d just scare him a little, Jarvis interrupted.

“Sgt. Barnes, Mr. Wilson is on his way up. He said he’s bringing dinner.”

“Thank god,” Bucky said quietly.

Whatever twisted gnarl of mistrust and frustration he once had with Sam, it had all melted away under the stress of the past few days. The man was a damn saint, and Bucky was ready to fucking kiss him in relief every time he showed up. At this point, Bucky didn’t even care if it was only for Steve’s well being, because the sad remnants of Bucky’s sanity and temper had long since frayed away under the sheer weight of Steve’s laziness.

It didn’t seem that bad at first. So Steve would lie around. Big deal. The guy needed a break. But it turns out, Steve was willing to get up just long enough to make the largest mess possible, and then he’d collapse back into the couch or his bed.

The more charitable, patient side of Bucky thought that this might be Steve fighting off the effects of the spell. He’d muster up enough motivation to get some food, or something to drink, or another blanket. Then the spell would push back with force, and crush his will once again. But it never lasted for more than an hour and then Steve would be up wandering around again, dragging ass all over their floor.

The part of Bucky that had to deal with Steve licking whip cream off of the arm of the couch just because he was too tired to get a plate and didn’t want to get his hands covered in whip cream, that part was ready to fucking murder something.

Not to mention that stumbling across that scene had done Bucky no favors. He had been frozen solid watching Steve lick slowly at the mound of white fluff for a solid five minutes before he realized what the fuck was happening.

Luckily, rage and irritation did wonders for repressing his libido.

“Hey there, Steve,” Sam called from the other room. “How’s it goooOH MY GOD, really Steve? Really?”

Bucky took a deep breath and tried not to grind his teeth. Sam must have just walked in and seen the other thing that was driving Bucky to distraction. He steeled himself, grabbed the bag of trash he’d been collecting, and made his way into the living room.

Sam was standing with his jaw dropped and eyes wide, taking in all of Steve’s gloriously naked form on the couch.

“What?” Steve asked innocently.

Deep breaths, Bucky thought to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to not think about killing Sam for taking a good long look. Then he had to remember not to take a good long look himself.

“I know you two are close friends and all, and maybe things were different back in the 40’s, but dude. Pants. Please put on some pants. Or a blanket.” By this time Sam was studiously looking at the TV, take out bags held in front of him like a ward.

“I keep trying,” Bucky said with a sigh. He walked around the couch and dragged the couch throw blanket back over Steve’s lap, confident that Steve would be too lazy to move it for at least the next fifteen minutes.

“Pants are a tool of the oppressor, Sam.” Steve looked perfectly serious. Anyone else might have been fooled, but Bucky had known Steve since he was a sneaky little bastard with light fingers. He could smell a rat.

“You’re not serious,” Sam said flatly. “Are you? I mean, yeah, clothing kinda is a way people have kept up class divides, but---”

“He’s fucking with you.” Bucky grabbed a wet wipe from the stack of them on the end table and proceeded to attempt to get the latest collection of food debris off of Steve’s mouth.

“Hey! Buck. Bucky! Stop! Buck--- I mean it!” Despite all of the protests, Steve only put up a token resistance.

“Like a fucking child, I swear to god,” Bucky grumbled as he walked off, grabbing the take out bags from Sam and setting up them at the table. “If you could wipe your own damn face you would, so until then I will whether you like it or not.” That last was said at a yell. He pointedly didn’t look at Sam, sure in the knowledge that he was probably laughing at them.

Deep breaths. This isn’t Steve’s fault. It’s the spell.

“Seriously though, Steve. Really?”

“There was this thing on youtube. Looked kinda cool, so I kept watching. And did you know that youtube has an auto play option? You just…click something and then it’ll just keep going! You don’t even have to touch anything!”

This was how Bucky had found Steve at four am last night, watching endless rounds of cat videos. That was still better than the night before, when Steve had gotten up in the middle of the night and started watching a news comedy skit. Apparently that led to five hours of news parodies.

One would think that being afflicted with Sloth meant that Steve would be sleeping the whole night through. Seems that all it really meant was that he slept on and off throughout the day, only to be restless at night. He always waited for Bucky to be asleep before he wandered off.

The first few times he did this, Bucky ignored him. Steve wouldn’t go far, probably couldn’t go far, and Bucky had needed the rest after cleaning endlessly all day. But the five hour news stint had gotten Steve so upset that now when he got up at night, Bucky got up with him. Losing a little sleep was definitely better than seeing Steve get all bent out of shape over injustice, but unable to do anything about it.

Bucky finished setting the table. He made sure to leave out a lot of extra napkins.

“Dinner time, Steve. Get your ass up if you can and get over here so we can eat.”

“Why even bother, dude?” Sam asked. “Is it really worth the effort to get him to the table?”

“YES! You tell him, Sam!” Steve said excitedly from the couch. His momentum carried him just far enough to raise a fist in celebration, but then he sank back down into the cushions.

“Have you seen him fucking eat?! I can at least put a goddamn drop cloth under the table and I am not cleaning up more sauce from the couch cushions. Especially since SOMEONE won’t move off of them for me while I’m cleaning it up! Like a fucking zoo in here, swear to god.” Bucky rubbed his hand over his eyes and debated about seeing if Stark had some super soldier aspirin somewhere.

Both Steve and Sam started chuckling, though Bucky’s glare cowed Sam into silence.

After a moment, Steve’s laughter dropped off too. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed and then Steve asked, almost timidly. “Um…Bucky? Could you, uh. Help me to the table?” Bucky could see him grab his hair in frustration and he growled a bit. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just. I’m really fucking tired.”

All the anger and frustration melted away and Bucky dropped his head to stare at the floor. His heart bled a little. None of this was Steve’s fault. He couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t put Bucky through all this if he had a choice.

“Sure, pal. Anything you need.”

He went over and helped Steve up to standing, pulling an arm over his shoulder and tucking in the blanket around his waist. Steve sighed miserably. “I’m sorry, Buck. I hate this. I’m such a miserable piece of---”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. “None of that. This is just a bit of a rough spell. You’ll be right as rain soon enough. Now come on. Let’s get some dinner.”

Steve hung his head and nodded, and they made their way over to the table. Before they could sit down though, Steve tugged at Bucky’s shirt.

“I. Um. Could you.” He winced and heaved a big sigh.

Understanding dawned on Bucky. “Need to hit the restroom?” Steve nodded. “No problem. Let’s go do that now. But seriously, Rogers, I ain’t holding your dick for you. That’s on you.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, a sly smile on his face. “You sure, Bucky? I’d let you hold my dick any day.”

Bucky almost fucking dropped him on the ground.

What the hell.

“Wait, what?” His whole brain crashed and burned under that statement.

Sam snorted next to them. “Seriously, Steve? That’s how you wanna come out to your best friend? With that line?”

Bucky floundered, jaw agape.

“Eh. Seemed like a lot of work to keep it under wraps, you know? Lot easier just to say something.” Steve shrugged.

There were words Bucky wanted to say. Somewhere. But nothing came out. He couldn’t even fucking breath. What the fuck just happened?

“Dude. Are you actually telling me that you’re too lazy to pine?” Sam looked both appalled and impressed.

Steve just shrugged again, and then looked at Bucky. “Well?” It was said casually, but Bucky could hear the thread of fear in the statement. Could see the anxiety that couldn’t quite twist up Steve’s frame, despite its best efforts.

Bucky panicked.

He shoved Steve at Sam and was down the hall and out of the apartment in seconds. The last thing he heard before the door shut behind him was Steve say, “Well, fuck. He left before I could use the bathroom, too.”

--

To be continued...

[nmshostclub]

Height (in cm) 5'3 Zodiac/Star Sign (ex: Leo, Virgo, Taurus, etc.) Libra Physical Description (what you look like) violet shoulder length wavy hair, green eyes, glasses, full figured. Personality Description (how you behave around others and yourself) mild tsundere, funny, ppl pleaser Hobbies (at least 1-2) writing, cooking, rpg games How you like to give love; how you like to receive love, compliments, hugs, sneaky kisses Usual date/outing clothing figure sundresses, skirts, tank tops

   Ai ships you with … Suzuki-senpai!

~

-A lucky item:

    A potted plant. A gift from one of Suzuki’s trips, it’s a special herd that has the ‘power’ to heal anything and anyone if made properly. You’re known to want the best for people so what would be better than something that can help those around you?

    Plus, the plant would fill the room with a sweet scent. Calming you down when the day seems tough to deal with. The small plant always manages to bring a smile to your face. To this simple color, scent, and even the mornings you wake up to water it.

-First encounter:

     Suzuki first met you by accident, simply put. During his escapade, he either ends up at his desired location or a room he’s not even sure existed before. As long as he gets to escape his crazy horde of fans. Ones that were clever enough to get through Ikemen Academy’s gates (Luckily, I hear that they’re working on getting tighter security).

     His escape leads him to the cafe, where you’re trying to fix up some new menu items to serve. When you see him, however, you think first that he’s some creepy thief and whack him out of the café before he did anything.

-

-

-

Alright, not a good start, really. However, your little … . scene made Suzuki curious about you. Maybe he’ll have to keep a close eye on you for now…  Keeping a mental note to not bother the cafe girl when she is doing her daily coffee menu change. One where she debates which one is better for her lovely customers. 

-Interactions:

    So the whole cafe thing wasn’t the best way to start this relationship off, but hey, that was just the first encounter.

    Luckily, this first impression changed over time. Spotting you in the hallways, Suzuki would try to talk to you. He couldn’t help but go over what he should say, later coming to the conclusion of apologizing (for coming in the cafe after hours).

    Somehow, he would get pulled into something important. His friends would rush him to class right before he could call your name.

    Jae-senpai, at times, calling him up for dance practice when he finally got you alone.  

    Suzuki, being unable to say no to Sunbae, he sadly ends it with, “I-I’m sorry, talk to you later. Promise.”

    In class, the idol would dolefully sing the melody of “Maxine”. One of the many ways that helped drain out his sorrow from his system.  Tapping his pen on his desk to the song after an incident much like that one. That kind of incidents would happen a lot, but time, he got to talk to you for the first time. Which brought an interest in you.

                ‘Why did the idol have to speak to you’.  

    The next time an interaction came up, it was your turn to do the talking. Offering a cup of coffee in the cafe. One on one, giving you a chance to even say sorry for kicking him out that one time.

    Of course, Suzuki takes you up on that (It’s like luck had finally decided to answer his calls and get on his side). He doesn’t spend one-second doubting, nodding his head like a little child. If the media got a photo of how he looked at that moment, people would definitely go on how it’s rather cute for the pop idol to gush and smile the way he did. You, on the other hand, made sure you aren’t fazed by this (despite your need to say how cute he looks, like a puppy of sorts).

  From then on, you started seeing Suzuki more and more in the cafe - his usual visits ranging from nearing closing time or after closing time (you still welcome him despite it, offering him a cup of coffee and a good talk about various things).

     You’d put up a rhythm game for the both of you to play sometimes since Suzuki finds those kinds of games rather fun. Plus, being able to beat him in those rhythm games kind of feels good (but, you always try to make up for it with a free cup of his favorite coffee blend or just a slice of cake).

-Confession:

    It happened in the Music Room, Suzuki was practicing a new song. Well, trying to write one.

    He was in a slump while thinking up a song concerning the strange love life teenagers seem to have.  It was going to be featured in a new show, “Even More To Say”, which he’ll be actively participating in. Bring him to his current problem: the deadline for the song is coming closer and closer.

     If Suzuki doesn’t improve his game, the producers would be forced to either look for another talented individual to replace him or push the show’s debut to a later day (it could be both, as far as Suzuki knew).

    You just happened to be walking by. Coming back from an order from the  Drama Club, that’s when you heard the soft tune of piano keys and an angelic voice.

You knew right away it was Suzuki.

  Thing is, you keep hearing keys going off the tune and the slight pitch changes that ruin the song altogether. The shake of your head couldn’t be helped. Hearing a rip from a notebook page with a groan of frustration.

    You manage to trace the song around the corner. One that read, “Music Room”. You then find yourself pushing it wide open.

    You happened to be there at the right moment; Suzuki sighing by the piano, rubbing his hands together is the first sight that greeted you. You also managed to catch him finally getting the idea of the perfect song.

  This time squeezing every drop of emotions in his words (as if he was in therapy or something). Repeating a simple, yet sweet, melody.

“A chemical in my brain can cause the world to go insane~

Everything doesn’t make much sense like it used to do

We can’t go off jump from swings or hang from trees like before~

However, your notes still make my small heart jump

Making everything alright, making everything click back in place ~

 The way it should always be

Just don’t leave, make me see gloom again~

I’m addicted to the way you look at me

Even if those kisses aren’t meant for me~”

    He continues to share the melody with the piano as he sings. Telling himself that was great in the end when the song comes to a stop.  The same moment when he heard clapping in the background.  The idol jumps, feeling a bit lightheaded when he sees you by the entrance of the room.  

    The thought of you, and just you hearing his latest project made him blush from his cheeks all the way up his ears.

  You rushed over to Suzuki, telling him how that was just amazing. He thanks you for your kind words. Facing the piano again. Trying to hide his blush. You then ask how he was able to write those lyrics.

    He then turned to you with a soft smile and says:

      “They say that the people around you help you see the world for what it is… and that’s what I feel and see whenever I’m with y-you.”

-First date/type of dates frequented:  

    You aren’t quite sure what kind of relationship you two have.

 The thing is, you’re afraid of what will happen if people know you and a famous idol are hitting it off with one another. You kept it ‘questionable’ at best and tried to limit your time with Suzuki with the addition of putting in excuses of having assignments to do or having errands to go take care of.

    Soon enough, people caught on.

    Of course, you denied having a relationship with Suzuki and his feelings for you whenever people ask (apparently news spread faster than wildfire does). That’s what you’ve been doing left and right since Suzuki confessed.

    However, Suzuki doesn’t give up that easily. He’s good at pleasing others. He can’t fail to please you now.

 Dates, mostly are something small. You would hang out in the cafe or he would visit you when he can. Having a cup of tea or coffee together. Watching movies or TV shows together.  Suzuki can have a packed schedule with all his concerts and photo shoots, but that doesn’t stop him from sending you daily or hourly/maybe even between every 30 minutes, compliments.  

    Sends silly snapchats when he is away or right next to you. It’s just one of the cute things he does. He would even ‘help’ in the kitchen and show you what he learned during his travels.  

 However, just because he ‘learned’ how to make it by watching his chefs do it, doesn’t mean that he can do it without burning something. You’re a bit cautious when it came to the kitchen.

    Scared if he even makes a PB and J sandwich without you in the room with him.  

That’s just when you simply together, Suzuki would go out of his way to surprise you with trips to a nearby quiet town. Where he knows it will be a smaller chance of getting recognized.  Shopping for fruits at farmer’s markets as he picks a flower for his flower while you do your shopping.

        FIRST KISS

     You always gave each other kisses, but your first mouth to mouth kiss was after what felt to be Suzuki’s longest trip ever. He was struck in a location where his phone couldn’t give a signal text. He couldn’t even get his hands on a landline to call you. As days went by you missed the ding that your phone would play when Suzuki sent you a picture and text. You noticed that you missed seeing little notifications whenever you checked your phone. Those constant texts and snaps weren’t a bug anymore, but something that made you smile. Looking forward to every day.  

    Time passed, slowly but it did move. You were cleaning up the café before you went home, then you heard the ding of the doorbell.

     Your first reaction was to said ‘We’re closed’, but instead you dropped the mop you were holding. There stood Suzuki. Going on how he missed you. You then run into his arms as you think to yourself how much you missed his hugs. That’s when you pressed your lips against his. Shutting him up for a moment.  Ending it when you release from the hug and punch his arm. Telling him that’s for not telling you when he was going to be back. Suzuki, on the other hand, was still blushing madly, even as you grilled him about how long he left you without a word.

-Long-term relationship:  

    Suzuki sang and wrote many love songs, but he’s new to the innocent high school relationship. He dated other idols but their relationships would go downhill for many reasons. One reason would be the cameras, the same ones that would follow you from the morning to midnight and after.

    The feeling of always being watched and gossiped about in magazines if you even held hands, isn’t the best feeling when you’re a teenager. So you continued dating in private little by little until the both of you managed to be confident enough to let people know about it and date in more public places. Rumors kept coming and going, and the fact Suzuki’s old partners went on and on about their time with him annoyed you.

    Suzuki, of course, assures you that there’s no one for him beside you. Just so you don’t have to feel jealous or angry anymore. Suzuki cancels his schedule for that time just to show you how much he cares for you.

      With all the romance stuff he pulls, you forget how he could be a ball of fluff. Teasing you when you would insist on cooking for him. Making you pout as steam would come from your ears. Telling him it’s not in the way he thinks. He’s just lucky enough to get the first taste of your new recipe.

    Nevertheless, you two have great chemistry together, minus the fact you could push him away at times.  It can cause some fights once in awhile but you two can easily overcome them.

    Whenever Suzuki does get some real time on his hands - a long break from both school and work - he’s basically all over you. Putting his arms around your waist and shower you with enough love to make up for his absence. You retaliate by squishing the life out of him and giving small kisses that put the supposed love of his fans to shame.

[onceuponamirror]

little bells

///// CHAPTER 2

summary: She just wanted to close the book, but all chapters are meant to be read.

Or, how she accidentally willed a boyfriend into existence.

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 9k chapters: 2/4

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

.

.

.

The way Betty sees it, she has three options.

Option A is to just to flat out come clean. This is, objectively, probably the wisest move. Betty is not a great liar, whereas Cheryl is an excellent reader between lines, and Veronica could be hurt by the deception. And realistically, she probably won’t get very far into this plan as it is.

All Betty has to do is just sit Veronica down, explain that she’d been overwhelmed in the moment, and hope that Veronica’s well-placed but overbearing sense of duty over Betty’s happiness will subside.

As if.

It’s fairly unlikely that this will at all play out in a way that appeases everyone; Betty knows Veronica far too well to be that naïve.

Cheryl will happily summon a rainstorm of I told you so’s and Veronica will just circle back to her original argument: that Betty shouldn’t be going alone, or better yet, not at all.

And then she’s just back at square one, which is the moral equivalent of clapping her hands over her ears and singing her la-la-la’s while Veronica paces in front of her, demanding they eschew tradition. And Cheryl would probably be in the back, flatly suggesting Betty cut through the red tape and just hire an escort to be done with it.

But Option B is the gamble.

Option B is that Betty should just ask Jughead out, make dating him legitimate, and then, at some point next month, casually drop that she really needs a date to this wedding they’d been vaguely talking about before and try to convince him to accompany her.

And in some regards, this feels like the obvious solution. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst, either.

She’s definitely attracted to him, and rarer still, she even thinks he’s funny. But it would also feel like she was using him, somehow, and she cannot do that, even if she was being generous and saying there’s at least a chance it’s mutual.

Even though the only thing she has to go on is that Nancy said he wasn’t a talker, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind talking to her. Still, that feels like a flimsy basis for romance.

Not to mention that extremely awkward hug outside the building last week, the way he’d barely moved but to pat her on the back, like she was some kind of old, sick dog that he felt sorry for.

Frankly, he’d looked more like he’d been kicked in the stomach than actually enjoyed it, so considering that, she’s definitely not sure of anything. She knows, at least thanks to Nancy’s seating chart, he’s probably still single, but that doesn’t mean that he’s interested in girls, let alone her.

Plus, even if he did agree to one date with her, that’s absolutely no guarantee he’d agree to more, let alone such a big one like a wedding.

So if she asks him out, and he turns her down or they break up, that pretty much kills her plan right there in the cradle. She wonders if maybe that would be for the best, if she should just end this here and now, because really, how well can this end? How can she even actually properly execute it?

Betty can be called a lot of things, but scheming is not one of them.

But she knows her best friend well enough to realize Veronica will never let this go otherwise, so Betty considers Option C, which oddly, and completely illogically, feels like the safest bet.

Option C is just to talk to Jughead, explain what she’s done, and beg him to help her out anyway. At least with that option, there’s the tiniest chance that he’ll take pity on her.

After all, they have already talked about how miserable weddings are, which is why she thinks he might have a bit of sympathy for her situation. She definitely doesn’t know him well enough to ask of it as a favor, however; she’ll have to come up with something to offer him in thanks or payment. She can clean his apartment. Cook him dinner for a month straight? Or edit a manuscript he’s not ready to show Nancy? No, that feels redundant. Why would he want that, when he already has an editor?

She doesn’t even know him well enough to know what he’d want in return, and that feels like a bit of a sign, one that weighs heavy in her stomach as she crosses down the corridor, towards Nancy’s office.

With a big, steadying breath, Betty raps lightly against Nancy’s doorframe. She looks up from her desk, a grin already in place. “Hey sugar,” she greets fondly, folding her arms over her desk. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Betty starts, trying to steel herself. But she’s going to have to sacrifice her dignity several times over for this plan to work, and this, unfortunately, is where it must start. She takes another breath. “Well, I’ll just say it: Jughead…is he straight? Or, at least interested in women?”

Nancy blinks, and then her lips purse into a smile. “Of course, I’ve never asked him, but he once brought a girl to a fundraiser we threw. And based on his choice of heroines, it’s arguable that he’s even got a thing for blondes,” she adds, giving Betty an obvious once over.

Her cheeks warm, and her mouth opens and closes once, simultaneously searching for her next words while warring her instinct to bat away compliments. Luckily, Nancy comes to her rescue. “Let me guess. You want his number?”

Betty laces and re-laces her fingers. “Maybe his email?” She asks, and Nancy smirks, clicking the head of her ballpoint pen very decisively. She swivels back to her computer, types furiously for a few moments, and then copies something down onto a post-it note.

She rips it off cleanly, offering it out with the sticky side stuck to one very pointed finger. Betty scrambles forward to take it, her face still flushed red.

“You two make an odd amount of sense, actually,” Nancy adds, settling back onto her elbows. “Just don’t make things messy for me, if you can. I’d like not to be editing the story about the green-eyed girl who broke his heart next year.”

“The Van Morrison song that never was,” Betty chirps, forcing a smile, even as she privately thinks that of all the people involved in this plan, Jughead has the best likelihood of walking out of this unscathed—but, of course, tells Nancy none of that.

Once back at her own office, Betty closes the door and presses herself against the soft wood grain for a long moment, attempting to bottle her anxiety. She doesn’t know why this makes her feel so uniquely adolescent again; it’s not even a real flirtation, after all.

Obviously, she’s made overtures to men before. In fact, the entire reason she’s in this predicament at all is because of the time she got it in her head that she should try to initiate a relationship with a person who saw her as just a friend.

And here she goes again, with practically the same idea. But this time, Jughead probably doesn’t even see her as a friend. Doesn’t see her as an anything. What is wrong with her?

Perhaps she should start writing cookbooks.

She could call it, A Tablespoon of Salt: Select Recipes For the Hungry and Foolhardy.

Dear readers, simply add a teaspoon of irony, a drop of self-loathing, a cup of wastrel poetry, all the pleases in your kitchen cupboard, and voila! The perfect formula for repeating your past mistakes.

Betty closes her eyes and blows out a breath, gathering herself, and then marches forward to her desk and pulls up her email browser. Jughead’s address is simple, even if she doesn’t totally understand it—jfpj3 at a gmail account. Odd, but her first email address was an ode to a backstreet boy, so she’s in no place to judge.

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Cooper, Betty Cooper. Nancy gave me your email. Had something I wanted to talk to you about. Was just wondering if you’d like to maybe get a drink sometime?

No, no, that sounds terrible. What, is this her first time ever flirting? Is this even flirting? Technically, it’s not supposed to be. Anyway, in addition to trying too hard to be casual, asking to get drinks has too strong a connotation.

She aggressively hits the backspace button until the subject body is empty again, cradling her forehead with her free hand. 

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Betty, from Random House and/or the wedding, and/or the time you ran into me under the overhang of the office.

Nancy gave me your email address because there was something I wanted to run by you. Would you be able to meet for coffee sometime?

Best, Betty

She deletes a stupid smiley face from the end of the last sentence and rereads it, her teeth nibbling onto her bottom lip. This could almost pass as a professional inquiry, just vague enough to make him consider it. Betty nods to herself. This could work.

Hitting send before she can think twice, thrice, and then rewrite it four more times, Betty pushes back from her desk, willing herself not to sit there refreshing the page until her fingers bruise.

She decides to go make some tea in the break room, and hides away there, distractedly over-steeping her tea bag, until Nancy and another fiction editor appear in the doorway, in the middle of a conversation.

Nancy flashes her a large, knowing grin when she spots her, and Betty almost knocks over her drink in her haste to flee the room, because she’s apparently still feeling painfully immature about all of this.

But Nancy doesn’t know Betty’s intentions, doesn’t know it’s not real, and that seems to makes it all the worse, because Nancy thought they made sense and it just makes her feel like an asshole.

With nowhere else to go but back to her office, she drags her feet back there, once again closing a door she normally leaves open. She settles into her chair, places the tea mug down with care, and exhales slowly before checking her email.

There’s a response.

Hey Betty,

Yeah, I can do that. Want me to come up to the office tomorrow? There’s a couple of coffee haunts around your building, if memory serves.

-Jughead

It couldn’t have been that easy.

No questioning of her motives, no suspicious doublespeak? Just ‘yeah, I can do that’? And offering to come to her, even?

Blinking, she types back, No need to battle midtown on my behalf! You live in Brooklyn, right? I’m in Greenpoint. We could meet for coffee this weekend? I know a nice little café on Manhattan Ave. Or I could come to you. Just let me know!

A few minutes later, I’m actually in Greenpoint too, or just outside of it, anyway. This weekend is kind of busy for me, in that I’m supposed to be locked away in my room, listening to the new Mac DeMarco album and trying to dissect alt-alt-alt pet sounds. So if it’s all the same to you, I could meet tonight. Lmk.

Betty stares at the email. He wants to meet tonight? She then looks down at herself, at her outfit of a simple blue button up and jeans, of the slight stain blooming on her sleeve from sloshing her tea around, and has a moment of panic.

Fake date or not, she still wants to look a little cuter than this, or at least nominally better than the time he’d seen her outside the building, practically drenched in summer sweat.

But she could always leave a little early to go home and change, and decides that maybe it’s the right move, getting this over with. Waiting till the weekend would’ve just turned her into a wreck.

So she thinks of the nicest bar with the nicest lighting within proximity to her apartment, and writes back, Alright! Broken Land, on Franklin? How’s 7? Thanks!

Yep. See you then.

Once again wondering how in the hell that felt so easy and again cross-checking if Option B could actually work, she returns to the actual work she has to get done today at rush speed; she’s pretty sure her boss wouldn’t mind her taking off early, considering she’s only ever done that so rarely and usually for a long-established appointment, but once a goody-goody, always a goody-goody, as Cheryl might say.

She was too much of a nerd to ever cut class without good reason, and this is all more of the same; if she’s going to leave early, she better be done early too. And at quarter to five, she finishes up her last draft revision and prints it out to reread tonight at home, clicks off her computer, and then darts towards the elevators.

If she hurries her pace walking past Nancy’s office, she definitely won’t admit it.

.

.

.

Once home, Betty throws her bag down in the hallway and rushes to her bedroom.

Before living here, she would’ve never been such an impolite roommate as to drop all of her things by the door and kick her shoes off to land where they may, but the real benefit of her best friend’s dating life is that Betty has inherited Cheryl’s old place and her rent-control, and can finally, for the first time in her life, afford to live by herself.

It’s a little lonely at times, Betty having gotten used to all those years of hearing bumps in the night and the clattering of pans inopportunely and the grinding of coffee early in the morning, but in moments like these, where she’s scrambling for time and running around the apartment in just her underwear, she very much appreciates the solitude.

The train had been delayed between junctions for twenty minutes, which had effectively thrown off Betty’s attempt at being ahead of schedule, and now it’s past 6:30, and really, she should already be leaving to meet him.

She shakes down her ponytail, but finds her hair far too fluffed out a mess to allow to stay that way, so she gathers it back up, leaving a few framing tendrils around her face, deciding it’ll have to do. Despite a constant ebbing sense of comfort in the way she dresses, five minutes before she has to leave is probably not the time to start analyzing her appearance.

Betty digs through her drawers for something that catches her eye, and with half a grimace and half a spark of excitement, grabs for the little brown corduroy miniskirt she only breaks out for dates or at Veronica’s insistence, or usually both. But sometimes showing a little leg makes her feel more powerful, so it can’t hurt this time.

Pulling on a cap-sleeved pink top but deigning to leave the top couple buttons undone, she slips into a pair of low heels and snatches her purse back up from the floor, checking her reflection in the foyer mirror one last time.

Definitely a little more skin than normal, but not more than he’s already seen, thanks to her strapless little dress from the wedding. She applies a shade of blush lipstick and nods to herself in silent encouragement, and then heads out into the night.

She’s only been to this bar a couple of times; Cheryl claims to miss it once every couple of months and insists the three of them meet there so she can properly reminisce her old stomping grounds, as if they all don’t know she’s much happier in the Upper East Side with Veronica. But Betty never minds, as it’s always the easiest trek for her, a simple fifteen-minute walk from her appointment.

The bar is just as she remembers it; ambient, dimly lit but for the string of oversized twinkle-lights lining the ceiling, though this time sparsely occupied, given it’s a Tuesday.

She does a quick scan for Jughead, but appears to have beaten him, so she presses herself against the bar and orders a hard cider. She’s just finished placing her drink request when she feels a presence next to her; Jughead has arrived, dressed in what she’s learning is a typical window display of black clothing and drumming his knuckles along the counter top.

As they’re both standing between barstools, he’s close enough to reach out and hug, but she won’t be repeating that mistake again. He shifts from one foot to another, as if perhaps expecting her to.

“Hey,” he says finally, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before turning to face her fully. He openly looks her up and down, mouth fidgeting with something else, but the bartender is returning with her drink and looking expectantly at Jughead, so he orders a beer and they wait in awkward silence while the bartender fills a glass from the well in front of them.

He reaches for his wallet, but Betty is already sliding her card across the counter. “It’s on me,” she says, smiling at him. “It’s the least I could do, for you agreeing to meet with me.”

Jughead’s brow very briefly creases, but he nods.

“Want your tab open or closed?” The bartender asks, plucking the card up from the bar.

Betty’s eyes dart to Jughead; if she says to leave it open, it implies she wants to stay here for a while. If she says to close it out, it could say the opposite. But this isn’t quite a social call, and she’s half-sure he’s going to want to run for the hills in about ten minutes, so Betty tells the bartender to close it out. If Jughead has a reaction to that, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ll get us a table,” he says instead, disappearing into the back of the bar with his beer in tow.

After she’s signed and tipped for the drinks, Betty finds Jughead in a lowly lit corner booth. He passes her a thin smile when he sees her, and the room is almost too dark to really tell, but she can almost swear his eyes are lingering on her legs as she approaches.

“So,” she says sharply, setting in across from him.

His eyebrows rise. “So,” he echoes, with an edge of amusement. “You said you wanted to run something by me?”

“Right,” Betty sighs, staking out a stalling sip of cider. Now’s the time to make her decision—Option B or Option C. Please date me, or please, please fake date me.

Golden light glitters in his eye as it falls on her, his expression curious but withheld all the same, and even if she thinks this kind of low, warm atmosphere certainly isn’t making him look less handsome, she can’t quite bring any words to her tongue.

And in a split second, she knows it’s going to be the safe option.

“Um, so I kind of did something stupid,” she says, all in a jumble.

Whatever he’d been waiting for, it certainly wasn’t that. His composure slips, eyes softening as his mouth curls upwards and, if she didn’t know any better, maybe charmed. “How’s that?” He asks, tilting his head at her.

“I did something really stupid,” Betty repeats, taking a big breath, though it does little to calm the ringing in her chest. “I have this friend, right? Veronica. She’s my oldest friend, my best friend, actually, and I love her, but she’s really…she picks a stance and won’t budge on it. No man is an island, but she is a rock. And it’s just hard to argue with her, you know?”

Based on his expression, Jughead clearly does not know, but he at least waits for her to continue.

“The only way to get her off your back is to either bow to what she wants, or to find a solution so perfect that she can’t argue with it,” Betty goes on, wringing her hands in her lap. “So, you might remember from Nancy’s wedding that we talked about this other wedding I have to go to in a couple of months. Um, of this guy I used to…have feelings for, and Veronica was really worried about me going to it alone, let alone pestering me about why I was going at all.”

Jughead nods, still obviously confused, and Betty realizes she’s doing a horrible job of explaining. However, on the bright side, she’s definitely doing a great job at rambling.

“I know it sounds dumb, but I want to go to his wedding because I really need closure from the whole thing. I just…he’s been hanging over my head for most of my life and I’m really trying to find a way to move past it. I think seeing him get married will be the final step,” she says, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to face his reaction. Not that it helps; she can still feel him watching her.

“That doesn’t sound dumb,” Jughead says softly, and Betty’s eyelids flutter up, unable to stave off the hope blooming in her chest.

“Veronica was just…nagging me like crazy about it, and I’d had a long day at work, and I don’t really like talking about Archie in general, and she just kept pushing and pushing for me to find a date or she was going to come herself—which she can’t, she’s his ex—and I just really wanted her to stop, so I…I sort of said…you and I were already dating.”

Unfortunately for Jughead, he had just been sipping his beer, and he immediately chokes on it, sputtering through his attempt at swallowing. Eventually, he manages it, wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “What?”

“I know it was so out of line,” Betty says quickly, her eyes round with worry. “We barely even know each other. I mean, we’ve only met twice before tonight. But you were the first person to pop into my head that my friends didn’t already know, and…I just really wanted her to stop pushing me about it.”

He stares at her, jaw ticking, but his face otherwise completely unreadable. “So you’re telling me because…what, you want to clear your conscious? Look, I’m flattered that you’d pick me of all people, but Jesus, Betty, I think you’ll still get into heaven with one little lie on your chart.”

“No, I’m telling you because…that’s part one,” she says, all in one breath. Jughead’s tongue digs into his cheek thoughtfully, as if realizing where this is going. “I’ve thought this through a lot, probably more than I should’ve, and decided if I back out of the lie, Veronica’s just going to start all over again, or worse, try to find me a date herself.”

“I get it. You want me to come with you to the wedding,” Jughead correctly summarizes, settling back in his seat and surveying her. She can’t place the drive behind his eyes, but something moves there, blinking out like little headlights upon a dark road.

She nods. “Well…knowing my friends, you might have to show your face to them at least once, twice tops. Just to sell it and keep them off my back.”

“So, wedding date, and ersatz boyfriend,” he says with a wry grin. Betty takes it as a good sign; he’s at least not storming out. He doesn’t even look annoyed upon second glance, but rather, in the right light, perhaps pleased.

“Okay, yes. But you’d really be saving my skin,” Betty sighs, looking at him. “Just name your price. Obviously, nothing…funny,” she says lamely, and he blanches, for the first time looking offended. She presses her lips together, relieved. She hadn’t really been worried about that, but, like she herself said, she doesn’t really know him. “But I can cook, or um, I’m actually pretty good at fixing things, or—”

“I want to write about it,” Jughead interrupts, looking almost like he regrets the words immediately. He pauses, swallowing whatever thought is there. “No real names, no identifying features or places. But the story of someone consciously trying to move on from an old love is a new angle for me, and the symbolism around all the wedding stuff would be a good dog-ear for that. So…I’ll fake date you, as long as you promise not to sue me for defamation.”

Betty raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on defaming me?”

“No, no,” Jughead says quickly, leaning forward across the table. “But I’ve been trying to break out from under the reviewing side of things, trying to write articles that actually mean something more. Honestly, this feels like the pitch I’ve been waiting for. So I’ll do it, just let me interview you once, and let me stay…observational. And I’d run everything by you before I submitted it anywhere, so you could pull anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

Of all the things she had been expecting him to say or do, this was definitely not it. She feels almost…disappointed, or maybe a little bit hurt, even as she immediately tries to chide the thought, foolish as it is.

After all, it’s not like she’d been hoping he would just gather her up in his arms, swearing fealty and that he’d do it for nothing but for a chance at her heart, like something cut out of an erstwhile Byronic monologue.

“Okay,” Betty breathes, nodding. “That…sounds fair. Deal,” she adds, offering him her hand to shake on it.

He almost looks surprised that she’s agreed so easily, but then again, she feels the same way. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. It feels warm and alive in her grip, like the fluttering of a moth desperately searching for a flame to call home.

“Okay, then. It’s a deal,” he agrees, and with a growing smile.

They shake, and while Betty distinctly muses that this is the best possible outcome she could’ve hoped for, she can’t quite dismiss that now-familiar tolling in her chest, the little song that urges her to turn back, turn back now.

And yet, unable to help herself, that little moth finds its light, pressed and warmed, and she returns his smile.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[contradictoryenigmas]

2019 Postmortem: 10 Questions

2019 is coming to a close and it’s time to look back via ten questions. If you’re new to this series, I recommend checking out the ones I did in 2017 and 2018. While 2019 had its ups and downs, this was the first year where I can say it worked out quite well.

What made up your body of work this year? Which parts are you most proud of?

Most of the work that made up this year was with my new day job as a car specifications researcher. You may think that researching car specs would be easy, but I wasn’t fully prepared for how in-depth it would go. For example, I have to look up both the liters and cc’s of an engine to input into the system. Nevertheless, a lot of knowledge I had from writing reviews and previews has come in handy when trying to decipher what a company names a certain piece of tech or figuring out where to find that one piece of information.

As for my writing, I haven’t done much. Towards the end of last year and beginning of this year, I was feeling less enthusiastic about writing anything - feeling like I was phoning it in to get something up. When I started my new job back in mid-February, I took a break to try and give my brain a break from it. I have slowly dipped my toes back in it during the spring and summer, but started to do more towards the end of the year - a combination of writing for an internal news service my company offers and finishing a backlog of reviews. Writing is still a bit of struggle as my creative side of the brain is still running on fumes and I only get about a quarter to half-way on a piece before setting it aside, most likely not coming back to it.

There were a couple of pieces that did make their way out over the year and I’m quite proud of them.

Afterthoughts: The Sad Trombone of the 2019 Detroit Auto Show (Cheers & Gears): Some passing thoughts on what would be the final Detroit Auto Show held in January. It would be memorable for all of the wrong reasons and made me wonder what the future will hold as the show moves to the summer for 2020.

Three Years On, A Brain Dump (Contradictory Enigmas): Looking back at three years of this site, what has come, and what I had hoped to do in the coming year - sadly none of those items came to fruition.

What were your top 5 moments of the year?

Finally achieving a major goal of getting a job

Turing 30 years old

Beginning to make some progress on other major goals

Reducing my hermit tendencies and going to a small number of events

Continue working on giving me more space to relax

What are you really glad is over?

Uncertainty reared its ugly head again throughout the year. It ranged from whether I was the right person for the new job I had accepted to worrying about whether or not I would have enough money to cover unexpected expenses. Luckily, I remembered that if I took it slow and worked it out - whether through thought or writing it down - the uncertainty would begin to wither away.

How are you different today than you were 365 days ago?

The most difficult part of this year is trying not to feel like I need to constantly work. Being a full-time freelance writer for the past seven years left me with a routine of constantly being busy to try and keep myself afloat. Drew Magary on Vice sums it up quite well.

When you freelance, you know that every job is temporary. You might get paid well, but you can’t assume that will always be the case. I remember being pathologically incapable of turning down work when I freelanced. Every assignment I didn’t do was money lost. I felt as if I already HAD the money and was giving it away by not doing the work.

That meant I gleefully accepted multiple gigs at once, and on weekends, and over holidays. I can’t speak for other freelancers out there, but a kind of PTSD sets in if you do this long enough, where you always fear the faucet will be shut off with a cursory email from a temp boss or, worse, no emails of any sort. There’s such a short distance between “I freelance” and “I’m unemployed” that the two statements often feel indistinguishable.

Emphasis mine.

This feeling still resides in my head and constantly tells me that I should be doing some sort of work, even though I know that giving myself some breathing space is good. This wasn’t helped by my growing amount of work throughout the year as new hires that were brought in around the same time as me either decided to go with another career or were let go. Getting some of their workloads on top of mine meant the feeling of “when will I find the time” started to creep in. Only setting some ground rules did this alleviate this feeling somewhat. I’m hoping this feeling goes away as time goes on.

I mentioned last year that I was re-diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). At the time, I was seeing a psychiatrist and was on medication to help me control some of the various issues I’ve been dealing with. But a combination of the new job, not having the time to make the hour-long trek to see the psychiatrist, and the expensive cost of the medication meant I had to put a stop to this for the time being. This has meant a return of the various symptoms (being able to focus on one task, having my mind wander, forgetting various things, etc). It has also meant that it is hard for me to relax with anything for a few moments because it doesn’t provide my brain enough stimuli to keep me occupied. Oddly, doing work of some sort seems to provide stimuli. But it comes at the cost of me not being to relax.

Pic Credit: Pina ADHD_Alien

On the plus side, starting this new job has brought something that I wanted for some time - separate spaces. What I mean by this is having one space for my work (the office) and then another to relax (the house). Previously, I would be working on stuff in the same room where I would sleep, causing all sorts of anxiety and feelings that I should be working on. Having that separation allows me some breathing space, despite that being somewhat difficult.

It’s also nice having a steady income and not one that is a roller coaster of sorts. Various amounts of money coming in at different times gave me a lot of stress. Moving to something that follows a regular pattern not only gives me a bit of breathing room for anything unexpected but also allows me to plan out new ideas and trips,

To cap off this section, I’m glad that I’m still involved in covering the automotive industry. I have dialed it back by a large amount, but I think this may be for the better as it means I can take more time and produce higher-quality pieces.

Is there anything you achieved that you forgot to celebrate?

Nothing that I can think of.

What have you changed your perspective on this year?

Talking about my mental health in public. I’ve been slowly talking about how I have both ADHD and clinical depression on various forums after seeing a number for friends and people who admire talk about it. I’m still in a grey area of how much I should reveal and whether it is worth it. I can see there is a lot of good as you see other people come out of the woodwork and reveal some of the issues they’re dealing with. But some don’t believe mental illness is a thing or will go out of their way to make it worse. This is a balancing act that I’m trying to figure out.

Who are the people that really came through for you this year?  

A lot of the people that I work with at my job. Whether it be the various supervisors that would take time to answer a question I’m sure they have been asked countless times, to the other researchers who I might help with a quick issue or chit-chat about whatever, they have all played a part in making me feel welcomed.

What were some pieces of media that defined your year?

The Heavy, Sons: It has been a long time coming for the group’s latest album and it is very much worth it. All of the traits that I like about their previous albums such as the gritty sound and soulful lyrics are present. Heavy for You, their first single off this album has been on constant repeat.

Choom, Progger: I can’t explain why this dark jazz-funk-rock hybrid song just clicked with me. Maybe its how all of the instruments are arranged to provide a dark mood in one part, and then rise with something lighter later on. All I know is this song helped out in some bleak times during this year.

Nintendo Switch: An early Christmas gift to myself, I’m surprised at how much I have been playing. It is cool to play something on the TV and then undock it to continue playing while on the move. This has captured the magic and fun that I had been missing on playing video games throughout the year. So far, I have beaten Super Mario Odyssey and will be checking out Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening.

What will you be leaving behind in 2019?

The feelings of not being able to fully plan out stuff. Since starting the new job, I have been able to make slightly more concrete plans to ideas or items that I want to do soon. Some of these have come fruition, while others are still in the planning stages. This may not seem like a big accomplishment, but considering that the past few years where it mostly treading water and putting off various items because of one thing or another, it is a huge weight off my back.

What do you hope to accomplish in 2020?

There are two items that I want to work on writing and photography. I’ve been feeling either drained or hit a wall in terms of knowledge and want to expand it more.

For my writing, I want to try and recapture some of the fun and creativeness that I had when I first started many moons ago. I have some books including The Writer’s Way that has been recommended by a few people to help rekindle this. I’m also wanting to do other writings such as doing some history pieces, and more stuff on this blog. But of course, trying to find the time to do this will be one of the challenges.

As for the photography, I’m planning on doing some sort of online course and some reading to help me understand basic photography ideas, along with exploring various settings on my DSLR. I tend to shoot mostly in Auto without the flash and while it does deliver decent photos, I know that it is capable of more. I’m also wanting a new camera, a prosumer point-and-shoot to expand the possibility of taking more photos.

There are some long-term goals sprinkled in here such as working towards moving out of my parent’s house into my place. I have started saving up a fair amount of cash to cover a security deposit and a month’s rent, but I’m trying to aim for at least two to three months of rent to give a bit of a cushion. Also taking some sort of vacation is in the cards. Not sure where I want to go, but I do know it will be out of state.

That’s a wrap for this year’s postmortem. 2019 wasn’t a complete mess and hoping 2020 continues that trend.

[probably-a-cryptid]

Antivirus (Chapter 2)

wooo this came out a lot quicker than I thought it would! I hope to update every 3-4 days bc school and all, so heres this chapter, dedicated to the lovely @snowbazzledazzle for her birthday that she forgot to tell me abt so heres a late birthday present! 

//

Read here on ao3

//

    When Izuku is four years old, his world falls apart.

    Not literally, of course- although in the moment the doctor tells him and his mother about how he’ll never develop a quirk, the latter seems almost preferable.

    Life goes downhill after that. What little friendship Izuku had managed with Bakugou has collapsed, and the bullying has only increased. It’s not out of place to see a certain green haired boy frantically running through the halls, explosions trailing in his wake.

    However, today was a slightly different story. Izuku had hid as soon as the bell had rung, signaling the end of his first day of middle school. After what he estimated as an hour had passed, he crept out of the cabinet that he'd previously been lodged in. Bakugou was faster than him, so Izuku had taken to hiding as opposed to his usual running tactic. He was lucky it had worked this time, though. Last time had resulted in a few scorched bathroom walls and a handle shaped bruise on his back.

    Izuku peered out of the classroom that had been his hideout. The hallways looked empty, so he slunk quietly down them towards the doors at the front of them school. He was so close-

    Izuku threw himself through the nearest open door when he heard a pair of approaching voices around the corner.

    “-and that part when she hacked into all the cameras-” one of the teacher’s voices carried into the classroom Izuku was currently hiding in.

    “Oh, I loved that part! How long did it take her to learn to hack again-” the second teacher chimed in.

    Their voices faded after the two teachers walked past the classroom Izuku was hiding in. Only when he could no longer hear their footsteps did he let out the breath he had been holding. He didn't want to get caught and reprimanded for lingering after school hours, after all.

    As Izuku finally left the school building and started walking home, he thought back a bit to the conversation he’d accidentally eavesdropped on. He hadn’t heard of a quirk called ‘hacking’ before. In fact, no matter how thoroughly he wracked his brain, nothing turned up. Curiosity made him get out his phone and type up then words ‘hacking quirk’. Izuku clicked the searched button and prepared to scroll-

    Only to blink blankly at the ‘no results’ symbol that popped up. Confused, he typed it in again a few different ways, only to get the same result each time. Eventually, he typed in just ‘hacking’ by itself. At least that got results.

    Apparently hacking, or coding, was a skill that people could learn, as opposed to a quirk. As Izuku scrolled through the pages, he got more and more intrigued. Although he couldn’t save people if he learned how to hack, he would have something to do after school.

    Writing a note in his phone before putting it back in his pocket and picking up the pace towards his house, Izuku felt not that much different than usual. Then again, he could never have predicted the effect a single overheard conversation would have on his fate.

    -

    The first time Izuku hacks for anything other than fun or practice, it was out of necessity.

    It was around 6:00 pm when he stumbled on a villain attack. There was no crowd, unlike most fights that he’d been to before. A villain with pure glowing blue eyes seemed to be controlling the pieces of debris around them with their mind. So far, no hero was on the scene. Izuku made himself comfortable near a park bench barely hidden behind a large piece of cement that had landed near it, and waited for a hero to show up.

    Unfortunately, it didn't seem like anyone was coming any time soon.

    Fifteen minutes after the villain attack had started, Izuku- along with what looked like a family of three and two couples- were still the only ones on the scene. It was apparent that no one had phoned a hero or the police either.

    Guess it was up to him.

    Izuku got out his phone and prepared to dial the authorities, but hesitated at the last second. The police would take a long time to get there as they were way on the other side of the city, and likely wouldn’t get to the scene in time. But what else could he do? It wasn't like he could just tell the closest heroes where the crime was.

    Actually, he could.

    Izuku felt his eyes widen in realization before he unlocked his phone and set to work. If he could get through the phones of the nearest heroes, he could tell them to come help. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the fastest thing he could come up with for now.

    He sent off a simple message; the address of the park he was at, as well as a few details about the villain that seemed to have taken a couple hostage. Izuku hastily added that part, too. He then put his phone back in his backpack and began to wait anxiously.

    Luck was on his side that day, as the heroes arrived on the scene quickly. The fight was quick, and Izuku only had to take a few extra notes before it ended. Everyone cleared up the area shortly after the villain was cuffed and taken away.

    The walk home felt nicer than it usually did, the knowledge that he had helped people kept his feet and heart light.

    -

    Izuku was feeling large amounts of deja vu at the moment.

    Again, he was one of the first on a crime scene that the heroes or police had yet to arrive at. The situation went mostly the same way that it did the first time. A quick message to the nearby heroes and all was well. Izuku put away his phone again and thought nothing of it.

    Or he wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t happened again.

    And again.

    And again .

    By the third time that something similar had happened, he had noticed a pattern. The fourth and up times had just been confirming hunches of his. A major problem with the hero patrols that rolled through every day was that they couldn't be everywhere at once. Certain areas were left less protected than others, such as poor areas, while upper class neighborhoods would often be guarded with more heroes than necessary. He had a good idea as to why.

    After Izuku was repeatedly proven correct, he took it upon himself to patrol the areas the heroes sometimes ‘skipped’ over, and it seemed to be working. However, as time went on, he realized that he couldn't possibly cover all the areas that heroes didn't. That was the moment the idea struck him-

    Why did he have to do everything on foot?

    Cameras were easy to locate and get into, and he could cover much more ground quicker that way. Cameras were also everywhere. Even the streets had cameras in the form of traffic cams. In a pinch, he could hack into someones phone if he needed to. He never could quite get rid of the thrill of being in the middle of the scene, though, so he came up with a simple disguise in case anyone might happen to see him. The mask was a plain one that he bought at the nearest store, and the eyeliner had originated from a tutorial he’d seen on how much it would change his eye shape. Better to be safe than sorry on that account, even if it did take him a long time to perfect.

    So began Izuku’s first foray into the world of crime.

    -

    Just as every hero or villain had a name to go by, Izuku was no exception, though the way in which he got his was probably not the most common.

    In the end, he wasn't the one to come up with it.

    “The newest anonymous coding vigilante has once again tipped off the local police to a crime scene. The burning building was luckily put out before much damage could be done-” the TV reporter droned on from the livingroom. Izuku wasn't paying very much attention until he heard himself mentioned, so he quickly tuned in.

    The reporter with several striped snakes for hair had since moved on from the actual event and was currently hosting an impromptu interview with a policeman that had been near the scene at the time.

    The green skinned man was talking about how helpful the hacker had been recently in getting to scenes recently.

    “He's really helping us out right now, ya’know? Almost like, that thing you download to your computer to help get rid of a virus? Antivirus, right- he's like that,” the man rambled on a bit.

    The reporter blinked back at him once, snakes included, before smiling and turning back towards the camera and carrying on with what she had been talking about before.

    “Anyways, the newest vigilante, Antivirus, is to thank for the solving of today's latest crime.”

    And then the station moved on. It took a few seconds for the fact that he had just been given a name to work under to process. When it did hit, however, it hit hard.

    Izuku was an accomplished vigilante. He was on the news. If he was ever caught, he would be arrested.

    That was all pretty amazing, if he thought about it. Except for that last part, but he would think about that later.

    -

    It was his first day of highschool. Izuku could have tried to get into UA, but with his part time job of being almost a hero, he didn't feel the need anymore. He had nothing to prove to Bakugou or anyone, not when he helped people every day already. In a weird sort of way, his ‘after school activities’ had been a form of therapy for him that he didn't know he needed.

    As he stood outside the building that he had been accepted to, Izuku breathed in once before letting it out. The past three years had been crazy, but he had a good feeling about this one.

    -

    His first in-person job of the school year came quickly that same day. Although both sides of the city were extremely quiet today, it looked like there was a villain fight going on in the park on the east side. Parks were the places he had to visit himself most often, as there were rarely any cameras in them. Luckily for him, a food stand with a paranoid owner had a camera installed in it, so it had an okay enough view of the fight. Still, he couldn't make out much.

    It took him a minute or two to arrive at the scene. He had gotten progressively better at roof hopping over the years, and it never took him more than fifteen minutes to get anywhere.

    Something was off about the fight when he got near it. For one thing, he couldn't actually see the villains, only hear them. Another thing was the lack of crowd, which usually happened whenever a crime was happening.

    Instead of getting close to the fight like he usually would, Izuku selected a tree to hide in. His dark green hoodie and hair would blend in well enough, even if it would be a bit precarious to balance his computer in his lap.

    The setup was a quick one. The nearest heroes were a street or two away, so it wouldn't be too hard to get them there quickly-

    He froze. The noise from earlier had stopped, and the entire park was silent. Memories from that incident flashed quickly in his mind like a flame, but were snuffed out just as quickly. This was nothing like that, he told himself mentally, hand coming up to gently rub the hand shaped scar on his chest through his clothes.

    He kept quiet for a bit longer before shifting his position so as to have a better view of the park. The motion unfortunately caused the leaves to rustle, and the next thing he knew, a loud sound shot straight in front of his face.

    Izuku jerked back reflexively, but in doing so fell out of the tree he was perched in. The last thing he heard was someone’s tired voice calling out how they “Weren't supposed to hurt him, idiot, just catch him” before his head hid the ground and his vision went dark.

//

why yes I did leave it on a cliffhanger. why no I'm not sorry at all ((I'm sorry but it gets worse slightly)) beta is @saltier-than-thou as always <3