#makes me wonder if shepard ever got any flowers before her death

[crqstalite]

19. — fireworks for kodelyn and kallan? i'm intrigued by them :0

Fireworks

-

Shepard,

I was informed there was to be a light show somewhere on the strip later tonight. Lt. Vega compared them to something called fireworks. I am unsure of what that means but curious. If you’re free, I would enjoy the chance to watch them with you.

- Kallan

----

Kodelyn initially hesitated over the request, reading over it for any hints towards non-benevolent intentions. A light show on the Citadel seemed innocent enough, something friends would do. She hadn’t seen them in some time.

Yet this was an assassin that asked her to see it with her. Yes, she had plenty of friends who were, by definition, mercenaries and assassins like her. Every single one of them had used their respective guns more than once. 

Except Kallan Gautheir was in a league of her own, and not by her own doing. Not a few days ago, this was the same woman that had attempted to kill her. The same woman who wore her face with contempt. The same woman that tried to steal her life right out from under her.

Understandably, Kodelyn’s a bit suspicious. Light shows with your own clone didn’t come with a manual. Or an explanation.

In the moment, it had seemed like the right decision. To grab her hand and pull. To tell her she had more of a purpose than to be...well, her.

It felt like staring at a mirror in that split second Kodelyn had leapt forward and wrapped her fingers around her wrist. As if she were talking to herself, trying to talk her down from squirming out of her grip. To a point, she thinks she was. Projecting, that was. Kodelyn had surprised herself. She was angry. Furious. Brooks, Cerberus, to an extent even the Illusive Man had convinced this woman she was good for nothing but what they’d set her out to do. Convinced her she could never be her own person, follow her own passions. Her entire personality was wrapped up in becoming something she wasn’t.

Or something she was, technically. Kodelyn has to remind herself sometimes that she is really a complete copy of herself. As far as any DNA scanner was concerned, she was Shepard. Well, they both were. Kodelyn was the real one. The alpha prototype, as it seemed. She knew that. The average passerby did not.

Saving her seemed like the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

Those dark, but somehow bright mahogany eyes had widened upon realizing Kodelyn didn’t intend to kill her outright. Surprise painted her entire expression when she was offered to live what life the Reaper’s invasion would allow her. Speechless, when Kodelyn had told her she was free. As if she’d been speaking in tongues or another language, completely spaced out just on that idea alone.

Had she ever been offered a choice like that before? Something says she hadn’t. Something says her short life had been nothing but being told what to do without even a second thought. Kodelyn wants to rectify it, even if she’s fumbling trying to figure out how.

But at the same time, and a little more selfishly, she doesn’t think she could’ve sat back and watched herself die. Watched herself fall to her death among the Citadel wards. That may have haunted her for much longer than she could’ve handled.

Lately Kallan had been staying in the apartment, shut up in the room she’d claimed for herself, closest to the door. Kodelyn had expected her to want to explore, but she’d made herself scarce. When she wasn’t doing that, she was occasionally giving heart attacks to the crewmates that came over to visit. It was a little amusing. EDI was currently the only one successful at knowing which was which upon first glance (which Joker claimed was cheating, rightfully so with her biometric scans), but Kallan had managed to confuse the rest of them. Kodelyn couldn’t help but laugh when James had come over, and Kallan had come out of her room to grab something from the kitchen. All in good, unintentional fun for those on the Cerberus SR-2 crew as they got to know the not-her.

But short of that, Kallan had never made a request to go out somewhere with her. She’d been silently observing, quietly answering questions when prodded. Sitting at the kitchen counter in the mornings with her nose in her omni-tool, or staring out the big picture window in the living room. But the last day or so, she’d been showing some sort of fledgling personality. Curiosity about things outside of the Reapers, mostly a fascination with EDI, but also an academic one of the biotics on the crew. She’d gone out with Miranda earlier in the day, presumably so that Miranda could compile more data on her, but she’d seemed pleased when she returned.

Kodelyn can’t read her. Maybe that speaks more volumes about her herself than it does about her clone.

Placing the datapad back down on her nightstand, she slips a sweatshirt on and pads downstairs. Would it hurt to grant her request? Probably not. Kallan would know better not to start anything, especially in the middle of a gathering. It could be worth giving her the benefit of the doubt, after all, until the party all they have is time. Maybe Kodelyn just wants to sate her curiosity about her as well.

Kallan herself is watching one of the vidscreens with great curiosity, her head slightly tilted to the right. Kodelyn isn’t sure what she’s watching, most likely a drama off one of the vid channels, but she taps the woman on the shoulder. It’s almost as if she’s electrocuted her, the biotic jolting and whipping her head around to look at her. 

“Don’t freak out.” Kodelyn holds her hands up, “Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

It takes her a moment, a critical eye roaming over her form but Kallan relaxes back into the couch, “Then...I am up to nothing. I was curious what entertainment the Citadel had, but I’m not quite pleased with what I’ve found. There are...a lot of inaccuracies in the vids that portray the Alliance.”

“I’m not surprised.” She answers, leaning her forearms on the couch’s back. To a point, she wonders how Kallan can tell the difference, but just how much she knows about their military is an unknown, “People love a good story way more than they do facts.”

“That seems counterintuitive. How could you build a story on a shaky foundation of skewed details?” Kallan furrows her brows, gesturing at the screen. Her reaction makes Kodelyn smile, how many of these had she ever seen? She doubts Cerberus would’ve been showing her entertainment media. Maybe Tali could show off Fleet and Flotilla to her before they had to ship out again, “Regardless, is there something you needed?”

“Got your message. Can’t say I saw any adverts for the show, but lead the way.” Kodelyn nods towards the front door, “I’ll have to admit, I’ve never seen one on the Citadel before.”

Her eyes brighten, pushing herself up from the couch, “You haven’t? I thought they were common.”

“I don’t spend a lot of recreational time down in the wards. This shore leave is one of the few times I’ve been for longer than a day or two.” She answers, “Could be fun.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was.”

-

Childlike wonder. That’s the only word Kodelyn has to describe the look on her clone’s face when they’d arrived to the venue, watching the show with wide eyes.

Another one of the lights flashes over the strip, crackling with artificial pink and blue fireworks. Kodelyn had been pleasantly surprised, they weren’t nearly as loud as she’d thought they’d be, but just as bright. It seemed to be part of one of the nearby establishment’s routines for the weekend crowd, Kallan had just managed to catch it a few hours prior to them lighting it.

Her excitement was infectious. It’s a little odd, seeing her own face brightly smile in a way she knew she hadn’t in years. Seeing anything flying over head that weren’t bullets was...probably a new experience for her. When she’d said blank slate, Kodelyn hadn’t taken it as seriously as she should have.

She nudges the other woman’s shoulder with her own during intermission, “Good view, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Better than good.” She pulls her jacket tighter around her, turning to face her, “I’ve...never had the chance to see something like this.”

Then she was right. Kodelyn prods the question, “How much of the galaxy have you seen, Kallan?”

Like a wilted flower, the question makes her expression fall, “Not much. The strip, the archives...even the Normandy. All new places in the last couple of months. Before then, I’d never been off the station where they woke me up.”

Kodelyn feels like she’s understandably stunned, “You’ve never been to the Citadel before?”

Kallan is silent for a few moments, other pedestrians passing behind them, “I’ve been cooped up in a Cerberus facility for most of the time I’ve been alive. Brooks kept me there, taught me what I needed to know. Walking, talking, learning how to exist. There wasn’t time for vids or games or whatever else, I was learning how to be you. I’m probably the most mal-adjusted thirty year old to ever exist, to be entirely honest.”

She isn’t sure how to answer that. Her clone was mature, probably recreated with similar neural pathways to put her right at the mental age of thirty, but her memories aren’t there. They aren’t her’s, and she’s...

Still a person. A person with no idea of friendship, comradery, even love. If she did, it was probably skewed by Brook’s treatment of her.

“I’m sorry.”

Kallan raises an eyebrow, “Why? It isn’t as if you were the one that created me.”

“No. But...” What answer even is there? She feels a bit guilty, as if there was something she could’ve done or should’ve done to prevent what’d happened, but there isn’t anything she can think of short of not coming back at all, “It’s not fair what happened to you.”

“I don’t think fair mattered when they woke me up.” Another lightwork goes off, the crowd roaring with excitement. Kallan’s expression lifts into something more wistful while the green lights plays with the shadows on her face, “I don’t have childhood memories, and sometimes I don’t know where you end and I begin.”

“You’re your own person now, Kallan. You’re free to do whatever you want now.”

“I’ve never known true freedom.” The other woman leans against the railing again, rocking back and forth on her heels, “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure what to do with it. It goes against everything I was trained to do.”

“Nothing wrong with breaking a few boundaries.”

“Maybe so.” Kallan says. She gently pulls at the hair on her head, “That freedom does spell something other than looking exactly the same as you now.”

“Got any ideas on what you’ll do?”

“Nothing yet. Lawson -- Miranda, she suggested a new hair color. EDI suggested something far more drastic, but I’m not partial to artificial eye colors. Or tattoos.” Kallan says, softly smiling, “Red maybe. Or blue. Or maybe I should shave it all off. If I had any credits, I might buy something that’s not black or Alliance blue.”

“I’ll see what I can do about it. I don’t have many of my own I can offer you, but I’ll transfer over some funds.”

“Oh.” Her surprise is genuine, yet the idea seems to please her, “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s the least I could do. I wouldn’t toss you to the wolves like that for fun.”

“I suppose I should think more highly of you.” Kallan tilts her head skyward, “Regardless, I should actually be thanking you for what you’ve already done for me.”

“I’d think I’d be one of the last people you’re thanking.”

“I’d be spattered somewhere in the wards if you hadn’t stopped to help. If you’d let me go.” Kallan says, “If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I could have done that. You’re a good person, Shepard. Guess I wish I was too.”

“Well, you didn’t take the opportunity to kill me in my sleep last night. I think that’s a step in the right direction.”

Kallan chuckles, “That’s only because Alenko would have noticed.” Seeing Kodelyn’s stunned expression she crookedly grins, “But you’re right. If I wanted to, I would have.”

“Kallan, I’m not sure how to take that. You did try to kill me, on my own ship. Only a few days ago.”

“I’m serious, believe it or not. If I killed you, I’d be blamed, and then where would we be? It wouldn’t benefit me at all.” She shrugs. Her voice gets softer, “I wouldn’t want to kill the only person who’s shown me any real respect.”

“Yeah. I trust you won’t try anything against me, and hopefully not my crew either.”

“It’d be the same outcome. I might not have your mind, but I am smarter than that.” She steps away from the railing, glancing around at the people nearby, “Fun how I’m only discovering this side of life at the end of the world as we know it.”

Lightworks crackle above their heads, bathing them in white light speckled with red. Kodelyn puts a hand on her shoulder, “Better late than never.”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Like it Never Happened, chapter 1: Welcome Back

Sorry this is late. I don’t know if this is going to be a one-off or if there will be more. Either way, I hope you enjoy this post-ink hell Samsie story.

---

Susie’s first day back in the real world had gone so well. After she’d tumbled out of the ink machine, which had been moved into a government research facility after Henry Stein had escaped their dimension and alerted the authorities, she’d been greeted by the researchers there. A worker on site had helped connect her to her nearest living relative and arranged her to meet with a lawyer in roughly the same area a few days later- as one might imagine, many strange legal and practical difficulties are bound to pop up when one is assumed dead for nearly twenty years. After that, she’d a long trip back to her sister, who had welcomed her with tear-filled eyes and open arms. She’d gotten to pet her sister’s German Shepard and eat real food for the first time in ages. After she’d settled into the guest room, there was only one decision left for Susie to make, and she thought she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number that the woman at the research lab had given her. She’d been told that the man it belonged to wasn’t sure if she’d want to talk, but had wanted to give her the option.

“Hello?” a voice answered. Was that how Sammy had sounded before his inking? Susie couldn’t remember.

“Hello, is this Sammy Lawrence?”

“Yes, and this is?”

“Susie Campbell. The woman who revived me gave me your number. She said that you wanted to speak with me, but only if I was willing to. So… what is it, Sammy?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I sent the same message to Jack, too, and a few others that I knew before everything happened. I guess after being their leader for so long, it just felt weird to suddenly be out and be told that it was in someone else’s hands.”

Susie blushed. “Oh.”

“What? What is it?”

“Sorry, I guess I was just jumping to conclusions. I thought that you might’ve given me this number because you wanted… I don’t know- forgiveness, or…” the thought honestly seemed to silly to say aloud now. And Susie wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see him- lord knew what a tangled ball of emotions that was- but, she did sort of want him to want to see her.

A slightly irritable tone crept into Sammy’s warm voice. “I’m not begging you for forgiveness. Same way I’m not blaming you for- well, you know. Point is, let’s leave that world behind us.”

“Okay. Sorry, I kind of only got out this morning.” She paused. “Do you ever see any of the others, Sammy? Do you still talk?”

“Not really. I still talk to some of my cult members over the phone, but they’ve all kind of scattered to the winds. Where are you living right now?”

Finally, an indication that he wanted to see her! “I’m about an hour from New York City. I’m living with my sister right now. Of course, I’m going to try and get a job and my own place as soon as possible, but yeah, for now I’m here.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m living in New York. So… would you be willing to see me? Not as a date- just as an ex-ink creature to ex-ink creature sort of thing.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“So, tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

So, the next day, Susie found herself in New York City, waiting in a Café for Sammy to arrive. This was exciting, and a little nerve-wracking. Would they get along as though nothing had happened? Would she scared and wary around him, just as she had been between her transformation into Alice and her imprisonment? She hadn’t noticed it until she was back in the bustling city, but she had gotten awfully jumpy- like a part of her hadn’t realized that death wasn’t lurking around each corner anymore. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too obvious to Sammy. And then- would Sammy be different as well?

Finally, Sammy arrived. He looked just about the same as he always had- the scientists had really done a good job at reconstructing their bodies. The fact that they’d neglected to put details like pores or veins on their skin made them look either like wax figures or like airbrushed models, depending on who you asked.

“Hey. Enjoying being human again?” Sammy asked, sitting down across from her.

“Sure beats the alternative. So, how long have you been out?”

“Thirty-two days. Oh my God, are they still handing out those, ‘your new body’ brochures?”

Susie laughed. “The ones that are half like one of those books you give kids who are goin’ through puberty and half like an ad for a super-realistic doll? Yep. I bought us some scones, by the way.”

Sammy took one and thanked her. “I never thought of them that way, but that hits the nail on the head. ‘Make sure to wash properly! Your hair and skin are like real!’ Yeah. Sure they are. Real enough, though.”

“And I just love the fact that they decided to give me a pulse, but only on my left wrist. I mean, what- did they think that I’d complain if I couldn’t check my ‘heartrate’?”

“Wait, you have a pulse?”

“Oh, is that new?”

“I guess. I wouldn’t spend an extra month in the studio for it, that’s for sure!”

Susie laughed. “Oh my God. So someone did complain about it!”

Sammy laughed a little as well. “So, do you have anything that you always told yourself that you’d do the second you were out of that place?”

“Well, we had some plants in my area of the studio. They were the same colour as everything else, of course- and they felt like paper. Only living thing that I wasn’t destroying and they only made the place feel deader. I told myself that if I ever got out, I’d never take living things for granted again.”

Sammy smiled. “Yeah. I was a lot like that, too. Well, it’s your first day out. Want to go appreciate some living things?”

Susie heartily agreed to the idea, and so as soon as the two of them were finished with their scones, Sammy led her to a greenhouse. Susie loved it. There were flowering plants in every possible colour. Sammy ended up buying her one that she could keep in her room- a beautiful purple flowering plant called a “Gloxinia.” For a moment, the two of them could have almost forgotten that anything had happened, and for Sammy that was rare. It seemed to Sammy that almost everything was aesthetically different now, and he had never quite shaken off the feeling that he was some kind of time traveller. With Susie here now, though, gushing over stuff like she used to, he almost wanted to kiss her and ask her if she wanted to see Kings Row at one of the new fancy in-colour theatres.

After walking Susie to the bus stop, she’d stopped and looked back at him, as though considering giving him a kiss. Sammy hadn’t stopped her. Maybe, he thought, he should have.

He couldn’t base their relationship on the lie that nothing had happened. Something had happened. And Sammy felt it the moment her bus had taken off. He’d heard something- he wasn’t sure what- that reminded him of the Projectionist’s roar and stumbled away in fear so quickly that he nearly ran into oncoming traffic. He was used to that kind of thing by now, and was able to take a few deep breaths and calm down, the only consequence of his outburst being a few strange looks. It hadn’t been that way when he’d only been out a few days. Something had happened. And if Susie hadn’t felt it yet, she would.

It would be nice if they could support each other through this. But their relationship had been so flimsy back in the 1930s. Could it even survive while they were both battling demons? Not unless it was much stronger than it was back then. And Sammy was tempted to just let things keep going in the direction they were going, to let things sort themselves out. Things would not be as picture perfect as this… (is it still called a first date when you were dating decades ago and never really broke up so much as betrayed each other horribly and became bitter enemies who did horrible violent things to each other while under the influence of a supernatural substance which is no longer in the picture?) outing, moreso than it was for all relationships compared to their honeymoon phase- that was for sure. But, if they were both enjoying it, what was the harm? They were different people now. Maybe they could make it work.

[not-all-that-chic]

A Summer With You

Yoongi x Reader [Hybrid!AU]

“ Nearing my graduation, the stress of being alone when the time comes forces me to make a decision: befriending a hybrid. ”

trans. | I want this one to last forever.

genre | Angst, Fluff

wordcount | 10.8k

warnings | language, sexual themes, implied rape, abuse, character death

rec. track | ♫ ♩

The phone rang a few times. I chuckle at my friend; she never picks up. Finally, she answers and she breaths into the line.

"Did you run to the phone again?"

"Okay. Let me explain."

I laugh.

"So, I was jamming to my ringtone hella hard. Cause you know how Skyway is my favorite song."

"It is. Uh-huh."

"So then I realized, wait, that's my phone ringing! So I ran— but I picked up!"

"It's okay," I sigh into the phone. Typical of her. "I actually wanted to ask where you got Peanut from."

"My dog?"

"Yeah, your dog Peanut."

"It's on the Gangju and Huanghe intersection. It's a really nice pet store-"

And I wince.

"—Okay I know you hate pet stores, but I'm just saying that's where I got Peanut from. My dad came and bought him for me as a birthday gift."

"I wanted to go to a shelter to get a pet. Not a pet store."

"I totally understand that! But recently, with all the hybrids being thrown into shelters, full-blown animals are getting less frequent in shelters."

"That's horrible. Both the fact they're euthanizing innocent animals for space and the fact they have humanoids in animal shelters." I frown.

Ever since scientists discovered a way to cross humans and animals, hybrid pets have become the norm. And the problem with that is that although they don't have the intelligence of humans, they shouldn't be treated so horribly.

On top of that, over half of the hybrids are born with defects and live about as long as their animal counterparts. It's disgusting. I would go as far as to say that they shouldn't exist, for their own sake.

"I think you should get a pet. You've been stressed right?"

"Yeah. I'm close to graduating and I'm really panicking over my thesis."

"Maybe you should just get a boyfriend. Bet that would help."

I blush.

"Okayyyy. Bye." I hold the phone in front of my face.

"Bye~"

After hanging up, I look around my decorated and furnished apartment, but then realize despite its fullness, it feels empty. Maybe I should check out that pet store she talked about. With that in mind, I grab my keys, lock the door and go to my car.

As I drive to the store, I ponder. Who exactly gave scientists the bright idea to create hybrids? Humans and animals have evolved differently, so why combine them? The hybrids are entirely dependent on humans, like dogs or cats, but much more pricey and difficult to care for.

Not to mention how fetishized they are in the media or fiction. Why on Earth would someone want to have sex with a hybrid? It's just...unethical.

And that's not even the worst of it.

Before I know it, I've arrived at the store. The Flower Pot. A name much more fitting for a floral shop than a pet store.

I'm greeted at the entrance: "Welcome to the Flower Pot! Where friendship grows!" A boy with a boxy grin practically screams at me.

I suppose that's where they get the name. Not resisting my curiosity, I explore the well kept and cute store. The floors have a cute, sparkly confetti pattern and each section is labeled with a scripted, pink sign. It's cute. I find myself smiling at the fish tanks with soft pink sand beds.

I tap a glass with a bright yellow fish. It swims away, kicking up little bubbles. In another tank, there's a small, lime-green salamander.

"Need some help?" I jump at the voice. When I turn around, I'm greeted by a tall and kind looking boy. His name tag reads 'Jungkook'. He's smiling, looking like a bunny himself.

"Oh. I'm looking for a companion."

"Okay! Follow me then please!" He walks quickly and I'm almost left behind. I speed past a few cat cages until we reach the back of the store. There are at least ten glass containers lining the walls.

All of which holding hybrids. I nearly vomit. I feel sick just watching them. Jungkook motions me forward. One of the hybrids jumps forward, his cute, black kitty ears standing up.

"Hello! I'm Jimin!" Surprisingly, he talks! Why are such intelligent...creatures being held captive in enclosed spaces?!

"I'm sorry, Jungkook, but I'm not interested in a hybrid."

"What?" He asks, eyes wide. "Why not?"

"I don't think a hybrid should be enclosed in a space barely big enough to fit a dog. I also think it's wrong to have them as pets. It's inhumane." He smiles.

"I completely agree, but my friend told me something once. Uhhh," he pauses, trying to remember.

"Oh right! "If you take one and treat it how it should be, then that's one less hybrid being treated badly." Or something like that." He rubs his neck and chuckles.

That's an incredible point. If everyone were to take that initiative, maybe hybrids could begin to live well. Or at least better than they are currently.

"Jungkook!"

"Oh! Sorry. Taehyung is calling me. I'll be right back, okay, Miss?" He doesn't wait for me to respond as he runs to the front of the store.

As soon as I return my attention back to the wall, Jimin is smiling at me patiently.

"Your name is Jimin, right?"

"Yes. You're really pretty and smart. Can you please take me home?" His eyes are wide and sparkly. That's too cute. And really shocking. Something slams against the glass on the container to Jimin's left.

"No! Take me home! Please please please please please-" I walk in front of the container, and the dog hybrid's tail wags wildly. His face and smile instantly brighten.

"Hello. What's-"

"I'm Hoseok! It's so nice to meet you! You're so nice! And your hands look soft! Can I touch your hand please?!" His energy catches me by surprise, but I smile and reach a hand forward into one of the little holes in front of him.

The Golden Retriever hybrid eagerly shoves his head under my hand. I giggle at his reaction.

"Wow wow wow! I'm right! Please take me home! I hate being in this box! I wanna run around and lay down on your bed so you can pet me some more—PLEEEAASEEE?!"

The reality hits me once again. These hybrids are captive. They want to leave so badly. I step back and remove my hand. Hoseok whines, but eventually just sits down. They're probably used to being rejected.

On Hoseok's left is an empty box. Beside Jimin there is a sleeping dog hybrid of a larger breed. German Shepard by the looks of it. For the most part, the containers are empty. I assume it's because people have already adopted them. To a good home, I hope.

A furry tail at the very end catches my attention. I walk to it and notice this container is far away from the others. Inside, the hybrid flinches upon seeing me and backs deeper into the corner.

His build is significantly smaller than the others. He's as skinny as a stick. Now I see his tail is patchy and missing fur in some areas, where the skin looks more like a human's skin than an animal's skin. The ears are huge— almost as big as his head — and split at the tip. While the inside of the ears is furless and an angry red color. And his eyes are black and beady, to the point I can't see the pupil.

A mutated hybrid, no doubt. He looks frail and he knows it. I hold back my angry tears and kneel down, to appear less scary.

"Hi," I tell him my name and make my voice as small as possible. He watches me, silent and cautious.

"Hi," he responds. The smile on my face is warm and I'm sure he can feel it.

"What's your name?"

"...Yoongi."

"It's nice to meet you, Yoongi." His body relaxes and he uncurls his legs. The clothing on his body are clean, but they look old. And he doesn't have shoes on.

I scoot closer to him and reach my hand out. He quickly gets defensive, eyes wide, as his back tries to swallow the wall.

"I promise I won't hurt you, Yoongi." He blinks multiple times and furrows his brows.

Finally, he creeps forward, just enough for me to brush the tip of my fingers against his ears. They're the softest thing I've ever touched. He shivers and his eyes are wide in wonder. Despite his weird appearance and mutated genes, he's cute. Someone like Yoongi doesn't belong here. None of these hybrids do.

"Can I ask what you are?"

"...Chinchilla." My mouth gapes in shock. I've never heard of a Chinchilla hybrid. He notices my expression. "Is that...bad?"

"No!" He flinches at my pitch and I quickly apologize. "It's not bad at all. You're really special." His eyes take me in as if I'm the greatest thing to exist. I blush. He raises his hand toward the glass, but before he does—

—Yoongi backs away from my hand.

"Find any you want to adopt?" Jungkook comes running back, his Timberland's stomping with each step. Once I look back to Yoongi, he's back to his corner, as if nothing happened.

"I-"

"Yoongi? Did you like Yoongi?" The employee sounds like he's going to burst. I look back to Yoongi. His eyes have changed as we share eye contact.

"Yes."

"W-wow! That's great! Did you hear that Yoongi?! Someone's taking you home!"

"Why do you sound so excited?" His expression changes as he motions me away from Yoongi's cage.

He whispers, "Yoongi has been here for a very long time."

"How long?" Jungkook's sad smile tells me everything.

"Since he's a mutated and frail hybrid, no one has wanted to adopt him. He's very quiet, too."

It makes tears gather in my eyes. People are so cruel. Yoongi may have some defects, but he's never had contact with anyone outside of that cage. His shyness is a result of his lack of interaction. How could he possibly be at fault?!

"What about the other hybrids?"

"NamJoon is that sleeping hybrid-" he points to the dark-haired dog hybrid "-Is scheduled for an adoption tomorrow."

"How long has he been here?"

"About a month. It takes longer for hybrids to get adopted. As for Hobi and Jimin, they've been here for two weeks. But they're so friendly, they could be adopted any time soon."

Frowning, I look back to Yoongi, whose eyes haven't left mine. I don't understand animals— or even humans —much, but I can tell Yoongi doesn't want to be here anymore.

"Can I adopt him?"

"Yoongi? Of course! He's $1,000." My jaw drops at the price.

"What?"

"That's extremely cheap for a hybrid. Most average hybrids go for around $5,000. The rare ones anywhere from $10,000 and up."

"Is it because he's mutated?" Jungkook looks melancholic when he nods.

"He's also very old for a Chinchilla. After all, hybrids take the lifespans of the animal." Clenching my teeth, I grip my shirt angrily.

"I'm a college student. I can't afford that..."

"...It's okay. Don't feel bad. You can come to visit him anytime. Just... don't tell my boss I let you, okay? She would have my ass." After he finishes whispering, he goes over to Jimin's cage and pets the cat hybrid.

I sigh and stuff my hands in my pockets. I'm so sorry Yoongi. Checking the time, I realize it's time for me to go study. Giving Yoongi one last look, I wave.

He jumps— cute —and waves back.

"I'll be back, Yoongi. I promise."

My day consisted of boring lectures and an empty evening shift. Time seemed to have passed at a snail's pace. I— for some reason beyond my own consciousness —was anxious to see Yoongi again. Maybe I pitied him, for having lived so long in those glass containers. Alone. Never played with. And in his final years of life. I can't be certain the other hybrids were adopted into good families.

But something is better than nothing.

I grip the steering wheel tightly and sigh. Yoongi was not ugly. He was cheap. Maybe soft-spoken, but he is bound to make someone happy.

My feet tap on the wet concrete. The door jingles from the rusted bells above. The Flower Pot. Sad in its name, as if hiding the fact it kept hybrids. At the counter was Taehyung again.

"Oh! Welcome back! Are you here to see Yoongi?"

"Yes." His face softens.

"That's so nice of you. What's your name?" I tell him my name and smile.

"I'm Taehyung, but you could just read my name tag to find that out. Thanks for coming back. You're welcome here any time." Nodding, I stuff my keys into my pocket and walk to the back where the hybrids are.

Jimin is gone. Did someone adopt him? Hoseok greets me happily, letting out a bark-like sound.

"Oh oh oh oh! You're back! I'm so happy! Welcome back! Can you pet me?! Please? I missed you!" It's fascinating how animal-like hybrids are. But so much more intelligent.

"Sure, Hoseok." I pet his soft hair and his leg hits the wall.

"I'm okay! I do that by accident. Sorry."

"It's okay. And can I ask you something?"

"Of course, but please keep petting me!" He closes his eyes, his huge tail thumping against the wall and his leg shaking.

"What happened to Jimin?" His tail falters and his eyes open, reflecting something sad.

"He got adopted yesterday..."

"What's wrong?" I ask, sympathetic. Seeing this bright pup so upset squeezes something inside me. His ears flatten on his head.

"The man that adopted him kept pulling on his collar. And his d-daughter..." tears prickle his eyes.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to tell me anything." I gently run my fingers through his hair. He shakes his head and leans toward my hand.

"N-no. I can do it. His daughter, she was grabbing him."

"How so?"

"Grabbing his...pee pee." I feel bile in my throat.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault. Jimin... he was so sad. I don't want him to be used like a... sex doll." Before I know it, a tear trickles down my cheek.

"I wish I could have done something." Hoseok smiles up at me with hope.

"I know you would have. I can tell." Hoseok touches his chest. "You have a big heart."

Choking on a sob, I lean my head against the glass. Hoseok does the same.

"I wish it could be better. Hybrids are people too. You don't deserve this..." Hoseok starts making a strange rumbling noise. Not a purr, but like a soft growl. It's not comforting, but it's his effort that counts.

"Bonding with Hobi, huh?" I jump and turn around. Jungkook. Embarrassed, I stand up and look anywhere except him. "Hey! No need to be shy. Me and Tae talk to them, too."

"Oh. That's good of you guys."

"I'm really really happy you came back to see Yoongi. And Hobi, too, now since Jimin and NamJoon are gone." When I look back at the containers, only Hobi and Yoongi are left. The latter of which I hadn't noticed. But he's watching me, awe written all over his face, hands pressed against the glass.

It's as if he couldn't believe I would come back.

"I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Where do you guys find the hybrids?" Jungkook brings his finger to his chin in thought.

"I'm not sure. Only my boss knows that. But by the end of the month, these containers are occupied again. Well, except the hybrids that aren't adopted." Frowning, I think back to Yoongi.

"How long has Yoongi been here, exactly?"

"Sorry. Confidential. My boss tells me I can't tell the customers Yoongi's age." He rubs his neck with an awkward smile.

I shift my weight on my leg and cross my arms. This boss of his must be a horrible person.

"Why?"

"It makes him more appealing to buy, not that it has ever worked. When I tell you Yoongi has been here a long time, I mean a long time. You can't imagine." Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. There's no way no one has never shown interest in Yoongi. It's unfathomable. I look back at the hybrid who is sitting there fiddling with some hairs on his tail— cute.

"Sorry. I just-"

"It's okay. It's okay. I was like that, too, when I got hired." He sighs and turns around. "Listen, I gotta go restock the shelves. You have a good night."

"Thank you. You, too." When he leaves, I turn toward Yoongi. His eyes widen when I look at him. Smiling, I go to sit in front of his container. He curls into himself, making himself smaller.

"Hi, Yoongi."

"Hi..." I come closer to the glass and he looks down.

"How are you?"

He blinks, mouth opening and closing before giving me a simple, "Okay."

"Really? Tell me about your day?" He vigorously shakes his head and brushes his tail. "No? How about I'll tell you about mine, then you tell me about yours?" Yoongi considers it a while and eventually nods.

"I had a really boring day. I sat in a class all day and then my work was empty. There weren't any customers."

"Was it...big?" His question caught me off guard.

"The class?" He nods. "Yeah! It's like the size of five of this store."

His mouth opens wide, a cute sound of awe escaping. It makes me smile.

When I first met Yoongi, I thought he would be more aggressive, but he's so gentle and adorable.

"So what about you, Yoongi?" He jumps, probably still thinking about how big the class was.

"Me?"

"Yeah. Tell me about your day."

The hybrid looks down. Something unintelligible is said under his breath. If my ears don't deceive me, he just whispered, "It's not important..."

"Of course it's important. Your day was really important. I think it's important." He grips his tail again.

"I slept."

"What did you dream about?" Yoongi whips his head up toward me. His eyes blow out and suddenly he squirms. I see his Adam's apple bob as he places his hand on the glass. I put mine on the glass above his hand.

"Oh. Ah... I can't tell you."

"Why not?" I put my hands on my hips playfully. He leans against the glass.

"C-can you..." his words trail off shyly.

"Hm?"

He shifts around and quickly blurts, "Can you pet me like you pet Hoseok?" It takes me a moment to understand what he's asking, but when I do, I smile softly.

"Yoongi, you're really cute." And unexpectedly, he sputters in embarrassment.

"W-why?" Once I pet his head, he starts shaking.

"Because you're so sweet and well-mannered. And physically, you're cute." He leans into my hand further and finally, I can really feel the softness of his hair and ears. Chinchillas really are soft. His face is practically pressed against the glass. And his whole body seems to react to my touch. It's fascinating to watch him slowly warm up to me.

My watch ruins the moment as it beeps loudly. Yoongi jumps away with a small squeak— so darn cute —as I look down. I frown when I realize it's time for me to leave.

"Sorry, Yoongi. I have to leave." As I begin standing up, his hand reaches out of the hole to grab my sleeve. But I suppose it was a thing of the moment since he retracted it as soon as it came. Judging by his uncertain expression, I know what is worrying him.

"I promise I'll be back again tomorrow," I say as I rub behind his ears. This time a little smile appears on his face.

The next day when I return, it's a bit earlier in the day since I would be working late night. I skipped my free period to come and spend a while with Yoongi.

When I arrive, Jungkook is at the counter instead of Taehyung. He smiles and waves.

"Welcome! You're here at a different time today." Leaning against the counter, he places his head on his palms.

"Yeah. I work late today. I didn't want to miss seeing the hybrids though." Jungkook stands up straight.

"Oh! I think Tae is in the back with a customer. I think Hoseok might get adopted."

"Okay. Thanks, Jungkook." At what he said, I don't know if I should be happy or worried. Who knows who will adopt Hoseok.

When I reach the back of the store, there's a thin, gangly looking man in a pinstripe suit. His beard is patchy and his eyes are thin, bags underneath. Hoseok is outside of his cage, a leash around his neck. Once I get over his height, I notice the sad look in his eyes. His whole body seems to sag.

"-Here are the papers, sir." Taehyung hands the man a folder as the man frowns.

"Why this mutt got so many papers?" The man's Chicago accent is thick as he tugs on Hoseok's leash. The Golden Retriever hybrid flinches and comes down. I step forward more. Gosh, I want to stab this man.

"It's policy when adopting a hybrid to have all their information. They are part human." Taehyung's voice is tight, although his expression betrays nothing.

"Human? This mutt's about as smart as an acorn!" The man laughs.

"Actually, dog hybrids are among the smartest, especially a Golden Retriever like Hoseok-"

"This thing ain't good for nothing except sex and killing. That's why they were created, kid. Don't be giving me none of that pretty shit." Hoseok whimpers at his words. The man pulls on Hoseok's leash harshly, making the poor pup cough and bend over. Taehyung sighs and clenches his fist.

I see red and can't bear to watch a second longer. Stomping over to the man, he sees my approach.

"What you-" I sock him in the eye and hit his pressure point. He falls to the ground. Heaving, my lips pulled in a snarl, I bend over my knees. My anger made me breathless. How can this man be so stupid and heartless and just horrible to treat a kind hybrid like Hoseok like that?! Hybrids should have never been created, to avoid suffering like this. I can't recall a hybrid ever being treated well.

"Thank you," Taehyung tells me once I've calmed down. I'm shocked.

"What?"

Hoseok jumps me, whimpering and whining and tears staining my shirt.

"I would have done that myself, but my boss would have fired me. I hate people like that."

"Why are you and Jungkook working here if you know what goes on?" I ask, outraged. Hobi's buries his head into my shirt.

"I trust you, so I'll let you in on a secret."

"Okay?"

"We've actually been freeing hybrids secretly. You remember how I told you about NamJoon?" I nod. "Me and Jungkook and a few other friends have been combining money to buy the hybrids and release them to hybrid sanctuaries."

My mouth is agape. So is this store... is a front? No way. They can't afford to release every hybrid. And Hoseok was just about to get purchased.

"What about the hybrids that don't get freed?"

"Well..." he smiles sadly, regret swimming in his eyes. "We can't save them all."

"I see..."

"That's why I'm glad you knocked out that guy. Hoseok can stay longer and that buys us time." Upon hearing his name, Hoseok parts from me and asks me to take his leash off.

"What about Yoongi?" The words pour out like vomit: uncontrolled and with a bitter taste.

"The owner...keeps him." My mouth is agape in horror. I can't stop myself from dry heaving. Why is there something so horrible going on behind the scenes? Where does this person get the hybrids? Do they abuse the others?

"The only reason we told you the price is that we thought you might actually take him. People don't even glance his way anymo-"

"What does your boss do with him?!" Taehyung shushes me to keep my voice down.

"I don't know. But I've stayed overnight a few times. I can hear things." I can't believe my friend bought a dog from this store. It makes my stomach lurch at the thought.

“What kind of things?”

“...Moaning-” Taehyung winces as soon as he says it. I cover my mouth in shock and disgust. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. That’s so horrible.”

"Every time I see Yoongi in that thing pressed against that corner, I feel so sorry. I feel sorry for his existence." Hoseok notices my distress and envelops me in a hug, rocking me back and forth.

"I won't stop visiting. I'll save up money. I want to take Yoongi away from here," I tell Taehyung with determination.

"Please do. I'm sure Yoongi would be so happy to hear that." Hoseok yawns and Taehyung chuckles.

"Wanna know something? He stares at the door every time that bell jingles. Yoongi."

"Really? I'm glad he's so fond of me." I grin and go to sit in front of Yoongi's cage. He comes up to me quickly and leans his head on the glass. Taehyung tells Hoseok to get back into his container and the hybrid falls asleep as soon as his head hits the blanket. He leaves Yoongi and me alone.

"Yoongi." He smiles. Just smiles. Can hearing his name make him that happy?

"Hi." He sounds less shy today. "You know what I dreamt about?" It visibly shocks me to hear him initiating the conversation.

"Sorry, sir. You probably were drunk."

"Damn. Can't remember anything."

"Shall I escort you to the door?"

"Yeah whatever."

"What did you dream about?"

"...You." His face is buried deep into his hands and I find myself blushing. That was...cute. For lack of better words.

"What about me?" I press him. He shakes his head, shy again. It probably already took so much for him to say that. "What if I say please?"

"Maybe..."

"Fine. Yoongi, will you please tell me what your dream about me was about?" Reaching toward his ears, I pet the soft, but slightly mangled appendages. Despite his mutations— no, because of his mutations —I find him so beautiful.

"I dreamt that I was holding your hand..." It makes my heart feel so weak. My whole body is warm and happy at hearing it.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" He looks back at me as his beady eyes search mine.

"...Can I?" His question is so innocent.

"Of course!" I stop petting him and hold my hand out. And for a while, Yoongi stares at it, as if he has never seen a hand before. As if my hand is sculpted by God himself. For Yoongi, it might just be that way.

Finally, his fingers brush mine and I feel my whole body alight. It was strange. His hand awkwardly wraps around mine. I laugh. He looks at me in confusion, eyebrows furrowed.

"Did I...do it right?"

"Mm. Sort of. Like this-" I interlace my fingers with his, feeling his digits slide with mine perfectly. His hands are warm and sweaty, a product of his high body temperature and nervousness.

He looks at our hands and moves them around, awestruck. Smiling, I come closer to be more comfortable. Yoongi closes his eyes and pets his tail with his free hand. A soft smile forms on his lips.

"I like it."

"Me, too." We sit in silence as he eventually leans against the glass. This makes me so happy. I've had so many friends, boyfriends, pets and yet none make me feel quite like this. So utterly complete. I want to know Yoongi more, but for now, this is enough.

"Thank you." Laughing, I watch the smile on his face transform into a gum-filled grin. He looks content.

"For what?"

"Coming to see me." I lean against the glass and he does the same.

A whole week passes. My semester finals had me staying up night after night and I didn't even have time in the day to eat. Day in and day out: studying. But I couldn't contain my joy— and guilt for not being able to see the hybrids —once I heard those familiar rusty bells jingle.

"Woah. You look worse for wear." Languidly, I turn to Taehyung at the counter.

"Thanks. Finals have not been gentle on me."

"I'm sure seeing Yoongi and Hoseok will brighten you up. I heard that animals and hybrids can reduce stress."

I yawn and send him a lazy thumbs up. He laughs.

"He missed you!" He yells at me once I'm past the entrance. It puts a smile on my face. I missed Yoongi, too. How has he been without me here to talk to him? Despite the guilt, I couldn't put aside my health and future for Yoongi. But now I was wholeheartedly his.

"Hi hi hi hi!" Something big and warm tackles me. And licks my neck? I wiggle in discomfort at being attacked. The person latched onto me eventually removes himself. I'm greeted by a beautiful heart-shaped smile.

"Hey, Hoseok," I say as I pinch his cheek. The hybrid gets off quickly and runs around excitedly.

"Oh boy! We should play! Let's play!" He runs somewhere in the store, effectively leaving my sight. My eyes drift and I see Yoongi on the floor, legs criss-cross and with a bowl of soup on his lap. When we lock eyes, he jumps and looks away.

Was he...mad at me?

I finally hear Jungkook chuckle. He was probably hearing the commotion.

"Nice to see you back. You came at a good time."

"Yeah. I was about to ask."

"For about thirty minutes three times a day, we take the hybrids out to eat and play-"

"Kookie, can I please use this ball?!" Hoseok rams into Jungkook. The employee laughs but shakes his head.

"Sorry, Hobi. You know I can't let you play with merchandise." And even as Hoseok whines, Jungkook stays strong. The Golden Retriever pouts and sits down to chow down on his food, making a huge mess. I laugh.

"How have they been?"

"Hoseok missed you a little, but fine. Yoongi, though, he asked for you every day."

"Be quiet!" Said boy protests, his cheeks big and lips pressed into a pout.

I walk over to him and grab his empty hand. He gasps and looks our hands.

"Sorry I didn't visit. I was really busy. I missed you, too."

His face softens and he smiles, but he decides to be stubborn as he looks away from me.

"Prove it."

"I will." With that, I gently bring him into my arms and press his head to my shoulder, treating him like fragile glass. He tenses up and I see his fists clench. I shush him to make him calm down.

His body feels warm and soft like a blanket. I pet his head and play with the hair around his neck.

He squeaks. I giggle. Eventually, he returns the hug and nuzzles into my shoulder, shaking and squeaking. We relax as I hum softly near his ear.

"Wow. I knew Chinchillas could squeak and shake, but I've never seen Yoongi do it. He wayyyy likes you," Jungkook explains as he begins picking up the food dishes.

Yoongi— for such a small hybrid —is still strong, since his iron grip doesn't want to let go.

"Come on, Yoongi. It's time for you to get back in your container-" I hear something gets knocked over. "-You, too, Hoseok!"

"Nooooo. I'm not tired yet!" Hoseok jumps up and down like a spoiled kid.

Patting Yoongi's back, he finally let's go. We both stand up. Yoongi looks so small and frail curled inside his cage, but he's still taller than me.

Jungkook unlocks the boys' containers and he practically forces Hoseok inside. Before going to crawl into his container, Yoongi turns around and smiles at me. He places on my head.

"You're small."

.

.

.

Was that him playing around with me? For some reason, it sends a flutter in my stomach and straight to my soul.

"You're not that tall, either!" Yoongi grins and hugs me again, placing his chin on my head.

He let's go and says, "It's okay. I like it." For once, it's me blushing furiously and not him. Crawling into his own, Jungkook comes to lock it, but Yoongi puts his hand up to stop him. Reaching his hand out to me, I interlace my fingers with his.

"Come back. Please." And as commanding as it sounds, it's accompanied by a shy smile and a Yoongi blush.

"Of course. I really promise to come every day from now on, okay?"

"Okay." He sits against the wall as Jungkook finally locks him up.

His gummy smile is on his face again, I send him my own. Shyly, he asks, "...Pinky promise?"

Giggling, I reach through the hole and interlace my pinky with his.

And at that moment, I made a decision. I would save up and buy Yoongi. Somehow I would save up those $1,000.

"Anatomy is canceled for the day. You're all about to graduate. Enjoy some freedom. I have to go somewhere." The whole auditorium erupts in cheers. People quickly disperse and those that don't, talk to their friends.

"Hey," my friend grabs my attention. "Let's get outta here?"

"Alright." We grab our bags and walk down the steps and out of the door. The hallways are mostly vacant. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the pet shop."

"Oh yeah! I've been so busy I forgot to ask."

I rub my forehead. How typical of her. Jennie is either ditsy or cold, there is no in between.

"I actually didn't adopt anything."

"What? Why not?"

"To be honest, the moment I got there, this guy led me to the hybrid cages." When I finish saying this, Jennie looks sad.

We make it outside to the park near the labs.

"Hybrids are so cool and cute, but have you heard the news?" We settle down on a bench.

"What?"

"Since hybrid anatomy is so close to humans, they've been experimenting on them. And the government for some reason is totally okay with it."

"It's sad, but at this point, what can we do." I shake my head.

"Sorry for interrupting. What were you saying?"

I cross my arms and start, "When I went, I saw a mutated hybrid. He's been there for so long that the employees don't even want to tell me."

"Aww. Poor guy."

"Yeah. I was really considering buying him, but even with all those issues he's still $1,000." Jennie frowns and leans her head on my shoulder.

"Hybrids shouldn't be bought and sold. That's so...wrong!" Nodding, I sigh.

"About a week ago, I've started taking extra shifts. I want to get him out of there."

"Seriously?!" Jennie gets off my shoulder and watches me. I lock eyes with her and furrow my brows. "Holy shit! You're serious!"

"Yes," I whisper, as I smile at the thought of the hybrid I met a month ago. He's really so sweet, although he has some sassy moments. And of course, he's always so excited to see me. Yoongi is also handsome, a great bonus. I've grown to care for him beyond an owner and pet— not that it was ever like that anyway.

"Hey. What's with that face?" Jennie pokes my side with a dumb grin. "You looooveee him?"

"...I actually haven't thought about that. Maybe."

"Wait what?! I was joking! But if you do, then go for it. Hybrid and human relationships are..."

"Well, I hope in the future, it will be accepted." Jennie goes back to her side.

Silence passes over us.

If I can adopt Yoongi, will I be able to support both of us? What does he eat? How does he sleep? Bathe? What does he like? Can he work?

Is he interested in me how I'm interested in him?

"What's his name? And what is he? Like, hybrid."

"Yoongi. And he's Chinchilla." She squeals in my ear when she hears that.

"Cute! And soft. But don't they live for like five years?"

The one thing I didn't want to think about. The thing I keep pushing to the back of my mind. If Yoongi is old and Chinchillas only live for ten years, then how long would I have with him? Even if he was young, ten years is nothing for a human. A distressed expression appears on my face.

"Sorry for asking about it. It's probably not something you want to think about."

"Don't worry about it. I already knew; I was just in denial."

"Hey! Don't look so glum! Enjoy Yoongi a lot and don't worry too much, okay?"

"Alright, Jennie. I will," I say to pacify her as I force a smile to my lips.

But now, I can't help worrying.

Jingle. The bells sound really loud. When I look up, they're not rusty. I guess they bought some new ones.

"Good morning! You're here bright and early! I think Yoongi's eating breakfast," Taehyung tells me. I smile and go up to the counter.

"I actually am saving up to buy him. I'm really close!"

"O-oh really?" Taehyung is shocked and his expression morphs into melancholy and some shade of regret. But I brush it off.

"Yeah. I can't wait. I think next week is my big bonus."

"That's...good. The new hybrids are also coming next week. That container of his will be for another hybrid..."

Grinning, I chirp, "Yep! See you, Tae!" I quickly walk to the back.

I've been meaning to ask Yoongi his age, but Jungkook or Taehyung have been present and I know they won't let him answer. I'm hoping that today, Jungkook will be busy.

To my surprise, Jungkook is cleaning out Hoseok's container. It makes me explode in joy.

"Did you guys buy Hoseok?" Jungkook jumps and hits his head on the top of the container.

"Ouch."

"Oh. Sorry, Kook!" I walk over and rub his head.

"No worries," he waves me off as he leaves the container. "And actually, Hoseok got adopted by a really nice guy. I think his name was Jackson. He was about as energetic as Hoseok. I'm sure he's in a good place."

Jungkook locks the container.

"Wow... That's amazing. I'm so happy."

"We are, too. This month was pretty good with the exception of Jimin. Poor guy." We stand in silence for a bit as if sending Jimin our prayers.

"It's okay. You guys are doing great."

"Thanks. I'm glad you're here to keep them company. We can't be here all day. We have other animals to take care of and other things to do— Speaking of which-" He starts gathering his rag and broom. "I have to clean up!"

"Huh?"

"The inspectors are coming tomorrow and this place has to be spotless!" Jungkook runs off.

I send my thanks to the heavens.

"Hey. I'm here, too." The sarcastic remark reminds me of Yoongi's presence.

"Hey, Yoongi!" I sit beside his container later that week.

"Hello." He smiles and scoots forward. Yoongi pokes his hand outside of his enclosure and interlaces our hands. My blush appears.

I cough awkwardly.

"Um, I hope this isn't a strange question, but how old are you?" Yoongi tilts his head and looks around, trying to remember.

"I think...ten years old." My stomach drops.

"W-what? Are you sure?" I can feel myself shaking.

He doesn't have very long...

"Yes. I remember celebrating my birthdays. They put those number candles. In March I turned ten."

My grip on his hand tightens. I look down to avoid his eyes.

"And...h-how long have you been here?"

"Ten years." Tears stream down my cheeks.

"I-I'm so so sorry, Yoongi!" The sobs I've been holding in can't be controlled anymore. I cough as my throat feels like there's a golf ball lodged inside.

Why has he been suffering for so long? Having to watch hybrids adopted right next to him every day, watching and progressively losing his own hope of being taken home. The owner of this shop does God knows what to him when the store closes. How much has he gone through? And for this to have been the short, miserable existence he has had.

He'll die having experienced nothing that makes him happy.

Instead of telling me it would be okay, he places his hand on my head and pets me. I look up, surely a mess.

"You pet me like this when we first met. It made me feel better." He runs his fingers through my hair and hums. I sob harder and lean against the glass.

"Y-Yoon-gi."

"Don't cry. I like you happy."

My sobs reduce to hiccups and I stop crying. It does work, shockingly. When I look up, Yoongi looks drowsy.

"Better?" He yawns. "I'm tired. If I sleep and you're still here, wake me up."

His eyes slowly drift closed as he slows his petting.

I can't help wondering: Is he actually tired, or...is this something else?

Tomorrow is my bonus paycheck. I can adopt Yoongi and at least give him the best I can in the limited time he has. I can't wait. Practically running into the store, I yell a quick, "Hi, Taehyung!" and run to the back. Jungkook is on his phone waiting for Yoongi to finish his food.

Yoongi hears me approach and his scraggly Chinchilla ears perk up. He grins his typical, gum-filled grin. I see a few pieces of stray food between his teeth— the poor baby was probably starving —, but instead of being disgusted, I feel even more endeared.

"Hey, guys!" Jungkook looks up and jumps out of his chair.

"Great! You're here! Watch Yoongi, okay? I really gotta poo!" Scrunching my nose, I look Jungkook up and down with feigned disgust.

"Eww. Didn't need to know that, Kook."

"Yeah yeah. Okay, Mom," he sighs with an eye roll. He leaves us alone.

I grab his chair and come closer to Yoongi.

"Hewwo," he says through a mouthful of spinach. It's so cute that he loves spinach so much.

"Hey, Yoongi. I actually wanted to talk to you about my plans for tomorrow." He nods, accidentally dropping a piece of food, pouting. Gosh, he's so cute it melts my heart and insides.

"I've saved up enough money to adopt you. So I get a direct deposit tomorrow and with all the money I can come and take you home! I've been thinking about it for a long time and I've always wanted to adopt you. How does that-"

Yoongi crushes me into his body. He's shaking and his fingers clench the back of my shirt as if I'll leave him. His knees buckle and we end up on the floor. I can hear and feel his near hummingbird speed heart rate. And by God, is his breathing hard.

"T-thank you! Thank you so much!" When I hear his voice straining and the first tear touches my thin t-shirt, I near cry, too.

"Whatever for? I've always wanted to adopt you. I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner." He shakes his head.

"For showing me that not all humans are bad."

"Yoongi, you don't have to thank me fo-"

"I want to. You're my favorite person."

A burning chill runs up my back, arms, head— my whole body. I can't believe my ears.

"What?" He removes himself and searches my eyes, his own red and sparkling with tears.

"Can I say that?" Blushing, I take him in. I'm happy I could give him this simple, but rare joy.

"Of course. You're my favorite person, too." Yoongi's eyes widen, but he grins. Then, he blushes, hesitant.

Evidently, he catches me off guard when he presses his lips against mine.

I melt all over again. Of course, I press against him. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and I watch his eyes flutter shut. My own follow. Bunching up the fabric at his chest with my hands, I smile into the kiss. It doesn't last very long, but it's so soft and so full of love that it's better than any kiss I've had in the past. It has meaning.

He leans his forehead against mine.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. I did." He grins looking a bit more confident.

"Can I do it again?" Not a second elapses before he presses his lips to mine again.

This time, he's taken the experience from the first time and kisses me with more force. His lips move and dance with mine. I sigh, feeling content just like this. Something pokes my bottom lip, and I blush, realizing it's his tongue. Yoongi's chest is heaving against mine and he forces himself against me, pressing his body impossibly close.

"Woah! Didn't expect this after doing my business!"

We push away from each other upon hearing Jungkook's voice. I recover quickly, but Yoongi is red like a tomato and furiously picking at some skin patch on his tail. He looks like a kindergartener who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Cute.

Everything he does is so cute, who am I kidding.

"Wow. You weren't joking. All in cash, too!"

I woke up early the next morning— well I actually stayed awake until my deposit came in at midnight ���to come to adopt Yoongi. None of my classes were this early, so I wanted to bring Yoongi home to help him get acquainted with my home. He just woke up and was rather confused why Jungkook woke him up so early.

But as soon as he saw me, he came and leaned his head on mine and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"All in cash, too, sir!" Taehyung laughs at my response.

"Alright, well, everything is all set. I'm happy you finally could take Yoongi home..." his voice drifts off as he glances over to hybrid. I notice this.

"Tae?"

"Actually, could I talk to you outside?" Nodding, I follow, but then adds, "Without Yoongi." Yoongi shrugs and tiredly leans against the counter.

The bell jingles.

The door shuts.

We walk a little away from the store.

Taehyung runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Yesterday when you told me you were going to adopt Yoongi, I was so nervous." He hesitates.

I urge him to continue.

"Yoongi is ten years old. And Chinchillas don't live long. I think you've already noticed how tired he is recently."

Something heavy drops in the pit of my stomach. This again. Frowning, I look at Yoongi inside. He's almost asleep again, just leaning against that counter.

"As an employee, it's my obligation to tell you this."

"Okay, Tae. Please- just- just go on."

"He's going to die soon."

I swallow. Hard.

I've been avoiding that word. To put that word and Yoongi in the same sentence together, it's making me distraught.

"...I know. I still want to adopt him."

"I'm happy his last... months, weeks, days— who knows, are with you. He's been happier than ever-"

"It's nothing. He deserves better. Even much better than what I could give him." Taehyung nods and smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder. He can tell I don't want to discuss it anymore.

"Oh!" He reaches into his pocket for his phone. "Tell me your number. I'll text you mine and Jungkook's numbers. We are like this-" He crosses his index and middle finger. "-Now."

I giggle and roll my eyes. "Sure. I'll come by a few times. Maybe we can hang out like actual, normal friends."

"Eh. Maybe don't count on that. Anyway!" He pushes me back into the store, the jingling bells waking up Yoongi. "Take care of Yoongi! He's fragile!" Said hybrid rolls his eyes and follows me out of the store.

"Bye, Tae! Tell Jungkook I said hi and bye!"

We walk to the parking lot and Yoongi takes in everything with wide eyes. He touches my car and presses his face against the glass. I laugh.

"Get in, Yoongi!"

He looks overwhelmed, eventually asking, "You can go inside?" It makes me slightly sad, remembering how he's never gone anywhere except inside that store.

"Yes. Just pull on that handle." Once he sits inside, he finds more shocking revelations.

"There's so many buttons..."

"Don't touch them, okay? I don't want anything to happen." He obeys as I lean across the dash to buckle him in. Yoongi presses a kiss to my cheek. Sputtering and fighting a blush, I return to my seat to find a smirking hybrid.

"Okay. What kind of music do you like?"

"I can choose?"

"Of course!"

"Hip-hop."

"Oooooh. So cool, Yoongi." He nods and crosses his arms, feigning coolness.

But as soon as the car actually goes on the road, he's pressed to the window. He points at places through his window, in awe. All of which I promise to take him. By the end of the trip, my smile almost hurts, having never left.

Once we get home, Yoongi is so happily talking his head off about hip-hop that I don't dare to interrupt. Not that I want to; he's so cute when he's passionate. Plus, he never talks this much. I shove my key inside.

"Welcome home!" Yoongi cautiously steps inside. He slowly sits on the couch.

He looks up at me like a kid on Christmas. I've never seen Yoongi so happy.

"Like it?"

"Do you live here?"

"Huh? Well, yes," I respond, perplexed by his question. He yawns and lies down on the couch.

"Then I like it."

His simple words make my heart pump and toes tingle. The little smile on his lips as he rests on my couch has me like putty in his presence. Although his sudden tiredness worries me, I ignore it; he has had an eventful morning after all.

I check my phone for the time. He could nap for an hour before I had to go to class.

Tomorrow was the weekend. As I check the weather, I realize it would be absolutely perfect to go to the beach. Maybe Yoongi could use some sunlight. I laugh to myself.

I giggle at Yoongi's struggling to put the t-shirt on, his cute, pale belly wiggling. He eventually gets it on, a perfect fit.

"Sorry if it's old. It's one of my sleeping shirts. It was the only thing I could find that would fit you."

He brings it up to his nose and inhales deeply. Then, he shakes his head and smiles.

"It's fine. I like how it smells like you."

Damn. I clench the fabric around my chest dramatically.

"So-! Cute-!" He grabs my keys and hands them to me. By the awkward body language, I can tell I've embarrassed him.

I give him a once over and can't help the smile on my face. His cute little board shorts. It takes a lot of willpower to forego the trip and just cuddle him on the couch.

"Let's go."

Despite how many times I had to tell Yoongi to keep his seatbelt on, the trip was fun and quiet. Also, the fact Yoongi wanted to hold my hand made driving more difficult.

The beach is empty, probably since it's so early in the morning. Yoongi pulls on my bag.

Brows furrowing, he tells me, "Let me hold your bag."

"Why?"

"Taehyung used to put on movies for us to watch. Isn't it romantic for the boy to take the bag?" I look around, mentally looking for a spot to settle down before turning my attention back to him.

"Okay. Thank you, Yoongi." The bag slips from my fingers, but he does something unexpected.

He switches the bag to his other hand and holds my hand. We both blush furiously, but Yoongi can't seem to look me in the eye, so he looks away. Being careful of the dry seaweed, I lead him over to an empty spot.

"Sit here while I set up the umbrella." I remove my towel. Then I kneel down and prepare everything for us.

"You..."

"Me?"

"You look beautiful."

When I turn to Yoongi, he seems sincere.

"Poetic aren't you? Oh! Yoongi! We should build a sandcastle!" Upon finishing, I noticed the bucket and shovel.

"What is that?"

"I'll show you." The hybrid comes beside me, ears twitching with curiosity.

"Help me put sand in this bucket."

We work together until I carefully place the bucket upside down. When I remove it, the sand stays. Yoongi is in awe.

"I'm not done yet," I say as I begin drawing little decorations. Then I make a door. He gets the idea and carefully uses his fingers to carve little divots and ornate designs.

"Me and mom used to build sandcastles all the time when I was little." He smiles.

"What is she like?"

"Really nice. And she never gets mad at me. She's really smart, too. She is pretty even now. She's like an angel."

"You are just like her then. An angel." Our fingers touch and I look up at him. Next to me, Yoongi has a tender look in his eyes. He leans forward, planting a kiss on my temple.

My hand gets engulfed in sand and Yoongi flinches.

"Sorry. I ruined it."

"It's okay. Sandcastles are really great, but they're bound to go down."

"Oh," he whispers. And for some reason, he starts building it again.

"Do you want to do something else?" He numbly shakes his head.

"I want to build it again. I want this one to last forever," he explains, then turns to me. "It's the first one I made with you. It's more special."

Blinking, taken aback, I nod and help him.

Standing up once we finish, I grab his hand and help him up, but he nearly falls over. I panic and bring him close to support him.

"Yoongi?"

"It's okay." His eyes glaze over and I only now notice how weak and out of it he seems. Like a newborn dear, taking clumsy steps. He takes a few breaths and eventually rights himself.

He's weak. He's old. He's going to-

I stop the thought as I blurt, "Want to go get some ice cream?"

"What is ice cream?"

"It's difficult to explain, it's better to just try it." I grab my bag— which he takes out my hand in order to hold my hand —and very nearly drag him to an ice cream stand.

The man at the stand regards us with a fond grin.

"Pretty girlfriend." Yoongi blushes and I sneakily squeeze his hand.

"Thank you..."

"What can I get you?"

"One scoop of sea salt vanilla for him and a strawberry for me." Yoongi mentally notes what I said. I'm too scared to get him any other flavor for fear of his stomach not being able to digest it.

"Here you are! Three ninety-five."

Once I pay and we get seated on a bench, I eagerly start eating the dessert. But Yoongi, on the other hand, stares at it like it's an alien.

"Lick it." He observes how I do it before giving a cute, kitten-lick. His expression lights up, now devouring it like he won't ever eat again.

"Wow. I take it you like it?" He looks up from his treat, mouth stained with ice cream. Laughing, I grab a napkin and wipe his mouth.

He nods and struggles to say, "Gants." I laugh at his poor thank you.

After we both finish and our bellies are full of ice cream, I lean my head on Yoongi's shoulder. He follows and leans on mine, exhaling deeply. I can hear him yawn above me.

"I'm glad we could spend time like this, Yoongi. I really like you and I'm so thankful to have met you."

"Me, too..." His voice is quiet, and his body seems to sag. Maybe we can go home and relax after this.

Yoongi suddenly touches his chest. And he shakes. He takes a deep breath and doesn't breathe for a while.

"Hey, weirdo, what are you doing?" When he exhales, his heart starts pounding loudly. Yoongi sighs and grabs my hand, squeezing it.

"Nothing. I'm okay. It's nothing." Despite how strange it sounds, I ignore it.

"Can we come again tonight?"

"Tonight?" I look up at him, and he looks down at me with a pained expression.

"Yes. Please."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm okay. I just really want to come again." Nodding, I oblige to his wishes, but I can't help but worry about his odd behavior.

Just as I promised, when we finish eating dinner, I take him back down to the coast. I don't quite understand why he wants to come. As far as I can tell, he looks more ready for a long nap. But I still humor him and bring him down to the same spot.

The sandcastle was still halfway up, although the wind has definitely eroded it. Yoongi practically plops onto the ground. I don't bother setting up an umbrella and just get out a soft blanket and some cushions. After we get comfortable, Yoongi uses my lap as a pillow.

He takes a deep, shaky breath and touches his chest.

"What do you want to do?"

"Nothing. I just want to sit with you here a while."

"Oh," I mumble. For a while, I just run my fingers through his hair and watching his peaceful face. He looks like he's about to sleep.

"Are you tired, Yoongi?" When his eyes open, there are some unshed tears. My heart clenches, worried as to why he is so upset.

"I...yes."

"Why are you crying?"

"I am?" He wipes his eyes and forces a smile on his face, but I can't tell it's fake.

"You can tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry." Now confused, I watch as he grabs my hand and lays a kiss on the palm.

"Why?"

"Because... You've given me everything and I left you with nothing."

Frowning, I insist, "That's not true. You've given me a lot. Plus, I don't need material things. You're very precious to me. You've become the most person in my life."

He flinches hard when he hears that.

"Don't let me be that. It makes me feel so sad."

"Yoongi, you've been acting so strange today. As soon as we got home, you went to sleep. Then, when I asked you if you wanted to watch a movie, you told me you were too tired." Yoongi rolls over toward me and hugs my midriff.

I feel his tears on my shirt.

"I'm sorry."

"Yoongi. It's okay." I push him back so I can face him, and his eyes are swimming with a lot of things I can't place.

"Oh, Yoongi..." He clutches his chest.

Yoongi closes his eyes and breathes a few times. We sit there for a few minutes. I pet his head. The waves crash especially hard and our little sandcastle finally falls over. I smile at the memory from this morning. Yoongi was so happy to just be with me.

"Sorry. I have some thoughts really eating at me right now."

"It's okay. But never hesitate to tell me okay?" And for seemingly forever, Yoongi stares at me.

Then blurts, "I love you. I wanted to say it before I regret not saying it."

My heart beats out of my chest and if a human body could smile, every cell in my body would be smiling.

"I love you, too." He smiles his gummy smile. Again, he touches his chest. Closing his eyes, he grabs my hand again and squeezes it close to him.

"I'm going to...take a nap, okay?"

"Sure. We can go home after."

"...Yeah. And... Thank you so much for everything. My last— Uh. I'm glad you could take care of me for..."

He can't finish his sentence, as if something is holding him back. A little tear slips down the corner of his eye, but I don't catch it.

"I was in that place for so long. My entire life. Thank you for showing me love and happiness."

"Of course."

"And. I love you. A lot."

"Me, too."

"Can you say it? Please?" His voice cracks.

"I love you."

He smiles, still with an iron hold on my hand. His chest slows down. I can hear his heartbeat slowing, too. Such a calm, gentle thing. The waves crashing are the opposite. I didn't think I would get so attached to someone so fast like I did with Yoongi.

Sighing, I look down at him and squeeze his hand.

And I notice how oddly cold he is.

"Should have asked for a blanket, dummy." I drape it over him.

And then I notice that his chest isn't moving.

I furrow my eyebrows.

And then I realize I can't hear his heartbeat.

I gulp.

"Yoongi?" Lightly, I shake him.

He's as still as a rock.

Oh no no no no. Not now.

"Yoongi? This better be a joke!" I choke. Shaking him more vigorously, I start heaving.

Why now? Why?

I lean against his chest and can't hear or feel anything.

"Yoongi! Stop it right now!" My voice cracks. Before I know it I'm sobbing. I place my finger under his nose: no breath. His face is cold. I lean against his chest again, hoping for something.

The only thing I hear is my own heart.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I grip his shirt, throat tightening, and stomach twisting. "I didn't know it would be so soon!" The tears running down my face are relentless.

How could he look so content and happy while my whole world is crumbling?! Why does time keep going, when I feel like it just stopped?!

"I'm so-so sorry. A month wasn't e-nough!"

He spent ten years of his life suffering and alone. It's not fair. Not fair for him or for me.

"I'm- I'm sorry I didn't do- do enough for you!" I hiccup. "You do-n't deserve th-this!" Bringing him toward me, I bury my face into his shoulder and squeeze him to me.

My tears reverberate:

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap.

If only his heart sounded like that.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi."

[zecretsanta]

To: @chessanator

From: @billyweird

Notes: Happy Holidays! I got really into your “Left clone learns about Christmas” prompt and hope you enjoy this fic.

Ao3

Decades before his death, Brother described a sacred object: a living figure who thought and spoke but served like the golems of ancient lore, made in the image of the Dolorosa. The one who found and returned her to Free the Soul would be a hero.

E-10, tenth of the fifth generation of Myrmidons (and he felt lucky to be so as he shared a number with the previous hero who returned the Dolorosa doll and vanquished a great enemy), had the privilege of caring for her. Or luck, as one brother put it snidely before immediately taking it back to avoid recrimination for jealousy, though he was right. E-10 was the most gifted with machines and the beastly tower that kept the Dolorosa doll alive and thinking was complex as could be.

It stood in the room like a massive tree in a fairytale-themed room. Armored knights bearing greatswords flanked her golden birdcage throne. Murals of sleeping princesses and brave, foolish shepards and goose girls and villagers and dragons surrounded her. One wall was covered with a bursting verdant garden of tangled vines, grasses, and flowers. The doll slept often; she never waned nor waxed, asked for water or medicine. She hadn’t aged since she arrived well before E-10’s creation. She put herself to sleep, usually. Useful information about the facility she’d been rescued (no, someone would say if they heard him, you retrieve an object, you rescue a person) from was extracted long ago, and now she was a living relic that only special people like Myrmidons could visit for worship. If powered on, she could speak and move, and because he understood her complex electric brain better than anyone (pride, he’d be chastised) he could speak with her anytime he wished. She came awake like a wind-up doll, to use a metaphor he’d read once and had to look up to understand, sitting upright slowly and blinking as she raised her head. “Tyltyl?” “Luna.” He pulled on a chain around his neck and her birdcage pendant emerged from his shirt. Her eyes brightened noticeably when she saw it. “I’m here for more information.” She frowned but her eyes never left the pendant, like E-10 when another of his brothers was chosen to light the ceremonial candles before a service. Brother knew all thoughts, but Brother passed shortly after the conquest of Rhizome-9 (an achievement D-10 could never top and rode for the rest of his brief cloned life) and was not here to reveal E-10’s constant little mental rebellions. “Of course.” “…If I play your music first, would you tell me more about your old life?” He wound it up before she could answer, and the tinkling melody made her touch her trembling mouth, eyes closing as the song brought back memories she only spoke of if ordered or tempted. She swayed in her seat and rested only when the last note faded. He came forward and knelt before her cage, touching the bars. “So?” “What would you like to know this time?” She would tell him about her facility, that she wasn’t the only thinking machine her creator made, her creator…but never anything of the rescue or D-10. “…Did you ever ask why you were created?” He squeezed his knees and looked up into her confused face. “Is it any easier to understand your purpose when you were handmade by man?” E-10 supposed he was as well, but to be a machine with programmed thoughts must be simpler. Luna (she loved that name) would never have doubts. “No. To both questions. I did have a purpose.” She touched the spot where her necklace once hung. “But it was taken from me and I’m not sure why I’m here now.” E-10 didn’t know why either, or why she’d never told anyone he was the one who stole her sacred relic. She played her music box all the time at first, and the melody enchanted him so that he slipped it off over her head during repairs. She couldn’t shed tears, but the only way to describe her reaction to losing it was “weeping.” “Because you’re holy. You told me once that it was enough to exist in a place where you were loved.” He hated her answer, honestly. She could admit she wanted and she needed. For E-10, it was supposed to be enough to exist in service. Devotion was fulfillment, shared identity was being whole. He couldn’t want, though he did. He wanted to have secrets like the music box and these stolen moments with Luna, the Dolorosa, the idol. She hugged herself and shook her head. “Idolization isn’t love. Everyone worships me, but nobody looks at me and asks me how I feel.” What an odd concept, the desire for individual acknowledgement. How he craved praise for his technological skill or his neatness or his knowledge of canon. When she asked him to call her “Luna,” he initially hadn’t understood, but he knew he liked it when she named him. “Why does that matter?” “Because…” She shook her head. “Do you want to understand? Or do you just want more stories?” “Stories. And not the bluebird one.” She told that one often, stressing its message that happiness wasn’t true unless shared. She called him Tyltyl from that story, saying only that she liked to distinguish him from the others when he asked why. “Alright…hm.” She pushed an askew lock of hair behind her ear. Once, he watched her re-braid it, fascinated that she cared about such things. “Have you ever heard of Christmas?” “No.” She never wanted to hear the stories he did know: the parables of Brother, the end of the old age, and the era of tranquility. “Who is he?” Every story had a central figure, and usually it was Brother. “It was a celebration on Earth. It started as a way to honor the birth of a religious figure, but I like its later meaning better: that it was a time for gratitude. Peace on Earth and good will toward men.” “That’s every day here.” She looked toward the wall full of greenery she couldn’t touch, even though it was meant for her honor and pleasure. “Certainly. But the spirit of Christmas was for anyone, not just the saved here.” She folded her hands on her lap. “One of my favorite stories is about relearning the meaning of Christmas. It’s called ‘A Christmas Carol…’” Her story was difficult to picture, full of things like families and money and ghosts and parties. Truly fanciful, but he was drawn in by the ghosts and the way, time and again, Scrooge isolated himself in pursuit of his goal, learning almost too late that his selfish pursuit of wealth had withered and killed his belonging in his community. There was something to be said for the message that the wellbeing of others was far greater than your own; remove the trappings about pleasure and it could make a fine lesson for sermons. “So Scrooge decided he cared about others more than money?” She smiled and nodded. “He realized that others’ happiness made him happy, and that was the meaning of Christmas.” She pulled herself up by the bars, and tried to poke her face between them to look at him closely. “You don’t have to wait for three ghosts to visit, Tyltyl. You can choose that now.” Her hopeful, earnest gaze brought him to his feet. He turned away from her and took a few steps toward the plants. Reaching up, he plucked a few flowers from the carnations she’d been looking at, then turned back to her and offered them. She gasped and took them with weak fingers, kissing the blossoms. “Thank you.” She savored them like they were relics only she was allowed to handle, gently clutching them to her chest. When the cage door swung open a moment later, she startled and nearly dropped them. “What…?” “I can’t let you go,” he said quietly. “That’s not in my power.” He held the music box in his palm, admiring the shine and saturation it held after two centuries. The tiny bluebird inside always about to fly away but never leaving its perch. “But nobody has to know if you walk around in here, right?” He offered her a hand, and when she tentatively took it she was soft and warm like a human, her tiny feet alighting on the floor just like a bird. She flitted from her plants to the murals to the tower that kept her running, stroking it with an unreadable expression. He couldn’t understand why she wanted freedom so badly, but knowing that she wanted it was reason enough to grant her this moment. He turned on her music again and she stepped to it, spinning so her skirt and apron lifted with her, arms flung out. “I didn’t know… You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting until you stand up. What’s the date Tyltyl?” She paused when he told her. “That long?” She clutched her apron and looked back at the plants. “No wonder something this small feels wonderful. How did I survive in there for so long?” She grabbed the nearest pot, overflowing with a delicate fern, and hugged it. “I wish I could smell you. What does this smell like?” Suddenly he was face-first in the pot, his vision totally green and brown. Moisture touched his lips and the fern tickled his cheeks. He sniffed, nose twitching at the tickle, and then inhaled deeper. “Like dirt?” He had to rub some off his nose when she withdrew the pot. “That’s it?” She seemed disappointed. “The Doctor loved his garden. He could describe every plant in a new way.” She pet the fern before putting it back on the shelf. “I know they’re delicate, but could you please bring me an orchid next time? I miss them. I can still remember the orchids the Doctor grew one year.” E-10 looked away. “I don’t grow the plants. I’m not sure what you’re even talking about.” “I’ll describe them to you! Just please. I want an orchid.” She nodded to his chest. “And in exchange you can keep my music box forever.” “Really?” “Yes! If it makes you happy, I can be happy for you.” He didn’t recognize her. She went from obedient doll to bouncing, happy woman just from stepping over a threshold. And all she demanded of him was a simple flower. “Okay. That’s the meaning of Christmas you talked about?” “I think so.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “When doing good for someone else brings you joy—that’s Christmas.” She took his hand when he offered it again, smiling even as he lead her back to the cage and closed the door behind her. “Thank you, Tyltyl.” When had someone ever said that to him? How did you respond again? “Oh.” “Goodbye then.” She waved as he stepped back. “You’ll remember my orchid?” “I’ll bring it.” Even though he had no idea what one was. Christmas was apparently about doing things you didn’t understand because they meant the world to others. To have someone look on you like you were special. “Goodbye, Luna.”

[eevee-lee]

Sun Warrior (Re-uploaded)

A bouquet of white lilies were clasped tightly in his hand, phalanges trembling just barely against the red ribbon that held them together; the satin wrinkling under his grip, bow loosening.

The skeleton softly sighed, attempting to calm his nerves while slowly making his way towards Mt. Ebbot; autumn leaves crunching under heavy boots, their owner seeming deaf to any noise around him.

When was the last time he came here..?

How many days had it been since the battle ended..?

War shook his head, a gloved hand raising to ghost over his cheek; a scar adorning the bone there, never to fade away even if Death himself took his life..honestly it was something he had wished for in the beginning..almost begging to be taken from the life in which he suffered from, yet here he was, alive and well..mostly. The chilled breeze of Ebbot forest whipped past War, lightly playing with the scarf wrapped around his hips in its touch; letting the tattered material fall only after a moment.

Soon…he would be there..

Honestly the former warrior didn’t know how long he walked for, not that he cared, there was only one reason he was there; no turning back now..After what seemed like hours, the familiar dirt trail of his home came into sight; a few pebbles falling from the edge of the cliff with each step he took, yet, he paid no mind. His soul began to race slightly..why was he so nervous..? Perhaps maybe..it was because there was so much guilt to be felt, that it held him back from ever stepping foot here again….

Not today, however.

His eye lights flickered over to the setting sun, it’s beautiful array of rose and honey, lined with just a hint of pearl creating a painting that never failed to fascinate the skeleton every time he let his gaze admire. The smallest of smiles crept up to his lips, yet it seemed to waver.

‘He would’ve loved this…’ He would think, smile falling while tearing his eyes away from the sight; continuing to ascend the mountain, steps a bit faster than before. The end was near, just a bit more now..

War never stopped walking, daring not to look back; there was nothing to keep him still now.

The winds became slightly heavier, signaling that he was close. It wasn’t until War looked up, did he see his destination, taking the final few steps before finally coming to a stop; chest heaving just barely from the journey, to the entrance to Mt. Ebbot, the very entrance where a barrier was going to be cast upon if it weren’t for the child hero..

His eyes slowly trailed downward, snow colored orbs wavering as they were met with a medium sized stone; its surface smoothed out as if carved..a gravestone, its scrawled writing slightly faded but clear enough to read as..

‘Papyrus
Monster with a kind heart 
Warrior with valiant soul 
Brother with a dream’


Slowly, War kneeled down, swallowing hard as he carefully set the bouquet of lilies against his brother’s place of resting; he was not buried here, no, his body had been dusted..but sometimes War believed that his spirit stayed near their former home, watching over the world they now lived in with his bright smile and kind eyes.

His lips parted after a moment, eye lights just barely flickering to the stone before him then to the dirt below as he murmured softly..

“Hello, brother..”

He almost had a prodding feeling, that perhaps Papyrus would answer him..but that was merely a thought..

“It’s been a while..hasn’t it? You know, I honestly no excuse for coming to see you…”

His phalanges trembled, the skeleton quickly curling them into tight fists to not break down right then and there.

“..I..I’m sorry, Papyrus, I was filled with so much guilt that..I couldn’t face you, even if you aren’t here. It’s been a whole year since that day, the day that the war ended because of Frisk. Everything has changed, brother, you would’ve loved to see this but-”

His voice cracked, becoming wobbly as he glanced up at the stone; the sunset creating a bright light behind it, rays of rose and honey kissing the warriors scarred bones almost if to comfort him, yet it did nothing as arctic blue tears gathered in his sockets.

“..Because of me you will never be able to, if I hadn’t been so blind that day..you would still be alive. Learning how to cook and making puzzles with Frisk a-and..”

Something within War snapped, opening the floodgates in which he tried so hard to contain; tears streaming down his cheek bones, phalanges gripping the scarf around his waist tightly, hugging the material to his chest.

“S-stars..I miss you so much pap..! All I want is for you to be here with us and y-yet..and yet I know there is no way that can happen now..It hurts, it hurts so much Papyrus. I-I just want to see your smiling face one last time, that very smile you looked at me with when you…god-”

War sobbed quietly into the scarf, body trembling violently while feeling an ache deep within his broken soul. He didn’t know how long he cried for, but it didn’t matter to him..

All he wanted was his little brother back..

    
An hour had passed, the skeleton now merely hiccuping within his short breaths; scarf still clutched tightly to him, his head feeling stuffy from the many tears fell, already he could feel his eyes swelling, even if War was a skeleton.

The warrior took a few deep breaths, gloved hand attempting to wipe away the last remaining tears before he murmured softly; voice croaky from crying.

“You know, I honestly didn’t want to live after you left. If it weren’t for Frisk, I would’ve probably ended my life sooner than expected..yet, that kid is pretty determined, as is everyone else."

He sighed, sniffling quietly before continuing. Perhaps now would be the time to talk about..lighter topics.

“..Alphy’s and Undyne finally got together, the two are getting married soon from what I hear. The king and queen adopted Frisk, even letting that flower becoming one with their family; he seemed pretty happy about it though. As for me..”

His eyes slowly raised to look over the horizon, the sun having set not too long ago; moon beginning to take its place.

“..I’m just living alone, well, mostly. Frisk suggested that I find a companion; so I did, they helped me, big surprise there.” A soft chuckle, the skeleton’s lips twitching upward. By companion, I mean a dog, yes a dog. A bit silly I know but you would’ve liked her. She’s an Australian Shepard named Addie, kindest pup I ever met next to Greater Dog. She helps me around in public places, being a service dog for what the kid told me. She would love you, then again she loves everybody, Undyne especially since she’s the only one that can keep up with Addie’s boundless energy, playing fetch for hours.”

War felt a bit lighter now, head still feeling a bit stuffy and legs stiff; but that was fine, a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Father would have liked her too, being the kind of person who got along with doggo and them. He probably would’ve gave her treats every half hour if I wasn’t looking.”

He went quiet for a moment, replaying the memories of his father and brother; remembering the many moments they shared as a family, how many times Gaster would sometimes skip work just to spend time with them, loving his sons so much that he would do anything to keep the two happy..A smile rose up to his lips, one that seemed to stay even as he looked to the gravestone once more.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you and father are in the same place, looking down upon the world we all wished for. Where humans and monsters grew up together, hand in hand; something I thought we could never achieve, but here we all are. Maybe many years from now, people will remember what the kid did to make this happen..what your dream was. For now though, I want to live out this life to the fullest, and..I promise I’ll come out more to visit you.”

A soft laugh.

A vibrating feeling from his pocket made him jump a little, a brow bone raising as he quickly fished his phone out; relaxing when seeing it was a text:

From: Frisk 
Are you still coming over tonight? Everyone is excited to see you~! Addie especially! <3

He couldn’t help but smile, laughing quietly to himself before sending out a quick reply, pocketing the device before standing; stretching a little then patting away any dirt on his clothing before looking down at the stone, lilies leaning against it.

“Well, guess it’s time for me to go, today is the anniversary party and Frisk wanted me to come so..couldn’t say no.”

His hand went to the scarf once more, phalange grazing over its soft material before he turned on his heel to make the trip back down; his head turning around after a few steps, a soft smile on splayed on his lips.

“Until the next sunset..brother."

 
~Fin~

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

HonorWar!Gaster, Sans, And Papyrus belong to me

Undertale belongs to Toby Fox

Song inspiration: https://youtu.be/hL81CkoXlqc

[drewkatchen]

L to R.: Family friend, my Pop and my Am circa mid-1990s.

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

On the morning of January 14, 1998 in New York City at around 8 a.m., three men in ski masks carried empty duffel bags into the north tower of One World Trade Center, according to a report in the New York Times. 

Naturally, the reason for their visit wasn’t social.

The men from Brooklyn and Staten Island had a distinct plan all too obvious, a scheme which led them to a passenger elevator bound for the the 11th floor, where they then boarded a freight elevator and confronted a Brinks guard delivering money to the Bank of America corporate currency exchange center. The money was handed over, and the three men escaped the tower with $1.6 million. No one was injured.

For a brief period before their capture, these guys existed in the city, fanning out individually with a lot of money in their bags and one big secret in tow.

----

There’s no aspect of my life that overlaps with the story above really; I was not in the World Trade area at the time and you should trust me on that. On that morning many years ago, I was just a 21-year-old kid waking up in my grandmother’s central New Jersey home -- a sturdy, wooden affair from the late ‘50s -- in a lumpy bed far too small for all the college weight I was carrying around at the time. I didn’t live in her home, but my grandfather’s recent death from Parkinson’s demanded I leave school in South Carolina and board the quickest flight to EWR to be there, to say goodbye to an elder. One moment I was hanging out with my roommate in our spacious and rundown university apartment as a new semester started up, and the next I was in a crush of family -- great aunts all the way down to cousins -- all at different stages of sadness and relief. I hadn’t seen some of them in over a decade, and a few still longed to pinch my cheeks and or ruffle my curly kid locks. Like a lot of people, I didn’t know my Pop well; he began deteriorating when I was still a boy, and because I lived nowhere near him for most of my youth. Pictures show me as a chubby kid smiling in his lap, but I don’t remember much about him really. I remember his sideburns, bushy and gray and smelling of cigarette smoke. I know he had a flair for natty suits and sipping martinis during the day and that he had a full head of white hair. I know my grandmother loved him more than anything, and while she was happy he was no longer in the locked, debilitating prison of his disease, her primary reason for living had now gone away with a whimper. There’s apparently a legendary picture of him mowing the lawn in formal attire. Everyone still talks about it. And that was him, a man who left Irvington to give his wife and three kids a solid middle-class Jewish existence in the burbs.

The house in Bound Brook is now gone. Sold to a young couple.

---

I’ve been thinking a bit lately about the process of coming out. What coming out in my younger years meant to me, how the art I found at the time taught me to be fearless in the face of people waiting to strike me down, what being outed by taunting high school students meant to my emotional development, how the support from friends and the punk community buoyed me and who I told and when and why and the tension and joy and happiness and sadness that all came with this thing that some of us in the world have to do in order to break through to a new stage of living and truth. It honestly feels like a blur and then it also feels like I can call up every nanosecond, speck of dust and conversation from those times, because living through them was so arduous and exhilarating. I’m probably thinking about this now mostly because I just married and I’m old and boring now and I’m stricken with that thing people in their forties get when they maybe do too much reflecting, but it’s such a curious thing, this heavy soul-baring that has to pass your lips, and if you’re lucky this happens to you at a young age with little to no damage incurred. But it also means there’s a bold declaration you must make in order to be fully healthy, whether or not you want to make a bold declaration in order to be fully healthy. It’s not one a lot of the friends around you have to make, but it’s one you do.

I never came out to him, my Pop, and I don’t have any real feelings about it. I’m sure my Am -- a fervent and socially progressive Jewish woman until her dying breath -- holding onto his still hand as he sat in a chair in the nursing home, shared the news with my grandfather at some point before he passed.

At the time, death was still somewhat abstract to me, which is a luxury not everyone can claim, I know. Pap, the grandfather I had on my mother’s side, an irrepressible alcoholic, was mostly someone I didn’t know, and he died alone in his crumbling apartment in a nothing Pennsylvania town when I was still in high school. I got the call about that while at band practice, and I didn’t feel sad. One minute I was home, the next I was stuffed into a car with my mom, stepdad and two siblings headed to bid him goodbye. Later in 1998, I would find myself openly grieving with most of my community for Matthew Shepard, a complete stranger to me in life but who in essence was me and my friends, was any gay kid in America, really. At the time of his death he was 21 just like me, and his murder reminded me the unthinkable was still very much on the table. Yet I felt safe as an out college student in Columbia, but what did that really mean? What was I safe to do or not do? Safe from what?

---

On January 13, we buried my Pop next to his mother and father at a Jewish cemetery in Clifton, New Jersey -- the one behind the diner. My grandmother would join them all in just under ten years. I remember her in the limo ride back to her home; she was holding a relative’s hand and just staring out the window with a very small smile on her face as we drove south on the Garden State Parkway. For the moment, she wasn’t crying or saying anything. She just looked out the window as we drove past the neighborhood of her youth -- its current state of disrepair evident from the highway -- I don’t know if she ever went back to visit in her life. I wonder now what she saw looking out the window or if she could make out the day she met my grandfather as the blocks went by in a blur. I won’t ever know.

I only had a day left in Jersey before I left for home. Old friends and family were around sitting shiva and plying my grandmother and uncles with more lox, pastrami and matzo ball soup -- the usual elixirs -- than she knew what to do with. There were some things I wanted to do outside of the house, beyond the radius of sympathy flowers and bunched tissues deployed to fight the raw grief, and I set out to accomplish one of them.

There was a cafe in the West Village with my name on it; I just had to get myself there and experience it again for a few hours.

On that same night in the city as Port Authority police searched high and low for the men who made off with Bank of America’s money, the day after the funeral, I had my own little secret, one that came with me on the Manhattan-bound NJ Transit line from Bound Brook, New Jersey and into the mouth of Penn Station. Mine didn’t involve weapons or large sums of ill-gotten gains and police in hot pursuit, but it still felt like a weighty one a the time. I also had someone I wanted to share it with. Matt, who grew up down the street from my grandmother, came along, suspecting nothing more was up than a quick traipse around the city.

It’s not accurate to call Matt my best friend, whatever that means, even with three decades of a certain bond under our belts; the only times we’ve really spent together were my summer vacations and the holidays and by the time I was living in the north, he was long gone, first for a finance job in San Francisco and then permanently to Hong Kong for another finance job. Aside for the first few years of my life, we’ve never lived in the same town or close to one another. Yet I’ve known Matt since kindergarten, the longest I’ve known someone not in my blood family, and the fact that his home was just a few doors down from my grandmother and thus a refuge to a bored kid away from home helped a firm bond develop over toys and MTV. I can vividly recall us, complete first grade dweebs in short shorts, playing cards on his living room floor while Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger played on the turntable. And if Matt wasn’t my best friend, he was still someone who meant a lot to me, just because of the sheer longevity, and he deserved to know what was up with me.

He also still does matter to me even if I haven’t seen him in years.

---

For someone who enjoys getting lost in the land just beyond the tracks, an evening train ride to the city from Jersey is never as good as it could be; the blinding fluorescence inside the car at night turns the windows into mirrors. While everything outside is basic and flat, I sometimes cup my hands just to get a look at the row houses and sleepy towns. Just to see. I don’t remember anything about my ride with Matt into the city that night, but I’m sure there were nerves running through me as the towns rolled by me unnoticed.

By 21, I was just about totally out. I’d already had a boyfriend before moving on to a devastating grad school crush that about broke my heart into a million pieces. Maybe the more conservative elements in my family didn’t have confirmation but suspected it due to my lack of a girlfriend, but that wasn’t a concern of mine. Matt didn’t know either, a fact having more to do with geography and not wanting to bare my soul to him via a land line than anything else. He was a Catholic school jock though, so it could end up being not great. Had I heard him make gay jokes? Did he ever use the F word? Maybe it wouldn’t be alright, and if that ended up being true, I needed to prepare for the possibility. In the late nineties, coming out to the wrong person could still be a damning line in the sand, effectively ending relationships or familial bonds, and while I know that still applies in 2017, perhaps less frequently, I did feel the sting of rejection from a few people, people who really mattered. It was mostly temporary, but it still happened. Back then, sharing who you were even to a sympathetic ear still felt monumental. Just ask Ellen. I suspect for the person coming out now, either at 16 or at 80, it still feels that way.

--- 

The city always held an undeniable allure for all the obvious reasons: not far but seemingly unattainable and dangerous and exciting and where everything happened, from Gorilla Biscuits gigs to Keith Haring exhibits. I guess I reasoned that regardless of what happened, Matt still had to ride home with me, so he was basically stuck accepting it whether he liked it or not, and together we’d work through whatever stages of whatever he was feeling. And maybe more than that, it was perhaps a subconscious wish to connect myself to the activist community of the city, and to allow myself to be tethered to their stories and lives in the most superficial of ways, to have told someone within the confines of New York that I am out and gay, to feel the strength of the West Village at my back for a quick moment. To have a story of my own anchoring me to the fight for equality, even if mine were really small and mostly only significant to me. Back then I had no idea I would be spending most of my adult life working in and hovering around New York, so I imagined this might be the last time I would be in the area for some time.

Or maybe I just thought Matt needed a night in the gay part of town.

And if I knew what made the city famous culturally, I certainly knew nothing about getting around, and neither did Matt. At the time, the map of the city in my head looked something like “CBGB A7 ACT UP VENUS RECORDS CHRISTOPHER STREET AVENUE A BLEECKER STREET YOUTH OF TODAY RECONSTRUCTION RECORDS,” which isn’t really a map at all, or not a real one on paper. But having no working knowledge of the city then is what makes the night so memorable now, and it’s why in part I still reflect on it so much. Even now, whenever I’m in the Penn Station area, I can see Matt and me emerging from the escalator, still two dorks, and I can see the gears working in my head. I’d been to the West Village maybe twice prior to this night, but where it was on a map I didn’t know. The subway was out of the question because I’d never been on it and I didn’t know how to find it or where it went. The one thing I did know was I needed to get there, find this beacon in the night that was a cafe on Christopher Street, open my mouth a little and then somehow get back to Jersey unscathed.

The distance between Penn Station and Christopher Street isn’t really all that significant, but to a rookie kid without a map and with nothing more than a mere hunch, it may as well have been a thousand miles from one to the other. I don’t know what it’s like anymore to walk for twenty blocks wondering where the street I need is: I’ve been working in the city now for 13 years, so I know the basic lay of the land and even in the rare case now when I don’t, my phone does. All I remember of that walk is basically telling Matt every few blocks “It’s coming up soon; I promise.”

The things I remember about the night all this time later: Matt’s look of surprise when we got to the Factory Cafe and I sat him down and said what I had to say. He didn’t reject me or panic, and I’m sure it was no big surprise to his ears. But I remember he needed a minute to adjust, and he laughed a lot. Not at me, but as a response to new information.

“I remember that it really didn't matter, black, white, purple, bi, straight, gay,” Matt recalls over email. He lives in Hong Kong now, so it takes him a bit to respond. “You were already my friend and a close one at that.” 

All around us, couples were on dates and people were catching up with friends or were lost in books, and I felt plugged into something -- a confidence? a safety? -- I didn’t normally feel in South Carolina...or...anywhere else really. Maybe everyone thought we were a couple sharing coffee before heading out for the night.

There’s no big dramatic conclusion to this other than we eventually finished our coffee and ended up playing pool at Stonewall before catching the train back. I kept my friend, and I still have him. For all the unknowns, Matt rolled with it and only later admitted he was stunned at what I told him. There are a million reasons why coming out to Matt, and to anyone, mattered. This isn’t abstract to me. Like I said, he wasn’t my best or closest friend, but he was the closest thing I had to a brother my own age, someone who knew my history and his support was vital in a bigger sense.

I think about my night with Matt often as I walk past the old Factory Cafe, which is now a clothing store. When I pass those big windows, I think about a younger me (a me with a full head of hair), nervously fidgeting in his seat near the front, working up the nerve to tell my oldest friend something that was both weighty and trivial. Trivial because I was still me; I hadn’t changed. I see myself laughing once it left my mouth, and I see people next to us turning pages of their New Yorker or brushing the hair out of their spouse’s eyes. I obviously see the ghosts others all around me doing the same thing, with their declarations sometimes being met with mixed results.

It’s been a long time since I felt I had to come out to someone; I’ve been me for what feels like forever, and so has my husband. But for a kid from South Carolina, that night in the Village at Stonewall -- a place that still remains a vital gathering ground -- helps remind me I’ve always had people on my side and always will. I came out to many many people when I was young, but I only came out once in New York City, and that somehow feels important to me in a way I can’t fully quantify.

I’ll close with some further bits of Matt’s email to me, because they’re fun and illuminating and characteristic of his open jocularity: “I certainly didn't expect it, but it did clear some things up in my head. All my friends had always been into sports, girls; you never seemed bothered by that, and you never even tried to hide or fake it. Hell, I remember you drawing on your Dad's Playboys, I'm thinking ...’Is this dude nuts????? He drawing on Ms Novembers double DD's’”

I’m glad Matt’s still out there and that he’s still with me.