#my boots did not pass the weather test and i came home slightly frozen

[hiddenworldofmary]

i miss living close to this park

[blueskrugs]

That Don’t Sound Like You | Brock Boeser

title and inspiration come from the Lee Brice song of the same name. I like country music, okay? takes place roughly September 2015-August 2019. all games and other teammates are accurate.

because @captainkreider​ said “what if you write this for Brock” and I immediately had to rethink my priorities on who I will and will not write for. and then this happened. 

length: 4.7 words 

Girl, I’m glad you called

You met Brock early in your freshman year at University of North Dakota. He was always surrounded by people, popular and charismatic, even as a slightly awkward 18-year-old, but it seemed like he could, and would, talk to anyone who would listen.

You found that out for yourself when he plopped down a couple seats from you in some 100 level English lecture before leaning across the empty desk between you to introduce himself.

“I’m Brock,” he said with a grin.

You took a moment to assess him. His blond hair was tucked beneath a backwards snapback, looking every bit like a douche college athlete, but his blue eyes were kind, and his smile seemed genuine. You shot him a quick smile of your own before turning back to your notes.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered. Brock was still watching you closely; you flipped the page of your notebook.

Any further conversation was cut short by your professor coming in, his typical five minutes late. It was already the third week of class, and Brock had never sat near you before, usually choosing to sit more near the back, but you buried your confusion in favor of focusing on the lecture. 

Brock kept sitting next to you, though, would start a conversation with you most days. It was a week and a half before he asked for your phone number, another week before he actually texted you to complain about how he didn’t understand an assigned reading. In the meantime, you’d learned that you hadn’t grown up far from each other in Minnesota– just a couple towns away from each other outside Minneapolis, his favorite color– blue, but only one highly specific shade, and how he’d been drafted by the Canucks but was still trying out the whole college thing.

“So,” Brock started one day in October. You hummed in response, not looking up from your notes– you were trying to review for the test you had after this lecture was over. Brock nudged your elbow, but you still didn’t look up at him. “Hey. Y/N.” Brock was starting to whine now, so you glanced up at him. “So, uh, we have our first home game this Saturday.”

You raised an eyebrow at Brock. He looked nervous, fidgeting with a hoodie string and chewing on his bottom lip. You poked him in the arm with your pen. 

“Got something you wanna say, Boes?”

“Would you, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Brock, I don’t know. Spit it out.”

“Do you wanna come to the game?” he finally managed.

Now, UND took hockey as seriously as some colleges took football, and you’d spent more than one conversation with Brock discussing hockey, so he knew you liked it. Of course you’d be at the game on Saturday. But Brock wasn’t asking if you were going as a hockey fan. He was asking if you’d come to see him play.

You grinned, and Brock ducked his head and refused to look at you. His cheeks looked a little pink. You poked him with your pen again, this time just below his ribs, and he squirmed and snatched the pen from your hand. 

“Yeah, Brock, I’ll be there,” you assured him. 

He threw your pen at you. 

Brock scored a hat trick in front of the sold-out crowd and swept you up in his arms outside the arena.

That became the new normal for you two. You went to every home game to watch as Brock tore up the league as one of the best freshmen anyone had ever seen. He’d meet you outside the arena, and you’d end up at a diner with the rest of the team with Brock’s arm draped around your shoulder. The team accepted you into their fold easily enough, teasing and chirping you just as they would any other player. There was time spent alone with Brock, too, or as alone as you could get in a dorm building. It had started under the pretense of studying together, but over time, it usually ended under a pile of blankets and Grey’s Anatomy playing on one of your laptops.

Brock kissed you for the first time in early December, after the team swept the weekend against Denver. It was cold, and his breath brushed across your face in a white cloud when he leaned in, but his lips were warm against yours. 

Not much changed after that, not really, except for the fact that Brock got much less shy about always wanting to be near you or touching you in some way, whether it was your knees pressed against each other beneath a table on a date, or a hand on your hip or linked with yours when you were hanging out with others.

He did trip over his own feet the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, though. 

You surprised Brock in Tampa in April for the Frozen Four finals, where he had the game winning goal, and three more assists to boot. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile as big as when you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist after the game, Stretch and Drake and everyone else still screaming somewhere behind you.

Truck tires on a gravel road Laughing at the world, blasting my radio Cannonballs splashing in the water

Brock called you one afternoon in June, after life had settled down into the lazy days of summer. “What’s up, babe?” you asked, absently throwing a tennis ball for your dog out in the yard.

Brock hesitated. “Do you still wanna come out to the lake with us?”

You had talked about it, a little, back when it was still ungodly cold in North Dakota, and Brock had mentioned that his family was going to try and rent a place on a lake for a week or two in July. It had seemed so far away then, as distant future as graduating or Brock heading off to Vancouver, which feels foolish now, with July creeping closer every day.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

The two of you talked about the future for the first time that week at Minnetonka, between bets of who could make the biggest splash, or turning up Brock’s playlists as loud as you could, yelling the words to country songs up to the clouds.

Brock wanted to stay at UND another year, use it to develop his game, but he whispered in the dark one night that he was scared of making it all the way to the NHL and not living up to expectations, no longer a bright star, but a supernova, left to fade into nothing. 

You had dreams of your own, too. Graduating and getting a job in a big city, getting away from Minnesota and small towns where everyone knew everyone. California, maybe, or somewhere on the East Coast like D.C.

(Brock had made a face at you for that.)

You realized for the first time, too, that you just might be in love with Brock. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization, though, just tucked your face a little tighter into Brock’s shoulder, tried not to think about what you would do if Brock ever asked you to follow him to Vancouver. You weren’t sure you could give up your life plans for anyone.

July passed with days in the sun and nights near a bonfire, drowning in one of Brock’s hoodies as you sat in his lap under a blanket. You wished you could live in moments like those forever.

Sophomore year was different for both of you. You were busier with classes, and Brock was more focused on hockey than ever, determined not to let his freshman season be a fluke. 

Not that anyone thought it would be.

Brock became an alternate captain. Continued to dominate on the ice, came back stronger after a couple of injuries. Brock Boeser was making a name for himself, and it was only a matter of time before everyone started paying attention.

The day after the team lost to Boston University in double overtime, the defending champs going out on their very first game of the tournament, Brock was home in Minnesota, signing an entry-level contract, and playing his first game as a Vancouver Canuck.

He had kissed you goodbye on Thursday before the team left for Fargo, with an “I love you,” murmured against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair, the promise of “see you soon” unspoken but understood between you.

But you sat on your couch and watched as Brock took to the ice for the team that believed in him against the team he grew up watching, you started to wonder just how soon that would be, and if you’d ever get your Brock back, or if you’d lost his love to the city of Vancouver.

Brock scored a goal that night. You’d always known he would fit right in in Vancouver. 

Brock broke up with you that summer. You had seen it coming, maybe since last July, when you realized that your lives were heading in different directions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You were supposed to go up to Minnetonka again, but you never made it that far before he was standing on your doorstep, hands shoved deep in your pockets.

Part of you wanted to insist that you could make the distance work, and maybe you could, maybe Brock thought it, too, but you couldn’t think of the words.

“I love you,” you said instead. 

You dropped a Target bag full of Brock’s things on his parents’ front porch, hoodies and beanies and other things that were too hard to keep, before you headed back to UND for the fall.

You kept in touch some, congratulatory texts (you) or pictures of the weather (him). You received dozens of Snapchats during All-Star Weekend in 2018, especially of the adorable dog he ended up adopting– you had vetoed changing his name from Cider– but you were pretty sure he was sending them to everyone.

Until you got one simply captioned “would be better with you here.” You stared at the picture– the view of Tampa outside his hotel room window– until the time ran out, and it disappeared. Then another came in, and you opened it quickly, unthinkingly. “Not quite like the last time we were in Tampa together tho.”

The only time you’d been to Tampa had been nearly two years before for the Frozen Four.

The picture disappeared again, and you didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t.

You graduated a semester early and made plans to move to the East Coast and get a job, start your life for real. No one commented on how you were about as far away from Brock and Vancouver as you could get.

You were doing laundry at your parents’ house, packing most of what you owned in your car to move, when you came across a green UND hockey T-shirt. It still smelled a little like Brock, even though it had been buried in your room for years. You spared half a thought to wonder if Brock ever even missed it before you throw it in the washing machine. 

You were surprised, then, when you got a text– a real one, too, not a Snapchat message– from Brock later that summer. You had never responded to those messages he had sent during the All-Star Game, and he had stopped sending things after a while. That had been over a year ago. 

Brock’s message was simple, just a “hey, how have you been?” You wondered if he even knew you moved, and you were immediately suspicious of ulterior motives. 

You left him on read for a couple of hours, before responding, and your message was short, curt. Your suspicions were proved right when he responded within half an hour.

“so” “Some of the guys from UND are coming up north for a couple days” “and they’ve been making some noise about seeing you”

You sighed. You were too tired for playing games, talking coyly, pretending like you were anything more than a couple of exes, practically strangers at this point. You pressed the call button below Brock’s name, realized for the first time that you’d never removed the green heart emoji from his contact. 

“Y/N?” Brock sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you first.

“Why now, Brock?” you asked. Why do you still care, is what you didn’t.

“Stetch won’t shut up about wanting to see you, and some of the other guys picked up the chorus,” Brock said. He sounded as tired as you felt. It may have been years since you had last seen some of his teammates from UND, it certainly sounded like they haven’t changed much. 

You went quiet, chewing on your bottom lip. Brock rushed to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to come. I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have texted, I’m sorry.” His voice faded slightly, like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up.

And, well, you were going to blame what you said next on the fact that it was well after midnight and that you’d been awake for too many consecutive hours. 

“When is everyone coming up?”

Brock was silent, not even the sound of his breathing coming over the line. You checked to make sure he hadn’t, in fact, ended the call.

“Uh, second week of August,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Brock echoed. You could picture the crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, ‘okay.’ I’ll think about it,” you said. 

You didn’t know why you said that.

You didn’t know why you booked a flight to Minneapolis, or why you were actually looking forward to it. Even when Brock texted to warn you that some of his Canucks teammates would be there with the old faces from UND. 

You didn’t know what you were doing as you stood in the entryway of a lake house in Minnesota. Out on the deck, you could see some familiar faces, but you had never felt so out of place in your life. 

This was a bad idea. No, it was a terrible idea. You weren’t in college anymore. These weren’t your friends, your people. They had all moved on with their lives, and so had you. A weekend on a lake in Minnesota would only bring back the memories and the regrets of years gone by. 

You were just debating turning around and pretending that you had never even come when Brock stepped in and saw you standing there, looking like a fool. He looks surprised to see you. You take another step into the house.

“Hey, Y/N!” The surprise is gone nearly as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with what looks like genuine happiness. “C’mon, everyone’s outside.”

You follow silently, taking in Brock’s bare, tanned shoulders, the way his hair looks blonder from hours spent out on the lake. For a moment, you’re both 19 again.

Stetch yells when he sees you first, and then you’re being mobbed by hockey players. You only know a couple from UND– Stetch, Drake, and Josty, to start– and the rest are from Vancouver, introductions blurring together in a mess of faces and nicknames– Tuna, Petey, and Chris, who had definitely been called Dad by at least three different people.

You finally manage to break away and head for a drink, but Brock follows you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and you believe him, look into his eyes, painfully earnest and real and blue like the reflection of the sky on the lake. You offer a weak smile in return, not sure if you can say the same, not yet. Brock steps closer and opens the lid of the cooler you’re standing next to. “Jess says you ended up in D.C. after all. How is that? You happy?” 

His question catches you off-guard, and you hesitate, too long. “Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, it’s great.” Everything I’ve ever wanted, except you’re not there, is what you don’t say. You wonder briefly if he can still see right through you.

Brock’s head is buried in the cooler as he digs through the ice, but you can still see the way his shoulders go up like they always do when he’s frowning. That’s a yes, then. 

“What’s the difference between a White Claw and a Truly, anyway?” he muses instead of calling you out, before surfacing with one of each in his hands. He offers them both to you, and you take the Truly– wild berry, your favorite, not that Brock would have any reason to know that– and leave him the White Claw. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. You tear your eyes away from the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?” Brock asks pointedly. Damn, he still follows you on Instagram.

You take a drink yourself instead of answering right away. “Couldn’t get off work,” you say. Which isn’t a lie, not really, but you hadn’t even asked, just told him you would be visiting home for the week. You didn’t think he’d love the idea of spending a weekend with a bunch of hockey players, especially when the one who’d invited you happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

Brock just blinks at you for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you could make it,” he says again, just as honest as before. 

When the next person asks if you’re happy in D.C., you’re not quite as off-guard, and you manage to smile when you answer this time. Brock is watching you from across the deck, though, and you wonder if the smile looked as fake as it felt to everyone else, or if it was just Brock. 

You’re arguing with Josty about something ridiculous, when Emma, Troy’s girlfriend, sees you for the first time. 

“Oh my God, you cut your hair! It’s so cute!” she said before wrapping you up in a hug.

When she lets you go, you sweep your hair over one shoulder, an old habit from when it hung halfway down your back; it barely brushed your shoulders now.

“Thought it was time for a change,�� you say, “and my boyfriend really likes it this way.”

Next to you, Tyson frowns and mumbles something about finding Brock. You and Emma both watch him go, a little confused.

I know it’s been a while, I don’t mean to pry But when I asked you if you’re happy, I didn’t hear a smile,  and that don’t sound like you

You’re sitting on the dock with your feet in the water that night when Brock settles next to you. Up at the house, everyone is either asleep or on their way to it. You’re both quiet for a moment, just the sound of crickets and the water lapping against the dock. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Brock says lowly. 

You breathe out a laugh. “I wasn’t either, not until I was actually here,” you admit. 

“Why did you come?”

“Why did you invite me?” you counter. It was the thing that kept bothering you about all this. Why had Brock decided to reach out now, after so long, after you’d moved on?

Brock sighs. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while.” It’s almost defensive, the way he says it. 

“Not like you tried very hard to catch up ever,” you say, and it’s mean, because you had stopped responding first, but you hadn’t known what else to do, how else to handle the heartbreak you had to relive with every text. 

“You fucking stopped talking to me!” Brock says, and, yeah, you deserve that, deserve the anger in his voice. You don’t expect to hear sadness, too, but you do. 

“What else was I supposed to do, Brock? Keep torturing myself with every text I sent?” You can’t bring yourself to be mad. You tilt your chin to look up at the stars instead, pretend you can’t feel Brock’s eyes on you. The stars are so much brighter out here, back home. “You were off chasing your dream, so it was time I went after mine.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “Why’d you come here, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One last hurrah for when we were all in college? For freshman year when the future seemed so bright? For when I still thought having a good job in a good city with a guy who loves me would make me happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the wrong city with the wrong guy?”

You get up before Brock can answer and leave him sitting on the dock in the dark. 

Morning comes, and you’re not sure the conversation with Brock even happened, except for the fact that Brock is alternating between watching you intently and refusing to make eye contact. Chris makes everyone breakfast, and you now understand why everyone was calling him Dad. You settle next to Troy, lean your head on his shoulder. 

“Did I somehow do something to make Petey not like me?” you ask, watching him talk quietly to Brock at the other end of the table. 

“Nah,” Stetch says, taking a bite of bacon. “His English still isn’t great, and his default resting face makes it look like he hates everyone.” He pauses, takes another bite. “Well, and the fact that you broke our boy Brock’s heart. He’s sensitive, don’t ya know?” His tone is light, teasing, but his words make you freeze.

You gasp, too loud for the morning air. A couple people glance over at you, but you’re turning to Stetch, who at least looks like he realizes his mistake.

“Brock broke up with me,” you hiss.

Troy barely glances down the table at Brock, but you still catch it. For a split second, you consider just getting up and leaving, but settle for glaring at Brock, who doesn’t look up. His cheeks still flush like he can feel your eyes on him.

“I no longer want to be a part of this conversation,” Stetch says, making a move to get up, but you grab his wrist. He winces but stays sitting. “Look, he came back for his rookie year and was always kinda quiet-” You scoff. “-but none of us asked any questions, and then after All-Star he said you’d stopped responding to his texts.” Stetch finishes with a shrug. 

“I stopped answering because I was still in love with him and stuck in North Dakota after he broke up with me that summer, dumbass. What the hell else was I supposed to do after he told me he wished I were at the All-Star Game with him? I was never going to be able to follow Brock to Vancouver, and he made it pretty clear he never really wanted me to, anyway.”

You didn’t realize that most of the conversations around the table had gone quiet until it was too late. Brock had gone pale. You had never wanted a confrontation, not here, but it was looking inevitable. Everyone else seemed to sense this, too, because soon the table was cleared, and it was just you and Brock. 

“Why do you stay if you’re not happy?” is what Brock says first.

“I- what?”

Brock smiles at you, but it’s sad. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I am happy,” you say, defensive. And you are, or you will be one day, once you can finally stop thinking about Brock, about all the what-ifs, the possibilities that are long gone. You were getting there, too, before you came back to Minnesota for this weekend and everything came crashing down around your ears. Still, maybe this is the closure you needed.

“Oh yeah?” Brock says in return, and it's a taunt, really, mean in a way that he’s never been with you.

“Since when do you have any right to my happiness? What do you want me to say, Brock? That I always knew we were never meant to work out, but I fell in love with you anyway? That I went to D.C. and got everything I wanted, but once I had it, it didn’t seem right anymore? They say you never forget your first love, and, dammit, it’s really hard when yours is living his dream and tearing it up in the NHL. Is that what you want to hear, Brock? That I’ll never really get over you, even as I fall in love again, resign myself to the fact that someone else is going to fall in love with you someday, and be everything for you I couldn’t?”

Brock is frozen at the other end of the table. You want to jump in the lake, stay underwater until your lungs burn and your tears are hidden. You want to get in your rental car and drive, drive all the way to Minneapolis and keep going until you’re out of Minnesota and never look back. You want to kiss Brock, for old time’s sake, and you never want to see his face again. 

He still hasn’t said anything, so you turn and go inside, past everyone pretending like they hadn’t just been watching everything. You’re throwing everything back in your bag when Brock stumbles up the stairs. You pause, cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Shit, wait,” he pants.

You can’t hold back the smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?” you say, almost without thinking. 

Brock flips you off as he leans against the doorframe, but it’s half-hearted. 

“You can’t just say shit like that and then fucking walk away,” he says, and it comes out more like a whine. “I just- I had no idea. Should’ve probably, yeah, but-” he stops, collects his thoughts. “What did you mean when you said you could never follow me to Vancouver?”

“Would you even have asked,” you say, which isn’t an answer at all.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about all of your plans, and I never wanted to stop you. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to follow me.” And, finally, for the first time in years, it seems like you two understand each other.

“Of course I did,” you say softly, and Brock looks up at you, surprised. “I just didn’t know that then. And then I didn’t think you wanted me, not when I was just some girl from college.”

“You were never just some girl from college,” Brock says quickly. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna know why I asked if you were happy? You cut your hair.” Brock sounds pained, and you remember all the times he would play with your hair while you cuddled on the couch or in bed. “Since when do you change something like that for a guy?”

“And I wouldn’t have had to change for you? After I’d graduated, if you wanted me to come to Vancouver for you?” 

Brock’s recoils, your words like a slap to the face, but it’s not as vindicating as you thought it would be. “It’s not just the hair. It’s the way you talk, the way you smile. What happened to the girl I knew?”

And that’s the problem. You’re not the girl he knew, not anymore. You’ve both grown up, lived life a little more. You might still love Brock, but you love the Brock from North Dakota, not the one who’s been in Vancouver for two years. You don’t know that Brock, and maybe you could love him, but that’s not for you to find out. It’s not fair to anyone. It just took you coming out to the lake to realize that. 

So you smile at Brock and say, “She got her heart broken and left North Dakota behind.” But you follow Brock back downstairs, spend the day out on the water, feeling settled for the first time since you got there, maybe since you had last spoken to Brock way back in 2018. 

That town, that job, that guy You can leave them behind, girl, you know you’re better than that

The boys build a bonfire after dinner, as the sun sets over the lake, and someone breaks out the ingredients for s’mores. 

“Y’know,” Brock says, resting his hand on your knee after you’ve settled into a chair. His hand is warm through the blanket draped over your lap. “For what it’s worth, there would always be a place for you in Vancouver.” 

Maybe there would be, but you weren’t sure that that place was somewhere you belonged. You don’t say that, though, just settle your feet in Brock’s lap and take the marshmallow that’s being offered to you. 

There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of the continent, and it just might be the one you were always meant to have. 

[the-fiction-witch]

IVY P6 Cosy

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING: SWEET AF!

I had grown rather used to having my little audience. Y/n came over almost everyday for at least an hour just to sit and watch me play chess making all her little notes and working on ivy as she slowly brought her equipment over every time she visited so I know had half a computer in my living room. But today honestly I wasn't expecting her there was a horrible storm over new york.

The subway has been down for days, no taxis working, barely a car could get thought, my poor little beatle is burried under the snow, my apartment as cold as ice as the heating was now working but not working all that well, at least I had hot water now, the windows blocked completely by snow and where one slightly leaks it has frozen shut with icicles on the inside as the water leaking in had frozen on the way in, I could hear the wind rushing through, the news reports I was getting on my tiny tv weren't good so I turned it off trying not to think about the cold.

I had two pairs of socks on, fluffy socks. My jeans on with a blanket over my legs, my black t shirt, then my black turtleneck shirt, then my green button down then my jacket and I still had to wrap a blanket around my shoulders to stop me shivering. I jumped as I heard the phone I begrudgingly got up from my chair and went to answer it trying not to loose a blanket on the way I picked it up trying not to shiver in my voice

"Hello?"

"Hi Benny" I heard her familiar voice but she had called me before from her dorm but it sounded different

"Hey y/n, what's up?"

"Quick question do you have heating?"

"Well yes. It's not very good but yes. Why?"

"Uhhh could you maybe put it on full. And also put the kettle on"

".... Ohh my god you crazy girl are you actually coming?'

"Yes"

"I thought we'd work from your from today on the phones and all"

"I was going too but most everyone else has gone home for the holidays and the dorms are so so cold."

"Where are you?"

"Uhh the payphone about a block down the street from yours"

"You're walking! Y/n you must be frozen half to death get off the phone get here as quick as you can I'll get the kettle on" I told her quickly hanging up I didn't want her on the phone any longer then she had to be I got up going to the kitchen to put the kettle on hell I'll have a hot drink as I'n turning it on and soon enough I heard fast shaking little taps, I rushed over and quickly pulled the door open having to fight against the ice around it but I got it open and she stood there on my doorstep covered in an inch of snow shivering in her usual purple coat "oohh get in here you silly girl you'll freeze" I laughed quickly letting her in and shutting the door behind us to keep the cold out

"Benny I can't feel my toes"

"I imagine you can't. Those boots don't look like snow boots?"

"There not I didn't have snow boots so I just put my thermal boots and some extra socks"

"Here let me get your coat off" I smiled helping her with her coat knocking all the snow off her revealing how cute she looked she had a little purple hat under her hood, and a long purple scarf wrapped around her about four times and had a long knee length knitted purple dress with pockets, she had little black mittens and what looked like four or five layers of thermal tights and these little boots I helped her get her boots off as somehow she had gotten snow inside her boots and she had three pairs of socks on top of her tights she slipped her mittens off and her scarf sitting them with her coat

"May I steal a blanket?" She asks noticing I had two

"You may" I laughed giving her one of my blankets

"You wanna mini hot water bottle?" She smiled pulling a pocket sized hot water bottle out of her pocket I took it curiously and it was hot I held it close feeling how warm it was

"Uuummm I will sell you my car for this tiny hand sized hot water bottle"

"It's okay Benny you can borrow it while I'm borrowing your blanket" she smiled we went over to the sofa having a sit together trying not to be too far apart as we where both warm, I feched her a tea and a I had my usual coffee "clink" she giggled tapping my mug with her own

"Clink" I laughed "fuck it's cold. Sorry I made you walk all this way"

"It's okay I wanted to come"

"I'm really not in the mood for chess today. Which sounds nuts but I'm just way too cold. Sorry for making you walk all this way for nothing"

"Not nothing, I got to see you" she smiled "and steal your blanket"

"I guess so. Guess it's kinda nice to have someone to wait out the storm with"

"Yeah someone to wait the storm out with" she smiled "why don't you get the duvet?"

"The duvet!" I jumped dashing to my bedroom and getting my duvet we both readjusted our blankets and then I threw the duvet over us both I smiled looking at her wrapped up so well against the sofa with the blanket around her shoulders and my duvet tucked up to her sipping the tea that she held so close "I like your scarf. And your little hat"

"Aww thank you" she blushed "I knitted them myself"

"You did? that's impressive. Can you make me a scarf?"

"Yeah, actually. I did bring my stuff with me" she laughed grabbing her bag getting some large needles "I have… black and white wool?"

"Can you make me a chess scarf?"

"Uhhh I don't see why not" she smiled sitting her tea on the side

"I'm going to get a book, want anything as I'm leaving the warm corner?"

"No thanks benny, Im cosy" she smiled

"Alright" I smiled back giving her temple a little kiss before leaving the duvet I already hated it I'm so cold out here, I grabbed a book or three before I remembered I jumped in my wardrobe and I saw it "ohh my god! I forgot about you!"

"About what?" Y/n giggled

"My long hot water bottle" I laughed showing her the thing i bought it years ago before going to Moscow on the assumption moscow would be cold and I ended up leaving it here it took a while to fill up as it was almost a meter long but I did it up and put the fluffy cover over it and came back beside her getting under the duvet and in the blankets laying the bottle across both our laps between the duvet and us I smiled as I sat getting cosy watching her slowly knit

"Why was your dorm so cold?' I asked her

"Most of them have gone home for the holidays, cheap place only keeps the heat on if more then two people are there and it was just me" she says "I tried to get on the bus to come see you but I had to walk"

"Why didn't you go home? For the holidays?"

"Not really much if a home to go to?"

"What do you mean?"

"My mother died in childbirth. My dad looked after me alone for most of my life. He passed away a few years ago now." She explained

"Ohh y/n. I'm so sorry, his did he die?"

She smiled slightly "he was working at nasa. In the space race and all, he was an engineer so they sent him onna test flight but… they never came back" she explained

"Must have been an amazingly smart man. I see where you get it from"

"Thank you, what about you? Why aren't you flying off somewhere to see your family?"

"Don't really have a family. Never really did. My dad died before I was even born, my mum like yours died in childbirth so my uncle took care of me he was a single guy no kids or anything but he had a heart attack when I was ten, been on my own since"

"I'm so sorry Benny"

"Its okay. Life goes on you know. Of course I miss them but… me sitting here bawling isn't gonna bring them back, lifes going to go on weather I sit here crying or weather I get on with it. So I better just get on with it"

"Yeah I see what you mean" she says "how about we play a game" she smiled

"Sure" I laughed

"Truth or dare"

"Damn it okay truth"

"Do you really love chess?'

"Not as much as I did once. I do really love chess but there is bullshit too it, the traveling sucks, there's alot of snobbery around it, I think I adored it once but… I still love it just not as much as I did" I explain "truth or dare?"

"Truth"

"... Do you really think ivy will work?'

"I'm sure of it. I know it. More then anything else in this world" she smiled "your turn"

"Okay truth again"

"What's the last thing you cried at?"

"Cried? Uhhh ohh god ugh lord of the rings"

"What?'

'the ending makes me cry okay"

"Awww that's so sweet. Yeah I cried when I read it too"

"I think everyone does. If you don't cry your kinda a dick" I laughed "your turn"

"Uhhh dare"

"Oooohhh uuuuuuughhh…. I dare you to," I began before I spotted an empty note pad so I grabbed the page and crumpled it up "eat a page"

"Why?"

"Because I dared you"

"Fine" she sighed taking it ripping it up small and slowly swallowing it "oww. That was mean"

"To be fair I really didn't have a dare set. Uuhh and I pick truth"

"You have to pick dare at some point Benny"

'ill pick dare next turn"

"Fine." She smiled "... Did you love beth?"

"What? How do you know about me and beth?"

"It's not a secret. I read about it in chess review"

"No. Honestly I don't know how I feel about beth. I don't think I love her. She's ignoring me at the moment anyway, I don't know. No. I think. I care about her but I get the feeling she doesn't care about me all that much"

"You shouldn't be with someone who doesn't care about you benny. Your better then that your worth so much more then that. You deserve a girl who adores you."

"Aww thanks y/n" I smiled "your turn"

".. truth"

"Do you…. Have a crush on someone?"

"What is this Benny a girl's sleepover?'

'come on I'm curious?"

"No"

"No you don't or no you don't wanna answer the question?"

"The second one"

"If you don't wanna answer it means you do"

"I never said that"

"Who is he? Some boy in your science class? Some cute boy who lives in your dorm?"

"No" she giggled "your turn"

"No you never answered my question"

"I do but I'm not telling you"

"Why not?" I laughed but I saw how red she was "y/n… do you"

"It's not your turn to ask questions Benny" she says hurrying her head in her knitting

"Fine. Dare"

"I dare you. To… not ask anymore questions"

"Why not?"

"That's a question"

"No, that's not how the game works. A proper dare"

"Fine I dare you go up there an stick your dick in the snow"

"Ahhhhh nooooo I don't wanna do that"

"I didn't wanna eat paper"

"NOOOO"

"Go or no questions"

"Fine" I sighed getting up already too cold without the duvet around me maybe I can just go up and climb I did it but she put her knitting down and got up too wrapping her scarf around her and getting her gloves and hat on as well as her coat keeping her hood down this time as she slipped on her boots I put some shoes on and begrudgingly unlocked my door the snow was now building up badly down my stairs so much it was up to my knees each time I took a step y/n using my holes in the snow to walk through till we got to the street it really was a blizzard I could barely see anything, my car burried the lights not even working on that streets

"Go on" she says

"No looking" I warn her undoing my jeans she looked away already turning red my whole brain screaming at me every self preservation element in my brain going nuts why am I getting my dick out in a Blizzard! I did it and by God I had never been colder in my life I of course screamed making her giggle like crazy I quickly did my jeans up in an attempted to get warm again shw tried to run inside from the cold but I grabbed her "ohh no you don't if I had to go in the snow your going in too!" I told her pushing her in the snow

"Ahhhhh!! Benny" she squealed "this. Means. War" she glared grabbing some snow and throwing it at me luckily she missed

"Ha you-" I began but she got another and got me right in the face before I even finished "fine. You wanna play this game. Fine let's play"

"No no no! You can't hit a girl Benny" she giggled

"Ohh no you threw first that rule Is irrelevant" I told her grabbing some snow and throwing it at her and it managed to get her just as she was getting up right on the butt

"AAAHHH! Benny! That went up my dress!" She screamed before she ran at me with a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of my jeans

"Ahhhhh! Y/n!" I complained grabbing as much as I could and filling her hood with it throwing it over her

"Ahhhhh!" She screamed pushing me into the snow so I pulled her down with me and we ended up with her on top of me on the snow "hi"

"Hi, you wanna go back in before we freeze to death?"

"Yes please" she nods happily getting up and helping me up out the snow too we hurried down and locked the apartment up hangout stuff by the door and getting cosy back on the sofa trying to warm up again

"So… I did my dare."

"Yep"

"So, it's your turn"

"Truth" she rolled her eyes as she began to knit again

"Do you have a crush…. On me?"

"Maybe"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe" she blushed

"No come on yes or no answer?"

"Yes" she blushed "I just… I saw you in the tournament a few years back and I just, I kinda did and when we met I couldn't help it"

"That's really sweet" I smiled giving her head a kiss "uhh y/n"

"Yes Benny?"

"The snows got no sign of stopping and I really don't want you walking back to your freezing cold dorm"

"What are you saying?'

"I'm saying. I think you should stay here tonight. Are how the snow looks in the morning."

"Where will I sleep?"

" I'll make the airbed up for you if you want, or… you can come cosy in my bed with me so we keep warm"

"I'd like that Benny" she smiled shuffling closer and resting her head in my chest I smiled wrapping an arm around her

"Y/n?"

"Yes Benny?"

"... I kinda had a crush on you too"

[biillyhargroves]

Hey there! May I request a fic, please? :) Some Harringrove angst, please. :). Something like Steve taking a drunk and half frozen Billy after he finds him stumbling along in the snow in the middle of the night. That's all.

you got it, sweet anon!!! I hope you enjoy this!!!

winter passing(fic requests open)

Billy is missing. 

He went to a party. He hadn't wanted to go, but Steve had convinced him. “When was the last time we really blew off some steam, huh?” Billy had suggested another way to blow off steam, and Steve convinced him they could save that for later. “You never go out anymore,” he’d told him, and Billy got quiet the way he always did when the great unspoken it hovered in the air around him. (It, of course, being Starcourt; he doesn’t name it, doesn’t speak of it, but he knows when Steve is thinking about it - knows when Steve is testing the waters, dipping a toe in to see if now might be a safe time to broach the subject. It never is.) “It’s no one you know,” Steve shrugged. “Not really. My class, mostly. College kids home on break. You don’t even have to talk to them.” 

It was fifteen minutes of the same back-and-forth, but Billy did give in. He went to a party. He spoke to no one. He drank. He drank a lot. Steve watched him warily. He tried to slow him down, but there is not stopping Billy Hargrove when he sets his mind to something, so he settled for swiping Billy’s keys. This, at least, would keep him from safe - or so Steve thought.

Billy had slipped away.

Steve isn’t sure when it happened. He asked everyone he passed if they had seen him, and they all said something different: “He was headed for the bathroom”; “I think he was getting a beer”; “He was doing shots in the kitchen, man. Dude’s a bottomless pit.”. 

Steve checked and double checked his pocket, because Billy is sly and smooth and slick and Steve wouldn’t strike pick-pocketing off his list of hidden talents, but the keys never moved. Steve checked the house, the yard around it, and then the house again, but found no sign of Billy.

Now, he is looping around Hawkins in wider and wider circles, white-knuckling the wheel of the Camaro that they took on Billy’s insistence. His foot hovers over the gas as he eases the car slowly down the streets. It has started to snow and he fumbles to flip on the wipers.

Steve’s eyes keep flitting to his watch. The more time passes, the more worried he grows. He swings past the party once or twice, just to check, but Billy hasn't returned. Steve can’t remember if he was wearing a coat; he remembers how harsh Billy’s first Indiana winter had been. California had not been so frigid, and Billy hates the cold. Steve hadn’t thought he’d ever see Billy more miserable - not until Starcourt, and what came after. 

It is well past midnight when Steve spots a hunched figure stumbling in the street. As he gets closer he recognizes the thin denim jacket stretched over hunched shoulders. Steve rolls down the window as he draws nearer, slowing the car to crawl.

“Billy!” he calls, but Billy doesn’t hear him. Steve pulls up to the curb and calls his name again but Billy only shivers and wraps his arms tighter around his middle. He isn’t walking well; his feet catch on the snow, his boots snagging on the ice beneath. He almost falls two times. Steve, heart-racing, throws the car in park and darts to Billy just in time to catch his third fall. 

“The fuck,” Billy snaps. “G’off!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asks, struggling to keep hold while Billy fights for freedom. He is shivering all over. His teeth are chattering and when he takes Steve’s hands to try to pry Steve off of him his fingers are ice cold. Steve thinks they must be numb because Billy can’t find his grip. “Billy,” Steve tries, but Billy elbows him in the chest in his scramble to escape. Steve holds him tighter, closer, repeating his name as the fight ebbs from Billy’s bones. “Billy,” he says. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Get off,” Billy slurs. He speaks like his tongue is swollen, like his mouth is too small to fit the words inside. He sounds tired, too. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Steve tells him, exasperated. “Do you even know how long you’ve been gone? Jesus, Billy, I was really fucking worried about you.” Billy is still struggling, but with much less force. He nearly sags against Steve as Steve pulls them both to their feet. He turns Billy around and when he does he sees blood dried beneath Billy’s nose. 

Steve’s tone softens and he says, “Hey.”. He reaches to touch Billy’s face and Billy ducks his head. His hair, full of flurried snowflakes, falls over his eyes. “Hey,” Steve says again. “What happened?” Billy keeps dodging him, jerking his head away until Steve gently brushes his hair away and touches his thumb to Billy’s chin. Billy reluctantly peeks up at him. “Where did you go?”

“H-Home,” Billy says. 

“Billy,” Steve says. “Did he-” he starts, but he stops when Billy drops his gaze. Steve relents; he lets Billy look away, lets him lower his head. Steve doesn’t need an answer; he can put the pieces together. A drunken kid stumbles home in the middle of the night, wakes up the angry father that hadn't permitted him to leave. The ending is ugly; it’s always ugly. That’s how all of Billy’s stories go, so why would tonight be any different? 

Steve keeps one hand on Billy’s arm to hold him upright and he sighs the heaviest sigh of his life. The snow is still falling, and Steve thinks Billy will freeze to the sidewalk if they stand still much longer. “Come on,” Steve says. “Let’s get you warm.” 

With some difficulty, he gets Billy into the Camaro’s passenger seat. He blasts the heat and keeps one comforting, steadying hand on Billy’s shoulder as he drives. 

The Harrington house is dark and quiet. Steve’s car sits alone in the driveway, and Steve parks the Camaro beside it. Billy picks up his fight when Steve tries to help him inside, insisting on walking on his own even though he can’t seem to keep his feet beneath him. Steve tries his best to steer him away from ice, He gets Billy upstairs and into the bathroom. He begins to draw a bath, then sets to work getting Billy out of his now-wet clothes. The snow completely soaked through his jeans and left melted patches all over Billy’s jacket. There are still some flakes clinging to his hair. When Steve undresses him, he finds Billy’s skin cold to the touch, and Billy seems to brace himself against the sting of the air around him.

“You need to start dressing for the weather,” Steve says, tossing Billy’s flimsy button-down to the floor. Billy grumbles something unintelligible. Steve isn’t sure he’s even using real words. In his drunkenness, he seems to devolved into some form of primitive speech. 

“What’re you doing?” Billy complains as Steve tries to get his jeans off of him. He tries to twist away, but he is clumsy and only manages to pin himself against the wall. 

“Don’t get excited,” Steve says. “Just don’t want this shit to freeze to you forever.”

“Fuck off,” Billy says. He staggers when Steve nudges him toward the bathtub, and protests when Steve tries to guide him into the water. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “Come on, you’re freezing. Just get in.” 

“You coming?” Billy slurs. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Steve tells him. Once he succeeds in getting Billy into the tub, he tells him, “Stay here. I’m going to turn up the heat.” 

“Yeah you are,” Billy mumbles.

“You’re impossible,” Steve tells him. Billy mutters something that Steve doesn’t quite catch. Steve excuses himself, leaves Billy to turn up the thermostat, to gather clean clothes, to find extra blankets for the bed. When he returns, Billy is dozing in the tub. Steve lingers in the doorway for a moment, watching him. There is still blood dried up by his nose and Steve can see a bruise blossoming over Billy’s cheek. His eye, too, looks puffy and Steve thinks it will be black and blue by morning. He feels a tightness in his chest- guilt, he thinks. It makes his queasy  and he hopes that he can quell it before Billy wakes up with the mother of all hangovers.

Steve lets himself into the room. Billy doesn’t notice him. His lips, chapped from the cold, are parted slightly and his eyelids flutter when Steve’s shadow falls over him. 

“Shh,” Steve says. He brushes Billy’s hair behind his hair and traces the line of Billy’s cheekbone, carefully, gently, over the purpling skin. He finds a washcloth, soaks it, and uses it to dab the blood from Billy’s nose. 

His eyes drop down to the scars on Billy’s chest, the ones that snake and curve down his sides and toward his hips. The ones Billy tries to hide. The ones he doesn’t let Steve touch. The ones that give him nightmares that wake him screaming in the dead of the night, the ones that still ache when Billy moves the wrong way. Steve hesitates, then rests his fingers against the largest one, the one nestled at the center of Billy’s chest. Billy stirs at the touch. He groans, and he blinks wearily up at Steve. Feeling caught, Steve drops his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

“Hm?” Billy hums. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. He sighs. “I’m sorry for dragging you out tonight. Maybe if I’d just dropped it, this wouldn’t have-”

“It’d happen anyway,” Billy murmurs. His eyes are closing against, and Steve rouses him by splashing some water over his chest. Billy groans, grumbles, sighs. He fixes Steve with a sleepy sort of look that he tries to make serious. “It would,” he says. 

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, pointing to his cheek where the bruise is forming on Billy’s. 

“It’s not bad,” Billy slurs. 

“You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,” Steve tells him.

“No shit,” Billy says. He sighs, and his eyes slip shut again. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “Why don’t we get you to bed?”

“M’not in the mood,” Billy groans.

“You’re impossible,” Steve says again. He rises, looming over the tub to haul Billy up by the armpits. Billy’s breath hitches and he gets water on Steve as he tries to get himself out of the bath. Steve has to hold him tighter than he means to, and Billy tries to tear himself away. “Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says. “Stop fighting me, asshole. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just trying to help.” 

This seems to calm Billy at least a bit. He lets Steve dry him, dress him. He lets himself be lead to Steve’s bedroom and wrapped up in blankets. 

“I really am sorry” Steve says when they are lying in bed together, Billy dozing against Steve’s chest, Steve playing with his damp hair. “I’m sorry for making you go tonight.”

“Quit the guilt trip, Harrington,” Billy murmurs. His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his head against Steve. Steve holds him closer, rubs his back, tucks Billy’s head beneath his chin. 

“I’m serious,” Steve says. 

“I know,” says Billy. 

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks him.

“Head hurts,” Billy groans.

“I can get you-”

“Just shut up,” Billy says. His words are harsh, but his tone is light, and it makes Steve smile. He squeezes Billy closer; kisses the top of his head. 

“You got it,” he whispers. Outside, the snow falls quietly on their hushed little town. The windows fog from the high heat of the house. Billy burrows beneath the mound of blankets Steve has built for him. He nestles as close as he can to Steve, and Steve lets him. He listens as Billy’s breath evens out. He counts each little heartbeat until he falls asleep, too. 

[roraewrites]

ten

[ sakura’s secret ] rating: m

//last update for the week! i’ll be inactive this weekend as far as posting content, but i’ll hopefully have the next chapter out sunday night/monday . nothing too exciting this time, just transitioning ~

previous | next

Frozen, crunchy grass, minimal rays of golden light, piles of leaves from dead trees -- November was in full swing. Mornings always bit with the intentions of upcoming winter, but Sakura couldn’t feel the chilly bites of realization anymore.

She was drunk on Sasuke and high on life. Between her school work, spending time studying and Sasuke, she was in a continuous cycle. Her friends still didn’t know about Sasuke, her family didn’t know about him, but neither did Sasuke’s friends or family know about Sakura.

A few more months, Sakura kept reminding herself. Only a few more months until her eighteenth birthday, and maybe then she would be looked at like an adult. A few more months.

“Don’t forget that we will be having family over soon,” Mebuki reminded from across the table.

When Sakura’s jade eyes found her mother’s glazed over look, she offered a tired smile. “Yeah, I won’t forget.” But her answer didn’t seem to calm her mother’s facial expression, nor ease it up at all.

“Everything okay, mom?”

Mebuki came to cross her fingers under her chin, balancing her head in place; it was such a Sasuke thing whenever Sakura watched anyone else but him do this.

“You’ve been acting different lately. Staying out late every night, avoiding questions, going out and not coming home over the weekend. It just seems a little odd to me,” Mebuki finally deadpanned, her voice as dry as a desert.

Sakura frowned before an unsettling feeling crawled up her spine. Had she really noticed all of that?

“I’m enjoying my senior year with my friends.”

“And what friends would that be?” Mebuki retorted.

Sakura was taken aback, her eyes wide with fear and her lips parting. She was hanging out with Naruto and Ino, of course. Who else?

“Naruto and Ino,” Sakura responded before taking a bite of her breakfast and washing it down with a swig of ice cold water.

She nodded her head once before glancing out the winter to their dining room. The trees were all bare now, and only one or two birds still hung around, braving out the changing weather. The sky was painted in golden hues of oranges and yellows, due to the early hour, while gray clouds began to come in from the east.

“The last time I saw Ino was back in September, Sakura.”

Sakura began to count the days, backtracking exactly when Ino had been over the same time as her mother. Throughout all her years of growing up, Ino was normally attending family dinners, outings, and simple movie nights with both Sakura and her mother. Now all Mebuki would come home  to was an empty house and a text from her daughter: I’ll be home late. Studying.

“She was here on Halloween,” she responded quietly.

Again, Mebuki nodded once. It was entirely unlike her to push a subject for this long, but then again, a mother’s concern was the greatest of all.

The topic was dying down, until her very next question.

“So who’s the boy you’ve been seeing?” She asked with a gentle smile and tired eyes.

Her heart was now soaring, her fingers trembling slightly and her body temperature rising. She couldn’t possibly confide in her mother just yet. Sakura promised herself that she would introduce the two of them, not as Sakura’s sensei, but something more. Just not right now. Later.

Time was against her the longer she thought about her answer. It was already too long to use her usual excuse of ‘nothing’ and the moment her mother shifted in her seat, Sakura found her eyes watching the ticking clock behind her mother’s golden hair.

“Oh, him? He’s nothing special,” she lied, but her mother saw right through it. “Not special enough to bring home, yet.”

It hurt her to say it, because Sasuke was very special to her. He made he feels things she never felt in her life before, brought laughter and a peace of mind to her.

“If you keep seeing him, someday he’ll have to meet your parents,” Mebuki reminded her.

Sakura felt her cheeks flush -- this was the first time she had ever talked about boys with her mother, other than the simple “He’s cute!” or “Look at him!”

This was a matter of getting caught now. They would need to rethink their strategy from now on.

“Got it,” Sakura stood from the table and walked her plate to the sink. She began to rinse it off and wash it before rinsing it once more. Her mind was like a whirlwind of thoughts now; would their terms of meeting and hanging out last, or were they on their way to getting caught?

In her furry of overthinking, the plate slipped from her hands, missed landing on the counter and shattered against the java hardwood floors. She didn’t feel any sort of anger slip through her mind, she only wanted to cry and scream.

“Sakura!” Mebuki was up and by her side, comforting Sakura’s frozen form. “Did any get you?”

She couldn’t answer, wouldn’t answer. Instead, she began to pick up the pieces with her fingers, her eyes glassy while her body was completely numb. Thoughts of no longer carrying on with her secret relationship tainted her mind, made her feel absolutely angry and scared and exhausted.

“Stop, darling. I’ll sweep it up,” her mother comforted her, wrapping her arms around her before pulling her away. “Just go get ready for school.”

Sakura simply nodded her pretty head before stepping around the glass, careful to avoid the smallest of pieces. Her throat was extremely dry, her eyes burning from tears that threatened to fall, and her body tensed up and uncomfortable.

This was what she signed up for with Sasuke when she confirmed that this was what she wanted. A life of living in secrets, unable to confide in her mother or Ino, Naruto included.

As happy as Sasuke made her, also came a downfall of living in the shadows.

“Only a few more months,” Sakura promised herself, promised Sasuke, and all of the people she was close to. “A few more months.”

.

.

.

November was turning out to be a dreadful month. Classes were slow, her time spent with Sasuke was kept to a minimum, and her mother had been breathing down her neck.

She felt caged when she began to return home after school. She missed staying late with Sasuke, doing her own thing while he finished up with work, yet they didn’t mind the silence that filled the space between the two of them. They worked hand in hand with one another; his quiet, sarcastic side was something that Sakura had taken a liking to.

Whenever she did see Sasuke though, she could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Their eyes would meet almost every other five minutes during class, hidden messages passing through obsidian to viridian, and as much as it killed Sakura to remain seated and not jump from her seat, she stayed like a good girl.

Ever since she began her fling with Sasuke, she found that her grades had been higher than ever. She was paying attention to detail more so than not, her studies came easier to her and she felt more determined to get into medical school and prove to everyone that she was working hard and not just goofing off; there was just something about Sasuke that made her determined not to give up.

Sakura set her pen down on her desk and stood from her seat. Sasuke’s head lifted only to meet her stare and when she began to walk towards him, he sat back comfortably.

She could only focus on his lips, the way they sat, thin and soft.

With her arm extended, she passed her finished test over towards him and offered a gentle smile, her eyes twinkling with admiration. Sasuke raised a single eyebrow, the corner of his lips raising before she turned on her heel and headed back towards her desk.

A pair of ruby eyes caught her attention; a pale face with eyebrows pulled together, her red hair flaring out wildly on one side; Karin stared her down. Sakura didn’t falter at the eye contact, only continued her walk by her until she reached her seat and sat back down. It looked like her classmates were all pretty close to finishing now, but in her spare time, she pulled her folder that held scholarships and left off where she had started.

Her mind felt cluttered lately, but whenever she looked up to give her eyes a break, she caught Sasuke’s stare, remembering the way he told her how focused she looked when she would write. Sakura could feel her cheeks dust over with a light pink before looking back down.

Oh, how he still had that effect on her and oh, how she adored those deep, dark eyes of his.

.

.

.

She felt her days begin to blur together, and as much as Sakura hated to admit it, she was beginning to grow exhausted with each passing day of her senior year. It was a constant barrage of school, school wook, avoiding curious eyes and wandering rumors, trying to maintain a breaking friendship with Naruto and Ino, scholarships, and wringing her mind with how her and Sasuke could keep seeing each other.

Ever since their kiss, it felt like everything had began to fall apart and these were the things she thought about late at night. Sakura didn’t feel like going out to parties anymore, plus her friends quit inviting her the moment she began to push them to the side and focus on other things.

The music that played through her headphones soothed her anxious mind, but it didn’t solve her problems. Finally, her phone vibrated and when her eyes dropped to look at the screen, she felt an instant wave of life wash over her.

Come see me.

It was Sasuke with his fake name splayed across the screen. Those simple three words set fireworks launching through her mind, set her body on fire.

It’s passed two. Shouldn’t you be asleep?

She waited not even a minute, and a message pulled through on her phone.

I could ask you the same thing. Come outside.

Sakura frowned before unplugging her headphones and throwing them to the side. She pulled on Sasuke’s university hoodie and a pair of winter boots before making her way over to her window. The familiar cars that lined the streets were the only things she could see, but then her eyes landed on Sasuke’s familiar black car.

Though she felt her cheeks light up and her eyes widen and her heart began to rush in her chest, she also knew that there would be a time -- soon -- that they would need to discuss what was transpiring between the two of them.

Instead of standing in her window, gawking at him, she made her way down the stairs -- she removed her boots, knowing they would make clonky sounds while making her way down -- but the moment she opened the front door, it was like ice and venom biting into her skin.

“Fucking cold,” she hissed, her eyes squinting to fight the bitter breeze.

Her feet carried her to Sasuke and the moment she pulled the door open and crawled in, she was greeted by tired eyes and messy hair.

“Hi,” she breathed out, taken aback by how handsome he was, especially when he didn’t try.

Sasuke didn’t respond, only look at her with those tired gray eyes of his. The longer she looked at him, the more she could see the light that had once been lit there, slowly diminish to a flickering flame that threatened to die out at any moment.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, one of her knees came to rest against her chest, while she sat on her other leg. The simple furrow of his eyebrows made her lean closer, and when she thought he was going to answer, his hands were on her cheeks, and his lips pressed against hers.

He tasted and felt good against her lips again, and the longer he held her there, the drunker she became off his intoxicating scent. Her heart ached for him, yearned for him; Halloween was their last shared kiss, and now here they were, meeting late in the hour, both tired and hurting.

Sakura felt it through his kiss just how much he needed her, missed her, desired her.

“It’s so annoying,” he murmured while her lips were still against his. “So fucking annoying.”

Sasuke pulled away slightly, but his forehead came to rest against hers, and Sakura fought back the scalding tears that threatened to fall. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, breathing in his smoky scent.

“What’s wrong?” She asked quietly in the darkness of his car. His hands still held onto her cheeks, firm but soft, and her hands came to hold his forearms.

It took him a moment to answer, but when he did, he pulled away and looked into her eyes. His thick, black lashes hooding eyes that told stories -- stories that were still untold.

She slowly let go of his arms and his hands slid down her cheeks, one completely dropping while the other ran through her messy, pastel tresses.

“You’re different,” his voice was hoarse and his eyes dropped to watch his fingers twirl through her silk locks.

“I’m just tired,” Sakura tried to reason, but she knew Sasuke was smart, smart enough to see through her lies, but he remained quiet as his eyes stared right through her. “I’m okay, though. I really am.”

“Sakura.”

And there’s something about the way he says her name and how his eyes grow intense, like a roaring fire on the mountainside, or how a hurricane demolishes buildings in its wake. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and Sakura stands in the eye of the storm.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” She finally admits through sealed lips and eyes that gloss over with tears that won’t fall.

“I won’t,” he responds quickly. Sasuke is smart, witty, he’s clever and knows how to work around the system, she comes to realize. He’s young and he still has his moments that would look to be childish to the other instructors at the school, but he’s mature for his age and he’s got that going for him.

“We’ll work through it.” Sakura knows he means it, because his eyes shimmer with untold promises.

“Then what? What happens after that?” Sakura finds herself asking, her tone firm. It’s been something on her mind since November first, and here she is, awaiting the answer.

“We’ll find out,” he frowns but his gorgeous features never falter.

Sakura nods her head, and leans farther away from him. Her breathing begins to calm down now, and although she still has her concerns, she can trust him.

It was funny, Sakura thought, how a simple crush formed into something more over the course of a couple months. She never considered what would happen from there, but now that they were going to progress forward with this thing between them, she started to think of how things would be after she graduated from school.

“Now what?” She asks from her seat, her knee still pulled to her chest while her arms hug around her leg. Sakura finds that the quiet air had been filled with tension, and although they decided to work through it, there was still something amiss.

Sasuke’s smirk kick started her heart and when his eyes reflected the light from the stereo, Sakura frowned slightly. “How long do you have?”

Sakura shrugged, “my mom normally leaves for work around five in morning. Why?”

“We can go somewhere,” Sasuke started his car. The low hum of his engine started up, and as he put his car into first gear and started moving, Sakura latched her seatbelt over her chest. Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Where?” She asked as he shifted to second gear and the car began to move faster. She noticed that he kept it slow, noting that the roads would probably be icy due to the cold weather.

“You’ll see.”

Sakura kept her eyes on the road, watching as they drove by familiar houses and the playground she would play at when she was younger. They drove by her old school and Naruto’s house, passed the tree they shared their first kiss by, and finally on their way out of town. Sasuke followed the road that led through the hills; the trees bare and grass dead, the greenery that once hid this road was no more.

“Have you ever been up here?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

She watched her surroundings as they kept going, trying to find something familiar that she would notice, but to no avail. “No?”

“Good,” he replied, and just with that simple word, she felt chills creep through her body and his ghost of a kiss on her skin. She would never forget that feeling, how close he was, how his lips felt the first time he touched her.

When the car’s engine started to grow quiet, Sakura noticed that they were no longer heading up, but the road had leveled out. Now that she realized where exactly they were going, a smile painted itself on her lips.

He had taken her to one of the highest points in Konoha; a perch that looked over the city, but at night, the millions of lights that twinkled under the oncoming winter sky amazed Sakura.

Sasuke parked his car by the guard rail and Sakura simply couldn’t pull her eyes from the sight. The downtown part of Konoha was busy, she could tell, but when her eyes scanned towards the outskirts of the town, the lights began to dim. Viridian eyes searched for Sasuke’s condo, and when she couldn’t find it, they landed on her school.

“It’s so pretty,” she whispered, mostly to herself, but Sasuke scoffed.

“Have you never seen Konoha at night?”

“Not from up here,” she spoke through a dazed state of mind. From yellows, oranges, greens, reds, pinks, to blues, Konoha offered many different lights and the main road that cut straight through the city held multiple cars. “It’s so busy.”

“It’s always busy,” Sasuke retorted, and when Sakura glanced at him, she could see the reflections of all the millions lights in his eyes. “It’s peaceful up here, especially in the middle of summer.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself,” he smirked.

Sakura shook her head before settling back and watching the busy road that held cars of all types, and watching lights either flicker on or off. The sky remained black throughout the night, and although she knew she should be at home and in bed, this was much better than a night filled with overthinking and restless sleep.

Time spent with Sasuke should’ve been forbidden, but they took it as a challenge, and together, they agreed that they would get around it.

“Hey, Sasuke?”

“Hn.”

“Will you teach me how to drive your car?”

A long pause, until he finally groaned, “maybe.”

[ecotone99]

Perfect Murder

A new day, a new dawn. The lack of light in my room this morning instantly alerts me to the weather as I awake. Looking out the window, I see snow falling outside and everything it seemed to have blanketed overnight. I sit up with a tired yawn, lowering my feet gingerly to the cold mahogany floor. I quickly pull them upon contact, the icy floor sends shivers down my spine. “Skye! Come down, breakfast is ready!” I hear my mother’s fraudulently joyful call me from the kitchen below. I’ve never paid my mother’s mid life crisis any real mind, though it could be advantageous today. She’ll do almost anything to feel like a good mother and I have been wanting a new coat lately. I look down and spot my slippers slightly hidden in the shadows under the bed and slide them on, then open my bedroom door and make my way down the flight of rickety, creaky stairs to the kitchen. “Morning son.” My dad says in his usual stoic drawl, reading the newspaper while he drinks his morning coffee like we’re in a sitcom or the 1960s. “Morning dad.” I pull a disingenuous smile on to my face and force brightness into my tone. Most weekdays I’m able to avoid breakfast with them due to a cleverly timed, extensively long shower or the “mysterious” disappearance of my shoes, but today I’m so tired from a lack of sleep that I forgot. “So honey, what’s new at school?” “Nothing much mom, just the midterm project for Chem and a big Algebra 2 test.” I respond, able to keep half of my deceitfully happy smile as I eat the bland, cardboard like pancakes my mother makes on Fridays. I have to douse them in syrup to get some semblance of bud-awakening taste, but mom seems to conveniently not notice every time. “A big test huh son? I know my boy is gonna ace it.” He says as he lowers his newspaper to give me a grin and a wink. Sometimes, I swear my father isn’t even a real person, he’s just a comic book character who unfortunately ended up in the real world and managed to adjust. Every time he calls me his son, I can’t help but hold a condescending smile internally at his willful ignorance. I don’t actually care what he calls me, as long as I get my weekly allowance. Except today I want more. “So dad.” I say as I shift my expression to the best imitation of sadness I can muster. “Some of the boys at school have been making fun of me.” I throw in a slight pout for added effect and focus my gaze on the floor. My father’s immediately slams his newspaper down on the table, his face contorted with anger, which makes mom jump. “What?! Why?!” He says, clearly unable to keep his voice down despite his own best efforts. “They keep calling me poor because I never have more than twenty bucks every week, while they have forty or fifty.” I say, sure I’ll convince them as I blink away the most crocodilian of tears and avert my gaze. Dad’s expression softens and he pulls out his wallet, handing me a fifty. I look up from my “crying” and sniffle, slowly reaching my hand out to take the dollar bill from him. Slowly, I let a calculated smile slip onto my face, counterfeit admiration in my eyes as I look to him. “Thanks dad, you’re the best.” Is my soft reply, the bill finding its way quickly into my pocket as I stand up and hold my plate out for my mom to take. She does with a nod for me to go get ready for school with a smile of her own. I nod in return, quickly making my way back up the stairs to my room.

Once inside, I rifle through my drawers for an outfit I like “What to choose…” I say quietly before I spot a navy blue turtleneck and gray shirt, deciding to pair it with navy, curve-hugging jeans and a pair of gray boots. “Hmmm…” I audibly remark, wondering what it is that’s nagging at the back of my mind, what it is that I’ve forgotten. I suddenly realize that I nearly forgot to shower and proceed to power walk down the hallway, throwing my clothes onto the pristine marble countertop, stripping my pajamas off to get in. I turn on the shower and the heat of the water floods the room with steam, the light pitter-patters of my feet echo throughout. I’m about to get in when I catch a glimpse of my bodily reflection and step back to get a better look. I let my eyes travel up my body from my feet to my head and take note of my form’s duality. Slim legs with decently muscular thighs lead up to curvy, defined, and noticeable feminine hips, following further up to a toned but slim chest and arms with lithe, noticeable muscle. My own form has always been something I approved of. It’s feminine but also masculine, never leaning too much towards a single one. It serves a purpose and it performs it efficiently. I refocus my attention back to the task at hand and step into the shower. The water brings warmth and relaxation, though I barely have time to enjoy it. Grabbing a hand towel and soap I quickly wash my body off before moving on to my hair, running water through luscious black curls as fast but thoroughly as I can. Shutting off the water, I step out of the shower and dry off with a green towel before I pull my clothes on. My outfit must’ve been heated by the shower’s steam, my chosen clothes wonderfully warm as I slip into them and my muscles relax further. Unable to rest in the peaceful comfort of my heated clothes, I make a B-line from the shower to my room once I leave it and quickly sweep up my books, pencils, and notebooks into my bag then stuff necessities like my wallet and keys into my pocket along with my knife, finally rocketing down the stairs and out the door before I waste time on parental goodbyes. I’m greeted with the pleasant chill of a twenty degree morning as soon as I get outside, the cold refreshing as I begin the eleven block walk to school. I wait at least two blocks and then look back to see if mom or dad were peeking out the window to watch me. “No one.” I say, reaching into my coat pocket.“Perfect.” I pull out a cigarette along with my lighter and quickly light it before taking an enormous drag, then pull it from my mouth with two fingers to exhale a cloud of smoke. Cancer never tasted so good. The fallen snow soaks up much of the cities’ ambient noise, leaving me in the pleasant quiet of my own breath. I walk the next six blocks rather fast and decide after looking at my phone’s clock that I have enough time to head to the park across from my school and smoke another cigarette before I head in to first period. I look both ways, then cross the icy, slippery street and head into the snowy, barren park. Frozen, leafless trees that were once verdant beauties are now stone-like monuments to seasons gone-by. Wiping off a five foot stone pillar with my glove, I hop up onto it and set ciggy number two alight to take another drag, exhaling a wispy cloud into the chilly morning air. As I start to daydream, I nearly jump off the pillar in surprise, a familiar voice startles me. “Skye! Hey! Skye!” It’s the voice of Darren, my toy. He utterly dwarfs my five foot four inch height at six foot two, jogging over. He smiles warmly and I keep my own expression calm and devoid of discernible, specific emotion.. “Hey..” I dully reply. My annoyance at his meaningless exuberance makes it difficult to keep my voice monotone, though I keep my focus on what I need from him and that helps. I have always kept my relationship with him a secret, namely because he’s friends with the rest of the heteroagressive jocks and if they knew we were dating then they might pick on both of us. That’s not something I normally would care about, as my last bully Jake Marino conveniently went missing last summer and hasn’t been found. This is all subverted however, when he sweeps me off my feet and carries me like a princess, as if I’m weightless, pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine. I twitch in surprise and excitement flows through me for a moment before it fades. With his lips still firmly pressed to mine, I consider the ramifications of him going public with our relationship. Through my thoughts I feel a memory bubble up to the surface: the night Darren and I first met. It was at the popular girl Dejah’s junior prom house-after-party. I’d never really been friends with her but the party was open to everyone, much like Dejah that night, so I decided to go and soak up any drunkenly released secrets, figuring I could use them for blackmail if I needed to.. I picked out a nice outfit: a skirt, shirt, leggings, and boots that all had the same black and pink color scheme. A few people at the party commented on the edginess of my outfit, which I wholly ignored. After hours of listening for anything useful and coming up with little, I eventually found myself sitting in a tree, gazing up at the stars through a gap in the branches. That’s when he first spoke“Hey!” I ignored it at first, as I thought he was talking to someone else nearby, but when he called out again I looked down. “Hello.” I responded coldly, uninterested in wasting my time with another homophobe. “Come on down from there? I wanna talk.” He asked, a friendly smile on his face. Intrigued as to how I could use this to my advantage, I came down and he struck up a conversation with me. Topics ranged from the party to our classes to personal interests, none of mine being real of course. As the night went on, we ended up in one of the house’s many guest rooms, probably after our drunken classmates had pushed us off so many couches that we decided a more private spot would give us the space to have a more fleshed out conversation. Once we had sat down on the room’s queen-sized bed, I looked over at him and observed his features: plush lips, angular face, blonde slicked-back hair and, to anyone else, striking green eyes. Handsome, acceptably so. I was about to tell him I should head home, as I saw no further use in continuing our conversation, but then he kissed me. I was mildly surprised when he did, though I suspected he was going to try something with the way he kept staring at my lips. Seconds passed, as I considered if this was something that I should logically pursue. After I came to the conclusion that there were more pros than cons, I pushed into it and closed my eyes. Through the night we fell deeper and deeper into each other, his hands roamed my body, appreciating every inch of me. “Darren.” I’d stopped him right before he was about to mark my neck with a bite. “Yes Skye?” He asked with an adorably innocent smile and an inquisitive tilt of the head. “Are you into exclusivity?” I asked. Darren shrugged. “I’ve never done this with a guy before so….” He said in a half-whisper. “First, I’m not a guy for future reference. Second, that’s not an answer.” “No, I’m not exclusive, but if you want to be, I’m down.” I made a quick decision, noting that Darren could be useful and keeping it exclusive, at least to his knowledge, could make him more loyal down the line. I imitated passion and kissed him again hard, pulling him down on top of me. Flashing back to reality, I break from our kiss in the park. “I thought you wanted to keep this private.” I say, raising a brow. Darren grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but I….I don’t want to hide it anymore. I think we should go public with-” Darren is cut off suddenly by another voice behind us. “Darren? Darren Waters?” It’s Dejah, her tone incredulous as well as her expression. He whirls around to face her, his stance stiff and caught off guard. “Dejah? What are you doing here?” He asks, as I wipe my lips with my thumb and walk up next to him. Dejah is dressed in her usual red and blue outfit, her expression as cocky as ever. “I was just heading off to class when I saw y’all over here.” She says, the confidence in her actions bleeding out of every pore. “I see after four years at this damn school you’re still just as incapable of minding your own business as freshie you was.” I say, folding my arms. I never particularly liked Dejah and often found myself considering her as a potential obstacle in the path to success. “And after four years you’re still just as much of a faggot.” Dejah responds. I remain expressionless, formulating various ideas for how to take care of her.. “Dejah, I think you should go now.” Darren says sternly. “Alright alright-” Dejah says with a smirk, turning to walk off. “I wonder what your football friends are gonna say when they hear about this.” She says, confirming what I suspected moments ago. Time seems like it’s slowing down, as I watch her walk off to the crosswalk, taking note of her surroundings as well as mine. Green traffic light. Icy sidewalk. Speeding school bus. I know what I have to do. To finish high school sans any hindrances. To succeed. I push Darren’s arm out of the way and walk towards Dejah, taking a book from my bag and holding it out to her to take it, as I know that’ll make what I’m about to look entirely accidental to anyone watching. Once I’m close I “slip” on the ice and fall forward into her, pushing Dejah into the road as I shift my own expression to one of appropriate shock and surprise. I land hard on my hands and knees, ignoring the pain as I quickly look up to see the bus slam into her. But all I see is a red streak on the frozen street.

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