#michael wants jeremy to read his mind!!!

[red40exe]

michael to jeremy: hey this thing you said and did bothered me

jeremy starts overly apologizing and doesn’t let michael speak, unintentionally being a bad listener / feeling too sorry for himself

is my favorite thing ever. 12 yrs of friendship is a lot of weight to carry. whenever someone coined me as their best friend, i could never regard that as anything but a sign of doom. call me jaded. i headcanon michael to truly be extremely unsociable outside of direct interactions that are a must. hes deeply loyal to jeremy to a fault and oh baby the co dependency is bad bad bad!

once Michael becomes aware of it, he’ll hang so far back until he fades into the background. the painful part is watching your friends move on bc that’s just how it happens sometimes. love from afar is a bittersweet thing

[cloudwhisper23]

BEHOLD!!! AN ART TRADE!!! @pixlokita it is time!

Caution, do not click read more if you do not intend to read. This is 12,192 words. And no, I'm not kidding. This is so much longer than most of the stuff I write. That being said, enjoy!!!

Evan said Michael was sick, which worried Jeremy. Being sick should not mean Michael would try so hard to avoid Jeremy, especially since he knew it would make Jeremy worry about him more.

But the main part Jeremy was worried about was the way Evan’s new wings kept fluffing up. Was Michael mad at him?

Don’t worry about it, Jeremy, he told himself. If Michael’s mad, he’ll tell you eventually.

It just stung. Evan and Gregory were wandering around the house, trying to see if their wings would allow them to do various things. Evan’s were too small to do much, and Gregory still hadn’t gotten used to them yet, but at least they had something to do while Mr. Emily tried to figure out what could possibly cause this.

“Ugh!” Gregory exclaimed, plopping down on the sofa next to Jeremy. He took the soda from Jeremy’s hand and took a giant sip. “These things suck.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, unsuccessfully trying to retrieve his Coke.

“I mean,” Gregory scowled, taking another sip, “that wings are stupid. They don’t even bend the way I want them to.”

“Well…” Jeremy said thoughtfully. “They are just extra limbs, right? With bones and joints and stuff?”

“I guess so.” Gregory finally gave Jeremy his soda back. “But they don’t move how I want-“

“You couldn’t do much when you were a baby right? Learning to crawl?” Jeremy chugged the rest of his Coke before putting the empty can down. “It’s an accomplishment when babies get their heads off the floor on their own, you know. And rolling and stuff.”

“Oh.” Gregory clearly hadn’t thought about it that way. “But Evan’s got excellent control already.”

“He’s had them longer.” Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe he’s just a quick learner. Or maybe, there’s less wing to work with. Could be a bunch of things.”

“But…” Gregory sighed. He inched closer to Jeremy on the couch, his wings refusing to bend in a natural way.

Jeremy awkwardly looped a comforting arm around Gregory. “You’ll get there eventually.”

“They just hurt. All the time.”

“I can’t help with that,” Jeremy chuckled.

“Sure you can! Mike did this thing once, where he…” Gregory chewed his lip. “Well, I’m not exactly sure what he did.”

“You want me to pet you?” Jeremy said in disbelief. “Nuh uh. Go ask Evan. That’s not… No.”

“Why’d you make it weird?” Gregory shook his head. “It was like…”

“Like a shoulder massage,” Evan interjected helpfully. His wings flexed, expanding fully as he explained. They barely went past his shoulders, but the point got across.

Jeremy admired the confidence with which he showed them. He’d personally be too worried about people calling him a freak. Which, thinking about it, was not likely to happen in this house. Everyone was too nice here.

“Mikey went like this,” Evan said, pulling Jeremy’s arm back to get to Gregory’s wings.

Gently, Evan messaged the inner edge of Gregory’s wings, right where they extended from his back. Gregory’s wings convulsed, the claw on one nearly hitting Jeremy in the face. “I think they get itchy,” Evan mused. “We might have to just do this more often.”

“No kidding,” Gregory said with a sigh, his eyes closing and his shoulders relaxing. “But Mike’s still better at it.”

“Wonder where he got his practice,” Jeremy replied. He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it still came across that way.

Evan winched, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he kept focused on his task. Gregory sighed absently. “Wings are a lot of work.”

“Seems that way,” Jeremy replied.

Gregory folded and unfolded his hands while Evan worked. “I just…”

Jeremy spared him a glance as he went to get another can of Coke. “Something on your mind?”

“His girlfriend,” Evan said absently.

“Cassie’s not my girlfriend!” Gregory said, straightening. His wings fluffed up as he said it.

“Oh.” Jeremy had no idea what to make of that. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know!” Gregory replied. He ran a hand through his hair to try to make it lay flat. “She was at Evan’s party, and she looked really bad. I think Mike took care of it, but he didn’t really say anything about it afterwards.”

“She’s probably at the hospital, Gregory,” Evan replied, trying to be soothing. “We can visit her once we figure out what to do about this first.”

“Stupid wings,” Gregory grumbled. “Making everything harder.”

Jeremy didn’t know how to reply to that. He cracked the can open and took a sip. “Have you asked Mike?”

“He’s sick,” Evan answered for Gregory. His wings fluffed up again.

“Maybe we should check on him then. He’s been resting all week right?” Jeremy asked, trying to be casual about it. Evan had been very guarded about his older brother this whole time.

Jeremy came over every day, and every day, Evan said the same thing. “Mike’s sick. He can’t see anyone right now.”

It had been happening since the day Gregory’s wings had burst through his skin. Jeremy was more than a little concerned. Sure, he hadn’t reacted well to the wings at first, but none of them had. He’d been more supportive when Evan’s had burst through later that same day.

But Michael’s expression became very guarded for the rest of the day, and the next day, he was “sick” and couldn’t see Jeremy. And Evan was very good at shooing Jeremy away when he tried too hard to see him.

“Shouldn’t he eat something?” Jeremy asked.

Evan frowned. “Mikey told me that there’s not much he can stomach right now.”

“Crackers always work,” Jeremy mumbled to himself. Shaking his head, he tried again. “What about water? Maybe he’ll start feeling better with some fluids.”

“I… guess…” Evan seemed less sure. Conflicted, he looked at Gregory and then glanced at the closed door to his cousin’s room.

“I can get it. You keep helping Gregory,” Jeremy said quickly. He didn’t want Evan to change his mind.

Evan relented, nodding slightly. “Okay. Make sure to get him a big glass. And don’t be loud. And-“

“I know how it works when someone’s sick, thank you.” Jeremy set his Coke down and rushed back to the kitchen to grab a glass.

Evan had not been exaggerating. When Jeremy crept into the room with the glass of water, Michael was curled into a tight ball on the bed.

“Mike?” Jeremy whispered into the quiet room.

Michael groaned in response. He rolled over to face Jeremy, exposing the hair plastered to his face with sweat.

“I um.” Jeremy swallowed. He felt a little foolish now. Michael was just literally sick. He wasn’t mad at Jeremy or anything like that. “I brought you some water.”

Michael opened his eyes, feebly reaching for the glass.

“Are you strong enough to hold it on your own?” Jeremy asked.

Michael had to consider that for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“Here-“ Jeremy sat next to Michael on the bed, helping pull him into an upright position so he could drink the water.

Michael leaned heavily against Jeremy, eagerly drinking the water. Jeremy had to brace himself against the wall to support the extra weight. Then abruptly, Michael pulled away.

“J… Jeremy,” Michael whispered weakly. He gripped at Jeremy’s jacket, burying his face in Jeremy’s shirt. “I…”

“It’s okay, Mike-“

Michael seized in Jeremy’s arms, sobbing heavily. His hold got tighter and tighter as his body shuddered with pain. Jeremy tried to set the glass on the bedside table, but he barely had it on the edge and water soaked into the carpet as he pulled Michael the rest of the way into his lap. “I got you,” Jeremy said into Michael’s hair.

“It hurts,” Michael cried, still shaking.

“You’ll get through this,” Jeremy mumbled.

A tearing noise broke through the sound of Michael’s sobs, even as they intensified. “JEREMY!!!” Michael wailed.

“I have you, Mike. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

Dimly, Jeremy registered the large wings erupting from Michael’s back. Oh. Oh. This was happening now. Bloody feathers spread out, wrapping around Jeremy to return his comforting gesture.

Gradually, Michael’s crying ceased, and Jeremy was left holding an exhausted teenager with bloody wings. “I am sorry,” Michael whispered, pulling his hands back, the wings retracting slightly. “I did not mean to, uh…”

“It’s okay, Michael.” Jeremy tried to smile at him. He was determined not to squirm in discomfort from all the blood currently soaking into his jacket.

“I… should go shower,” Michael said awkwardly.

“Yeah…” Jeremy wriggled uncomfortably in his jacket.

“Sorry,” Michael said. “I can wash that if you want.”

“It’s not the biggest deal,” Jeremy said.

“It is if you go home wearing a jacket covered in blood,” Michael replied. “It’s only fair that I clean it, since that’s my blood.”

That wasn’t how Jeremy saw it, but he figured he wasn’t getting out of this. “Okay.”

Michael shifted carefully, putting his feet on the carpet. Almost instantly after taking his weight off the bed, he completely lost his balance. His wings flew out, trying to redistribute the weight, but Jeremy didn’t realize that as he caught Michael by the waist. Both of them tumbled off the bed, Jeremy hitting the carpet with a soft ‘oomph.’

“I am sorry. This was not my intent,” Michael said from above Jeremy.

“They take some getting used to, huh?” Jeremy replied, trying to ignore the heat rising to his face.

It hadn’t been much on the bed with Michael clinging to him like a lifeline. But on the floor with Michael on top of him, pinning him to the ground, Jeremy was suddenly aware of how close Michael was to him.

Michael smiled ruefully. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to walk on my own right now. I don’t know how I’m going to wash all this blood off by myself.”

“Maybe your uncle could help?”

“He’s probably back at the library again,” Michael mused as he crawled off Jeremy.

Evan wouldn’t be able to handle it, Jeremy knew that much. And he couldn’t ask for Gregory’s help without alerting Evan to the amount of blood that coated them both.

“Do you want me to help?” Jeremy asked, feeling the heat more intensely in his face. Please say no. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

“Really?” Michael chewed his lip, considering it. “I would not want to be a bother… But if you are offering…”

Jeremy’s heart quickened at the prospect. “R-right.”

“Help me up?” Michael asked.

Jeremy pulled Michael to his feet, unprepared for the wings to wrap around him again. “Um.”

“Sorry. I don’t have much control over them yet,” Michael replied sheepishly.

“Do they want me to carry you?” Jeremy gauged the idea of carrying Michael to the bathroom. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever come up with.

“It’d probably be less awkward than walking there like this,” Michael agreed.

“So I’m just going to…” Jeremy twisted around in the space the wings allowed him. Michael hissed out a pained breath, but soon he was behind Jeremy. “How well can you jump?”

Pretty well, apparently. Jeremy barely needed to adjust for the weight of Michael on his own back, hands linked beneath Michael’s knees. “Okay. Let’s get you taken care of.”

“I am not a child, Jer,” Michael said wearily. Still, he pressed the side of his face into Jeremy’s hair. “I am sorry to be such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Mike. You’re my friend. I’m absolutely willing to help you out when you’re in need.”

“Mmmmm,” Michael sounded almost mournful. But he didn’t argue.

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “So, I’m thinking they might need a decent soaking, right? Birds like to be fully submerged when they clean their wings right?”

Michael blinked at him from where he sat on the toilet lid. “What are you even saying?”

“The blood.”

“It is not dried yet. Not completely anyway.”

“So what? You were planning to just wing this whole thing, weren’t you?” Jeremy shrugged off his jacket.

Michael snorted. “I was planning to shower, Jeremy. But I guess I was planning to wing it, considering how I have wings now.” His wings stretched as he spoke, emphasizing his point. “I just don’t have the strength to stand there long enough to wash them off.”

“I-“ Jeremy sputtered. Clearing his throat, he tried to skip over the accidental pun he’d made. “Just going to let the water do the work?”

“That’s the goal.” Michael frowned. “There’s just a few problems.”

“Such as?”

“My shirt isn’t going to come off the same way it went on this morning.”

“Are you particularly attached to that shirt?” Jeremy asked.

“Not really. Could try to just-“ Michael pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll go grab a pair of scissors,” Jeremy said as Michael pulled experimentally at his shirt again.

He had to be careful walking by the couch, noticing Evan curled up for a nap. Gregory was nowhere in sight.

Returning with the scissors, Jeremy nearly dropped them upon seeing Michael. “What happened? I was gone for two minutes!”

Michael’s shirt was hanging off his body in shreds. When Jeremy looked closer, he could see sharp claws on Michael’s hands. “I…” Michael shrugged sheepishly. “I thought I could tear the fabric and take it off myself.”

Jeremy’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t let himself laugh. “Okay. I don’t think you did a very good job of it though.”

“It seems as though I failed…”

“Here, let me just…” Jeremy carefully reached around Michael’s head, one knee resting between his legs. It felt strange to be cutting through Michael’s shirt, but as the fabric gave way, Michael seemed to relax a little more.

Jeremy recalled Gregory and Evan both sitting on the couch as Michael measured the shape they needed cut from their shirts for the wings. Perhaps Michael needed a few of those done as well. Something to keep in mind for later.

“Hey, why is there blood all over-“ Gregory’s eyes widened as he peered into the bathroom.

Michael straightened quickly. Jeremy pulled back, hiding the scissors. “Hello.” Michael waved awkwardly, his wings stiff and very clearly exposed.

“You… you have them too?” Gregory’s voice seemed so small.

“Yes, it appears as though we will match.”

Gregory swallowed harshly. “I can help. I know how to get blood stains out of fabric.”

“I would really appreciate it. Thank you, Superstar.” Michael beamed at Gregory, who flushed a deep red.

“It’s no big deal…”

“Not to you,” Jeremy said softly. “But it helps more than you realize. Thank you.”

Gregory opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He scratched his neck as his wings fluffed up, finally saying, “I’ll be quick. It probably won’t be good if Evan finds out.”

“It would be best if he did not know how messy the process is,” Michael agreed.

Gregory nodded, smoothing his hair down before hurrying out of the room.

Michael wadded the scraps of his shirt into a ball and tossed it to the floor. “Now that that’s sorted…”

Jeremy determinedly kept his eyes from wandering as he helped Michael stand. His friend leaned heavily against him for support as he attempted to undo his pants.

Jeremy belatedly realized that the only way this whole thing would work was if the shower ran over both of them. I’m going to be drenched, he thought sorrowfully as Michael muttered to himself in frustration.

“You could probably just sit while I wash the blood off,” Jeremy said when Michael finally stood there in his boxers. “Since it would be less exhausting for you.”

Michael blinked. “I suppose you are correct. I should have thought this through more.”

“It’s no big deal, man. You’re probably dealing with blood loss or whatever.”

“Still…”

“Hey, it’s fine. You spend all this time taking care of everybody. Maybe it’s time someone took care of you, right?”

Michael chewed his lip. “I suppose.”

“Okay. We’ll get you cleaned up in no time, Mike.” Jeremy said, smiling supportively. Michael tentatively smiled back.

As it turned out, it was a lot harder to clean up Michael than Jeremy initially thought. He kept twitching away, hissing out noises of pain at Jeremy’s touch.

Michael clenched his fists in his lap. “Okay. Clearly this is not the proper solution.”

“I can’t do this when it’s clearly hurting you, Mike. I just…” Jeremy leaned forward to rest his head against the back of Michael’s.

“This is nothing. I have endured much worse before.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Jeremy.” Michael said calmly, wringing water out of the washcloth. “I am sure it has become clear to you that things are not how they should be. The wings are only one part of it.”

“Yeah? What I’m hearing is that your father is abusive.” Jeremy wearily took the washcloth back, dabbing it gently against the space between Michael’s wings. At least like that it didn’t seem to hurt him.

“Well, not in the way you would think. Actually, I was thinking more of the comparison between growing limbs and losing organs. I think losing organs is still a more painful experience than this.”

“So you want me to just ignore your pain?” Jeremy asked, trying to decipher Michael’s meaning.

“I am saying I can handle it. I can be a man about this.”

No one is doubting that, Jeremy thought grimly to himself. “Maybe I can’t.” He tentatively rubbed at a clump of blood in the inner edge of Michael’s wing.

Immediately, it swung at him, throwing him against the sink. Pain flared throughout Jeremy’s entire body as he hit the floor. Faintly he registered that his face was bleeding.

“Jeremy?” Michael asked, twisting around. “Are you alright?”

“Nnnnngh,” Jeremy groaned. “I don’t think I broke anything.”

“I am so sorry. It appears that the wings are more sensitive than I thought.”

“No kidding.” Jeremy pressed his fingers to his cheek. He was lucky. The clawed joint of Michael’s wing had hit him just below the eye. Any higher, and he might’ve lost it completely. “Now what?”

“I suppose I should just sit under the water and hope for the best.”

“I think Gregory and Evan mentioned messages working out the soreness. Maybe I could at the very least-“

“I think we should avoid that for now,” Michael replied, his voice sounding stiff. “You have already been hurt once today.”

“Michael.” Jeremy tried to make his voice sound stern. “I knew the risks when I offered to help. So let me help.”

“Fine. Just do not do anything that will put you in danger again.”

“Don’t lie about how much it hurts next time,” Jeremy shot back. “Still gotta get all that blood out of your wings, you know.”

Michael clenched his jaw, but he only stared down into his hands. He couldn’t face Jeremy with the nasty cut on his face any longer.

Jeremy was lighter after that. He knew that even pressing a little too hard would make the wings spaz, and over the course of the next few hours, he succeeded with minimal interruptions.

Gregory popped in near the end to check on the progress. “Henry’s back. Do you want me to tell him about this?” He gestured at the entirety of the bathroom.

“I believe he should be informed. Please ensure that my brother does not come to investigate before we are done here.”

“And maybe grab him a dry set of clothes while you’re at it,” Jeremy said. As an afterthought, he looked at himself. “Maybe grab me something too, if you would.”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. How much does it hurt?”

“I suspect that I should be in more pain than I am,” Michael said, considering the question. “But Jeremy has done an excellent job of making sure the process is less than agonizing.”

“Uh, okay?” Gregory shot Jeremy a look.

“I can’t hardly touch him without the wings reacting,” Jeremy explained. “Nearly lost an eye the first time I did that.”

“So it’s bad.”

“It’s bad,” Jeremy agreed.

Gregory shot Michael a look loaded with concern, but he gave Jeremy a thumbs up. “I’ll ask Henry if he can get you guys some dry clothes. Maybe I’ll just imply that something else is going on in here if Evan asks.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made Jeremy’s face burn.

“Gregory-“

But Gregory had already ducked out of the room, laughing quietly to himself. Jeremy sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable glares he’d get from Evan.

Michael sighed softly once Jeremy finally went to smooth out the wings. “That feels really nice.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jeremy said softly. “I think we got all the blood out.”

“Is it time to turn the water off then?” Michael asked, his eyes closing.

“I’d say so.” Thank goodness, Jeremy thought as he turned the dials back and pressed the tab down. “Now you need to dry off a bit.”

“Mmmmm….” Michael hummed to himself as Jeremy stepped into the tub with a towel and started rubbing Michael’s head with it.

Michael’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at Jeremy. “You really do like taking care of me, don’t you?”

Jeremy huffed out a sigh. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?”

“I thought you just stuck around to steal our Coca Cola.”

“That too. But I do enjoy your company, Mike.”

The smile broke into a full grin as Michael tugged the towel out of Jeremy’s hands. “That is wonderful news, Jeremy.”

Did he really not know? Jeremy wondered.

Before he had a chance to answer, Henry peered into the bathroom, assessing the pool of water on the floor. He raised a tired eyebrow as he observed the two boys in the bathtub. “I wasn’t inclined to believe Gregory before, but seeing it for myself…”

Jeremy’s face ignited with heat. “I was just helping clean blood from his wings. Nothing else happened, I swear.”

“I was referring to the fact that Michael grew wings. What did you think I meant?” Henry’s eyebrows scrunched, and Michael gave Jeremy a funny look.

“I thought Gregory might’ve said something else,” Jeremy replied, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Are you alright, Jeremy? You look a bit feverish…” A frown tugged at the corner of Michael’s mouth.

“I’m going to go grab some more towels. And you two will be wanting a dry set of clothes, won’t you?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy nodded quickly.

Henry hummed at them before walking back out of the room.

“I am grateful for both you and Gregory,” Michael said, using the towel to dry the rest of his body. He slowly rose to his feet, finally able to stand on his own.

Jeremy determinedly did not stare. Instead, he wrung water from his hair.

“I would offer you the towel, but I believe it is too wet to be any real help. Seeing as your clothes are also drenched, the best course of action is to wait for Henry to return.”

Jeremy smiled weakly. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Michael stepped out of the tub, hanging the towel back on the rack after he went. Jeremy could admit that the wings looked pretty good on Mike. He’d been weary of it when he’d first seen the wings on Gregory, and he knew that Gregory was defensive about it now. But maybe seeing him help Michael would help.

“Do you need a bandage for your face?” Michael asked, making eye contact with Jeremy through the mirror above the sink.

“Oh, I uh.” Jeremy blinked at him. “It doesn’t… It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Michael’s mouth twitched. “I understand that me being like this must be unpleasant for you, but that does not mean you do not need assistance with that cut.”

Being like this? Was Michael phrasing things like that on purpose? Was he talking about the fact that he was in his boxers or the fact that he had wings? Jeremy crossed his arms before remembering that his shirt was soaked. He uncrossed them and simply said, “There is no problem. I just don’t need a Band-Aid.”

Michael walked back over, and Jeremy tried to take a step back before remembering he was standing in a bathtub. Trapped, Jeremy stood stiffly as Michael ran a thumb over his scratch. Don’t flinch, he told himself, but it still stung. The cut was pretty deep.

“You likely do need a bandage, despite your claim otherwise,” Michael replied. “I can help, if you need assistance.”

Michael gently wiped blood from Jeremy’s face and went in search of medical supplies. It stung when he cleaned the wound, but Jeremy found himself too fascinated by Michael’s cautious care to really notice. The tiniest furrow in Michael’s eyebrows appeared when he put the bandage on Jeremy’s face, and his hands lingered on Jeremy’s jaw for just a moment too long.

He almost seemed sad when he stepped back from Jeremy. “All better. See?” Michael smiled so quickly Jeremy wondered if he’d imagined the pain in Michael’s eyes.

“Y… yeah. Um. Thanks.” Jeremy touched the bandage, surprised by how big it was. “I didn’t realize the scratch was that big.”

“I still feel terrible for doing that to you. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” Michael asked.

Unable to come up with anything to say other than a request for Michael to kiss him, Jeremy shook his head and turned his attention to Michael’s wings. “Do they still hurt?”

“Not as much as they did,” Michael flexed them experimentally. Jeremy smiled faintly, recalling that Gregory was having immense difficulty controlling his own wings. Perhaps the size made it easier.

Michael made a face. “It appears that moving them still hurts, however.”

“Evan mentioned something about messaging the muscles earlier. He was doing it for Gregory.”

Michael brightened. “I suppose I shall have to ask for Evan’s help with that endeavor then. Thank you for the reminder.”

I could do it for you, Jeremy thought desperately. He didn’t want to just have to leave after everything. This was the most time he’d spent with Michael before, and the guy was just so chill about everything. But being in the same space as him, watching him interact with his brother and Gregory made him want to stay so much longer. Michael Afton was the most compassionate person Jeremy had ever met, and he wanted to be able to help the man who tried so hard to help everyone else.

It didn’t help that Jeremy was also hopelessly in love with him.

As Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, Henry returned with the changes of clothes. Michael turned his attention away from Jeremy to thank Henry and apologize for the water all over the floor, and Jeremy was left to awkwardly collect the pile of bloody clothes on the floor to offer them to Henry.

Henry stared at the rags for a moment, his face paling significantly. “These were Michael’s clothes?”

“Yes.” Michael was separating the clothes to split between himself and Jeremy, and he was hardly focused on Henry. “I could not find a way to safely remove my shirt without causing more pain, so Jeremy helped me cut it off. I am afraid blood does not come out of denim very easily, so my jeans are also a lost cause.”

Brightening, Michael put a bundle of clothing into Jeremy’s arms. “You can change in Charlie’s old room.”

“Why can’t you both change in here?” Henry asked, sounding confused.

Pressure built in Jeremy’s throat as he tried to answer that question. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of himself. Not by any measure at all. He just knew it was dangerous, what he was. People didn’t exactly approve of people like him, after all. Especially not here.

Michael gave Henry a scathing look as tears built up behind Jeremy’s eyes. “Maybe we don’t want to change in the same room.”

Henry blinked in surprise, but he glanced between the two boys for a moment before making his exit. Michael patted Jeremy’s shoulder. “I can go to Charlie’s room instead, if you would prefer to change in here.”

Jeremy still couldn’t speak, so he just nodded. The gentle way Michael nodded back at him filled his body with a strange warmth. A few moments later, Michael was gone, and Jeremy could finally change out of the sopping wet layers he’d been in this whole time.

Half-way through changing, Jeremy noticed that most of the clothes were baggy and easy to layer over each other. There were almost too many options. A jolt ran through him when he considered that Michael had sorted through the clothes. Either Michael was very particular, or he knew.

Hurriedly, Jeremy finished changing and practically ran to the bedroom where Michael said he’d be changing. He basically flung the door open to a startled Mike, who had jeans on but no shirt. “Is something wrong?” Michael asked.

His wings and hair fluffed up, like he’d been expecting a threat, but his expression was one of concern. Jeremy knew he was shaking, knew he wouldn’t be able to speak for a moment, but he stood there and just stared. Why did Michael have to be adorable in everything he did? The way his mouth curled into a frown made half of his mouth seem to vanish, like he was biting on it constantly distracted Jeremy from what he wanted to say.

He let his eyes wander over Michael’s bare torso as he tried to find the words to speak. The worst of his secrets was surely out already, and if Michael figured out his feelings, it would be less painful than him knowing the other secret.

Fascination over the jagged scar across Michael’s chest sprouted in his heart. Jeremy had seen it before, of course. He’d seen it in the bathroom, but he’d been trying not to stare before.

“Jeremy?” Michael looked worried now. “Are you alright?”

Maybe Michael didn’t know. Maybe he just hadn’t grabbed a shirt at all, since they had to be cut specifically for the wings anyway. Jeremy was probably just overreacting. And even if he wasn’t, it seemed that Michael wasn’t going to bring it up. “Uhmm. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Michael relaxed. “I’m quite alright, Jeremy. I’m not as weak as I was before. The shower certainly helped.”

“You’re um. You’re very fluffy right now.”

“Am I?” Michael ran a hand through his hair, feeling where it stuck up all over the place. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for talking to Henry back there.”

“It was nothing.” Michael blinked at him, wings twitching. “Gregory did a good job cleaning up.” He gestured at the carpet and the bed.

The bed was made very neatly, corners tucked so much better than Jeremy could do on a good day. There were only faint hints that someone had been bleeding there, and they were only visible because Jeremy was looking for them. “Yeah. He certainly did.”

A fond smile crossed Michael’s face at that. “He’s so sweet.”

Jeremy didn’t really believe that, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t want Michael to stop smiling for anything. It was so much better than his frown in every possible way.

“We should… I um. I think we should probably head back to the living room,” Jeremy said awkwardly.

“Right, yes. I suppose it is almost time for you to head home too.” Michael blinked, like he was shaking himself out of a daydream. “Or maybe you could stay for supper?”

Jeremy smiled. “I would love that.”

Evan was awestruck when he saw his brother’s wings. “They’re so big!”

“Soft too,” Jeremy said, trying to encourage Evan’s excitement.

Gregory made a noise in the back of his throat before saying, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Jeremy stared at him, mouth opening and closing without words coming out.

“No softer than yours, I’m sure,” Michael said, trying to keep the peace. There wasn’t even a hint of a blush on his face at Gregory’s words. Were the jokes just going over his head? Maybe Jeremy was reading too much into it.

Shaking his head, Jeremy plopped down on the couch beside Gregory. “What happened to your face?” Gregory asked quietly.

“I wasn’t careful enough,” Jeremy answered, glancing at the two brothers as they talked about Michael’s new wings. “And Mike’s wings pack quite the punch.”

“Oh.” Gregory’s eyes widened with understanding. “That could’ve been bad.”

“You’re telling me, kid.” Jeremy shook his head, taking a sip from his can of Coke. “What were you and Evan up to today?”

“Videogames mostly,” Gregory replied. “Although everything here is so old.”

“Old?” Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “Nah, my parents are worse. You’re probably just picky. A bunch of this stuff is newer than anything my family could afford.”

“Your motorcycle is cool though.”

Jeremy smiled. “It is pretty cool.”

“Can you take me on it sometime?”

The smile faltered slightly. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“C’mon, please? All the stuff here is pretty boring, and I know Evan tries to be fun, but you can only play the same game for so long before it’s lame. And I don’t want to have to tell him it’s lame. It’s awful when he cries.”

Jeremy didn’t know what to make of that. “Maybe we could play a board game or something.”

“I wanna go on your bike sometime.” Gregory stuck out his chin stubbornly. “Or I’m going to tell Mike you have the biggest crush on him and-“

“Okay, okay! I get it. But you’ll have to wear a helmet,” Jeremy said, looking away and tugging at his shirt. “And long pants. Just in case.”

“Okay, Dad.” Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Well, you’re the one who said it’s awful when Evan cries,” Jeremy shot back. “And I’ve already seen how Mike cries, and I don’t want to see that again. No thanks.”

Gregory flinched at that. “I…”

“Not to frighten you, but it can be dangerous.” Jeremy sighed. “There’s only so much you can be safe. Not to quote my mom, but ‘I’d rather you be late than dead.’ It’s just that kind of thing.”

Seeing Gregory’s expression, he softened. “I’m a firm believer in the fact that both of us are going to get lectured by Michael when he finds out. So, when he tries, we’re going to tell him that I already told you all the risks and you still wanted to do it. Unless I’ve changed your mind.”

“No, haven’t changed my mind.” Gregory scooted closer to Jeremy. “I bet I’d survive a crash better than you.”

“No way,” Jeremy laughed. “With the way you’re built? No offense, but you’d be a splatter on the cement.”

“Rude.” Gregory scoffed. Not subtly at all, he tried to steal Jeremy’s Coke from his hand.

Amused, Jeremy let him. Gregory immediately started downing what was left in the can. At that moment, Michael glanced over and gasped. “Gregory! Is that Coke? Are you encouraging this, Jeremy?”

“He took the can out of my hand. I didn’t do anything,” Jeremy smiled cheekily. “Not my fault he’s so fast.”

“Mmmmm,” Gregory squinted skeptically at the can. “This is Coke?”

“Yeah?” Jeremy looked confused. “Why? Does it taste weird to you or something?”

“It’s better than I remember.”

Michael sighed, removing the can from Gregory’s hands. “That is because Coca-Cola has different flavoring in it than you remember.”

“Are you talking about the whole cocaine in Coke thing? Because I thought that was a myth.”

Michael shot Jeremy an exasperated look. “That is not what I am talking about. Anyway, Gregory does not need caffeine in his system at this time of day. He won’t get any sleep at this rate.”

“Whoops?” Jeremy held his hands up in surrender. “Look I-“

“It does not matter.” Michael shot Gregory a meaningful look. “So long as he doesn’t keep Evan up with his extra energy, it should be fine.”

Evan peered at them all from behind the sofa. “How did he even take it from you? I thought you kept a tight grip on those at all times.”

“Caught me by surprise?” Jeremy shifted his weight as Michael gave him a skeptical look. “He’s faster than he looks, I swear.”

Evan snorted, climbing over the back of the sofa, much to Michael’s despair as he said, “Well, that gives him a one-up in physical games I guess.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I totally crush at Fazblock!” Gregory crossed his arms. “I had more blocks than you did.”

“Gregory, you’re supposed to get rid of the blocks, not keep them on the screen.” Evan shook his head despairingly. “I would’ve explained the rules if you’d asked-“

“It was different than what I’m used to, okay?” Gregory rolled his eyes. “I could totally beat you at Fazzy Kart.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Evan replied. “I still think you made it up.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Okay, that is enough.” Michael shook his head, smiling faintly. “Gregory did not make it up. Fazzy Kart just has not come out yet.” He ruffled Evan’s hair before walking away with the empty Coke can. “And I have something for you two to do when I get back!”

“A task?” Gregory asked.

“A task.” Evan snorted. “Ah yes, my brother typically assigns me tasks. No, Gregory. He’s sending us to do chores or something. Usually he’s more mean about it though.”

“No one understands my jokes.” Gregory’s wing twitched irritably.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jeremy replied. “He still laughed, even if he didn’t get it. Be nonsensical! Nobody cares as long as you’re funny.”

“That’s a terrible line of logic. I refuse to believe that people willingly follow your example,” Michael said, returning with a sheet of paper. “Evan, Gregory, I am trusting you two to find everything on this list and bring it back here.”

“We don’t have money,” Gregory said, but he still took the list from Michael’s hands. “And aren’t we supposed to stay inside until we figure out what to do about our wings? And wait, is it safe to-“

“You worry too much, Gregory. We can just ask Uncle Henry for help.” Evan peered at the grocery list. “What are you making, Mikey? This looks like spaghetti sauce, but you don’t use half this stuff normally.”

“Wait and see,” Michael said cryptically. His own wings twitched as he spoke, even seeming a tiny bit ruffled.

“With the overabundance of clothes Henry seems to have, maybe he has jackets you can just throw on over the wings or something,” Jeremy said, slowly rising from the couch as Gregory and Evan stood to examine the list closer.

“We can handle this,” Evan said with full confidence. “And we’ll try to be fast so you can get started sooner.”

“Thank you, Evan.” There was a deeper tone of relief in Michael’s voice at that. “My heroes.”

Jeremy smiled wearily at them all. “I should probably get going.” It felt like intruding to stay this long. Sure, they all tried to include him, but Michael probably had other things he planned to do while Evan and Gregory were gone. Perhaps he needed to talk to his uncle more or something. Regardless, Jeremy had overstayed his welcome.

“I thought you said you could stay for supper.” Michael sounded wounded. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need to lie down?”

He pressed his hand against Jeremy’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I’m fine, Michael. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome, you know?” Jeremy ducked away from Michael’s hand and kept his gaze on the carpet. “Especially if you’re all going to be busy.”

“I won’t be busy until they get back,” Michael replied as Gregory tugged on Evan’s shirt to lead him away. “And even then, I won’t be too busy to talk. You can sit with me in the kitchen while I cook.”

“Yeah but…” Jeremy hesitated, combing a hand through his hair. “Look, I just don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be,” Michael insisted. He sat down on the sofa where Gregory had been sitting before. Patting the cushion next to him, he waited for Jeremy to sit back down.

When Jeremy sat down, Michael gestured for him to scoot closer. “What are you doing?” Jeremy asked nervously.

“Your hair is a mess,” Michael replied. “I’m going to fix it for you.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy frowned, patting his hair self-consciously.

“It’s all tangled. That’s going to be a nightmare to brush out tomorrow if you don’t take care of it tonight.”

“Oh.” Jeremy looked away. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility-“

“My wings shouldn’t have been yours,” Michael countered. “Let me do a nice thing for you. Please.”

“I helped with your wings because I wanted to spend time with you. Not because it was a burden, Mike.”

“This isn’t a burden to me either. Let me help. Maybe I want to spend more time with you too.”

Jeremy didn’t have a counter to that, so he reluctantly sighed. “Just… be gentle on it, okay?”

“Of course.” He blinked, seemingly surprised that Jeremy gave in so easily. “I do need to go grab a brush and a comb.”

“Naturally.” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as Michael got up.

What was he even supposed to say to Michael? He hadn’t expected to get this far, and now faced with the opportunity to have a casual conversation with him, Jeremy panicked.

When Michael got back, the hair brush he carried had long strands of dark brown hair in it, and both the brush and the comb were shining with water. “I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said awkwardly. “But I know that hair gets really, really tangled, so I just wanted to make sure I could get the tangles out without hurting you.”

Oh. That was… surprisingly considerate. “And the water is supposed to fix tangles?”

“Better than a dry brush.”

Jeremy just stared. The most he’d been able to do with his hair was to throw it into the world’s worst ponytail when he needed it out of his face. All this talk of the more effective way to brush through his hair without making it hurt stirred something in his chest. There was nothing Michael would do that could possibly hurt more than the way he was currently doing his hair.

Michael sat back down and got to work. It was strange. Jeremy hadn’t had anyone brush his hair in a long time. His mother had been too busy with work to even notice that he needed help with his hair. Or anything really.

“You have really thick hair,” Michael mused softly.

“Yeah. Makes it a real pain sometimes,” Jeremy replied.

Michael was so gentle with it, apologizing softly when the brush scraped his ear or a snag was too rough. Eventually, though, he set the brush aside and started dividing his hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you with your hair,” Michael replied as he started braiding it. “I assume you don’t have a hair brush for yourself, or maybe you just don’t have much time to do your hair every day. But at the very least, braiding it back at night prevents most tangles from getting worse.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff, dude?” Jeremy wondered. “Like, you know more about this than I do.”

“I…” Michael hesitated. “Evan’s not my only sibling. I had a sister. Elizabeth. Her hair was more of a nightmare than this.”

“Oh.” Jeremy fidgeted. He didn’t know what to do with that information.

“And, there!” Michael twisted a ponytail into the end of Jeremy’s hair. “Less problems for later, see?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy touched a hand to the braid, smiling softly. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But I say it is something. Come here, Mike.”

Michael’s wings fluffed up ever so slightly, but he did as Jeremy asked, unprepared for the tackle-hug Jeremy gave him. He gasped in alarm as they ended up on the floor, but when he looked up at Jeremy, it was with what Jeremy could only describe as adoration. Then he was suddenly pressed completely up against Michael as his wings wrapped around them both.

Of course, that was also the moment Evan and Gregory came back from their shopping trip with the supplies Michael had asked for. Letting Jeremy up, Michael immediately accepted the groceries from Evan and went straight to the kitchen. Gregory and Evan were left staring at Jeremy, who was sitting with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Might need some help preparing this!” Michael called.

Before any of them could move toward the door, however, Henry walked by to go help Michael. Which left Jeremy to get teased by the two younger boys.

“What was that about?” Evan asked, picking a long blue feather out of Jeremy’s hair.

“What were you doing on the floor?” Gregory asked.

“Mike did my hair,” Jeremy replied, gesturing at the hairbrush that now had long strands of gold intertwined with the brown.

Evan looked thoughtful as he fiddled with the feather. “I didn’t know Mikey knew how to do hair.”

“Didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Gregory asked, picking a smaller, brown feather from Jeremy’s shirt. “He could’ve done her hair once or twice.”

“Maybe…” Evan didn’t sound very sure. “Mikey wasn’t… I don’t know. Maybe he did. I never knew, though.”

“He did mention it when I asked…” Jeremy said, suddenly embarrassed to know more than Evan.

Evan fiddled with the feather more. “He seems to like you a lot.”

“Mike?” Jeremy asked, even more embarrassed now.

“Yeah. He smiles when he talks to you.”

“Except that one day,” Gregory interrupted. “He came inside and cried.”

“That was something else, I think,” Evan responded. “I think the Nightmares finally got to him.”

“So I take it Mike doesn’t usually talk about his issues then?”

“Not usually.” Evan squirmed, his wings puffing up. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shook his head and finally got off the floor. “Do you want to try playing Kings in the Corner again?”

“Ugh, that’s so boring,” Gregory replied, but Evan was already rushing off to get the cards.

“I need a second. I’ll be right back,” Jeremy said, slipping into the kitchen to grab another can of Coke.

Michael glanced over from where he was cutting an onion and just sighed. “Jeremy-“

“I know, I know. It’s bad for me or whatever. But I need it, okay?” Jeremy took a long swig from the can. “Better than some habits.”

“Still…”

“It’s fine dude. Cut your onion or whatever.”

Henry said something that Jeremy didn’t catch as he rushed back to the living room. “Okay, are we ready to start?”

“This game is stupid,” Gregory grumbled. He was holding his seven cards, and Evan had already laid out the board.

“I dealt, so Gregory goes first,” Evan replied, ignoring Gregory’s comment.

“Lucky,” Jeremy said, eyeing the board.

“I don’t even know how to play,” Gregory complained. “This game is for old people.”

“I guess we’re old then.” Jeremy’s eyes twinkled. “You have to play a card from your hand onto one of those four cards.” He pointed at the two of diamonds, the king of spades, the four of diamonds, and the seven of diamonds respectively. “You want it to be a lower rank, or less points than the card on the stack. And it’s gotta be the opposite color.”

“Oh.” Gregory stared at his hand for a moment.

“You gotta tell him about the kings, Jeremy.” Evan shook his head. “If there’s a king, you can move it into the spaces between the four other cards, and put a new foundation card down.”

“Huh.” Gregory frowned. “This is too confusing.”

“It really isn’t,” Jeremy laughed, taking another sip from his Coke. “If you really want, you can add your cards back to the foundation pile and watch me and Evan play a game.”

“I’m just going to do that.” Gregory stuck his cards back in the bigger stack.

“Suits don’t matter,” Evan said helpfully. “Only color does.”

Jeremy set off to move the king, and the game begun. Evan went out on his first turn.

“Okay, that was a bad example,” Evan said with a grin.

“You didn’t shuffle very well,” Jeremy said accusingly.  “That was- arghhh. We’re playing another game so Gregory can actually see how the game works.”

“Are we doing points?” Evan said innocently.

“We will once Gregory joins in,” Jeremy replied, collecting the cards from the board. “These are warm-up rounds.”

“Riiiiight,” Gregory replied with an amused snort. “You just got destroyed.”

“Thank you for the obvious and accurate commentary, Gregory.” Jeremy rolled his eyes.

When he flipped the four cards over, three of them were kings. Jeremy let out an indignant noise as Gregory burst out laughing and Evan grinned at the board. Just like that, he was down to one card. Jeremy scowled at his own cards as it became his turn.

“All four kings on the board in the first turn,” he grumbled.

“Now who’s bad at shuffling?” Evan replied, watching Jeremy’s hand drop to three cards.

“Oh, shut up.”

Evan snickered as it became his turn. “I almost wonder if you were trying to let me win.” He took the ace of diamonds and placed it on the two of clubs that Jeremy had missed during his turn. “Do you have the hang of it yet, Gregory? We may need a third player or this are going to be some very quick games.”

“Ha ha.” Jeremy said as Evan gathered up the cards again. “I’m just used to people who aren’t paying attention nearly as much as you do.”

“I’m just playing the game,” Evan said with a cheeky grin. “You had a six of spades in your hand? You could’ve played that on the seven-“

“I don’t want to hear it!” Jeremy sighed, exaggerating his grief as he drank from his can. “You have eyes like a hawk.”

Evan just hummed at that, his eyes twinkling as he shuffled the cards again. “What do you say, Gregory? Want to try and give it another shot?”

“Sure. Can’t be any worse than Jeremy, right?”

“Alright, I get it.” Jeremy shook his head. “I guess this game isn’t as awful as you want to claim it is, huh?”

“We’ll see.”

Evan pulled out a baggy filled with little red chips and shook it for a moment. “I didn’t have a chance to grab paper, so we can just play with chips, right?”

“Let’s give Gregory one trial run first,” Jeremy said as Gregory stared blankly at the chip bag. “Let him get a feel for the game.”

Gregory’s first round went okay. He managed to play half his cards in the first go, but he failed to notice that he could’ve moved the king to the corner right away, and Jeremy took advantage of that. Humming to himself, Jeremy quickly went through his turn and waited for Evan.

“That is absurd,” Gregory said, watching Evan put down cards and move piles around rapidly. “There’s no way you’re not cheating.”

“It’s all natural, Gregory,” Evan said cheerfully. “You’re just mad because I’m better at games than you are.”

“Grrrrrr….” Gregory scowled as Evan tapped his own card against the table. He put down his one card and waited for Jeremy to go.

Adding another person really did slow down the game a lot, Jeremy thought to himself. This was the first round someone had actually had to draw a card. Evan hummed, but he also needed to draw a card. Unlike Jeremy, however, Evan couldn’t play his. Finally, the game was even again.

Gregory scowled at his cards. “What do I do if I can’t play?”

“Draw,” Jeremy said. “We’ve both done it.”

Grumbling, Gregory drew a card. He brightened as he realized he could play it, and then it was Jeremy’s turn. Jeremy sighed in relief as he was able to play a card on Gregory’s queen, and then move a ten on top of that. Moment of truth, he thought to himself as Evan studied his hand. Michael’s brother shook his head and drew another card. And promptly played it.

Gregory and Jeremy both groaned at that. “See, but now things get interesting,” Evan said cheerfully. “We’ve all been drawing cards and actually have to pay attention to the board.”

“Don’t you always have to pay attention to the board?” Gregory asked as he drew another card. “Ugh.”

“Depends on how close,” Jeremy said smugly, laying down his one card. “I win this round.”

Evan sighed wearily, but he said nothing as Jeremy collected the cards to shove them at Gregory. “Your turn to shuffle.”

Gregory pushed the cards back at Jeremy. “I don’t know how.”

“I guess I can do it for you. But you’re still dealing, alright? Seven cards to each of us.”

Gregory nodded as Jeremy shuffled, and Evan quickly explained how chips worked. Everyone put one chip in at the beginning. Then, when you drew a card, you’d put another chip in. Each card at the end of the game still in your hand was another chip, except for kings. Kings were ten chips.

They all put one chip in the middle as Gregory passed out cards.

“Ready for your first real round, Gregory?” Jeremy asked, looking over his cards.

Gregory huffed, but he nodded anyway. “This is still dumb.”

“What if we made it a bit more fun?” Evan asked. “I’ll put in this feather.” He held up the blue feather he’d picked out of Jeremy’s hair.

“We’re playing for feathers?” Gregory asked. “But we both have feathers.”

“Not just any feathers. Michael’s feathers. I know him better than you do, trust me. He wouldn’t just give those away.”

Gregory considered it for a moment as Jeremy bit his lip. It seemed plenty easy to get feathers in his opinion. Michael shed two of them while Jeremy hugged him before. “Deal. I’ll put in this one.”

Gregory set the brown feather on top of the three chips. Evan did the same with the blue feather. Both of them glanced at Jeremy expectantly.

“I don’t have any. You both took those from me in the first place.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. The feathers were cool, though.

He kind of wished he had some of his own, maybe to braid through his hair or something. But that required winning this game. And since Evan was really good at Kings in the Corner, and also used all the chips in the box, it was really unlikely that he’d win them at the end.

“How about…” Jeremy put twenty more chips in the pot. “I know it doesn’t balance out at all, but you two seem to really want those feathers.”

Evan grinned, and so, the game began.

Gregory surprised them all by nearly going out in his first turn, but Evan still won the first game. They played in relative silence, too busy concentrating to hold a proper conversation. Evan crushed them in the first few rounds, but Gregory eventually got a win when Evan had 6 cards in his hand, resulting in a somewhat decent counter-balance.

It did nothing for Jeremy though. He looked nervously at his dwindling pile of chips every time the game ended and knew it was very unlikely that he’d win. It wasn’t impossible, sure, but it was incredibly unlikely.

“This is eight, Gregory,” Evan said absently, after Jeremy had already played his first turn. “We can play it, but you should pay better attention.”

Jeremy bit his lip at that. He was losing really bad. He really needed a win, and he needed one where the other two were struggling. Accidentally starting a round on eight cards was not a great way to start that.

“How did you even notice that?” Gregory asked.

“Eight feels thicker than seven.”

“How much do you play cards? Jeez,” Jeremy asked as it became Gregory’s turn.

“Enough,” Evan said with an amused smile. “I usually play alone.”

“This doesn’t feel like a game you can play alone,” Gregory muttered.

“You can. It’s just not as fun. But I don’t play this,” Evan said as Jeremy had to draw yet again. “I play Solitare.”

“Right, silly me.” Gregory shook his head. “Dude, how are you losing the game you suggested?”

“It takes a lot of luck, Gregory.” Jeremy sighed, having emptied his can of Coke long ago. “I’ve already accepted my fate. Now it’s just a matter of wondering who wins overall.”

They all fell quiet again as they settled back into their concentration. A few tense rounds went by as they all drew cards. When Evan finally played a card, Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d last another round.

Or… maybe not. It was a close thing, that balance between drawing and playing. “Are we going to go through the whole deck?” Gregory eventually wondered.

“Maybe,” Jeremy replied wearily.

The pot was massive at this point. Evan’s brow was continuously furrowed, and even his wings were stiff with concentration. There’s no strategy that trumps the good cards being at the bottom of the deck, Jeremy thought to himself with grim amusement.

“Ha!” Gregory shouted his delight as he finally laid his last card.

Jeremy sighed sorrowfully as he glanced at his four chips. He would only have two left for another game after this. If only it had been Jeremy who’d drawn the card to end the game.

“I don’t even remember who shuffled that one,” Jeremy said as Gregory gathered the pot.

“It was Gregory. He started us with eight cards,” Evan replied. “You shuffle next.”

“I’m not going to make it through this game,” Jeremy muttered.

“Then we’ll just play it out, and you can be done after,” Evan shrugged. “Who knows, maybe you’ll win?”

“For every draw you have that you can’t play, I’ll put in a chip,” Gregory offered as Jeremy put his last chip in the pot. “It’ll keep things fair.”

“I’m sure,” Jeremy muttered.

“Awww, you are a grumpy old man. Evan look! He’s so grumpy.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Evan put his last card down, and Jeremy shook his head. “I’m out. Good luck, Gregory.”

He wondered what Michael and Henry were up to in the kitchen. It had been two hours of this, after all. Surely preparing a meal wouldn’t take that long, especially since Evan implied Michael was making spaghetti.

“Okay, I gotta know. What spaghetti takes three hours to make?” Jeremy said, sitting down at the kitchen table with Henry.

“It’s not the spaghetti that takes so long,” Michael replied from the stove. “It’s the sauce.”

“But why?”

“The flavor has to soak in from the leaves.” Michael shrugged, moving to sit down with them. “What were you playing in there?”

“Cards.” Jeremy shrugged. “Gregory said it was for old people.”

“Then he must have never played cards before,” Henry commented.

“Maybe it’s his age,” Michael suggested.

“Nah. Your brother got really into it. He’s been beating both of us.”

“THAT’S SO STUPID!!!” Gregory shouted from the other room.

Evan laughed and said something in response, as they all glanced toward the hallway.

“No way,” Gregory said, his voice still projecting from the other room. “That’s so stupid!”

“I think the sauce is about done,” Michael said, rising from his seat again. “I should probably begin on the actual spaghetti.”

“I appreciate you deciding to cook for us, Michael,” Henry said. “And not that I’m complaining about your food, but this seems more complicated than some of the other stuff you’ve made.”

Michael just blinked at him, filling a pot with water. “It’s just spaghetti.”

Gregory and Evan walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “It smells great in here,” Evan said.

Michael glanced at his brother and at Gregory for a moment. “Who won?”

“Evan,” Gregory grumbled crossing his arms. “But he cheats.”

“I do not! Withholding cards on my turn is within the rules of the game. Just because it means you have to draw more doesn’t mean it’s cheating!” Evan argued.

“He’s right, Gregory. If he’s withholding cards, it’s still a risk to him since you can easily draw a card at any moment and win the game yourself. There’s a reason it’s ten chips if you’re holding a king at the end of the game.”

“Hmph,” Gregory scowled.

“Jeremy, do you need a new bandage for your face?” Henry asked as Gregory and Evan glared at each other from across the table.

“What? Oh, I’m sure it’s fine.” Jeremy hadn’t realized that the edge of his bandage was peeling off.

“We’ll get that taken care of later,” Henry said. “Were you planning on staying over tonight?”

“I…” Jeremy glanced around the room. “I don’t know.”

“If you decide to stay, let me know so I can tell your parents,” Henry replied, seemingly satisfied. “And would you like another can of Coca-Cola?”

“Yes please.”

“Don’t encourage his addiction, Henry.” Michael crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter.

Jeremy responded by sticking his tongue out at Michael. Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes, but Jeremy saw a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Can I have one too?” Gregory asked.

“Absolutely not,” Michael replied. His wings twitched slightly. “You’re done with caffeine for the rest of the night. If you’re this loud after half a can, I shudder to think of what would happen if you got a full can of Coke.”

“You’re not my mom,” Gregory grumbled.

Jeremy’s mouth twitched. “He tries to act like it though, doesn’t he?”

Michael made an indignant noise as Gregory burst out laughing. Evan giggled too, adding, “Mama bird Mike.”

All three of them broke into bad laughing fits at that one. Henry and Michael just exchanged an exasperated look as Michael stirred the spaghetti. “I can act like it if you really want me to,” Michael eventually said. “But I don’t think you’d like the response, seeing as you two are baby birds in this analogy.”

“What do you mean?” Gregory asked, bewildered.

“I think what he’s getting at,” Jeremy said, amusement glinting in his eye, “is that mother birds regurgitate food into their chicks mouths.”

“Ewwwww,” Gregory gagged.

Evan snorted. “Mikey wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “I’ve certainly done worse.”

Evan froze at that. He seemed to be considering Michael’s point. “He totally would…” Evan sounded horrified.

“And with that terrible mental image, it seems that the spaghetti is done!” Henry said, putting a can of Coke in front of Jeremy before going to fetch everyone plates.

“I just need to strain the noodles, and we’re all set,” Michael said. “Could you grab the strainer please?”

Henry nodded and retrieved the strainer. Evan hummed to himself as he fiddled with the two feathers he’d won in the card game. Gregory said nothing, but Jeremy could tell it he was still bitter from his loss. Surely Michael wouldn’t be unwilling to give up feathers if they asked, Jeremy thought to himself. Maybe he’d be uncomfortable with the idea, but if Gregory said how much he really wanted them, Jeremy was sure Michael would give in eventually.

“It’s going to be hot.” Michael warned, carrying the pot of spaghetti to the table.

Henry quickly placed a potholder beneath it, and Michael went back to retrieve the sauce for the spaghetti. “Do you want to get cups out, Evan?”

Evan nodded and got up from his spot. “Gregory, you can get the plates.”

The whole group cycled around the kitchen like a little family, and Jeremy felt a little self-conscious about his place in everything, so he went and grabbed forks for everyone. It was the least he could do.

Michael dished out the food, putting just enough sauce on their spaghetti that they could avoid it if they wanted to. All of them were a little skeptical of the meal, but they all trusted that Michael knew what he was doing. Gregory and Evan both seemed startled by the taste, but Henry simply raised an eyebrow as he took a bite. Michael didn’t seem particularly concerned about their reaction, though.

He was too busy observing Jeremy when he tried it.

It was… spicier than he expected. Jeremy glanced at Michael, suddenly suspicious of him. Michael blinked at him, casually taking a bite of his own spaghetti. Jeremy glanced at him again before moving his plate to the saucepan full of spaghetti sauce and adding more to his plate.

Michael’s slow smile made Jeremy feel even more confident about his decision. Somehow, Michael had figured him out yet again, almost without effort. Jeremy stuck another forkful in his mouth and smiled back at him.

“Gregory, slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick,” Evan said.

“It’f, fine.” Gregory swallowed hard.

“Careful you don’t choke,” Henry said warningly.

Gregory set his fork down quietly, his eyes watering. He coughed a little bit, causing Michael to turn to him with concern. “Gregory? Are you alright?”

Gregory fanned himself, and Jeremy immediately figured out what was going on. “Too spicy for you? You barely had any!” He shook his head and poured Gregory a glass of milk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Gregory eagerly took the glass, draining it in less than a minute. “Mmmmm.”

The rest of the meal went in relative silence, with Evan and Henry occasionally teasing Gregory for eating too fast and being unable to handle spicy food. Michael seemed oblivious to the main conversation, smiling softly to himself.

Jeremy knew he was staring, but he figured it wouldn’t be the biggest deal. Plenty of people stared at their friends, right? At the way they twisted spaghetti noodles onto their forks and brought their forks to their mouths. At the way their eyes glowed with joy at making something new successfully.

Michael caught his eye, and the smile widened. Jeremy felt himself smiling back easily. He’d already finished his food, and Evan and Gregory had finished half the spaghetti by themselves. There wouldn’t be many leftovers anyway.

Henry was the first to move from the table. He collected plates from everyone to take to the sink. When Michael moved to help, Henry waved him off, insisting that since Michael made the meal, he shouldn’t have to clean it up, with a meaningful look toward Evan and Gregory. He stopped Jeremy when he tried to get up too, insisting that guests shouldn’t need to help.

“But I thought we were guests,” Gregory grumbled when Evan tapped his arm to help him get up.

“Jeremy, that bandage really does need to be changed before you go,” Henry said quietly, gathering the leftovers into different containers.

“I can help him with it,” Michael said.

“Michael, you’ve done enough today. Especially with how you were feeling this morning-“

“I can help,” Michael interjected stubbornly.

Jeremy raised a confused eyebrow at the way Michael’s wings and hair ruffled.

“You need rest,” Henry said in a tone that brokered no argument.

Still, Michael persisted, the feathers now completely refusing to lay flat. Jeremy wondered how this could possibly be something he’d need to be so defensive about. “Hey, maybe Henry’s right. You have done a lot today.”

Michael scowled at that, and he grabbed Jeremy’s arm and practically dragged him out of his chair.

“What- Hey!” Jeremy stumbled into Micheal, expecting him to apologize or something.

“There’s the old Mike,” Evan mumbled quietly.

Michael’s face was right in front of Jeremy’s as he spoke. “I know my limits.”

“Do you?” Gregory challenged. He didn’t seem frightened in the slightest, which was very different from the atmosphere surrounding Michael at that moment. “To me it seems like you keep going until you drop. Maybe you should just get rid of that chip on your shoulder and let someone else handle it for once!”

“Like you did?” Michael snapped, and at that, Gregory actually flinched. “Sometimes, you can’t trust that help will come, Gregory. You should know that better than anyone.”

Gregory’s grip on the plate in his hands tightened. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a family who took care of me like you do! So just suck it up.” Jeremy heard tears behind those words, and Evan mumbled something gently to him and tried to get him to turn his back on Michael.

That seemed to break something in Michael’s resilience. His wings twitched, and he let go of Jeremy’s shirt. “Right. Sorry.” He sounded just as torn as Gregory. “I…”

Jeremy figured nothing would be helped by Michael sticking around in the kitchen, so he tentatively put a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, you can help with my bandage. Maybe just tell me how to put it on so I do it right tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“So you aren’t staying then?” Henry asked, looking worriedly between the four boys.

Michael’s ashen expression was not particularly reassuring. “No, I mean. If it’s okay for me to stay, I plan to. I just… Maybe it should be my responsibility to fix that?” Jeremy gestured at the scratch on his face. “Seems like all I’m doing here is making more messes anyway. Might as well try to clean one up myself, right?”

Henry frowned but he said nothing.

Jeremy leaned close to Michael’s ear. “Come on then.”

“I didn’t mean to… I hurt his feelings,” Michael mumbled as he mechanically peeled the rest of the bandage away from Jeremy’s face to wipe at the scratch with a wet cloth.

“Energy was running high. Maybe you are a bit more overwhelmed then you thought? Frayed nerves break way for anger sometimes. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I still shouldn’t have done that.” Michael couldn’t even look Jeremy in the eye. He was too distraught.

“Why did you get so defensive, if you don’t mind me asking? And I’m not just talking about Gregory. You were adamant about helping me with my bandage.”

“I just…” Michael hesitated. “I haven’t had a chance to see you in days, and I wanted to get every moment I could?”

“An afternoon together wasn’t enough?” Jeremy teased, even though he knew exactly how Michael was feeling. “Look, that’s okay, Mike. But you gotta take care of yourself too.”

“Yeah, but-“

“What do you want? I know you think you have to help everybody all the time, but you’ve gotta have desires too, right?”

“Maybe I don’t deserve to have my desires realized,” Michael replied. He still wasn’t looking at Jeremy. “Maybe I’m just a rotten person who doesn’t deserve joy or anything that doesn’t directly benefit anybody else.”

“Michael Afton.” Jeremy said, trying to sound stern. “You are a human being just like everyone else. We all make mistakes. And you sound like you’re trying to atone for yours. I don’t know about you, but someone who tries to learn from their mistakes sounds like someone who deserves to have what they want every now and again.”

Michael completely froze at that. When he met Jeremy’s eyes, he looked utterly shattered. “I…” He swallowed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s okay, Mike. No one is asking you to do everything-“

“No, you don’t understand.” His voice was hardly a whisper. “I’ve… That scolding… You’ve said that to me before.”

“I have?”

Michael nodded mutely. “It was right before…” His wings stretched their full length as Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

“What can’t you do, Michael?” Jeremy asked softly.

A pained noise rumbled in Michael’s throat, and he dropped the cloth, yanking Jeremy forward by his shirt. Their mouths crashed together, and all Jeremy could think was finally. His own hands went behind Michael’s shoulders, and he gently guided the wings back into a folded position before stroking them gently.

He didn’t want to stop kissing Michael. It was freeing and exhilarating at the same time. Michael tasted like bubble gum and smelled like clean laundry. He was the weirdest man Jeremy had ever met, but maybe that was what made him so alluring. Or maybe it was something else. Something about all this just seemed so… right.

When Michael broke away, Jeremy tried to follow. Michael looked at him fondly and laughed. “I thought you said I needed to take care of myself.”

“I can’t be that addicting,” Jeremy said impulsively.

Michael snorted. “I need air, Jeremy. We were both going to pass out if we kept that up.”

“Can we do it again?” Jeremy didn’t care about air. He just wanted to be close to Michael, wanted to make him smile, wanted to make him laugh.

Michael laughed again, a brilliant sound, before Jeremy pressed their lips back together. It was completely perfect.

[hermitknut]

Historical Preoccupations

Hi!

So I decided a few years ago that my history + geography knowledge was dreadful and I wanted to work on it, and I've been doing that slowly. But after getting into the Nine Worlds books by Victoria Goddard, I've been reading a lot about the history of the Pacific Islands, Polynesia, and the Pacific Ocean generally, as well as related topics.

I approach everything I read with a certain amount of caution, as I am not a historian (and don't have all the tools to mind to figure out how reliable my sources are, especially as I am in the UK and most of them are not coming from the actual area in question), but it's been an enjoyable ride so far!

I thought I'd throw together a list of all the things I've been reading / have on my to read shelf with some thoughts on them. I can mostly only tell you about how readable/accessible/interesting the text is, so please don't take this as any comment on accuracy/lack of bias.

I'm making a pinned post for my tumblr that will link to this, and I'm going to try and update it as I read things.

Sea People by Christina Thompson

This was the first one I read, and I really enjoyed it! I think there's a bit of a light touch on the impact of colonialism, but her writing style is very easy to read and I found the way she approached the history very helpful. She does start with European contact, but she goes through each point in history and what they thought the history of Polynesia was and why, with what their biases brought to it. Which was fascinating!

Voyagers by Nicholas Thomas

This was a drier read than the Thompson, but it covered roughly the same historical span and helped add a different angle in a few places. The illustrations/photos were very helpful, too, and it's broken up into small enough sections to keep it moving.

Blue Machine by Helen Czerski

A slight step to the left, topic-wise - this is about how the ocean works, how it effects the world, and how people and animals use it. It opens and closes with the author's time sailing near Hawai'i on an outrigger canoe, and while some of the science went over my head, most of it was really interesting and gave me a much more layered picture of what's going on in all that water.

Pacific by Philip J. Hatfield

I've just started this, so I'll add more to this description later; but this is a beautifully illustrated book that is going through the history of the area in small slices. So far it's very readable, and is helping me settle some of the knowledge I've been learning in my mind.

Upcoming reads:

Sailing Alone by Richard J. King

Another slight step to one side, this is a collection of stories of solo-sails seems fascinating - hopefully it's as interesting as it looks!

A Brief History of the Pacific by Jeremy Black

One of several "brief history of [ocean]" books by the same author, seems quite short and will hopefully be a good simple overview before I tackle...

Waves Across the South by Sujit Sivasundaram

I'm somewhat intimidated by this one because it's ~500 pages, but hopefully I can tackle it this year, because it does sound really interesting, and like it's going to go into some greater socio-political depth than my previous reads. Fingers crossed!

Oceania: The Shape of Time by Maia Nuku

The first art book I've ever owned! I think it's going to go into more technical art detail than I'd usually read, but that's probably good for me in the branching-out sense. And it's a beautifully made book, heavy on the photographs and images.

Under consideration:

I'm not letting myself buy any more until I've caught up, but these are some of the other titles I know about (and am eyeing with varying degrees of interest - I definitely want the Low, though I'm currently having trouble sourcing it).

The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux

Hawaiki Rising by Sam Low

Come on Shore and We Will Kill and Eat You All by Christina Thompson

Wayfinding by M R O'Connor

Wayfinding by Michael Bond

I'd love to hear any suggestions of titles on the topic, particularly anything from Polynesian authors!

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

4 + boyfs :)

Boyf Riends + 4. things you said over the phone

September 1, 2015, 7:12pm

"Hey, I got my stuff from my hookup. Where are you right now? I've been looking around the food court for like ten minutes and you're just, gone. Uh, I guess I'll check Hot Topic until you get back to me. See ya."

September 1, 2015, 7:47pm

"Jeremy, why did I have to learn from the cashier at Forever 21 that Brooke and Chloe offered you a ride home?? And that you ended up just walking out instead?? I can't find you in the parking lot, man, like... Did you just-... walk home? Some warning would've been nice, ya know? Anyway. Text me so that I know you didn't die or whatever. Later."

September 2, 2015, 12:25pm

"Oh fuck off, don't pretend you don't know I'm calling you. I can see you sitting next to Rich! Your phone is right there next to your lunch tray! Good job taming him I guess, but can you stop ignoring me? For like, a minute?? Ditching me at the mall was one thing, but this is just... weird. You're being weird. And not the good kind. The like, got-replaced-by-a-changeling kind. Look- can you just look at me, Jeremy?!"

September 2, 2015, 3:43pm

"'Optic Nerve Block-' dude, what are you doing?? Is this a bit?? Haha, very funny. Jeremy's hot shit now and is too good for Michael. Great. Cool. Just-... actually ya know what, it's not cool. I'm not laughing. I mean, congrats on snatching Brooke up. That's... I mean I thought Christine was... you've just been gushing about her since... I- something about this is... *sigh* Never mind. Let me know when you decide to stop doing... this, whatever it is you're doing."

September 6, 2015, 12:56pm

"I hope you know I'm just gonna keep blowing up your phone with texts until you acknowledge me. I'm not asking for much, man! Just... an explanation? Maybe? Just something so that I know we're still cool or whatever. I know you're probably busy with rehearsal and all, but it's... weird that we haven't had a sleepover this weekend. I... can't really remember the last weekend where... *huff* Ok, so your SQUIP clearly doesn't like me. Fine. It can join the club. But... you still like me, right? Can I... can I get that much?"

September 12, 2015, 2:36pm

"Hey, since you and Rich are like, buddies now or whatever, you think you could call him off? He's still pulling his bullshit on me. And normally I wouldn't care that much, but... I dunno, it was different when it was both of us. And now you're just letting him go off on me?? Where's the Jeremy that broke his finger on a homophobic dickhead's nose two years ago? Where's the kid that became a little ball of rage that I had to restrain when guys gave me shit? I know freshman year was like, a really angsty spell for you, but... fucker- what do you want from me?! Can we just talk? Please??"

September 28, 2015, 2:03am

"Look, if you never wanna see me again, can you at least just say that?! Just tell me so that I don't have to question if you've actually decided to look in my direction or not? You haven't blocked my number, so you obviously... You're just-! Ugh! This isn't like you! Even if you do give me the silent treatment, it's never for this fucking long! If I fucked up somewhere just-! Tell me!! As much as we joke about it, I can't read your fucking mind! Fucking- text me! Pass a note! Flip me off! Something! This is fucking stupid!"

October 14, 2015, 4:47pm

"Have I mentioned how weird it is to hear other people actually name-drop you in the hall? Like, I'm still Antisocial Headphones Kid and probably will be until graduation. It's not like I care. Shit's not gonna matter in college. And even if it does, it's not gonna matter in the real world. In jobs or whatever. ...I don't... *sigh* I can't just keep calling you to yell about how you left. It just- it's old. And annoying. For me. I don't care if it's annoying for you. You're probably not even listening to these. Just... ugh, whatever. I'll see ya. Gonna go out on a limb and say you won't see me though."

October 27, 2015, 10:56pm

"Look, I- ...something about this whole SQUIP thing is really fucking shady. I just... it-it's creepy, ya know? You had to buy it at the back of a Payless, the dude selling it was sketchy as hell, and there's fuck-all on the internet about it. It's... and this isn't just because I'm salty! I mean fuck you still, but this isn't about that! Like I'm genuinely... this- it just- it's weird. I shoulda- fuck, I shoulda picked up on it sooner. I should've-! Ugh, I wouldn't have to leave you all these stupid voicemails if I'd just used my brain for two seconds! I'll... *sigh* tonight's been exhausting. I'll pick this up later. If you decide ya wanna clue me in after all this time, be my fucking guest."

October 30, 2015, 10:32pm

"Shit- ok, I get you're still doing your dumb little ignoring me thing but- fuck, you gotta get that thing outta your head. It's- I-I have this online friend, his brother had a SQUIP and- I'm looking at the videos and-... Y-you just- it's bad. It's really, really bad. I wanna come to you about this in person, but you're like, never home when I go there. And your dad doesn't know where you are either?? He just assumed you were with me! Which, I don't blame him after all these years, but... Jer, it's so fucking bad. I'm... I'm getting you to listen one way or another, so fucking help me."

October 31, 2015, 11:47pm

(There's no sound for several seconds, besides slight shifts in movement. It's all very muffled. Any words spoken are too quiet to distinguish, if they even are words at all. There might be the slightest inkling of a song in the distant background, though it's anyone's guess which song it is.)

*knock knock knock knock*

"*sniff* Shit-"

(There's some indistinct sound on the other end akin to one clambering about in a confined space. Metal rings clatter on the curtain rod as the plastic sheet is swept back.)

*knock knock knock knock*

"Just a fucking minute, man!"

*ssssshhhhhhhhhh*

(The sink is turned on, water rushing out of the faucet and hissing against the pearly white bowl that it's confined to. Its flow is interrupted by the flesh of cupped hands collecting it every few seconds, followed by the splatter of it falling back down in a scattered arc rather than a focused stream.)

*knock knock knock knock*

(It's not long before the handles squeak and the water is shut off, leaving the indistinct thrumming bass of a song that's been turned up far too loud.)

"...Hello?"

(Besides the underlying hum, silence. A lonely, lonely lack of sound, before a long sigh.)

"Figures..."

(There's nothing more than this quiet, rhythmic thumping for a long time. There's very little to break the monotony of it beyond the occasional sniffle of swallowing of phlegm.)

"Is that really how you see me? Or were you just reaching for the pettiest fucking word you could've used?"

(The scream of glass echos chillingly in the small room. Sparkling crystals twinkle and sing against smooth porcelain, a prickly harmony to go with the melody of ragged sobs.)

"God-! Dammit!"

(There's a soft thud, and then a long dragging sound akin to one sliding down to sit against a wall.)

"Fuck..."

(An eternity of smothered weeping seems to pass, though in reality it's barely more than a full minute, before a blood-curdling scream is heard, disturbingly loud for how distant it sounds.)

"FIRE!"

"Shit- what the hell??"

November 1, 2015, 2:14am

"I'm guessing you don't know this, since you didn't run out of the house screaming or get dragged into an ambulance, but Jake's house burned down. Yeah, that place where that party was happening where you-... I'm fine, by the way, because you obviously cared. Paramedics got all the glass out of my knuckles. I just... wanna confirm you're fine too. Because... still fuckin' care about you and shit. Yeah, thanks for waiting up, by the way. There's no indication you were ever fucking here, so I can only assume you bailed before anyone even smelled smoke. Glad you're safe, dickwad. Hope you can extend the same relief to me."

November 12, 2015, 5:49pm

"Hey. I'm... coming to your performance. Your dad kinda... If he's suddenly wearing pants the next time you see him, you're welcome. Guess you can thank him for me coming to see your show too... I won't have any flowers for you, but... hopefully I'll have something just as good."

November 12, 2015, 6:52pm

"--- entire stu--nt bod- -- do it!"

"Wh- Jeremy?"

"Mich- GAH!"

"Shit! Where are you?"

"-- ---- ---- ---- -- ---! -- --- -- ------ --- ---!"

November 16, 2015, 11:47am

"Hey, um... it'll probably take you a while to listen to this, if you... choose to listen to it at all. Um... it was nice seeing you at The Play, all things considered. It... it was almost like things were normal again. I... I missed it. A lot. Maybe uh... maybe once you wake up, once things settle down, we could... talk? Just... at all? Doesn't have to be a call back. Could be a text, in person, note passed in class-"

"Carrier pigeon."

"Rich says carrier pigeon. He's your roommate. You'll see that soon enough if- ...when you wake up. You've been pretty determined to stay asleep though. Four days... heh, you tryna make us jealous? I just... hope you wake up soon. Before New Year's would be nice. No pressure, obviously, just... I... *sigh* 'I miss you' would be an understatement."

November 23, 2015, 4:13am

"Hey, Michael, um... I... listened to your voicemails a couple... couple hours ago. I was going to call back when I finished them, but it was late and I figured you were asleep. Um... I guess it's even weirder that I'm calling at 4am than it would've been if I called at 1:30, but... *sigh* I'm sorry. For everything. I know I said it at The Play, but I didn't... I couldn't really... I-I'm sorry. For bailing on you at the mall. For the optic nerve blocking. For the... the shit I said on Halloween- just- refusing to believe that you were trying to help, and- Fuck- the fire. I know I didn't have anything to do with it but... I'm sorry... for making you think I didn't care about your safety. I'm so glad you got out ok, really, and... I'm... sorry for making you punch a mirror. I don't... think you meant to call me in the bathroom, but... I heard... some stuff. I don't know if it was everything."

(There's an audible swallow.)

"I just... I don't... understand, why you still helped me in the end. After... after everything. I'm grateful, and thank you, but... I was so afraid I'd burned that bridge on Halloween. No- no pun intended. I thought you wouldn't-... I-I was so sure- the SQUIP was so-"

(There's a long pause. One would think that the message had abruptly cut off if not for the shaky breathing on the other end. There's a tightness in his voice when it eventually comes back.)

"'He won't come back to you. No one is coming for you.' That's what it said. And I was convinced that I'd fucked everything up and you'd never-... but you did. And-and I'm sorry we haven't done anything together since the hospital. I've just been really... it-it's an adjustment, not having a computer telling me what to do, and balancing hormones and chemicals and- fuck, I've gotten like, no sleep this weekend. I toss and turn all night and if I don't toss and turn, it's... it's nightmares, about... *sigh* Sorry, I shouldn't dump my shit on you. Not-not like this, not after..."

(His voice crumbles, like it's taking every ounce of strength he has to keep it audible without devolvng into indecipherable cry-speak. It's all but a raspy whisper.)

"I... I do wanna see you again. I do... still care about you. A lot. So much. Not seeing you for so long, it... it's caught up to me, and... I just wanna fall asleep next to you again. Which sounds clingy as fuck, and maybe it is, but I... You're the only one that..."

(He can't hold the sobs back anymore, but he does his best to muffle them. Keep them quiet. Avoid waking his dad. Hide the pain because he doesn't want this to be about him. It shouldn't be about him. Why is he making it about him?)

"*sniff* Fuck, how long've I been talking? Sorry, I'll- just- cut this off now. Ok, um... night. I... I love you. I just... wanna make sure you know that."

November 28, 2015, 1:12pm

Send you my love on a wire~

Lift you up every time

Jeremy startles awake at the sound of Michael’s ringtone, something he hasn't heard since before the start of the school year when Michael absolutely had to tell him about the dream he'd just woken up from. He tries to shake the remnants of sleep fog from his head as he pats around for his vibrating phone, thankfully finding it before the chorus ends.

"Mmg, h-" Jeremy's voice is scratchy from being woken up, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Hello?"

"Hey, bud." Michael's voice is quiet and soft through the receiver. He sounds tired as well, but in a constant, passive way instead of a groggy way. Jeremy wonders how long he's been awake.

"Hey, um..." Jeremy sits up and loosely hugs his knees, unsure of what to say next. Not wanting to leave Michael with nothing, he circles back to, "hey."

A weak chuckle flows through the speaker, colored with a fondness Jeremy's not sure he's heard since the last time they got high together. "Are you always this articulate?"

It's sweet, knowing that Michael's first reaction is banter instead of what Jeremy would consider much-deserved exasperation. He doesn't understand it, but it tugs his mouth into a small smile. "I uh... didn't fall asleep until like 6am, so..."

"Right, yeah. You did mention trouble sleeping, didn't you."

That smile crumbles as dread pools into his chest. He can't help but hide his face despite Michael not being able to see it in the first place. "Oh gods, you listened to that voicemail?"

"Couple times, yeah," Michael confesses, and it makes Jeremy cringe in embarrassment."I wanted to come see you earlier this week, but there was school stuff, and then Thanksgiving happened and..." he trails off a bit."Yeah, um... sorry."

Jeremy shakes his head fantically. "Nono, you're fine!" he insists. He doesn't want to lose this chance, but in the moment, his scrambled brain doesn't quite know what to do with it. "It's... I- do we wanna, I dunno, um..."

"Yes," Michael says immediately. "We- I do, yeah. Totally unrelated, but you should look out your window."

Jeremy blinks as he crawls off the bed toward the window. "Is it all snowy or are you waiting out there like you're in some kind of movie?"

He pulls the curtain back to see Michael standing on the sidewalk, a bright red swatch on a brilliantly white canvas, his hoodie lightly dusted with snow. It reminds Jeremy of powdered sugar on a lemon square. Michael waves his free hand, the other one still holding his phone to his ear.

"Yes."

Jeremy tentatively waves back, though it feels more like his hand trembles against the cool glass than it feels like a proper greeting. He feels his body shaking not from the winter weather creeping its way in, but from the nerves that come from seeing his best friend again after... well, admittedly not very long, but it's different this time. "Hi. I'll uh, I'll meet you downstairs, yeah?"

"Cool, see you in a second."

"See ya." Jeremy hangs up and pulls on some soft pajama pants before hurrying down the steps. He doesn't even check the downstairs window to confirm Michael's location before opening the front door.

Sure enough, there he is, a vibrant red light in the dull white fog behind him. Jeremy holds back on his urges just long enough to let Michael inside and shut the door before throwing his arms around him. Michael catches him easily, the cold from white flakes melting into red fabric doing little to negate the warmth of his embrace.

He remains sturdy as Jeremy quivers against him, silently refusing to let go of him any time soon. Jeremy attempts to blink back the tears threatening to spill out, but only really succeeds in disguising his sob a shaky sigh. As long as he can release the tension in his throat without being too loud about it, he'll take the win.

"I love you too," Michael whispers into Jeremy's hair, squeezing him snugly. "I hope you know that."

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 2

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 1696

TW: Angst; end of relationship drama; SVU-typical case about alleged rape.

AN: The prompt was "You Know Who to Call"

Sonny spent a long while getting over you.  Deep down, he worried that he would never really get over you.  He had messed everything up so badly, and he never realized how much you had brightened his life until you were suddenly gone.  He practically experienced auditory hallucinations, swearing he’d heard his phone chime with a new message – but there was never anything there.  No short, cute messages from you telling him that you missed him and couldn’t wait to see him again.  No forwarded emails about interesting legal cases.  No slightly risqué pictures, like the one you’d sent him the night before your anniversary…which he had ended up missing anyway.

And you were gone.  He guessed that you blocked his number because none of his texts or calls went through.  He sent you a few long, heartfelt emails that he was certain you deleted without reading.  But that was the thing about you:  no matter how badly you were probably hurting, you weren’t going to let it slow you down or derail your life.  As Sonny had remarked once, you had your life together in ways that Amanda never would.

He heard through his Fordham friends that you’d gotten a coveted internship with a firm that specialized in overturning wrongful convictions.  Sonny had always pictured the two of you as two sides of the same righteous coin:  him, punishing evil-doers and you, righting wrongs. 

He only saw you once in the months that followed.  You were standing on the other side of West 62nd street, so bundled against the cold that he almost missed that it was you.  But it was you – the same blue pea coat with the frayed cuffs, the same plaid scarf wound around your neck.  It made Sonny’s stomach drop, and he wanted nothing more than to dash across the street after you.  He wanted to fall onto his knees in front of you, bury his head against your stomach, and beg you to listen to the apologies that had choked him since he’d screwed up and lost you.  But a long line of traffic divided you, and when it was time to cross, he completely lost you in the crowd.

And then it was a solid year before he saw you again.

********

Rafael Barba stood on the other side of the glass with Olivia and Carisi, watching as Fin and Rollins interviewed their suspect.  A jittery young man, one Jeremy Michaels.  Freshman at Hudson University on a full academic scholarship, apparent hope of his family…and accused of raping a seventeen-year old classmate.

The evidence so far was nothing more than the girl’s word, but Barba knew it was in the early stages and SVU would probably find more for him.  His mind wandered to the other cases sitting on his desk, but his reverie was broken by the sound of heels clicking across the floor.  He looked up and saw some anonymous junior detective leading a young woman towards them.

“This is his public defender,” he said with a jerk of the thumb to the sweating young man on the other side of the glass.  Barba perked up and looked you over, and he while he didn’t miss Carisi’s sharp intake of breath beside him, the older man just ignored it. 

For a public defender, you were in a nicer suit than he’d expect, a well-cut jacket over a pencil skirt that hugged your curves nicely.  But you were young – so young that you looked like a child playing dress up.  Even with your hair swept up into a classic chignon and your perfectly manicured hand that you extended to him in greeting, you looked like you should be settling into your own dorm room for college instead of defending human trash.

“ADA Rafael Barba,” he said, wrapping your slim hand in his larger one.  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

You introduced yourself.  “Newly minted public defender.”  You glanced over his shoulder at Liv and Carisi, and Barba saw you narrow your eyes a fraction before you nodded at them.  Then you pulled your hand away from his and looked through the one-way mirror.  “Is that my client?”

“It is,” Liv said after clearing her throat.  “It’s good to see you again.”

Barba’s ears pricked up at that – Liv knew you? – but you ignored the niceties. 

“I was hoping it wasn’t Mr. Michaels,” you said.  “Because it’d be a violation of his constitutional rights if you were still interrogating him after he asked for counsel.”

“Not an interrogation,” Liv started, but you cut her off.

“This ends now.  I need a moment with my client, please.”  And then Barba watched as you swept past them and barged into the interrogation room like you owned the place, hustling Fin and Rollins out with a look that he swore was nearly vengeful.  The Liv switched off the speaker, and Barba half-watched you, half-listened to the squad talk around him.

“How do you know her?” he asked conversationally, watching as you talked in earnest to the scared young man and then clasped a reassuring hand to his shoulder.

“She used to date Carisi,” Rollins finally said. 

“Huh,” Barba said.  It made sense.  You were a young public defender.  You couldn’t be that bright:  first of all, you dated Carisi.  Secondly, no one at the top of their class ever became a public defender, no matter how much of a do-gooder they were. 

After a moment, you left the conference room with your client, your chin tilted at the squad in near defiance.  “Charge him or cut him loose,” you said.  “In the meantime, if you need to bring him back in for questioning, you know who to call.” 

Then you marched out of the precinct with Michaels, your head high and your heels a steady staccato, leaving little in your wake other than a hint of some sunny perfume and a room thick with tension.

“That was awkward,” Fin said, and Barba glanced over at Carisi, noting how pale he was, how quiet.  Carisi was never quiet. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rollins scoffed.  “We have this guy cold.  We’ll arrest him before the week is out and have him found guilty within a month.”

There was something appealing about you, the way you’d strode into that interview room, the way you’d marched back out with your head high and a fire in your eyes.  And, obviously, there were a million questions about a woman who had dated Carisi, of all people on earth. 

Barba was going to almost regret annihilating you in court.

********

You annihilated Barba in court.  You only knew about the swaggering ADA tangentially, but you knew that he relied on style points when SVU couldn’t give him solid cases. 

You always knew you wanted to be a public defender – you knew it since you were a kid who shouldn’t have to know what a public defender even was.  Let people make assumptions about your ability or tenacity.  They’d learn, eventually.

Like ADA Barba.  You saw him look you over, and you saw him make an immediate judgement about your skill.  The SVU squad knew you a bit, but they only knew you as Sonny’s sad-sack ex-girlfriend who used to linger around the precinct for a chance to see your absentee boyfriend.

Sonny knew you best of all of them, but you knew he didn’t know much.  You’d dated for over a year, and he likely couldn’t name half the things a dedicated lover should.  Did he know your favorite flower, or your favorite ice cream flavor?  Unlikely.

Did he know your family history and the preternatural zeal for competent – no, excellent – counsel for the poorest and most desperate citizens?  Even more unlikely.

You knew you’d have to defend the guilty.  You already had a full caseload, with at least three clients who not only committed the crime they were accused of, but freely admitted how much they enjoyed committing it. 

Jeremy Michaels wasn’t one of those cases.  He was innocent and never wavered from his story.  You hunkered down and built him a strong defense, and well – if revealing SVU’s slipshod practices was an outcome of the case, then it was just a happy accident.

In court, you parried every one of Barba’s thrusts, and then watched you eviscerated the state’s case.  You called in witnesses of your own.  In a move that felt so good it felt like a narcotic, you called Amanda to the stand and got her twisted in her own testimony.  Then, when she got upset, she came across as openly hostile, even when Barba tried to cross her and salvage it.  You watched at least three jury members turn on the state’s case, just like that.

And then, the coup de grace:  you exposed SVU as sloppy.  You turned in evidence after evidence of the alleged victim’s social media while the victim was on the stand.  Posts from Facebook that SVU should have found and vetted during their investigation – but didn’t.  It had taken you all of twenty minutes of idle scrolling through the young woman’s social media feed.  You had no idea how NYPD missed it.

And then you made the alleged victim read her own words for the court.  Back-and-forth threads with friends about how she, a honey-blonde white girl from the Upper East Side, was hooking up with a black scholarship kid from Biloxi, Mississippi.  And when one friend opined that the alleged victim’s father would go nuclear when he found out about his only daughter’s hook up?

“Miss Prince, can you read this last comment for the jury?” you asked, and your voice sounded so sweet and accommodating that the woman smiled before she realized what you were asking.

She stuttered, turned bright red, and then read the damning bit in a voice that was so low that you cut her off and made her repeat it. 

“What does it say, Miss Prince?”

The young woman glared at you, then read it in a steadier voice.  “It says, ‘if my dad finds out, I’ll just say he raped me.’”

And everything after that was just a formality, really.

[2ndstar-ontheright]

toxic codpendent boys babyyyy

i love you and it's ruining my life (boyfs)

Summary: After coming home from college for the first time in years, Jeremy's flooded with a ton of mixed emotions. He's tried so hard to put his past behind him, but it all shatters in the blink of an eye.

A/N: UGH codependent relationships are so interesting to explore and write about, dude I'm going insane. (I don't JUST write doomed/toxic yuri, I also do yaoi. I don't discriminate) The negatives of Jeremy and Michael (other than "ugh jeremy's evil and stinky >:(" and "Michael's pining but jeremy's too horrible to see :(") really should be written about more often, IMO. I love these stupid teenagers

Anyway, thank you so much for reading!! Seriously, you're all the best.

Walking home from class, Jeremy’s door is softly pushed shut as he enters the room. His old room. Not much had changed since he left back in August, home again (at the request of his therapist) after spending his other holidays working. It wasn’t his idea, at the expense of his poor father, as he knew his unexplained absence left the man worried. He worried enough about him already, he shouldn’t have to add to that by being back here. All of the mess he was front and center. He’d changed since college, he really did. However, for better or for worse, they didn’t know him there so it was easy for him. Easy to be someone else. Not like he had in high school, yet still someone else nonetheless. 

But it was summer now, and that had to count for something. 

He toes off his shoes, shoulders falling as he breathes in the familiar smell of linen and lavender. Suddenly, his ears perk up at the sound of a car driving by. Creeping up to the window, he looks out and

“He’s still driving that thing?” Jeremy’s eyes widened in shock. It’s been almost 5 years with that thing. You couldn’t even consider it a car anymore. Jesus, with how many times it’s broken down, how is he even alive ? He shakes his head and puts it out of his mind, but for a moment he's interrupted. Almost instantly he recognized that car, but why? It’d been over 2 years since graduation and he never talked about home. So, it couldn’t have been that easy. Then, it dawned on him.

That was Michael.

____________________________________

Later that night, he’s standing in front of his bathroom mirror, trying desperately to put images out of his mind. As he takes off his shirt, his scars and not as much as it used to be but still ungodly pale skin are on full view, like a child’s connect-the-dots page taken a wrong turn. 

The room’s flooding with steam and as he dissociates, he looks up to see sixteen year old him staring back. He’s that teenage boy again. His grim expression as he looks almost ready to drive his fist through the glass, binder in full view. It almost gives him a heart attack at the reminder that this is the same person he was just 3 years ago. He never did end up doing that, but the thought of it just made him shudder at how awful that teenage boy he had been. That stupid, whiny, annoying teenage boy who he could never run away from. 

He ended up not going to Michael’s that night, he was too afraid. (And he also wasn’t home given that he was touring schools that weekend.) He didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bathroom and be perceived by everyone. A loser like him didn’t have the guts, and that’s all he was, right? However, he could fantasize. And so he did. He fell asleep on the cold tile wishing it was his best friend’s bed, the sounds of Link collecting his sword and silent “Shit!”’s of frustration followed by an attempt to be quieter in the background. 

Jeremy blinked quickly, swallowing his breath and stepping into the shower to escape the fading reflection. 

That didn’t help as much as he had hoped though. His mind, as it often did, only resurfaced more as he stood under the water. This was better, he deduced. Now, he didn’t have to see it. To be reminded. He could just think. 

____________________________________

“Michael..?”

Puffing out a cloud of smoke, Michael shifts his eyes from the ceiling to the beanbag next to him. The only light being from the lava lamp in the corner, he squints briefly before he’s able to make out the boy in question. Even in the darkness, he looked…god. 

He looked beautiful. As much as he still had so much turmoil inside him, how he knew they were drifting apart more than he liked but was too afraid to bring it up, he couldn’t deny the aura permeating off of his friend. Unable to look away as he drew him further like a moth to a flame. 

“

Yeah?” He replied, voice raw before coughing a little. 

“I…” Jeremy twitched. He felt like his teeth were about to run out of his mouth, like the back of his head was hinged open, brain fully exposed to the world. His thoughts, his feelings, his pain, all oozing out of each nook and cranny. He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was being back somewhere so familiar. Regardless, he knew the real reason why he felt like he was losing it. Why he felt like he wanted to throw up and cry at the same time. 

“I fucked up.” He finished, head hung low. 

Michael shifted tiredly in his seat, hand covering his mouth to stifle a yawn. Leaning his head back, his eyes met the side of Jeremy, who instinctively turned to face him. “Whaddyoumean?” He asked, words slurring together slightly.

Jeremy laughs nervously as his lip quivers. Shaking his head, his brow furrows. “I- you know what I mean!” He exclaims and then almost a second later, his hand covers his mouth. Ugh, why’d he have to say that so loud? Thank goodness Michael’s moms weren’t home, but still. Jesus Jeremy, can’t you control yourself for one second? Tears pool behind his eyes, at first cooling to the bloodshot feeling, however stinging just a second after. His palms plunge hard to rub at them and make him look somewhat less pitiful than he already does. Which isn’t much as the croaking in his voice gives it away even more. 

“I fucked up real bad Michael. I know I did.”

Sobering up as best as he can, Michael snaps up and inches closer, a hand gently tugging at Jeremy’s wrist. “Hey, c’mon man, talk to me. What do you mean you ‘fucked up’?” 

His tone calming as always, Jeremy takes a quick breath; cringing internally at his shuddering. He sounded like a kid in trouble about to get sent to his room, but in his own sick way, wasn’t he just that?

“Just..” He sighed. “Everything. All of it. I keep screwing up and with the whole SQUIP thing…I- haven’t truly apologized to you for that. I didn’t even say I’m sorry and I should have!” Jeremy rambled, wringing his hands together before resting them on his knees, sweaty palms tugging at the fabric that was starting to feel like sandpaper. 

He blinked, tears falling shamelessly. Michael was always so sweet to him, and why? He of all people didn’t deserve it. After all that he’s done, the kind, loving, handsome, funny, and so many other flowery words he could use to describe his favorite person didn't treat him the way he ought to be treated. Like a monster. He still treated him like his best friend, and that made the anguish inside tear him apart even more than it had. 

“And I hurt you Michael. I never meant to, but I did and I’m…Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Michael’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that. Had it really been that long since he’d apologized? Since they’d talked about it? He wanted this, right? He’d been waiting for this for so long, and yet, now he doesn’t know what to think. It’s not that he didn’t think Jeremy meant it, it was just all so sudden and he’d already apologized profusely for everything else already.

But never for how much he had hurt him. 

He knew he did, and Michael knew he was ashamed of himself, but he never said those words out loud. 

How long had he been waiting to hear that? 

How much had they thought, things other than and still similar in their own right, but never said to each other? 

Michael sighed, head tilting to look even closer into Jeremy’s eyes. His hand rested on his shoulder and slowly, he nodded, glasses drooping down to his nose. “I know you are.”

“And I forgive you, Jer. I really do,” 

He offered a somber smile which in turn earned him almost falling to the floor as the other rushed into him. Or rather, fell, seeing as he was stoned out of his mind. 

And even in that foggy haze, Jeremy meant every word he said. Bubbling over like a shaken can of coke he wanted to say so many other things than sorry. He wanted to sing it until everyone in New Jersey heard how much he regretted it. How it was eating at him from the inside. He loved his best friend. He loved him so much. He was the light of his life, the one person he knew really cared about him. And that no matter where they went in life, he would always feel the same towards him. Was it romantic, he couldn’t tell. He just knew that he loved him more than words could describe. 

Was it a little unhealthy? Yeah, it was. But at least he knew it and didn’t let it show. How worse could it have been if he did? 

Voice muffled by the fabric of Michael’s shirt, he pulled away for a moment. Not caring out how desperate he sounded, he sniffled, cleaning his face off as best as he could with his sleeve. 

Jeremy swallowed, cheek resting on Michael’s chest. “I don’t deserve it though. I was such an awful person, and god..” He sighed, shaking his head. “I…I don’t want you to go either. I don’t wanna lose you.”

Michael clicked his tongue and ran a hand down the other’s wrist. Part of him wanted to snap back and agree with him, and it did. He had been a dick, plain and simple. But the rest of him just couldn’t do it. He never could. 

“Shh..hey, listen. I’m not going anywhere, Jeremy. Really, I’m not!” Michael smiled somberly in an attempt to cheer him up. And Jeremy, hung onto it like a dog waiting for his owner. “I know you’re sorry and you feel like shit about it, but I’m not angry about it anymore. What’s done is done. But, I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

Jeremy nodded and returned the gesture, lips curling into a crooked half-smile. As Michael breathed out an unseen sigh of relief, Jeremy inched back towards him. Emotions heightened from what was normally a welcome smoke, he was utterly exhausted. After taking what was way too long to say all that he had kept inside, he drifted into a wobbly sleep. Michael succumbed to a fit of yawns just seconds after, palms resting in the small of the others back as he passed out. 

__________________________________

Cicadas chirped outside his window and as Jeremy tried to fall asleep, that was all he could think about. Every thought that popped into his head pertained to that night, and many others before that. It was all memories. Memories of a better time, a time that passed, and a time that he could never return to. Maybe a time that he never deserved. Taken for granted like it meant nothing more when it truthfully meant the world to him. 

Turning over in bed, he faces the window; streetlights emitting a soft glow through his curtains. God, why can’t he just stop? Why can’t he relax and be normal for once? 

Sighing, he leaned up and propped himself on his shoulders. Reaching over, he pulled his phone onto the bed and unable to sleep already, he figured it couldn’t get that much worse. 

That didn’t last long. The first thing. The very first thing Jeremy saw when he opened his phone, was a throwback picture to a birthday party.

Michael’s, to be exact. 

It was his fourteenth, barely a month after eighth grade began. He pointed behind him, face wide in fake ecstasy at the banner saying “Happy Birthday Mikey!” as if he didn’t know what day it was. He “hadn’t expected anything”, but he knew damn well that wasn’t true. The kid reveled in his birthday. He was one of the few people, if not the only person,  Jeremy knew who genuinely enjoyed it. The memory made him smile. 

For a brief moment, he forgot about everything his mind had been weighing on him before coming down from the high and back to reality. The pain knocked the wind out of him harder than before. Why? Why did it hurt him as much as it did? Why did every time he even so much as thought about Michael he felt like crying? Was it because of the whole SQUIP thing? Was it from being home after so long?

Could it have been that he lost something he so desperately wanted back?

To return to the safety of having him there and they can live in their mutually doomed relationship forever.

Where they get high and everything somehow makes sense.

Where he’s a bigger loser now more than ever and it doesn’t feel like a giant failure. 

Where he feels…happy. And loved. And life feels worth living because someone, at least one other person, cares and has been there for the entirety of all he’s done. When others left, when he figured out who he truly was, when he almost lost himself, Michael was the one that stayed. After all the work he’d done to not return to those feelings or the person he was then, was just tossed out in the blink of an eye as he realizes he’s back right where he started.

Only difference now was, he knew what this was and that he couldn’t keep it up. He was older, and despite him basically regressing somehow, thinking about Michael, his subtle yet immediate swing into the beginning of a depressive episode; he understood that what he was hoping for wasn’t real. 

He couldn’t do that. Not to him.

As much as he missed him, he didn’t want to be the burden he knew he had to be on the other. (Michael never thought he was, but in Jeremy’s own fucked up mind, that’s what he believed.) He can’t deny himself anymore, about what he’s feeling/wanting at this moment anyway. He loved Michael. More than he’d loved…anyone. 

But now as he lies awake in bed, wanting to forget about it all, the thing that calms him down  into an uneasy sleep is going back into the place he regretfully knows best. His head. 

Dreaming he’s fallen asleep in the boy with the red hoodie's arms, like he’s done so many times before, he falls asleep. Finally. Why was he so pathetic? He wasn’t any better than his own father. Trying/chasing after a love that he knew he wouldn’t get. But hey, that was tomorrow Jeremy’s problem when he inevitably woke up. 

Unbeknownst to him, his phone dings from his bedside table. 

From: maybe? Micheal

“Hey.” 

[sassysoulstranger]

Michael Afton x Charlotte Emily (Siren) AU

Mermaids are nymphs of the sea who deceive sailors with their great beauty and the sweetness of their song; from head to navel they have the body of a virgin and a human shape, but they have a scaly fish tail which they always hide in the sea.

But do not be fooled by their beauty, they are a symbol of bad luck. They can swim through fresh water to reach rivers and lakes to drown their victims, making you think they are drowning people. They are rumoured to be able to cure diseases.

Many legends told by sailors say that they are large monsters, up to 600m long, capable of sinking ships without leaving a trace.

What makes them feared is their beautiful voice, which can hypnotise you. So sweet, tender and melodious, it is said that they inhabit the islands and lure sailors with such a song, causing them to collide with the reefs and drag them to the depths of the ocean to eat them.

-Sirens…- he murmured, deep in thought. He leaned against the railing and read an old book that the librarian, Henry Emily, had recommended to him. He doesn't believe in such things, but for a boat trip like this, it's something to keep him entertained.

He almost dropped the book into the sea It was just Jeremy smiling mockingly at him with a mop in his hand, he frowned and sighed.

-I just wanted to take my mind off things, it's boring just looking at the horizon- He wasn't lying, there was just water, water and more water, not a sign of another boat or rocks.

-Genius, if you are so bored you can clean the gunwale yourself. Your only job is to make sure we don't go straight into the reefs and sink the boat- Jeremy continued scrubbing the floor with more intensity.

-I was in charge of cleaning the gunwale before you, I have a lot more boat experience than you- he mocked his friend, sticking out his tongue and laughing with him, his attention returning to the ocean and a peace filling him at the stillness of the water.

-How long do you think it will take us to get home?- Jeremy was standing next to him now, admiring the ocean in the same way, although unlike him, he seemed a little anxious.

-Michael watched the dolphins chasing each other in the distance, but I'm pretty sure it'll only take us three days to get there.

-What do you base that on?

-Well, I've been sailing the same boat with Dad for years, let's just say that in these areas where there are dolphins it would take us three days to see land, and if we had a mishap it would take us another day- they were silent for a long time.

Jeremy cleared his throat-I mean, sometimes the sailors in the harbour talk about ships disappearing lately, and in a way I was a bit nervous when I got on this boat.

-So why did you come?- Jeremy leaned his arms on the railing and looked down to see his blurred silhouette in the water.

-I hate being called a not real man every time we say goodbye at the harbour, I'm always the laughing stock of most of the citizens, they've even given me a nickname like faggot- Michael softened his gaze as he saw tears peeking out of his friend's eyes, -even my mother thinks that, it makes me feel hurt, I don't want her to be disappointed in me.

Michael put his hand on his friend's back to comfort him.

-Hey, most of the assholes you meet on the docks are drunk shits who've been divorced more than three times, it's not like they're the pride of the town. I like you a lot better than all of them, and just because you're a wimp or too sentimental doesn't make you any less of a man, you're a great mate just the way you are.

Unexpectedly, Jeremy hugged Michael with tears in his eyes but a big smile on his face, which made him laugh and return the hug. They parted in a comfortable silence, Michael now telling little anecdotes of his father's travels. From the most peaceful to the most terrifying he had ever experienced in his life.

They were now in the cabins where Jeremy was staying, Michael sitting next to Jeremy's bed, who was leaning curiously on the book Michael had on the table.

-Do you believe in mermaids?- the question surprised him.

-Why the question?

-I've seen you reading the same page all day, you didn't even notice me when I was cleaning near you,Jeremy grabbed the book and looked for the page he was talking about -Right here, unless you have some unknown fetish- he looked at him flirtatiously as he wiggled him eyebrows up and down, causing Michael to laugh.

-Stop- he grab the book between laughs and look at the page with the silhouette of a mermaid, his expression softening a little- I'm just curious, the librarian talks a lot about mermaids, every time I go to get some books for the trip he warns me about them Not that I believe in such things, I've never seen one or another craft warn of them.

-Perhaps those who heard them are in the depths of the ocean- Jeremy scoffed -that would explain the disappearance of many ships.

-Of course, if you take away the fact that many idiots believe that the ocean is a game and that they should take every little warning lightly.- Both young men were startled to see William leaning against the door with his arms crossed and a threatening look on his face -If you've stopped playing games, I'll need you to start securing the knots, Michael.

-Yes, sir- Michael said, a little discouraged, but he got up immediately and walked out of the cabins.

-I suggest you get some sleep, Jeremy- William spoke more calmly now -we'll start early tomorrow, I don't want any delays.

-Yes, sir- William gave him a nod before closing the door and heading for the cellar.

.

.

.

Michael could still hear the lively music and laughter of some of the sailors from inside the ship, at this time of night it was common for some of them to take the liberty of relaxing, and he could also secure the things on the gunwale more quietly without distraction.

The night was beautiful, the moon illuminating everything around him and the sea was clear. He checked each of the assigned knots, that nothing was out of place, that everything was in order, that it would be safe while the rest of the crew slept, that the night watchmen would not have to worry about the rest.

Michael continued on his way until he reached the side of the ship where he admired the beauty of the moon, the icy breeze and the movement of the waves.

He wanted to admire the beauty of the scenery before returning to get ready for bed, but in addition to the loud sound of the passing waves, a melody could be heard in the distance.

It was high pitched, the more he concentrated on finding its source the closer he could hear it, a fleeting thought crossed his mind that it was a mermaid, it couldn't be just any animal, it sounded like a woman's song and it was coming from the sea.

Michael moved closer to the shore and saw something moving through the water, the silhouette looked human and was moving in circles. Her singing grew louder and the silhouette in the water now seemed to be swimming to the surface.

Then he saw her, a slender, fair-skinned woman with beautifully straightened auburn hair. She was singing in a lulling coo, almost heavenly to anyone's ears, and Michael was impressed by what he saw.

Her cooing stopped and she looked up at him, her eyes glowing in the dark, he wasn't sure what colour they were, but she looked frightened to see him. The silence seemed to last forever between the two of them, just admiring each other, until the sound of footsteps behind Michael scared the girl away.

-Wait!- He could see no trace of her, as if she had never been there.

-Mr Afton, your father sent me to make sure everything is all right- Michael did not answer,-Mr Afton?

-It's all right, Dave.- Michael didn't dare look him in the eye and walked into the cabin.

He didn't wait for an answer and hurried back to his quarters, something about this night didn't feel real. The woman's face would not leave his mind.

[emmedoesntdomath]

ANOTHER QUESTION I WAS TOO DUMB TO ASK:

WHAT ARE ALL YOUR NEWSIE SHIPS/SEXUALITY HCS/GENDER HCS?!?!

I spent like, a long time thinking about how I was going to do this one, because this will be a ridiculous list. here goes nothing

(also, most of these don’t exactly match what I put in the headcanons. I might go back and change them later)

Francis “Jack Kelly” Sullivan (bisexual, he/they)/David “Davey” Jacobs (gay, he/him) <- I once saw a video compilation of bye bye bye by nsync with jack, and it’s lived rent free in my mind ever since. also, jeremy and michael’s jacks specifically give me he/they vibes

Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins (panromantic, demisexual, he/him)/ Sean “Spot” Conlon (queer, he/him, she/they) <- I feel like spot changes depending on the version, which is definitely not how other people do it, but that’s okay. second set of pronouns are for uksies spot. 

Albert DaSilva (demiromantic, gay, he/it)/ Finch Cortez (he/they)<- don’t come @ me, ralbert shippers, please. I support and love that ship, but doing this way felt more practical. 

Michael “Bumlets” Herrera (bisexual, he/him)/ Jonathan “Skittery” Farrell (gay, he/him) <- hi these are my official headcanon names for them and no I’m not willing to change my mind thanks

Nick “Mush” Meyers (panromantic, they/he)/ Louis “Kid Blink” Ballatt (bisexual, he/him) <- honestly, they’re as canon as javey.

Sarah Jacobs (lesbian, she/her)/ Katherine “Plumber” Pulitzer (bisexual, she/they) <- your honor, I love them. 

“Jojo” De La Guerra (gay, grayromantic, they/them)/ Benjamin “Button” Davenport (gay, he/they/it, ftm) <- I actually refuse to type of jojo’s full name. sorry. 

Snitch (gay, he/him)/ Lorenzo “Itey” (queer, they/it) <- *laughs evilly* you should ask me how I feel about the name itey.

Henry (gay, asexual, he/him, ftm)/ Elmer (alloromantic, he/him) <- elmer is just made of love, and you can fight me on that. 

Dutchy (✨confused✨, he/they/she)/ Snoddy (queer, they/them) <- it feels very on brand to have dutchy being confused. 

William “Bill” Randolph Hearst, Jr. (bisexual, he/him)/ Darcy (gay, he/him) <- who exactly is darcy, anyway, historically??

Bart (biromantic, polyromantic, he/him)/ Myron (gay, he/him) <- LOUD AND CLEAR BROOKLYNS HEREEEEEEE

Hotshot (pansexual, he/him)/ Sniper (queer, they/them) <- that one’s for you @sparkedblaze <3 <3

Charlie “Crutchie” Morris (grayromantic, asexual, he/him) <- crutchie, my love

Leshem “Les” Jacobs (straight, he/him) <- ✨ally✨

Medda Larkin (aromantic, asexual, she/her) <- I love this woman so much, I swear to god

Morris Delancey (queer, asexual, he/they) <- I won’t say I’m a delancey apologist, but I want to give morris a hug.

Oscar Delancey (bisexual, in denial, he/him) <- yes, you read that right. no, I will not take it off.

Romeo (aromantic, he/him) <- pov: I’m dying on this hill

Specs (queer, they/it) <- specssssssssss

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Because We're Soulmates

The Good Place » Cheleanor

Title: Because We're Soulmates

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Good Place (Masterlist)

Relationship: Chidi Anagonye x Eleanor Shellstrop

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Chidi's memories have been erased, and he believes that Simone is his soulmate. Eleanor remembers everything, but in order for this experiment to succeed, she has to pretend to be the Architect, and watch as the love of her afterlife spends eternity with someone else. But no matter how many times they get rebooted, or how hard they try to stay away from one another, Eleanor and Chidi always end up finding their way back to one another. Because they're—

"Eleanor, do you remember that one reboot where you and Chidi came into my office to confront me?" Michael asks. "Do you remember what you said?" Eleanor blinks several times, trying to coax some manner of coherent thought to the forefront of her mind. After a moment, her eyes widen in surprise. "We're in love," she recites with perfect clarity. "And love is stronger than anything you can throw at us." "And no matter what," Chidi chimes in, the words summoned from some shadowed recess at the back of his mind. "We will find each other, and we will help each other…because we're soulmates."

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Honestly, it's better this way. If Michael hadn't spiraled, and Eleanor hadn't been quick on her feet and assumed the role of the Architect, then she wouldn't have all of this extra stuff to do to keep her mind off of things. 

Keeping Michael from having yet another existential crisis. 

Catering to the needs and whims of three new souls.

Stepping in whenever the Bad Place demons interfere. 

Making sure none of the Janet-Babies malfunction and ruin the experiment. 

Making sure Derek doesn't keep reappearing at random intervals sipping an all-olive martini and ruin the experiment. 

Talking Tahani out of plotting Tabloid John's demise by reminding her that they're all in the afterlife and he (probably) can't die twice. 

Trying to keep herself in check so she doesn't murder Brent, because again, they're already dead, which means the arrogant bastard probably can't die twice, so there's no point in trying. (And anyway, she'd probably end up losing, like, a million Good Place points. But hey, a girl can dream, right?)

So yeah, it's a lot of work. And Eleanor is honestly grateful for it. Because if she wasn't running around like a maniac 24/7 dealing with all of this nonsensical bullshirt, then she'd have all the time in the world to think about—

"Chidi!" Simone calls cheerfully from across the sun-kissed cobbled street, making her way over to a table in the middle of a cozy café with outdoor seating. Chidi immediately drops the book he'd been reading (What We Owe To Each Other, Eleanor takes note, and a brief smile flashes across her face) and rises to meet her.

Today officially marks six months since Eleanor told Chidi that Simone is his soulmate, and things are…fine. Honestly. Everything is fine. She's happy for them. Seeing the pair of them together absolutely doesn't make her want to curl up into a ball, shotgun cheese whiz, and cry.

Nope. 

All good here.

Because she's over it. She is so totally over it. Chidi has clearly moved on (not that he even knows there was ever anything to move on from, but whatever) and Eleanor is moving on right along with him. She's running a forking afterlife neighborhood, after all. She is totally winning this break-up. 

Granted, it's not exactly a break-up in the strictest sense of the word, because technically, neither of them actually wanted to break up. And anyway, Chidi made a promise to her that they'll always find each other, that time means nothing, Jeremy Bearimy, baby, and someday this will all be over, and then it'll be just the two of them chilling in the dot of the i forever, and—

Chidi looks up suddenly, his eyes locking onto Eleanor's from across the crowded square. He tilts his head to the side, fixing her with a curious frown. Eleanor feels a prickle of heat rise in her cheeks. Motherforking shirtballs, she's been caught staring again. Feigning a friendly smile and a casual wave, Eleanor quickly dips behind a pillar, beating a hasty retreat along a well-worn path on the outskirts of the neighborhood in the middle-of-nowhere Medium Place: Mindy's St. Claire's house.

Eleanor spends most of her time at Mindy's these days. It's kind of become her go-to whenever the gang needs a place to meet up and figure out a solution to the neighborhood's latest problem. Or whenever she needs a break from all the fake smiling and pretending she's got her shit together, because grabbing a lukewarm beer out of the fridge and screaming into a decorative pillow is just as good a method of self-care as any, right? In any case, it's one of the few places in this neighborhood that doesn't completely bum her out. At least, as long as she steers clear of the guest bedroom where she and Chidi first—

Anyway. 

It's not exactly ideal, but it's a damn sight better than her stupid clown house. After the promise of a live-in boyfriend in a home she begrudgingly grew to love only because of the company it kept, Eleanor just can't bring herself to return there, night after night, trailing her fingertips through thick layers of chalk dust settled into the grooves of his old blackboard. 

Eyes roving over the ghost of a space where leather-bound spines of long-forgotten novels used to line her bookshelves in an infuriating, overly-organized system that only Chidi could understand.

Closing her eyes against a fresh wave of tears as short bursts of laughter echo through her memory, at war with the deafening silence that rings through the darkened living room. 

Wrapped in one of the few button-down shirts or turtleneck sweaters of his that Janet had forgotten to transfer over to his new apartment, only to wake from a fitful sleep to find that Chidi's side of the bed is still cold. 

That this is all still happening.

That Chidi's memory wipe hadn't been just another bad dream. 

So yeah, that place doesn't exactly feel like home anymore. Not without Chidi. And sometimes, some nights, (most nights, if she's being honest,) Eleanor just can't bring herself to go back. 

There's too many memories attached to that place. 

Literally too many. Over 300 years' worth. 

And Chidi doesn't remember a single second.

• • • 

She used to think that maybe soulmates really do exist, and that maybe, Chidi was hers. How else had they managed to keep finding one another, falling in love, helping one another grow and learn and become better people, over and over again, across a multitude of different timelines and reboots? It had to be fate. It had to be…something. It was the kind of love story she'd always dreamed of having, (not that she would ever, ever admit it) one that transcended life and death and found a way, against all odds, in a world that was constantly cheering for its demise.

But as she watches, from afar, as Chidi and Simone find their way to one another, talking late into the night, laughter ringing in the air, flirtatious smiles exchanged from across a charming little banquet at a romantic Parisian café under the glow of the golden moon and silver stars, Eleanor starts to think that maybe she'd just been fooling herself. That she and Chidi were just a fluke. That Chidi and Simone are the ones who truly belong together.

"Maybe you were right," she whispers softly, leaning her head on Michael's shoulder as the pair of them sit side by side on a park bench overlooking the lake. "Maybe it was stupid to believe that soulmates really do exist."

Michael stiffens, as he usually does whenever he's reminded of the kind of demon he used to be.

"I honestly couldn't tell you one way or the other," he says around a heavy sigh. "I don't actually know if soulmates exist, and I could never get a straight answer out of Janet every time I've ever tried to ask. All I know is that it's not stupid to want to believe in something. Especially when it comes to you and Chidi. And I like to think that everything that's meant to be has a way of working out, in the end."

Eleanor's lips twitch into a smile.

"When did you become such a sentimental old fool?" she teases, hastily swiping at the corners of her eyes.

"Call it a side effect of spending too much time around humans," Michael laughs. "And again, my offer still stands—"

"Do not try to break up Simone and Chidi," Eleanor warns with a watery chuckle. "Come on, man. We've been over this."

In the beginning, it was difficult to tell who was more upset over the split: Eleanor or Michael. Reeling from the guilt that his breakdown had, at least partially, caused the demise of his favorite relationship and cost two of his dearest friends their happiness, Michael had tried his damnedest to sabotage any chance of Chidi and Simone getting together, from accidental spills of the darkest red wine, to inclement weather pouring out of the sky at random, to dropping in unannounced as the self-imposed third wheel and overstaying his welcome with all manner of awkward conversation topics. As soon as Eleanor had caught wind of what he was doing, she put a stop to it.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, bud. But this is just how it's gotta be," she says, just as much a reminder for him as it is for herself. "As much as it kills me to see the two of them together, we've got to let this play out. Let the cards fall where they may. Whatever happens, happens. Because ultimately, all that matters is the experiment. All that matters is getting this right, proving to the Judge that humans can get better, and that this flawed point system they've got going on needs a major revamp."

"As always, you're right," Michael admits begrudgingly, heaving a frustrated sigh. "I'm just sorry it has to be this way."

"I am, too," she says, swallowing against a lump lodged at the base of her throat. "But honestly, when it really comes down to it, all I want is for Chidi to be happy. And if Simone makes him happy, then we can't stand in the way of them being together."

A bittersweet laugh escapes, and the knot in her throat lessens, if only slightly, at the thought of how proud Chidi would be if he could see her now. How far she's come. How much better of a person she's grown into. How much she's willing to sacrifice just to ensure they all make it out of here unscathed. 

It's a far cry from the kind of person she used to be back on Earth. Selfless. Vulnerable. Brave. Willing to let herself feel. To take those feelings and express them in a healthy way. To stand and fight, rather than run away or bury her head in the sand. To do the right thing, even if it means she gets the short end of the deal. As much as it hurts, she wouldn't have it any other way.

• • •

Every day, Eleanor relives that highlight reel that Michael had shown the two of them, just moments before Chidi's memory had been erased. 

All the time they'd spent learning from one another. Becoming better versions of themselves. Growing so close and so in sync that they even started anticipating each other's needs without being asked. 

All the times they'd ever fought and made up, always, always, always coming back in a moment of clarity to talk it all out. Deciding that this, whatever it was that they had between them, was more important than a silly disagreement. That they could overcome anything.

All the times he'd ever wrapped his arms around her and held her close as they snuggled up together on the couch, sharing movie nights and popcorn shrimp. Living in domestic bliss as they cooked dinner together every night. Stealing kisses on their way out the door. 

Afternoon dates walking hand in hand down bright, sunny streets, sharing bites of each other's frozen yogurt, kissing chocolate sauce and whipped cream off the tips of each other's noses. 

Adrift on a quaint little boat in the middle of a crystal-clear lake with the tranquil backdrop of lush evergreens and misty mountains.

Sprawled out on a plushy blanket underneath an endless starry night, cuddled up against his side as he'd regaled her with star facts and whimsical fairy tales about what life might be like on other planets, fingertips tracing constellations in the freckles that dapple her skin.

Romantic picnics in the park, sun shining overhead like the perfect replica of a warm summer's day, before getting caught in an impromptu rainstorm, and choosing to make the best of it, to see it not as an afternoon ruined, but as a chance to make their date even more exciting. Laughing and smiling and slow dancing to music of their own creation in the eye of the storm as the rain swirled all around them and soaked through their clothes.

She wonders, idly, if he ever remembers them. Catches glimpses of those long-forgotten memories in his dreams. And maybe, just maybe, wishes that they were real. Wishes that he could go back in time and relive them all over again, just to have another moment with her.

Every night, she replays everything he'd said to her in those quiet moments in the aftermath of Michael's memory movie reel, a bittersweet, hopeful smile set into the curves of his lips.

Time means nothing. Jeremy Barmy, baby. We'll just get through this. And then you and I can chill out in the dot of the i forever.

We've found each other hundreds of times before. We can do it again, she'd said, and in that moment, she had truly believed it.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments, when she can't seem to fall asleep in the too-big bed of her stupid clown house, or on the rough, springy pull-out couch in Mindy's living room, Eleanor ventures out into the night. Strolling the streets of the neighborhood, delighting in the rare moment of peace and quiet all to herself. Reminiscing as she replays 300 years' and 800 reboots' worth of memories of their time together, letting her mind wander to all manner of what-ifs and wonderful impossibilities.

And maybe, she muses, when all of this is finally over, we will.

• • •

Despite a somewhat tumultuous start, Chidi finds it rather easy to strike up a relationship with Simone. It's actually crazy that they never managed to meet back on Earth, given that they'd both worked for the same university around the same time. It must be a twist of fate. Confirmed, in fact, by the Architect herself. Simone is his soulmate. How quaint! 

As soon as the phrase "soulmate" leaves Eleanor's lips, Chidi feels the familiar pang of a stomach ache, and he's hit with a curious burst of wistful longing, a bone-deep sadness he can't quite seem to shake, and an air of hopefulness that makes his entire body feel like it's buzzing with electricity. Which is…probably normal. 

(So, okay, maybe the whole wistful longing and bone-deep sadness thing is a little bit of a weird gut reaction, but one could probably chalk it up to, perhaps, a sense of regret that they never got to meet and spend time with their soulmate back on Earth. Much like older couples who wish they'd met when they were younger, so they could have spent more of their lives together. Yes, that makes sense.) 

This is probably exactly how you're supposed to feel when you finally discover who your soulmate is. And sure enough, when Chidi meets Eleanor's eyes, he feels inexplicably happy.

This is good. This is a good thing. It's a…good stomach ache? He's not entirely certain how that makes even the slightest bit of sense, but, well, Chidi trusts Eleanor. Really, truly trusts her. Something about her makes him feel at peace, like coming home after a long journey. So he'll take her word for it, and trust that this is a good thing. That Simone is his soulmate. That they'll make each other happy.

At first, it's absolutely wonderful. They stay up all night talking and laughing, going out to dinner at charming little restaurants and cafés, basking in the sunlight as they enjoy lovely picnics in the park. They do research together and share their findings, musing over all the ways their two fields of study overlap and intertwine, a marriage of neuroscience and philosophy, of mind and morals.

It's perfect…or at least, it's very nearly perfect.

Chidi likes Simone. Truly, he does. She's brilliant, and she's witty, and she's kindhearted, and she's beautiful, inside and out. But there are…not flaws, he wouldn't call them flaws, just…subtle differences between their personalities and core beliefs that started as a minor trickle in the cracks of their foundation and quickly became a torrential downpour.

So, you know. No biggie.

It's just that, sometimes, Simone is a bit too…technical.Quick to judge and slow to forgive. Immovably rooted in logic and fact, relying solely on her own experiences, on tried and true data, trusting only what's right in front of her, only that which is tangible and can be concretely proven. She's not exactly one for abstract thinking, doesn't really care for dreaming up whimsical what-ifs and fanciful impossibilities. 

Which is okay, really. Those aren't inherently bad qualities, they just don't exactly line up with his own. That is to say, not anymore. 

For example, Simone doesn't believe in the concept of soulmates. Even laughs at him when he brings it up over breakfast one morning. And that's fine. It's totally fine. He knows she's not being intentionally hurtful or dismissive, lightheartedly teasing him over, admittedly, quite a nonsensical notion. (His heart doesn't shatter into a million pieces or anything. He's fine.) 

But, mystical afterlife destiny hokum aside, there's still the issue of the very distinct divide in their core beliefs. Chidi has always strived to uphold a strong ethical and moral code, to treat people with kindness and respect, to do his utmost to help them, no matter what, whenever they're in need (even if, perhaps, they're not the most upstanding people.) 

Simone, on the other hand, believes that this way of thinking is selfless to a fault, almost to the point of being naïve. She simply doesn't see the point in helping people who don't deserve it. For example, she wouldn't dare risk her life for someone unless she was absolutely certain that they would do the same if the situation were reversed. With Simone, first impressions are everlasting, and she'd be hard-pressed to believe that a person is capable of changing for the better after proving to be problematic time and time again. 

And as much as Chidi understands and respects her position, it's just not how he functions. Chidi likes to believe that there's always a sliver of hope, that ethics can be taught, that people can change, and that good behavior is simply a matter of practicing until it becomes habit. Whereas Simone would rather focus on things she deems a worthwhile use of her time and energy. 

Simone likes to tease Chidi, calling him a walking contradiction of anxiety and optimism because honestly, what kind of sane person simultaneously strives to believe the best in people, but is also terrified of absolutely everything? She jokes, and she teases, and she offers him warm, playful smiles as a balm to soothe his frazzled spirit, but underneath it all, Chidi is fairly certain that he secretly drives her insane. 

He can see it in the crease of her brow and the hard set of her lips every time she watches him struggle to make a decision over the simplest of things, wasting precious hours of their time and causing them to miss out on fun neighborhood activities. 

He can see it in the way the sparkle in her eyes flickers and fades like dying candlelight every time she gets excited about embarking on some grand new adventure she'd always wanted to experience back on Earth, but never had the time or the ability to do so (skydiving, snorkeling with tropical fish, rock climbing, skiing through snow-swept mountains) only to be met with a wide-eyed look of horror from her supposed soulmate, working himself up to a panic and talking himself in circles about all the potential risks and dangers, even though, hello, they're in heaven and they're already dead. 

After a handful of half-hearted attempts to get him to tag along with her, Simone had given it up as a bad job, and simply gone out to enjoy these activities on her own, content to leave Chidi behind in his quiet little study, surrounded by mountains of dusty old books. 

Never changing. 

Never evolving. 

No challenges. 

No surprises. 

Nothing to keep him on his toes.

Every little detail automatically decided for him.

Which is exactly what he had thought that he liked.

Thought that he wanted. 

Thought that he needed.

Until, of course, he didn't.

Chidi can't quite explain it, but something about this place feels wrong. 

It's everything he's ever wanted, only a little bit ruined.

For instance, the tea he brews always tastes a little watered down, like the second pour after the initial steep, and it's always lukewarm, even when it's straight from the stovetop to the kettle to the teacup. 

The food is always just a little bit too dry, the frozen yogurt just a little bit too soupy, melting all over his hands before he's even taken his first bite, and all the coffee comes in those little pods. He nearly always has a stomach ache.

Sure, he can summon any book at will like Thor's hammer…but they usually end up bashing him in the head at full speed and knocking him out. 

And sure, every detail of his apartment, from the muted earthy greens and warm golden yellows, to the pristine bookshelves and well-worn faux leather armchairs, feels like it's been plucked straight from out of his home décor Pinterest board…but the empty space fills him with an intense loneliness, even when the room is filled with Simone and all of their friends.

His soulmate is this wonderful, bright, vibrant force of a person, matching his love of academia and thirst for knowledge…but they don't see eye to eye on such fundamental things. They're perfectly suited to one another…on paper, perhaps, but not in practice.

It's all a little too perfect, and yet, devastatingly imperfect.

He doesn't know why, but he feels restless. Like something is missing. A void in his heart that he can't quite seem to fill. 

He doesn't feel challenged, doesn't feel like he's making any kind of progress, moving forward, or changing for the better. He feels stagnant. Frozen. Like he's standing still, rooted to the spot, while the rest of the world flourishes all around him.

He's in heaven. He should be happy. But he's not. And the fact that he's not happy in paradise is driving him up a wall.

• • •

The Era Of Restlessness, as Chidi calls it, ramps up to an all-time high around the six month mark. Granted, it could have been earlier, could have been later. It's so hard to keep track of time when you're in the afterlife, after all. Sometimes, Chidi could swear it's not even linear, but more like this big swirl of events, like loops and dotted i's in a signature. 

Crazy, right? 

Anyway. 

It's around that time that he starts having trouble sleeping, all of those imperfect little details of his time in the afterlife prickling at the back of his mind like nettles, planting seeds of doubt feeding those all-consuming feelings of restlessness and emptiness rattling around inside his head. It's absolutely maddening, and nothing he does in an attempt to soothe it seems to work in his favor.

After nearly a fortnight of tossing and turning, glaring at the alarm clock on his bedside table, tired eyes tracing patterns in the cracks and grooves of the textured paint on his ceiling, Chidi makes the choice to get up and do something about it. 

It's like there's this invisible string tugging him toward the door, out into the endless expanse of the neighborhood after hours, but instead of his usual apprehension about the idea of exploring unknown geography in the dark, Chidi feels almost giddy at the prospect of trying something new. So he sets out into the night, charting a course for his favorite stargazing spot at the park, hoping that the crisp night air will help clear his mind. 

He doesn't expect anyone else to be awake at this hour. Figures they're all sound asleep, snuggled up in their perfect, cozy beds in their perfect, cozy homes, not a care in the world to keep their minds buzzing well past midnight. But then, the Architect of the neighborhood isn't just anyone, is she? 

As he's strolling down the docks by the lake, far too caught up in the struggle of trying to decide which jaunty tune he should whistle aloud (or hum, he still hasn't decided) he quite literally collides into her, eliciting a terrified shriek and a collection of half-censored expletives, and before he knows it, Chidi is thrashing around in the shallow end of the lake.

Half an hour later, Eleanor is still an apologetic mess, wrapping a thick, plush blanket that feels like it's been pulled straight from the dryer around his shoulders, rattling off a never-ending list of comfort food and hot drinks she could magic into existence as a way to make it up to him. 

In the battle of apologies, Chidi is more than a well-matched opponent, assuring her that the fault is entirely his, that she simply reacted out of instinct, and he truly hadn't meant to startle her, politely declining her offers, insisting he'd filled up on maafe at dinner. 

In the end, Chidi surrenders at the sight of two steaming mugs of hot cocoa overflowing with mini marshmallows, surprising himself when he wholeheartedly accepts Eleanor's handful of popcorn shrimp and thoroughly enjoys every bite, full to the point of painful groaning as the two of them swap spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream melting into a mountain of molten fudge brownies.

But the most unexpected thing of all is the sight of the sunrise, brushstrokes of blood orange, grapefruit, and gold peeking through the treetops, tumbling over the mountainside, dancing in the delicate waves of Eleanor's hair as she sits beside him on a bench overlooking the lake, coupled with the realization that he'd spent the entire night in her company, talking and laughing and reminiscing about all the things he'd hated and loved about life on Earth, never once sparing a thought to all of the pent-up restlessness that had been plaguing him for what felt like an eternity.

• • •

He'd never intended to make it a habit. Certainly, it's a rather strange phenomena, how often their paths seem to cross for these impromptu midnight meetings. Stranger still is the fact that it's always perfect timing, seemingly whenever Chidi finds himself most in need of a confidant. And talking with Eleanor, he finds, is unexpectedly wonderful. A perfect blend of comfort and familiarity, but with an enigmatic edge of excitement that keeps him on his toes from midnight to sunrise. 

It's enthralling, the way they can talk for hours on end about anything and everything. The way she speaks to him with blunt honesty and bold statements he'd never expected to hear from a divine, celestial being. 

The way she holds her own in an argument, passionately debating him into the ground with counterpoints he'd never even dreamed of, but never in a way that makes him feel foolish or judged. 

The way she makes his head spin, gets under his skin in the best possible way, and makes him tick, makes him think, makes him question everything he ever thought he knew, chiseling brand new grooves into all the things he'd always thought were set in stone.

It's not long before he finds himself growing impatient for nightfall, face aching from an all-day smile at the memory of something she'd said the night before, heart thrumming in his chest as he locks the door to his apartment and sets off in the direction of their favorite café, breath held aloft as he strolls down crystal-flecked cobbled streets, hoping against hope that tonight will be the night he'll find her sitting cross-legged in a chair tilted back at a dangerous angle at their usual table, sneakers kicked off to the side, brow furrowed in concentration, nose-deep in one of the books they'd traded the last time they'd met.

• • •

"It's an impossible decision," Chidi remarks as the pair of them lay side by side on a plush checkered blanket underneath an inky black canvas bursting with silver stars. "I mean, how do you even begin to choose your favorite among seventy-nine Jovian moons? This is, by far, the cruelest round of Would You Rather that you have ever proposed, Eleanor."

"Worse than the time I made you choose between Snickers and Milky Way?" Eleanor teases around an impish grin. "Come on, man, it's not like I've stuck you in the middle of the Trolley Problem."

"Fair enough," Chidi concedes, muscles aching from the wide grin that had, over the past few months, become something of a permanent fixture. With a jolt, Chidi realizes that at this time tomorrow, it will officially have been one full year since he'd arrived in the afterlife. Strange how time moves here, in both a blink and an eon, ephemeral and eternal all at once.

"Personally, I like Callisto the best," Eleanor says with a wry smile. "Mostly because it sounds like Calypso, who was a total badass in Pirates Of The Caribbean."

Chidi barks out a laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. Scowling, Eleanor pokes him none too gently in the ribs, which only makes him laugh harder.

"What?" she whines, mock-offended. "That's a good reason."

"I'm not making fun of you, I swear," Chidi says, struggling to stifle his laughter as he rolls over onto his side, head propped up on his elbow. "It's just…sometimes you say things, and I…I'm reminded of—"

He pauses, searching for the right words as a collection of images, distorted and blurred, flash across his mind. The faint outline of a silhouette, shrouded in hues of blush and gold. The distant sounds of laughter and the roar of a train chugging along a track. It's there, and then, all at once, it isn't.

"Sorry, it's just…sometimes you just seem so intrinsically human that I forget you're actually…not. And it's…forgive me for thinking so, but I find it incredibly charming."

For the barest hint of a second, Eleanor's eyes grow wide, but it's gone before Chidi can convince himself he'd actually seen it, replaced with a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, well, you know," Eleanor says with a lighthearted chuckle and a casual wave of her hand. "You spend so much time around humans, I guess eventually you start acting like one."

Chidi pauses, not quite certain what to say. Not for the first time, he feels like he's missing something, something vital. It's like he's got all the pieces, but he can't quite seem to remember where he'd mislaid them in order to put them all together. Sometimes, Eleanor feels like the most complicated puzzle of them all. Every time he thinks he's got her figured, she throws him another curveball.

"Of course," he says after a moment. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Still, though," he presses on, rolling over onto his back and turning his attention toward the night sky, determined to keep the conversation going. "How do I choose? I mean, even if you narrow it down to the obvious four, it's still a choice between Europa, the ice moon, or Io, the active volcano moon, and then there's Ganymede and Callisto, both of which are—"

"…bigger than some of the planets in our solar system, and rumored to have an underground ocean," Eleanor chimes in.

"Yes," Chidi breathes, choking on the rest of his words as he whips around to face her. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

And she had. Everything he was about to say, to a t. But it's more than that. There's something very curious about the way she'd matched him word for word, mirroring his mannerisms with perfect precision, every tremor, every cadence, every pause for breath, like this wasn't the first time she'd heard him say all of this. Something so achingly redolent about the far-off look in her eyes as she'd said it, like she was reliving some long-forgotten memory, reciting lines from her favorite fairy tale.

But that's…no. He's being ridiculous. There he goes, getting carried away with impossible notions and ludicrous theories again.

"I mean, of course you already know that," Chidi sighs around a self-deprecating little chuckle. "You know everything. Listen to me, reciting star facts to an all-knowing deity like she doesn't already know everything there is to know about the entire universe."

"Not everything," Eleanor insists with a modest smile. "I'm not Janet, after all. Honestly, my knowledge doesn't really extend past Earth and humans and the residents of this neighborhood. When it comes to, say, life on other planets, your guess is as good as mine…"

Eleanor tilts her head to the side, a magnificent smile tugging at the corners of her lips, like she knows she's just laid the bait for one of Chidi's all-time favorite creative pastimes. (Even if, technically, he doesn't actually remember just how much he loves it.)

"And besides," she says with a dulcet smile. "I like listening to you talk."

And that's…well, for someone who spent the majority of his life getting teased and chastised for long-winded, incoherent, contradictory circular rambling, to hear her say that with such genuine conviction is…well, it's…

For once, Chidi simply doesn't have the words. 

But it's okay, because Eleanor does, diving straight into a detailed rendering of a fictitious ocean world in a galaxy far, far away. One that sounds so familiar, Chidi could almost swear he'd seen it once in a dream. In no time flat, they're off, debating the finer details of aquatic alien life, down to how many rows of teeth the biggest shark-like creature could realistically fit inside its mouth, and what color scales the merfolk of this world might have, depending on whether they live closer to the surface or dwell in the darker depths of the sea.

Eleanor's eyes light up in wonder as Chidi gestures wildly, the sky above them his canvas as he swirls his fingertips in a complicated pattern of curves and spirals, painting invisible portraits of bioluminescent flora and fauna on some distant garden moon. As the hours tick by, the two of them collapse into a fit of giggles, laughing until they can hardly breathe as they hold a competition to see who can come up with the best and worst names for fictional planets and alien creatures.

There's something oddly familiar and comforting about it, sharing wacky ideas and theories with Eleanor, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and lakeshore, fingertips threading through thick tufts of dew-soaked grass, the crowns of their heads a mere whisper from one another's as they lay side by side underneath the endless, star-strewn sky.

He chances a glance over at her, drinking in the sight of her, head thrown back in laughter, hair splayed all around her like a suspended waterfall, like she's drifting through space, tangled in the grass and tickling the sides of his face as it brushes up against him.

"You know, I never used to be good at this," he says, his own laughter subsiding and settling into a warm, comfortable glow in the center of his chest. He can't quite explain it, but something about her makes him unravel, makes him want to be candid and vulnerable. 

"Dreaming up far-off magical worlds that may or may not exist somewhere out there in the universe," he clarifies. "But then I met you, and you…you made it fun, imagining all of these different possibilities, not needing to know for certain if any of them are actually real."

"People used to call me the human equivalent of a migraine," he admits with a grimace. "Because I would always poke holes in games like this, trying to fit everything into rigid parameters, pointing out logical fallacies, instead of just taking pleasure in the experience of it. Creative thinking for the sake of pure enjoyment. Dreaming up all manner of wonderful, impossible things." 

Eleanor tilts her head to look at him, the silver glow of the stars dancing in her eyes. A hint of a smile twitches at the corners of her lips, and Chidi finds himself drawn to it, wanting nothing more than to make it bloom.

"These past few months have been…I've really enjoyed spending time with you, Eleanor," he says thoughtfully. "As crazy as it sounds, you make me feel…more human. You make me feel, instead of always having to think. And I never stopped to realize just how important that is, until I met you."

Chidi stills, his heart skyrocketing into his throat, every nerve ending in his body lighting up like a live wire. For in that moment, Eleanor had reached down between them and laced her fingers with his, giving his palm a gentle three-pulse squeeze. Such a simple, tender thing. Such an innately human thing. Done as if by instinct, out of pure muscle memory, as though they had done it thousands of times before. Without even realizing what he's doing, Chidi squeezes back three times in return. And then something incredible happens.

A burst of images, like scenes from a movie, flash across his mind.

The two of them, laying across a checkered blanket identical to the one currently beneath them, sunshine spilling through the leaves in the trees, warming their backs as they split the spines of a couple of books from his cherished collection, laughing and talking and reading passages aloud to one another. 

A sudden onset thunderstorm, pouring down on them in rivulets, soaking through their clothes and the pages of his beloved books. Much to his surprise, he finds he hardly cares, simply making the best of it, laughing and kicking up his feet to the tune of Singing In The Rain, delightfully carefree as he takes her by the hand and leads her in a whimsical waltz.

Just the two of them, lost in their own little world, holding each other close and swaying to the melody of distant thunder and pouring rain. He leans in close, fingers threading through the tendrils of her rain-soaked hair as he gently cups the side of her face, warm breath ghosting over the magnificent smile curved across her lips as he draws her in for a spectacular kiss, and the fire that erupts in his chest is overwhelming, all-consuming. Never before has he felt so warm, so happy, so enthralled, so alive.

It's different from some of the dreams he's had before…blurred and faded, like a channel coming in on the wrong frequency. But this…this vision, this daydream, this lucid phantasmagoria, whatever it is, makes him feel like he's actually there, like he's reliving it. It's so real, and so vivid, that he can feel everything. Every detail. Every touch. Every drop of rain that falls against his skin. The smell of petrichor as the rain settles into the desert air. The hard line of Eleanor's smile pressed against his lips. The vibrations of her laughter radiating against his chest. 

How freeing it feels simply being with her, acting on desires and impulses he'd been struggling to suppress for months. Everything he's ever wanted, but convinced himself he could never have, so intently focused on trying to make things work with his universe-approved soulmate, on simply settling and letting everything be decided for him, that he never took the time to consider what he actually wants, how he actually feels. But in that moment of perfect clarity, he finally knows. 

He feels like he could live in that moment forever.

But then it's over, as quickly it had begun. The vision fades, ripping him out of his marvelous reverie, cold hard earth and dew-soaked grass digging into the muscles of his back, grounding him in reality. He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly as an infinite cluster of silver starbursts punctuating an endless sea of black comes hurtling back into focus, the chill of the night air rolling over him like ocean waves.

His hands are cold. With a jolt, Chidi realizes that Eleanor has let go of him, her own hands folded neatly across her torso, seemingly struggling against an urge to fidget, worrying her lower lip, eyes wide like she'd just been caught doing something she knows she's not supposed to. Rosy patches paint the pulse points of her collarbones and the apples of her cheeks, just barely visible in the golden glow of the moon. 

Chidi has no idea how much time passes as they stay like this, unnervingly still, neither of them daring to be the first to speak. And then, without warning, Eleanor springs into a standing position, brushing nonexistent blades of grass from the thighs of her jeans and pointedly avoiding looking anywhere but directly at him.

"Well, it's getting late," she says, an unmistakable note of panic in her voice. Chidi knows that tone well, it's basically his default. "I should probably get going. Lots of…um…lots of Architect stuff to attend to. Goodnight, Chidi."

And before he can summon the nerve to say something, anything, a thousand different questions poised on the tip of his tongue, Eleanor is gone, turning on the spot and disappearing into the darkness, leaving him standing there, positively dumbstruck, heart pounding to the beat of his racing thoughts as he tries to make sense of what had just happened.

All she had done was reach across the space between them and hold his hand. And yet, somehow, it had changed everything.

• • •

There's a knock on Eleanor's front door at a quarter to eleven o'clock the following evening. Hastily shoving Mindy's special edition copy of Cannonball Run 2 in between her couch cushions, Eleanor springs up from the sofa and rushes to open the door, assuming it's Michael, or Tahani, or even Jason, with yet another report of something in the neighborhood going ass-up in flames. Much to her surprise, the person standing on her doorstep, hand held aloft in a gentle fist, mid-knock, is—

"Chidi!" she says, wincing at the way his name comes out in a breathless, half-shouted whisper, trying desperately to school her features into something cool and casual, because she totally hadn't spent the entire day freaking out over the whole hand-holding incident from the night before.

"I'm sorry," he says in lieu of hello, glasses fogging up from a nervous sweat despite the brisk autumnal weather outside. "I hope you don't mind, but I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you. I know it's rather late in the evening, but I figured maybe it would be alright, considering this is around the time we usually meet. I would have called first, but then I realized that there aren't any phones here, so I asked Janet for the best way to get in contact with you, and she gave me your address!"

All of this comes spilling out of his mouth in a rushed, jumbled mess at varying pitches and volumes, making it clear to Eleanor that Chidi is feeling just as flustered and anxious as she is. Heart hammering in her chest, Eleanor plasters on a polite smile and invites him inside with an overly enthusiastic make yourself at home! 

As Chidi takes a look around, he can't help but feel like Eleanor's house is bizarrely familiar. It fills him with a strange combination of nostalgia, comfort, and distress.

"Your home is…different than what I was expecting," Chidi remarks as he glances around at all the clown paintings. 

So. Many. Forking. Clown. Paintings. 

And…one of a shirtless mailman? 

"I didn't know you liked clowns," he says, fixing her with a quizzical sort of look as he pries his eyes away from the trashy erotic calendar, which seems to be permanently stuck on March. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you've told me that you hate clowns, many times, on several different occasions."

In her defense, it's not like Eleanor ever expected Chidi to just show up at her house out of the blue. 

It's fine, though. She can do this. She can improvise. Time to smooth things over.

"So I mean, yeah, I do hate clowns," she says with an attempt at a lighthearted chuckle. "Or at least, I did hate clowns…but they kind of grew on me after a while, because of…uh…the person who used to live here. He…well, he didn't really like clowns, either, but we…ah, you know what? It's a long story. I'm sure you don't want me to bore you with the details."

Yup. Nailed it.

Except, Chidi actually does want to know. All of it. All the details. Very badly. But he's not here to talk about creepy clown paintings or gratuitously bare-chested postal workers. Granted, he's not exactly getting to the point of why he's here, but for some reason, he just can't seem to work up the nerve to come out and say it.

Stalling for time, his eyes rove the landscape of Eleanor's living room, cataloguing every impossibly familiar little detail of the décor, from the eggshell whites, cloudy grays, and muted pastels that paint the walls, to the primitive Icelandic style furniture arranged in a quirky yet classy minimalistic fashion, to the rich mahogany bookcase in the far corner of the room that looks oddly out of place and honestly, more to his taste, to the—

"Cool chalkboard," Chidi says with an air of surprise, wondering how he hadn't immediately noticed the grand blackboard set in the middle of the living room, opposite a charming little white loveseat and a rustic coffee table littered with magazines, sticking out like a sore thumb.

"You know what I always thought would be great?" he says conversationally. "A magic chalkboard that anticipates—"

"…anticipates your lesson flow," Eleanor blurts out with an amused roll of her eyes, like she'd heard him say that exact thing hundreds of times before.

"That's the dream," she says in a playful, sarcastic tone, before catching sight of the bemused expression on Chidi's face, and adding, "…or so I've heard."

Chidi tilts his head to the side, utterly bewildered by the way she'd known exactly what he was going to say before he'd even said it, just as she'd done the night before. There's something very peculiar about the way she's staring at him just now, like a deer caught in headlights. 

Chidi's eyes dart briefly back to the living room. There's a thick layer of dust settled into the grooves of the chalk bed and the slate of the board itself, like it hasn't been used in at least a year. If he takes a few steps closer and squints his eyes, he can just barely make out the shadow of hastily-erased handwriting that looks startlingly close to his own.

"Didn't exactly take you for a chalkboard enthusiast, either," he says, trying very hard not to sound as suspicious as he feels.

"Oh, well…yeah. I mean, I'm not," she backpedals. "It's…it belongs to a friend."

Chidi narrows his eyes, fixing her with an intense, curious gaze. Having spent his entire life on the verge of a constant low-grade panic attack, Chidi has learned to recognize the symptoms for what they are. He's also learned how to suss out whenever someone is trying to put on a brave front, feign confidence, and power through it. Especially when they're so appallingly bad at it, like Eleanor seems to be.

Could she be feeling nervous about what happened the night before? Had she, too, seen the surreal visions of the two of them together flash across her mind, just as vividly as he had? Was she, perhaps, feeling foolish or regretful for having reached out and held his hand? Had she done it out of some kind of magical pull, instinct, or desire? Or had it simply been an accident? 

No, it couldn't have been. She'd done this intimate little three-pulse squeeze, as well. You don't just do something so specific like that without realizing you're doing it. Then again, he had when he'd responded in kind. He couldn't help it. It had just felt so natural. Like something they'd done hundreds of times before. But what did it mean? Did it even mean anything? Was she even allowed to do as she wanted? Was he?

He becomes so lost in the deafening grinding of his own thoughts that he doesn't hear her speak at first.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Could you repeat that?"

Eleanor stares at him for a moment, eyebrows arched, features painted with something akin to incredulity.

"Is there…uh…anything I can help you with, Chidi?" she asks, and oh yeah, she definitely sounds annoyed…and maybe, dare he say it…a little defensive? "Or did you come all the way over here to quiz me about clowns and chalkboards?"

"Oh my god. No, of course not. I'm so sorry," Chidi falters, embarrassment washing over him in waves as he starts to fret and wonder if coming over here had been a giant mistake. He'd set a course with the clear-cut intention of talking to her about last night, and all he'd done was show up at her house, uninvited and unannounced, and proceeded to interrogate her about the details of her décor.

A dozen different potential excuses to hightail it out of there sweep across his mind like names in a rolodex. 

Sorry, I have to—

Feed my plants.

Water my cat.

No, wait. That can't be right.

Perhaps he'll just tell her that he isn't feeling well. It's not exactly a lie, after all, seeing as he's nearly always got a stomach ache. Nearly always on the verge of a panic attack. Nearly always kept awake by a constant barrage of what if and why am I not happy, grinding away in the back of his mind like a fork caught in a garbage disposal.

Until, of course, one fateful evening six months prior, when Chidi had spent the entire night from midnight to sunrise in Eleanor's company. He couldn't quite place how or why she had had such a life-changing effect on him. All he knew for certain was that all of that restlessness, that desolate feeling of emptiness gnawing in the pit of his stomach, had utterly disappeared the moment he'd spoken to her. 

Replaced, instead, by the thrill of wandering the neighborhood after hours, night after night, hoping to cross paths with her, and discover more about her. By an exhilarating curiosity to puzzle out the reason for all of these strange and wonderful dreams he's been having, so real and so vivid, like a mosaic of memories from another life. And isn't that exactly why he's here, to find the answer?

He thinks of a night under the stars, the way they'd danced in her eyes, the way her laughter had sounded like music, the feel of her hand in his, and he's reminded of the reason he made the choice to come here, the reason why he needs to be here.

"Okay, so. Yeah. So. Here's the thing," he says around a quavering breath. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I could never work up the nerve, or find the right words. And I didn't want to make it seem like I'm ungrateful for everything you and Michael and Janet and Tahani and Jas…that is to say, Jianyu…have done for me, because you guys are amazing. Seriously. You're genuinely the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Sounds like you're about to say but," Eleanor quips, concern bleeding through her carefully crafted lighthearted expression.

"But—" Chidi continues with an assenting nod, eyes fixed to the floorboards as he begins his descent into frantic pacing. "I feel out of sorts. This place is a perfect paradise, and yet, I don't feel happy. Not completely, anyway. I can't help but feel like there's something missing. Like part of me is missing. There's something about this place that isn't quite right. So, I've given this a lot of thought, and I have to ask…"

Panic floods Eleanor's senses like a dangerous cocktail of fire and ice, a frenzied greatest hits compilation of choice uncensored swear words racing through her mind at the loudest decibel. This is it, she thinks. This is how the experiment dies. Not with a bang, but with a rousing encore of This Is The Bad Place.

"What if the universe was wrong?" Chidi asks, and Eleanor holds her breath.

But instead, he surprises her by asking—

"What if Simone isn't my soulmate?"

"Oh," Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a scoff.

"Trust me, she's your soulmate," she says, injecting, perhaps, a little more venom than she really ought to have into her reply.

Chidi pauses mid-pacing, his eyes growing wide with alarm.

"That!" he says, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "That right there. That hitch in your voice. The hint of something that can only be described as bitterness every time you say the word soulmate. What aren't you telling me?"

Eleanor opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a series of high-pitched choking sounds.

"I…wha—…Nothing! I'm not hiding anything!" she shrieks.

"Oh, sure, that's not suspicious at all," Chidi retorts in a perfect impression of Eleanor's usual brand of sarcasm, eyebrows arched so high, they practically straddle his hairline.

"Look, dude, I don't see the problem," Eleanor scoffs. "You and Simone are perfect for each other."

"Are we, though?" Chidi challenges. "I mean, maybe on paper, but in practice, it's…"

Chidi heaves a heavy sigh and resumes his harried pacing.

"Look, don't get me wrong. Simone is great. She's a brilliant neuroscientist and a wonderful person, and I care about her very much…but I just…I don't think that she's my soulmate. When I'm with her, I don't feel like you're supposed to feel when you're in love. In fact, I'm quite certain I've never felt that way about anyone," Chidi pauses and chances a glance over at Eleanor, swallowing against the nervous lump in his throat. "That is…until last night."

"What are you saying, Chidi?" she asks cautiously, hardly daring to believe it.

"What I'm trying to say…though I'm not exactly going about it in the most eloquent fashion," he sighs, offering her an apologetic smile. "…is that, no matter how much I try to deny it, or talk myself out of it, it appears that I have developed feelings for someone else."

Eleanor's heart skips a beat.

"It took me a long time to figure it out," Chidi explains, tracking a faint trail of tread marks into the hardwood floor from his beleaguered pacing. "Mostly because I was too busy trying to force something that clearly wasn't working for both parties involved."

He gives an agitated little shake of his head, chastising himself for his own stubbornness.

"And it wasn't until last night, when a certain someone reached across the space between us and held my hand, and I saw this…I don't know if it was a vision of the future or the past…but I saw things, and I felt things, and I…I could've sworn I remembered things that I should not have been able to recall with such perfect clarity…and it made me realize something I've been fighting against admitting, all this time," Chidi trails off, gazing into space in a dreamlike trance.

Eleanor opens her mouth, a million different questions poised on the tip of her tongue, all begging to fire off at once, as she tries to make sense of everything he'd just said.

"It was such a small, simple thing," Chidi says fondly, offering Eleanor an affectionate smile. "But somehow, it changed everything. And ever since then, I haven't been able to shake the idea that maybe that same someone is my real soulmate."

All of the breath rushes out of Eleanor's lungs. For a moment, she simply stares at him, stunned to silence.

"Me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "You think I'm your soulmate?"

Chidi's answering smile all but melts her heart.

"Is that really so crazy?" he asks, and the overwhelming warmth and gentleness of his tone makes her feel like she's just downed a mug of hot cocoa.

Even in this timeline, even though he'd had all of his memories of their time together erased, even when she was pretending to be this, for all intents and purposes, unattainable immortal god, Chidi still found his way to her, fell in love with her, thinks that she's his soulmate, even though he'd already been paired up with—

The unwelcome thought creeps up from the back of her mind, dousing that hopeful, happy warmth with ice water.

"What about Simone?" Eleanor asks, fearing the worst. As much as she's been dreaming of this moment every day for the past year, she doesn't want it if it comes at the expense of someone else's happiness. She's not a homewrecker.

"Simone and I have agreed to end our relationship," Chidi says matter-of-factly, seemingly unaffected by such a weighted statement.

"What?" Eleanor half-shouts. 

Is that, like, allowed? Can soulmates just decide to break up and then go about their afterlife like it's no big deal? But then, Chidi and Simone aren't actually soulmates…probably…so, who knows?

"No need to worry, Simone is perfectly fine," Chidi clarifies, offering Eleanor a small, reassuring smile. "I went over to her apartment this morning with the intention of coming clean about my feelings, and talking things out with her. But Simone is very perceptive. She saw where the conversation was headed before I even opened my mouth, literally breathed a sigh of relief and said, 'Oh, thank God.' Turns out, she wasn't happy being with me, either."

"Oh," is all Eleanor can manage. And then, because it's probably the polite thing to do, she adds, "I'm so sorry, Chidi."

"Don't be," Chidi says, waving a dismissive hand. "It was, quite possibly, the healthiest and most amicable breakup I've ever had. Trust me, Simone and I just saved ourselves an eternity of misery. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us to keep the relationship going. I frustrated the hell out of her and held her back from doing all the fun, adventurous things she wanted to do. And she…well…let's just say, Simone deserves better than being stuck with a man who's in love with someone else…"

Momentarily starstruck by the casual ease in which all of these puzzle pieces seemingly fell into place, Eleanor arches her eyebrows and blurts out an affronted, "Wait, who?"

Chidi blinks several times in disbelief.

"Seriously?" he laughs.

"Oh! Right," Eleanor winces, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just…it's a lot to take in. I just…I guess I just don't understand. Why me?"

After all, Simone is practically perfect. And Eleanor is just—

"Honestly, I don't know how to even begin to quantify it," Chidi replies. "This isn't something I can explain away with logic or facts or a well-reasoned argument citing specific examples from a book. I just know what I feel, and what I feel is that I like you. I like spending time with you. I like the person I've become because of you. You challenge me, and you humble me, and you excite me, and you keep me on my toes. But it's more than that. When I'm with you, it just feels right. Like this is how it was always supposed to be. I've only just met you, but I feel like I've known you my entire life. Isn't that exactly how you're supposed to feel about your soulmate?"

"But I…" Eleanor says softly. "I'm just a girl from Ariz— oh fork. I mean…just a regular old immortal being from the Architect…uh…academy? Yeah, that. Because I'm the Architect."

And that's when it hits her.

She's the Architect.

The experiment.

The very reason for Chidi's sacrifice.

The fate of humanity literally depends on Eleanor keeping up this year-long charade, on making sure everything goes according to plan. Though very much welcome and wanted, Chidi confessing his undying love for her and proclaiming her his soulmate wasn't exactly part of the plan. 

Who knows how many points this could cost them? Who knows what kind of damaging effects it could have on Chidi's progress, if the whole complicated mess of the truth were to come out? She can't risk anything potentially messing up the experiment, not now that they're so close to the Judge's ruling. 

She squares her shoulders, schooling her features into impassivity, and says, "People like me, Chidi…we don't get to have soulmates."

Chidi stares at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, and Eleanor is surprised to find that he looks almost angry.

"Well, pardon my language, but that's bullshirt," he says with uncharacteristic fervor, and Eleanor has to stifle a giggle at how much he sounds like her, only far more polite. 

"Everyone deserves to find love and happiness. Even all-knowing, immortal deities. In fact, especially all-knowing, immortal deities, I would wager. I mean, look at everything you do for us," he argues in her defense. "I spent my whole life in pursuit of absolute moral truth, but you, dedicating your entire existence to guiding humans through the afterlife. It's amazing. You're like the perfect paradigm of what absolute goodness should look like."

"Well, that's very kind of you to say, Chidi, but—"

"But at the same time, you're…imperfect, in the best possible way," he continues. "Sometimes, when I'm with you, it doesn't feel like you're…not a human, you know? Everything you do, everything you say, how casual and comfortable and open and honest you can be, you just seem so…intrinsically human. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that you're not. But really, what difference should that make? Does it really matter what we are? Janet and Jason fell in love, even though Janet isn't human. If they can make it work, why couldn't—"

Oh no.

Oh god.

Oh no oh god oh no, he's just spilled all the secrets he'd promised Jason he would keep. Chidi winces, waiting for the inevitable pandemonium, but what Eleanor says next feels like a bigger blow by far.

"We just…we can't, Chidi. I'm sorry," she sighs, looking for all the world like it's absolutely killing her to say it. 

It's that unmistakable look of pure misery that gives him the nerve to push forward, because it's the same look that's mirrored on his own face, every single morning when he wakes up and feels like there's something missing. And he's tired of feeling miserable.

"But why?" Chidi challenges, then pauses, trying to walk the razor-thin line between wanting to boldly profess his affections and prove to her that he's willing to fight for her, and not wanting to make her uncomfortable, just in case he's misread the entire situation, and this isn't what she wants.

"I mean, look, if it's because you truly don't feel what I'm feeling, and I've misinterpreted everything, then that's on me," he amends. "I will offer my sincerest apologies, and go about my afterlife, and I'll never bother you or broach the subject again. But if you do feel the same way, and we both end up spending the rest of eternity secretly pining for each other but never working up the nerve to say anything about it, well then…this might as well be the Bad Place."

"Chidi, I…" Eleanor sighs, her expression pained.

"Look, if I'm completely off-base here, please just tell me," he insists. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll never bring it up again, and we can go back to being platonic friends who occasionally cross paths in the middle of the night, sharing delicious food and delightful discourse. Or, if you would prefer, we can stop doing that, too."

"No!" Eleanor practically shouts, a look of panic in her eyes. "I don't want to stop seeing you!"

"Then what do you want?" Chidi asks.

"I…" Eleanor falters, battling back the urge to tell him everything, knowing full well the inevitable ruin it would bring upon them both.

"Look, it doesn't matter what I want, or how I feel," she admits, heaving a despondent sigh. She can't give him what he wants, but she's tired of having to lie to him. So, until the countdown hits zero and the experiment ends…enigmatic, vague half-truths it'll have to be.

"But you do feel something," he says, and Eleanor's heart clenches at the little sliver of hope that lingers in his tone. 

Chidi takes a tentative step toward her, closing the distance between them. Eleanor's breath catches in the back of her throat, lost for words as she stares into the eyes of the man towering above her. He leans forward, his lips a mere whisper from her own. As if on instinct, Eleanor's eyes flutter closed and she tilts her chin to meet him halfway, just like they always used to do.

It takes every ounce of her remaining willpower to recognize what she's doing, and wrench herself away from him.

"I'm sorry, Chidi, but I can't be your soulmate," she says. "No matter how much I might wish I could be."

Chidi presses his lips into a hard line, staring at her with some indecipherable spark in his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe we're not soulmates. Maybe the concept of soulmates doesn't actually exist," he concedes. "Honestly, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is how we feel, and what we choose to do with those feelings."

"I spent my whole life allowing fear and indecision to control me, to the point of madness and daily mental breakdowns, missing out on all manner of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, all because I could never commit to a choice," he says, and Eleanor is momentarily stunned by his unexpected candor. 

It's the kind of self-awareness she had learned to expect from a Chidi with all of his memories still intact, a Chidi who had learned from his mistakes and changed for the better. A surge of pride rushes through her at the fact that this version of Chidi had managed to make so much progress in just a year's time.

"For once, I actually know what I want. For once, I'm making the choice to pursue what makes me happy, even though I am absolutely terrified of doing so, because I have no idea if it's the right thing to do, or what the outcome will be. But I'll never know unless I try. So here I am, standing in front of you, working up the nerve to finally tell you how I feel. I know what I want, Eleanor, and what I want is you," he says softly, his voice as dulcet as caramel wrapped in espresso, and Eleanor could swear she's never heard her name sound so sweet.

She feels dizzy, heady, like she's caught between the realm of waking and dreaming, hardly daring to believe that any of this is actually happening. It's been a whirlwind of an evening, and Eleanor is struggling to keep up. Every detail of what Chidi has confessed finally starts catching up with her, and with a sudden jolt that rips her out of this marvelous wish made real, she realizes—

"Wait…what did you mean before, when you said you can remember things you shouldn't be able to?" she asks, bracing her hands against his shoulders to try and keep herself steady amidst the swirling panic that's just begun to resurface.

To Eleanor's surprise, Chidi's expression shifts from hopeful and adoring to conflicted and embarrassed.

"I know it sounds crazy," he pauses, pursing his lips as he puzzles over how best to explain himself. "And I don't know if it's just the result of an overactive imagination, or some kind of weird side effect of the afterlife that makes wishful thinking come to life in a very real, very intense sort of way, but…sometimes, it's like I can remember all of these little details about you, and about us, that I shouldn't be able to remember."

"It feels like we have all of this history, have known each other for hundreds of years, even though we've only just met," he says thoughtfully. "And I keep having all of these…I don't know if they're dreams or fantasies or memories from another life, but I can picture them all so clearly. Mind you, I couldn't always. But something happened last night when you touched my hand, and now, it's like I can feel everything…every touch, every sound, every smell, every emotion attached to them, crystal clear." 

"What, um," Eleanor swallows thickly, heart thundering against her ribcage in equal measures of apprehension and euphoria. "What kinds of things?"

The answering smile that blooms across Chidi's face is like actual sunshine.

"Dancing in the rain with you. Arguing with you inside a weird, minimalist house surrounded by clown paintings, unnervingly reminiscent of the one we're currently standing in, right down to the very last detail. Hiding behind a bar with you while a fight breaks out overhead, and amidst all the chaos, you turn to me and tell me that you think you've fallen in love with me. Lying in bed with you in a strange house out in the middle of nowhere, telling you that I love you, too," he says as recalls each memory with wistful fondness. 

A loose lock of hair slips out of place from behind Eleanor's ear, and Chidi's fingertips twitch at his sides.

"I could almost swear I know exactly how it feels to walk down a sunny lane with you, hand in hand, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy each other's company, to hold you close and bury my face in your hair."

Daring to be bold, Chidi reaches forward and tucks the wayward lock of hair back behind her ear, reveling in the delicate blush that blossoms under the surface of her skin.

"What your lips feel like pressed against mine," he says, gently grazing his palm down the side of her cheek and watching, with baited breath, as her eyes flutter closed and she leans into his touch. 

"And I don't know if any of it is real or where it all came from, but I want it. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. And, forgive me if I'm way out of line here, but sometimes it feels like maybe you might want that, too?" Chidi asks, reaching out across the space between them and tentatively offering Eleanor his hand. Caught up in the moment, Eleanor takes an involuntary step forward, fingertips ghosting over the palm of his hand. The way he looks at her with such a yearning conviction makes her heart sing.

He wants me. 

He wants us.

He wants the life we built together, all the things we used to share.

He wants—

And all at once, the gravity of his words finally catches up to her, and the wonderful, terrifying impossibility of what this means comes crashing down around her.

Hummingbird heart at a loss for whether to skyrocket into her throat or plummet down into her stomach, Eleanor turns her head to the side, and shouts a half-hysterical, "Janet!"

"Wait, what?" Chidi exclaims, indelicately ripped out of the heartfelt moment.

With a melodic bing, Janet pops into existence right in the middle of Eleanor's living room, sporting a cheerful smile.

"How can I help you?" she asks, casting curious glances back and forth between Eleanor and Chidi.

"Could you please get Michael?" Eleanor asks, eyes fixed on Chidi like he's a spider she's just trapped under a cup.

"And, um, also, could I please have a drink with a lot of alcohol in it?" she adds with a sheepish grimace.

"Sure thing," Janet replies, looking thoroughly confused, but deciding it's better not to ask. She'll find out soon enough, anyway.

Janet twists on the spot and disappears, reappearing just seconds later with a wide-eyed, panic-stricken Michael clutching onto her arm.

"Sweet forking hell, the tension in here is thick," Michael exclaims, wafting his hands through the air. He glances back and forth between Eleanor and Chidi, looking alarmed. 

"What happened?" he asks. "Why is Chidi in your living room so late at night? Oh no. Tell me he hasn't figured out that we're actually in the—"

"Oh my god. No, you walnut!" Eleanor shouts, frantically waving her arms in the air to shush him.

"He remembers," she says. "He remembers everything. The memory wipe didn't work. He remembers. Oh my god, what do we do? How is this happening? What if it jacks up his final score somehow? It could ruin everything!"

In a perfect imitation of Chidi, Eleanor begins pacing.

"Holy smokes," Michael whispers, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Several minutes pass with Chidi simply standing there, stunned to silence and frozen to the spot, Eleanor tracking scuff marks into the hardwood floor as she paces in a dizzying blur, and Michael raking his hands through his hair, chanting Jason five times to trigger the cheat code and ward off an impending migraine as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Alright," Michael says in a sage and soothing tone. "I think I might know what happened."

In unison, Eleanor and Chidi whip around to face him.

"Eleanor, do you remember that one reboot where you and Chidi came into my office to confront me?" Michael asks, a small, prideful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Do you remember what you said?"

Eleanor blinks several times, trying to coax some manner of coherent thought to the forefront of her mind. After a moment, her eyes widen in surprise.

"We're in love," she recites with perfect clarity. "And love is stronger than anything you can throw at us."

"And no matter what," Chidi chimes in, the words summoned from some shadowed recess at the back of his mind. "We will find each other, and we will help each other…because we're soulmates."

Eleanor simply stares at Chidi, open-mouthed and disbelieving.

"And I blew it off and made fun of you, thinking it was nothing, but it was everything," Michael says, a full-blown smile erupting across his face. "It was strong enough to break through the walls of a reboot."

"What?" Eleanor asks, incredulous. "How is that even possible?"

"Oh, how do I explain this?" Michael sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat and swiveling on the spot. "You see, every time I reboot you guys, I'm not exactly erasing your memories. That is to say, your memories don't just disappear into the void. Think of your brain as a filing system. All I've done is taken your afterlife memories and filed them away in a folder at the back of a cabinet that says DO NOT OPEN. So all of your memories are still there, they're just…tucked away, laying dormant in the back of your mind, waiting to be unlocked. Now, typically, the only way of getting them back is for me to actively magically summon them back for you. However, there is one other way to reawaken them…which, before now, I never actually believed was possible."

Eleanor quirks an eyebrow.

"I never considered the possibility that any of you would ever fall in love with one another," Michael continues, pursing his lips. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I just assumed you'd all loathe and torture each other. I never expected you to build such strong positive emotional attachments to one another. But you did, and apparently, that connection that you two share was powerful enough to unlock Chidi's memories."

"So," Eleanor sniffles, tears swimming in her eyes. "So, what…you're saying…you're saying Chidi remembers…because we're soulmates? I thought soulmates didn't exist."

"It's like I've said before, I don't know," Michael sighs. "Personally, I don't think that they do. If soulmates do exist, then they're made, not found. People meet, they get a good feeling about each other, and then they get to work building a relationship. Like you and Chidi did, countless times over the span of three hundred years and eight hundred different reboots, even when you had a whole team of demons conspiring against you."

"So maybe you're not universe-approved soulmates chosen by some complicated matchmaking formula…but you still managed to find each other, and help each other, and fall in love with each other, over and over and over again. I'd say that still counts for something," Michael insists, aiming an affectionate smile and a hearty wink at the pair of them.

"Essentially, Eleanor," he says, with a lighthearted sigh. "Chidi remembers because he loves you."

A small, tentative smile curls at the corners of Eleanor's lips, a warm, golden glow blossoming in the center of her chest. Ever so slowly, Eleanor turns to meet Chidi's gaze, and is delighted to see her own emotions reflected in Chidi's answering smile.

"Okay," Chidi says after a moment, shaking his head and turning to face Michael. "I'm happy, but very confused. Could somehow please fill me in on what just happened here?"

"Oh, right," Michael says, stirred from out of his fond reverie at the sight of his favorite couple finally happy and back together…well, almost.

"So, Chidi," he says, adopting an air of professionalism. "I'm about to unlock the rest of your memories. This might be a little overwhelming, but, seeing as how you're already dead, it shouldn't have the same hair-frying, teeth-extracting effect it had on Eleanor back on Earth. So."

"Wait, what?" Chidi exclaims with a frightened frown, but before he can protest or level Michael with a cascade of questions pinging back and forth across his mind, Michael snaps his fingers, and everything goes pleasantly blank. Seconds later, a series of images, like slides from a sped-up film, race across his mind with alarming acuity. All at once, the dormant part of Chidi's brain unlocks, and a stream of memories comes flooding back, filling in the remaining pieces of the puzzle his dreams had so cleverly supplied these past few months.

"Oh!" Chidi gasps, struggling to keep up with the sudden influx of vivid, vibrant details pouring into his mind, a cataclysm of emotions battling for dominance as he relives every moment of his afterlife. 

"Eleanor, I'm…we're…you…" he exclaims, his exuberant smile twisting into one of malaise as the last few details fall into place. "Oh, but the experiment! The whole reason I gave up my memories in the first place! What if I—"

"It's alright, Chidi," Michael says, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "We're literally getting evaluated by the Judge any minute now. Not a whole lot of damage you could do at this point, bud."

"Oh," Chidi sighs, wild heart rate steadily slowing to a normal pace. "Well that's…simultaneously terrifying and reassuring."

Chidi turns to Eleanor, a hopeful smile curving across his lips. 

"So…how do you think we did?" he asks.

Before Eleanor can answer, the clock strikes midnight, and Janet reappears holding a massive pitcher and four margarita glasses, as Jason and Tahani burst through Eleanor's front door.

• • •

"You came to me and said that the points system was flawed," says Judge Gen. "A system that has been in place since the dawn of time, and has judged every soul that has ever walked the earth. And I have come to the conclusion…"

The six of them, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, and Michael, all stand together in a circle, clutching each other's hands, waiting on baited breath for the verdict that could make or break humanity.

"I have come to the conclusion that you're right. Humans are not fixed at one level of morality. They can always get better. Which means that the points system does not accurately judge how good or bad they are. You won. The universe owes you a debt of gratitude for bringing this to my attention," says the Judge, and a collective cheer breaks out across the room, overpowering the disgusted groans from Shawn, Bad Janet, and the rest of the Bad Place demons that had decided to tag along.

"In terms of how we handle this moving forward," Judge Gen presses on. "Obviously, Earth is cancelled. Clearly, Earth has become too complicated for the points system to accurately reflect the true value of human behavior. So, all humans on Earth and in the afterlife will be extinguished, and we will start the entire human race over from scratch. Now…where did I put that human-wiper-outer thingy?"

And with that, the fragile hope that had ignited in their hearts just moments before is swiftly extinguished.

• • •

"Not in this Janet," the Judge scowls, marbelizing one of several Neutral Janets and moving onto the next one in a long line of rebels playing keep-away with humanity's reboot button.

Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, and Michael all turn back to look at one another, the same horrified expression mirrored on all six of their faces.

"So, if we can't change the points themselves, then maybe we can change what we do with the points," Michael suggests hurriedly. "Yeah, we just need a brand new system for judging humans in the afterlife. We can do this, right?"

He aims the question primarily at Eleanor, who answers with a reassuring smile and turns to face Chidi.

"There is literally only one person here who is smart enough and thoughtful enough to save humanity," she says, beaming up at him. "Designing a better afterlife is the ultimate ethical question. Chidi spent his entire existence pondering the biggest questions. He is brilliant and empathetic. All he cares about is how best to treat other people, and he is willing to sacrifice his own happiness in order to do it. I couldn't think of anyone better suited to guide us through this and find the answer."

Chidi stares back at her, equal parts elated by the spirited sincerity of her praise, and terrified at the prospect of the task he's just been asked to undertake.

After a brief moment, he gives a decisive nod, and replies, "Well, here's the thing: this kind of dilemma doesn't just have one answer. There could be 800. There could be zero. Who knows? The journey is the destination, right? So, that being said…let's get to work."

• • •

Forty-five minutes into their maybe an hour time limit, and the six of them are nowhere closer to mapping out a brand new points system for designating whether humans end up in the Good Place or the Bad Place once they arrive in the afterlife. Time ticks past them in a blur of heated arguments splitting hairs over which actions qualify as innately good, and how many points should be given or docked based on good intentions vs. unintended consequences. 

Chidi jumps as yet another marbelized Janet hits the floor with a resounding thwack, just inches away from where he stands, as the Judge rifles through their voids, bringing them all closer and closer to the literal end of the world. He glances around at his closest friends, red in the face as they trifle over which brand of water a person could drink that's ethically sourced enough to grant them a sufficient amount of points to just barely make it into heaven, and avoid being tortured for all eternity. 

And that's when it hits him: how utterly and completely pointless the points system actually is. 

It's just numbers in a system that simply cannot accurately measure goodness. What's the point of having a points system that doesn't measure a person's intent or willingness to try and do better? 

You can't just separate people into black and white, cut and dry categories of good and bad. It's much more complicated than that. You need all of those little details. You need context. You need to know their intentions, their motives, their reasoning. You need proof that they are willing to learn and willing to change. 

Turns out, life isn't a puzzle that can just be solved one time and it's done. You wake up every day, and you solve it again. You keep going. You keep moving forward. You keep learning, and growing, and changing. 

Everyone is capable of change. Everyone is capable of becoming better than they were the day before. Even Bad Place demons. Even Good Place angels.

A collective pearl-clutching gasp issues from the committee of Good Place angels, watching the mayhem unfold from their place in the pews with mingled expressions of sympathy and polite interest, and that's when Chidi realizes that the entire room has fallen silent and he's been saying all of this aloud. 

For what it's worth, he's never seen Eleanor or Michael look so simultaneously shocked and proud of him, and it's enough to strengthen his resolve, even as every inch of his skin burns with embarrassment.

"I…look, I'm sorry," he says, taking a tentative step forward and addressing the room at large. "But think about it. Do the Good Place angels ever actually help anyone? All I have ever seen them do is get caught up in an endless cycle of strongly worded letters, memorandums, minor mistakes, grand apologies, and resignations. When it comes to making actual decisions, they are even worse than I am. The only difference is, they do it all with a smile, genuinely convinced that they're helping."

Shocked to their core, the Good Place committee breaks out into a chorus of hushed murmuring, assuring one another of all the good deeds they've done over the millennia, followed by gentle shushing, followed by a series of apologies for having shushed each other, followed by even more apologies for having interrupted Chidi with all of their apologizing and shushing. Shawn, looking thoroughly amused at the chaos Chidi's candor seems to have incited, starts to giggle maniacally.

"Don't even get me started on the Bad Place demons," Chidi chides, earning a sarcastic eye roll from Shawn as he huffs, crosses his arms over his chest, and shuffles down into his seat, sticking his tongue out and fixing Chidi with a childish scowl. 

"The point is, pobody's nerf— sorry, I mean, nobody's perfect," Chidi sighs, casually slipping into lecture mode as he strolls the perimeter of the room, like he's back teaching in front of a class of college students, instead of monologuing to a rowdy group of immortal beings who could erase him from existence with a simple snap of their fingers.

"Everyone is capable of change," Chidi reasons. "And I think that everyone deserves the chance to do just that. After all, what good does it do, sending people to the Good Place or the Bad Place, based on a total number of points they were assigned for their actions back on Earth? Why are the Good Place and the Bad Place our only two options? When it really comes down to it, what point and purpose do either of them actually serve?"

"If you go to the Good Place, you're basically handed paradise on a silver platter," Chidi says. "And sure, that's great and all, but where's the motivation to try to become an even better person? If you end up in the Good Place, then you're probably under the impression that you're already perfect just as you are, that there's no room for growth, no need to try. If you go to the Bad Place, then all you're doing is getting tortured, and all that does is punish people for mistakes they probably didn't even realize they were making, reinforcing all of those flaws and bad habits they picked up back on Earth…or worse still, creating new ones."

Every member of the Good Place committee shudders in horror, while Shawn guffaws with glee and high-fives one of his fellow Bad Place demons. Chidi pointedly ignores him, and speaks even louder over the interruption.

"The point is, what we currently have in place is a system that functions as a means to an end, ultimately culminating in either praising or punishing people based on a total number of points they got for doing what someone else decided were inherently good or bad things. What we need is a system that focuses instead on rehabilitation, and allows people the chance to change for the better. Why torture people for being bad, when you could expend that time and energy helping them to change?"

To Chidi's surprise, Shawn arches an eyebrow, a look of genuine intrigue flashing across his eyes, before he catches sight of Chidi's encouraging smile, shakes his head, and scoffs. With a disheartened sigh, Chidi turns back to address the crowd.

"Look, I know what you're thinking. That's a lot of work," he admits. "And you're right, it is. But it's worth it, and the four of us from the original experiment are proof. Look at how many lives Eleanor, Tahani, and Jason affected when we got sent back to Earth."

"Eleanor helped her mother, Donna, who in turn helped her stepdaughter, Patricia. Tahani helped her sister, Kamilah, who successfully created a scholarship in Tahani's name that sent 213 women to college. After Jason helped his best friend, Pillboi dedicated himself to caring for the elderly. Their love, encouragement, and emotional support paved the way for positive change, which rippled out and set off a chain reaction," Chidi says, a surge of pride blossoming inside his chest as he locks eyes with each of his fellow cockroaches in turn.

"If there's anything I've learned from my time in the afterlife, it's that being a good person and helping other people is infectious. You help one person, and they'll carry on what they've learned and help someone else in return," Chidi says, a brilliant smile lighting up his every feature. "And isn't that what we should be striving for? An afterlife filled with well-intentioned people who genuinely try their best to learn and grow and change, who actively and willingly help one another for the sake of kindness and compassion? Isn't that better than assigning meaningless point values to actions and judging people without any kind of context for intent of good will?"

Chidi pauses, patiently waiting for the quell of whispered musings, until finally, a hushed silence falls over the crowd. He opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it, puzzling over how best to pose his conclusion. With shaking hands, Chidi turns on his heel and addresses the Judge directly this time, whose amused smirk and arched eyebrow does very little to calm his nerves. Still, he persists.

"The points system is not only flawed, it is useless. I suggest we do away with it altogether, disestablish the stark divide of the Good Place and the Bad Place, and build an all-inclusive afterlife that focuses on rehabilitation. It's what we owe to each other," he says, fighting to remain composed as startled gasps and cries of outrage erupt all around him.

For a moment that spans an eternity, the Judge simply stares at him, and then a radiant smile curls across her lips.

• • •

Eleanor and Chidi stand together in their brand new headquarters, peering through twin reciprocal port windows set into the handsome oak double doors that connect the office to the lobby, curious about the status of their very first resident. Just outside the building, Michael and Janet await, ready to take the newcomer on a tour of the neighborhood, and welcome them to their brand new forever home.

Across the way, Tahani strolls through a magnificent floral garden, her smile as radiant as the sun that shines overhead, while Jason tucks into a mountain of chocolate sauce drizzled overtop of his massive ice cream sundae (absolutely delighted to discover that all the frozen yogurt shops had been replaced with seashore style ice cream parlors) both ready to jump in and offer help if need be.

After the Judge had officially abolished the old points system, the boundaries dividing the Good Place and the Bad Place were dissolved, merging two polar opposites into one all-inclusive afterlife. The newly-formed team of Janets was then assigned the detail of constructing a series of interconnecting neighborhoods all throughout the boundless landscape of the afterlife realm.

Michael, commended for sparking change in an entire crowd of Bad Place demons with his heartfelt speech, as well as a change of heart in a former Bad Place Janet, was tasked with the rehabilitation of his own kind, for after all, if he could forge a path to redemption, so could the rest of them.

Before the Judge could even ask, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason had all stepped forward and volunteered to dedicate the remainder of their existence to being guides for each new person welcomed into the afterlife, insisting that there was nothing they would rather do more than help in any way they can. The one thing they asked for in return was that they all got to stay together, living side by side in the same neighborhood.

It's a daunting task for four humans to undertake all at once, but, over time, they're confident that the more people they help, the more people they inspire and incite change for the better, the bigger their team will grow.

Out in the lobby, under a magnificent banner that simply says Welcome! in bold, lime green lettering, the newest resident of the neighborhood begins to wake up. Eleanor flashes Chidi a brilliant smile that's equal parts nervous and excited, which he returns in kind, before grasping the handles of the grand double doors, and stepping out into the corridor.

"Hi, Doug Forcett," she says with a friendly smile. "I'm Eleanor, and this is Chidi. Welcome to the afterlife."

[charlieslowartsies]

RAHH it’s so cool to see that other people are rereading kgau too, cuz it’s done nothing but lurk in my mind ever since I first found it a few years back, AND that’s what IVE been doing too and I’m having a blast!!

Any commentary on Danny or his character? Or how you came up with him as Jeremy’s kid? Idc I just love that little dude he’s so cool

I often wonder how many times people have reread. If we go by hit count on ao3, I THINK GS or DS has been hit the most? What's funny is they're older and they've been completed for a hit minute, and they're around 10k hits. LW is ongoing, incomplete, and arguably one of my faster completed fics and it's at 10k too lol. I have Danny Fitzgerald comments I suppose! I am VERY tired so I hope these make some semblance of sense xc

Danny was created because I kind of felt Mike had grown used to his surroundings very well. I liked that about Mike! One of the blanket themes of KGA is of course, Found Family. But...I also wanted to explore a more 'holy shit! living robots' reaction. I also needed someone Mike wouldn't LET the gang bully/be cold to.

While Mike worked on ridding them of that learned fear, in the meantime he focused on hiring people that were chill and wouldn't give him more headaches.

So I needed a teenager I decided. I was very hesitant to make him at all. I'm not a huge fan of OCs when it comes to my own writing. It complicates things, and if I wanted a story of OCs I would make that. (Reading them is more fun ^^)

However, the kga series proved I could make something I liked well enough from scratch. Like I've said before, the content we had for Mike Schmidt's character was, yanno, zilch. He might as well have been an oc for a while, until more games and lore appeared over the years. (Obviously KGA does not follow the 'correct' lore. I'm 100% okay with that.)

I hemed and hawed a lot with just keeping Jeremy alive and making Ghost Strings star him, but a fic I loved reading at the time also had an amazing Jeremy and I didn't feel I could write my 'own' version and do it justice. Jeremy as well, if anything, would have a much darker history with the restaurant. Danny was essentially a blank canvas, while still having a reason for being there. He was a fraidy cat--rightly so--but he was determined and he forced himself constantly out of his comfort zone. (I'm sure GS would have been a much different story if Mangle had been active/in the restaurant.)

So, Jeremy had to go. And then I realized I wanted to work on death and loss and that kind of pain.

Danny obviously joins the restaurant for deeply painful and close to selfish reasons, but he's still someone we root for. He's just a dumb teenager looking for something of his father's, not realizing he's the reason he has so little to remember the man by.

All we are made up of is memories. Ours and others, things we take from important people in our lives.

Danny's theme/lesson in GS was 'Even bad memories have a place in a Good life' after all.

Danny's presence in the story helped me explore that mystery, and grief, and what happens when we try to heal ourselves, or when we rely on others to help us, like Bonnie helped Danny. It became a great parallel for Michael/Max Afton, since we learn in Last Shift, YEARS later in the story, this wasn't the first time Bonnie kept something safe for someone out of sheer love and devotion, like Max's beloved cassettes and music-tastes. This was despite Bonnie and the gang being so deeply hurt by Max's attack on them, but he still held on to the Good alongside the Bad.

And of course, giving Bonnet to Danny seemed...so fucken cute and fun and easy. She needed someone, he needed someone, and they just clicked.

My favorite thing about Danny is that everyone liked him so much more than I expected, even just in his first fic. I pursued Finding Freddy with the best intentions, and as hard as that fic was for me, I do not regret making it a Danny!centric fic. It also helps that when he shows up in Lies Within he's clearly done lots of growing, but he's still very mortal and he's very able to die. He still tries to help the restaurant, choosing to embrace the mantle of Day Guard that his father held in the Toys' era. That continued loyalty to Mike ends up being a pretty powerful weapon against the Virus.

Also something I need to explore more is Max is such a puffy little trash cat over Mike when Danny comes onto the scene, although he does lower his hackles within a few months, (and by the time of Lies Within) he's guarded and cautious around Danny. However once Max decides Danny belongs with them, that's it and Max considers him family as much as he's attached to Mike.

One thing I hadn't expected was liking the broship between Ness and Danny that's cropping up in LW. I absolutely want to mull that over more! Vanessa obviously has different...ties and hangups... to Bonnie models, but they really are interesting foils for each other. Esp considering Danny's choices in his older stories and her choices now, including the ones she might still have to make ;)

[in-newjersey]

Have some takes on BMC personality types:

So as we know, the binary of introvert/extrovert for real people is largely constructed, or at least is not as discreet as is often portrayed, but for the purposes of fictional people (especially ones from theater, designed to be open-ended enough for actors to choose to inhabit in different ways) we'll say we can use it.

with that in mind:

I know Jeremy often gets portrayed/described as introverted - kind of shy, nerdy, awkward, anxious, I can get why this would seem like stereotypical "introvert" traits

Whereas often, if not excessively, Michael gets cast as more extroverted: he's a lot more confident, passionate, and energetic, so makes sense for superficial and stereotypical traits....

But I posit that they're the opposites, just in different settings/life situations that suit their personalities differently

Jeremy at heart is an extrovert - he craves social and interpersonal interaction, and specifically a lot of it.....but he's not getting it. Now, this translates in his high schooler brain as "being popular:" when everyone likes you, you'll have tons of friends and never be lonely, right? Of course, a lot of the play is him learning that that's not necessarily the case. However, we can't deny that his loneliness is not based on quality of his relationships, but quantity/amount of time he gets to spend with other people. Which isn't a bad thing! People can be and often are gregarious by nature, that's normal and a perfectly appropriate way to be.

(I know myself, if I go too long without being in some kind of social setting, I start to wilt like a plant (COVID lockdown wasn't pleasant; I actually started liking my essential-worker retail position because at least I got to talk to people))

All this in mind, I would say Jeremy actually is just a very-unfulfilled extrovert; I think this is why headcanons about him getting into theater/having more friends feel so right and satisfying for his arc

By contrast, Michael is an introvert who is, luckily, perfectly in his element for his living and social situation. We see from the play he has one friend that he loves and more or less gets everything he needs from in that part of his life. He has his moms, who as far as we know are a neutral-to-positive force. And he has his online friends from WoW etc. The balance between these three - and I do think, subtly, we get the impression that Michael spends time away from Jeremy with his online friends, which Jeremy subtly resents even if he doesn't realize/voice it - suggests that while Michael's personal emotional/social outlet needs are pretty low, he's getting them satisfied. It's why his one IRL friend ditching him hurt so bad: it's not that he was unstable beforehand or anything, it's that one of the three pillars of his stability got yanked out.

Therefore, Michael's confidence/happy-go-lucky/bubbly attitude is because he's an introvert with most of his needs being met at the outset of the story

I also think, furthermore, that this is one of the roots of their conflict in the play; being teenagers and still working out the world, they haven't quite learned that despite knowing each other for most of their lives, their personality styles are actually quite different: this is why Michael doesn't really understand why Jeremy wants to change so much, and why Jeremy thinks Michael looks down on him for wanting to change

This is not to undermine other takes on the characters - I have ranted at length about the wonderful mutability of theater in that regard - but I think from the text itself, this reading/characterization actually explains a lot of their motivations and finer points in the story

[meluronsoda]

Boyf riends rant(?)

Read more if you wanna know how I think their feelings will work.

For the most part, jeremy is very obvious to any feeling micheal has for him but he does feel like something is different with how he feels toward Michael. It's sorta how he feels with christen, but it is pushed aside in his mind for christine. I hc that Jeremy and christine only go out on a few dates before desiding they are better off as friends (autism besties, if you will.) After this, Jeremy looks a lot deeper for his feelings toward micheal. It's hard for him to tell since they have been best friends for so long, but it is love.

Micheal is fully pining, but knows it's pretty impossible to get with jeremy because of christine. This is especially proven when jeremy picks her over him while jeremy has the squip. "He doesn't want me, he only wants her" he is overall very hurt during the time jeremy had the squip. His best friend was willing to abandon him in an instant for christine and popularity. But he still loves him even if Jeremy will never love him back. Which is why he comes back. When christine and Jeremy don't work out romantically, he gets a little bit of hope back that Jeremy might love him like micheal loved Jeremy, but he had been hurt and was fine with his feelings not being known as long as he still had his best friend.

Jeremy will ultimately have to confess.

[ladyseidr]

been thinking abt how funny michael's first kiss was. like, even he thinks it's funny once he's older. it's like:

( edit: this post is so redundant in many ways, as rory is literally a muse now. just read his bio tbh fkdhsflashfds this post is unedited over all but inaccurate parts are crossed out )

he was literally like 13 and it was absolutely one of the guys in his little bully group ( def the one he was closest to. . . before the kiss Made It Weird )

( this is pre-Bite to be clear the group literally abandoned him after That went down )

happened just during a random quiet, private moment with said friend. like, it wasn't a special moment or anything, it just happened

no, michael obviously didn't make the first move. he is literally allergic to making the first move ever, even prior to the bite

literally just like. very intentional hand brushes -> friend gives him an incredibly awkward, short kiss -> they both stare at each other stupidly for a moment -> friend panics, apologizes, and literally Fucking Leaves

( was michael's reputation a part of that? yeah, obviously. would said friend have panicked regardless? oh yeah )

no, michael was not aware that he was gay prior to this. he like. . . questioned his disinterest in girls a bit, but he was vaguely in denial

yes he feels ~Sparks~ and yes he immediately realized he had a crush on said friend and YES it literally destroyed him for his friend to just run out

it did make things weird between them and they never talked about it. no, the weirdness never improved, mostly because of the group abandoning michael in an attempt to distance themselves from evan's death

michael cried over the whole kiss thing for like a week straight in his bedroom but he will NEVER tell anyone this. like i don't care if it's fn.af 6 era, you will never pry that information from him

i want to be clear that we're talking full-blown teenage melodrama here. like, you know when you were a teenager crying in your bedroom to sad music? LITERALLY michael. it literally wasn't even that big of a deal. but he was 13 and everything is life or death when you're 13.

yes the other af.tons know abt the crying in the bedroom thing. by default they know better than to breathe a word ( except elizabeth lmao ), but by all means write your af.tons doing otherwise FDSKHFSH

very My William-specific but: one of the last major bonding moments between him and william happened regarding this. michael actually managed to open up some about this and william like. actually? handled it pretty well?? which is rare because he is NOT good at comforting, but he had a point of reference as a queer man who remembering his first recognizable crush on a boy. mind you, don't think michael just outright announced what was fully going on lmao. there's a ton more context to how this went down, but i'd have to write out the full ass scene to show that. but also william is perceptive and lbr he didn't think michael was straight anyway LMAO

anyway if you're wondering when his first actual relationship was, that's er. dependent. i'm still wishy-washy abt default shipping him with jeremy. like, in my heart i find that relationship important to michael but also i'm so wary of default shipping non-canon ships on here. but i did it with will.ry, so who's stopping me LMAO. anyway yeah but that would be when he was 18-19. if we're not including jeremy tho, it's literally no one unless we're shipping in a thread

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

richard goranski for the character ask

Favorite thing about them

Little Shit characters are fun to inflict on the other characters. Is this a Little Shit Duo that plays off of each other? (Jake/Jenna) Is this someone that has no patience for The Little Shit and sees red every time they're together? (Chloe) Do they just kinda Enable the Little Shit Behavior by not actively acknowledging or discouraging it? (Christine/Brooke) Does this character just kinda tolerate the Little Shitness until they reach a breaking point like "aight ima throw hands heY GET BACK HERE" (Michael/Jeremy)

Least favorite thing about them

The Little Shitness can get a bit one-note (which is more fanon's fault than anything else) but its like.. it's hard to Get Into The Meat Of The Character when writing for them when like, By Design the character doesn't Want you to know more about them. They'll just deny and deflect and hide everything with humor (I have the same problem with Jared, and I say *problem* to mean *challenge to write convincingly* not like,, this detracts from the character)

Favorite line

Basically the entire last verse of The Squip Song. I just think it's neat. And something about the "fuckin dads right?" when his and jer's squips link

BROTP

Rich and Jeremy. They've got their shared squip experience which sells that dynamic a lot. Plus I love the idea of them becoming frenemies, like Rich still has some Asshole Conditioning in his head from the squip but instead of being scared of him, Jeremy is just Over It. Like instead of cowering away like Pre-MTS Reprise he'll just throw a comeback or bizarre threat his way (ie "Richard I will pour cement in your ears.") because at this point Rich is just a harmless puppy to him instead of the snarling pit bull he once thought him to be.

OTP

RichJake ofc. I really do wanna do more with them but my brain is just So Full of Other Stuff

NOTP

I'm pretty selective about ships but I'm not like, vehemently against anything (You do you ya know?) so long as it's age-appropriate and, ya know, not a squip x kid ship. (Never mind the pseudo-age gap, why ship someone with their abuser?? Or their friend's abuser?? I dont wanna derail this post so im just gonna move on)

Random headcanon

Drummer Rich drummer rich drummer rich drummer rich drummer rich drummer rich, I saw it in a vision and I know it to be true

Unpopular opinion

(Im getting a little more meta with this but) I think writing in his lisp is fun. Like in comic books that's how you know a character has a Russian accent, because it's written in such a way that you Have To Read It With An Accent. I get that it can be difficult to look at (and I don't fault anyone for that) but idk I like the immersion.

Song I associate with them

I'm cheating a little because this song kind of goes with all the kids in which Popularity Destroyed Them (Rich, Chloe, Jenna, Jeremy, kiiinda jake to an extent but mostly the others) but Teen Idle by MARINA is a VIBE

Favorite picture of them

GODS where's that one Two River pic in the hospital where Rich is just staring at Michael and Jeremy from his hospital bed, like Michael's getting all excited about how all the squips were connected when they deactivated and Rich has this lost Doped Up On Painkillers look??? I may have to reblog this if I find it later. If someone else finds it first feel free to add it here <3

[brainrotlesbian]

FNAF: Enigma (general info)

Enigma is a whump AU I created at the end of either 2020 or 2021, for the life of me I don’t remember. Keep in mind I started it well before Security Breach, and before Vanessa was properly introduced, when Vanny was also very ambiguous so I took what I knew (the mask and rainbow hair, referenced in the AR game) and pulled out my version of Vanny: a lesbian disaster with a rough past.

The premise of this AU is: William has been researching remnant—how it’s made, it’s effects, etc—and has amassed a cult following of various outcasts of society (whether they want to be there or not), and he’s turned his sights on Vanny. She is trying to live her life, but is haunted by a dark past and has a body count, making her a good candidate for William to manipulate into becoming a prolific killer. Vanny doesn’t want to join him, so he, knowing that she and Michael are very close (a sort of father/daughter relationship), takes Michael hostage in order to get her to cooperate. Michael is punished when Vanny doesn’t cooperate, and is sometimes a bit of a punching bag for some of the more sadistic cultists.

The timeline for this is. Convoluted but this is FNAF so. FNAF 4, 2, and the original occur as in the games, in that order, including both the Bite of 83 (victim being Cassidy Afton—yes I’m calling him Cassidy it’s a cute name) and the Bite of 87 (victim being Jeremy Fitzgerald; at the time, Michael’s bf). Michael goes undercover as Mike Schmidt to figure out wtf is going on, figured out his father is responsible for the deaths of the 5 missing children (vengeful spirit Cassidy is different from Crying Child Cassidy), and sets out to bring his father to justice. Shortly after Michael leaves the FNAF 1 location, the restaurant closes and William suffers the springlock failure, but, instead of being left in the supply closet for 30 years, he’s found by the members of his cult and extracted from the spring Bonnie suit. Michael ventures to sister location, where he is scooped, and after ejecting Ennard into the sewers (gross), he circles back to Henry Emily to figure out what to do, where they decided to end the madness once and for all, leading to the events of Pizzeria Simulator. Vanny joins the team a few years in (collecting all of the scrapped animatronics is difficult and takes a while), and is clued in to Michael’s past, as they both are haunted from their own mistakes and the mistakes of their fathers. No, FNAF 3 does not happen

William’s cult started as research into remnant and how it works, discovered shortly after Charlie Emily’s murder in 1987 (a week before the murders of the 5 missing children). Most of the members of the cult are those who were preyed upon at their lowest and have no way to leave, and were tempted by William giving them promises of ways to fix their problems. The others are genuinely sadistic and enjoy causing pain and misery.

Miscellaneous info:

Mrs. Clara Afton was a lesbian when she was alive, marrying William (a gay man) in the late 60’s in order to present as a heterosexual couple. They also had kids in order to keep up that facade. She was murdered by William after Elizabeth’s death, as she planned on leaving him and taking Michael with her

Charlie Emily and Michael Afton were close as children. Even more unfortunate that Charlie saw William as a sort of uncle, leading her to trust him, which is why he was able to kill her (she was 15 at the time)

Michael Afton is trans. Just for funsies. William may be a murderer but he’s not a monster (transphobic)

Sammy Emily is still alive. He and Michael weren’t as close as Michael and Charlie were, but after Charlie’s death they became closer, almost brothers

Vanessa Howard had a younger sister, Lea, who couldn’t pronounce “Vanessa,” and instead called her “Vanny.”

William’s design (half rotted corpse gnarled with twisted, rusted metal) is very much so inspired by his design in The Fourth Closet (keep in mind I haven’t read the books)

[dhampiravidi]

hot take: I relate to Carmy Berzatto in S2 of The Bear

putting this under a read more bc of the topic (mentioned in tags):

so The Bear wasn't my favorite in S1, but S2 is very well-written, especially when it comes to its portrayal of mental illness(es). I want to start by saying that ofc not everyone experiences the same mental illness the same way. But I really relate to Carmy, so much that it hurts. I realized that I related to him when it's the focus group scene--he says something akin to, "I try to act like there won't be another shoe to drop, but there always is." Then, there's the whole X-Mas episode. And finally, the day the restaurant opens.

I have generalized anxiety, clinical depression & mild C-PTSD. Here's how I viewed the aforementioned scenes:

Focus Group: let me start by saying I've never been to group therapy (& I don't think I will; I just prefer 1-on-1). Still, I talk to myself a lot, which allows me to confront most of my inner feelings/thoughts. Anyway, it was a sad thing to realize that, over the years, I, too, have stopped believing that I have time to enjoy good moments...because there's always some new shit, some new problem to deal with.

X-Mas: if I had to be in a real-life situation similar to that episode, I'd definitely have an anxiety issue (I say "issue" to differentiate from a panic/anxiety attack). I'm a perfectionist who cares about pleasing people, even if I dislike said people. So to see Carmy in such a stressful place where nowhere is quiet enough to relax...that was hard. I desperately wanted the mom to get some mental help while someone else ordered in. I wanted Bob Odenkirk/Uncle Lee to shut up because to me, Jon Bernthal/Michael seemed to be both depressed and developing anger issues. I wanted to tell Abby Elliot/Natalie that she doesn't need to worry about her mom. & then the whole time I'm hoping that Carmy doesn't have some kind of a breakdown or anxiety issue, because then everyone will fuss over him to the point of starting a fight.

Opening Day: I knew the moment Claire was introduced that she was going to be the third point in a Claire-Carmy-Syd love triangle, one where Carmy ultimately has to choose between taking time off to cultivate his own happiness (something he doesn't do) & making sure that the restaurant is a success. I was glad that, overall, the opening night was awesome. But 1) I was scared for Carmy because apparently you can die within a couple of hours in a walk-in if you aren't careful, and 2) they had Claire be the one to hear his self-destructive rant. I'm not mad at him for ranting. He's a mentally ill/depressed person who works in an unforgiving industry. Despite the customers' happiness, he didn't have a great night. His brother, who was also in the food business, is dead (which I think adds onto Carmy's desire to be successful). Keep all that in mind. Carmy gave Claire the wrong number because he (in my opinion) didn't think he could juggle his commitment to the restaurant with a romantic commitment...& he doesn't think he deserves to be loved/happy (which he admitted in the fridge). If he doesn't end up with Syd by the end of S2, I think the writers will let him be with Claire because nothing he said was actually blaming her for anything. Depressed people love blaming ourselves.

Anyway, kudos to the writers of the show & to Jeremy Allen White.