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ahtsumu · 4 years

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目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face. He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What��s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

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x0401x · 4 years

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Animate Times Interview with Centimillimental

Discussing his journey so far and his love for this series, saying that he “felt something like fate” upon coming across “Given”! Interviewing Centimillimental, who did the theme songs and sound production of the summer anime “Given”.

The artist Centimillimental composed the opening of the TV anime “Given”, which aired in Fuji TV’s Noitamina and gathered a great amount of attention. Garnering comments about the sound production of the show’s band, Given, he released the opening theme “Kizuato” as a single on September 11!!

This is the debuting work of the solo unit Centimillimental, in which Atsushi-san does the vocals, keyboard, guitar and programming. In this article, which is surprisingly his first-ever interview, we shall introduce plenty of his journey until reaching this point and his thoughts regarding “Given”!

His current style was earned through “wanting to express joy and sorrow with music” as much as possible.

——Thank you for your time today!

This is actually my first time being interviewed (laughs). I will be in your care.

——Your first interview?! Please let us ask all kinds of questions. Firstly, could you tell us about the origins of Centimillimental?

Although it has the name Centimillimental, this is a solo unit. Rather than a singer and songwriter, I am more of a solo artist with a band stance. But it was originally a band. The band name remained just the way it was... that is all.

——What sort of band was it?

A four-piece one, with myself in charge of the vocals and keyboard. The band had a style close to pop, with a lead guitar, bass and drums, but the members pulled out one after another... Ultimately, I was the only one left. For that reason, people from the live concert houses were quite uneasy. Like, “Does the vocalist have a nasty personality or something?” (laughs).

——(Laughs) That is so not true.

Each one quit for their own reasons. But I had an obsession with the band, so I was like, “I’ll do this even if it’s just out of stubbornness” (laughs). And so, the band name stayed.

——Atsushi-san, what are the roots of your admiration for bands?

My root is Remioromen. I actually used to play classic music. I was so much of a classics boy that I would... turn off the TV whenever a music program was starting, but when (an insert song) “Konayuki” started playing in the drama “1 Liter no Namida”, which I watched back in fifth grade, it had an impact on me. Like, “So a singing voice can be this cool when it accompanies a melody”. From then on, I began looking up to bands.

——How did you handle classics from that point onward?

I continued playing for a long time, until I was around 20 years old. But then I was charmed by pop music and could no longer dedicate myself to classics (strainer laugh). I used to dream of becoming a pianist, but I felt that the mindsets of classics and pop were different, and then chose the way of pop.

——When you think about it now, what do you believe to have been the reason that a classics boy had his heart stolen by pop?

I had the feeling... that something more essential for my inspiration was set on fire, so to say. I think this something also exists for people who like classic, but in my case, I personally felt joy at the fact that “their singing voice is cool”, “their words pierce me”. So I was like, “This is what I actually prefer”. Also, I was drawn to the freedom of pop. The world of classics is devoted to music sheets, so in concourses, for example, it is important whether or not you can play true to the sheets, but I end up playing the way I want to on my own accord. Which is why the judges’ votes became worse year after year (bitter laugh). During this, there were also people who told me, “This is an insult”... But if I were in a world of originals where I could give birth to my own songs, wouldn’t my beliefs be justice? So I started to think that I was “the kind of person who wants to express himself freely”. To begin with, I have liked creating things since the distant past. I used to write stories of my own and making picture books with them in preschool, and from first grade on, I would be writing song compositions and poems. At any rate, I like creating things, so wouldn’t making them freely suit me better?

——So, if it is on the topic of “wanting to create things freely”, the way you are now is best, in a sense?

That is right (laughs). My degree of freedom has increased ever since I went solo. One of the reasons the band did not work was that my ideals and the image of my unshakable, inertial nature were very strong. I believe that so-called bands are supposed to get together in a studio and consolidate and gather up arrangements, but right as we formed ours, I would take the stance of writing down everyone’s parts and saying, “I want you to play this”. So I think that the current Centimillimental is what turned out from me doing everything I could, the place that I was supposed to reach.

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——Nowadays, you are in charge of all parts, right? Did you play instruments other than piano from the start?

That is not the case. When our guitarist left the band, I did not want the quality of our music to be reduced, so I thought about supplementing it somehow, then learned how to play guitar. Also, I had to put my heart into it, but I started studying bass and drums when the others left, wondering if I could cover for them. The fact that the members pulled out had an influence on it.

——How was it coming in contact with instruments besides the piano?

The structures are completely different. Bands are formed so that each person can compensate for the other. When it comes to the beauty of such arrangements, I came to feel them more keenly the more I delved into them. And then I started obsessing with the arrangements.

——After these twists and turns, did Centimillimental become in 2015 what it is now?

No, there were actually twists and turns from this point on too... There was once a time when the band became just the bassist and me. Back then, the band was not doing too well, so we decided to do a different unit. That was the band called “Nee, Wasurenaide Ne” (“Hey, Don’t Forget”). In the end, I mostly had to do it by myself, but doing things separately from the main activities gave me a high degree of freedom. And then people started finding us interesting and we gradually earned their praise. For me, that was extremely frustrating (laughs

——So it became a “sub”-like band.

That is right. And then I thought about quitting, so I applied for an audience as a commemoration for quitting, to make one last memory... but then the work I had applied won a Grand Prix. I was like, “No way!?”. This happened in summer 2015. And that was when the main and sub switched (laughs). And so, only the band’s original name remained. The label respects us in the sense that we “can make the music that we always wanted to”.

——What is the origin of the band name “Centimillimental”?

“Remioromen” is a coined word, so I looked up to a coined word in katakana. I personally like katakana. Plus, I like “sentimental” things. That sentimental feeling when you are going home after a fun day thinking, “Today was a good day” and it suddenly makes you feel lonely, or that sentimental mood from when you are purely sad... I believe that sentimental emotions regarding anything are something that we should nestle close to. I had this thinking that I want to express joy and sorrow with music, so while using “sentimental” as the pillar, I added the “milli” with the meaning of “not being too caught up with it”.

——Come to think of it, both “Given” and “Kizuato” are written in katakana.

I guess I have a connection with katakana (laughs). If the words are in kanji or in hiragana, doesn’t that change the appearance and interpretation of each? While katakana has a coldness to it, it doesn’t feel too sharp. I have the feeling that these kinds of words are interesting.

“Gender doesn’t matter when you’re in love with someone.” – He also has experience with composing music having a BL series as the impetus?!

——How did you feel when you received the proposal about “Given”?

It was the first tie-up of my life, so I turned into a mess of nervousness, uncertainty and expectations. But “Given” is a series about music and the theme is bands, which was something I looked up to. Moreover, rather than just the sparkle and shine of a band, it also focuses on sadness, the tremor from losing something... these delicate parts of it.

I think music has a close relationship with meetings and partings, so I felt happiness to be involved with a series that faces this directly. It was like something that was supposed to come at me had arrived, and at the same time, I felt something similar to destiny. That was my first impression.

——The sensible portrayal is one of the charms of this series, right? I read on the topic that this series was the first-ever BL comic that Noitamina has adapted into anime, and there is an indescribable appeal in the words “boys’ love”...

It allows you to smoothly immerse yourself into their worldview, right?

I have bought a BL manga in the past. In my middle school days, buying a book after looking at just the title was trending. At the time, what I took in my hands was a short story collection titled “Saigo no Sangatsu”. I thought at first, “I might’ve jumped into a terrible world!” but turns out it was a really good work...

Gender doesn’t matter when you love someone; it’s all the same. It was a really good work, so I was quick to wrote a song for it (laughs).

——That is a good story. By the way, did you use to watch anime back then?

I was not the type to watch anime in-depth. But what I thought to be odd was that, whenever you finish watching a series, doesn’t the way that you listen to the opening themes, ending themes and insert songs change?

Through the filter that is the series, the tone of the music changes, and the story stands out instead as the music overlaps with it... While watching, I would find myself thinking that this way of snuggling up to the music was interesting.

——What were your impressions when you read the original work of “Given”?

Kizu Natsuki-sensei’s focused viewpoint on pain is quite sharp. Her poetic depictions, which sometimes get you caught in them, are impactful and sensible. I thought it was a series that cherished words a lot. Since it is a manga, I think the art is the main point, of course, but I felt a literary beauty in it that resides not just in the drawings. It also felt close to the world of songs that I take part in, so I truly had the feeling that it was fate.

——So the image of the song came readily to you?

Right you are. That is where I arrived once I wrote down my own perspective of romantic love and the ways that people become involved with each other. The sense of suitability was incredible. That’s why I was able to write it so frankly, managed to say what I wanted to, and got close to the series. I feel that the compatibility was really good.

But of course, there were walls. I write even the arrangements by myself, so I had to make changes over and over, and I had never had any experiences with being the producer of a band before, so there were things I was not used to. Also, my main instrument is the piano, but there is no piano in the show. That’s why I had to delve into the guitar, so there I had a hard time sound-wise...

“I want it to be an important song for everyone from ‘Given’ too!”

——Can you tell us about your particularities regarding the sound of “Kizuato”?

For the anime size version, I purposely sealed away the piano and classic strings that I had been specializing in until now. For the whole song, in order to nestle closer to “Given”, I cherished the band’s scene, with a guitar, bass and drums.

——I felt a big meaning in the fact that it starts with a breath. Is it something that you gave importance to?

I like the sharpness of songs that start with the singing. That feeling of getting taken aback without thinking. Same goes for sighing - I feel that people’s emotions mount on their breathing. Through “the drawing of a breath”, you can sense a beauty and strength unique of vocal songs. For that reason, I cherished the breaths from the very start.

I also think that the breaths are very important in “Given”. For example, in the teaser trailer, the video ends with a breath, and in the PV, the scenes change with breaths too. That’s why I think it was good to be able to start the song like this.

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——I felt that the lyrics portrayed the sensible feelings of all four, starting with Mafuyu, but how was it made?

They are human beings, so I think there is definitely a part of their emotions somewhere that they can share. The loneliness and agony of losing something, the conflicts of loving someone... anyone has that. I looked for keywords that would connect everyone from “Given”, including me. For me and for all the characters that appear in “Given”, it could not be a lie...

——The “four seasons” bit in the lyrics was also a good keyword.

I think that is one of the main points of the series, and that this part of it can connect even within me.

——The words “I can hear it and it’s still real, so I’ll carry your heart in your place” from the latter half are extremely painful, but at the same time, it conveys resolve and determination. Were you conscious of the machinations of their hearts or something like that within the song?

I think it is wonderful when emotions get into motion as the song goes on. Aren’t there moments in everyday life where wounds heal little by little and changes of heart where we try to get back on our feet even if they do not heal? I like story-songs that head towards hope in this fashion. I also want everyone in “Given” to be happy. I gave importance to how they should head towards hope while sharing those wounds.

——The song changes dramatically after the aforementioned verse.

I finished it with a classic orchestra sound. That is one of the strong points of my music, so I had the desire to approach “Given” through it. If I sealed away my music too much and made it into just a “Given” song, it would feel like I was standing on formality. I am a person who gets hurt and even so lives on crying and laughing, just like them. I pieced together that part of the song because I wanted to convey this message.

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——So you let your uniqueness show in order to join hands with “Given”. Indeed, both with love and friendship, getting close to the other person is not all there is to it.

Right. That alone is not a connection, and you end up concluding that your own love is too deep... I believe there is a 50:50 beauty to it. Isn’t that what acknowledging one another and joining hands means?

“Kizuato” is my debut song and an important song for me. That’s why I also want it to be an important song for everyone from Given (the band). I thought about intersecting that. After thinking a lot, I managed to change the charm between the anime size and the full size.

At the beginning of the A-melody from the second chorus, I tried changing the rhythm, transforming it into an electro loop, and did all sorts of approaches. I hoped it would be wide-ranging as music.

——How did you feel when you watched the opening?

I was extremely moved. I had gathered with all the recording members to watch it, and everyone shared their joy too. It was a really good scene.

Having my own music playing in sync with an animation was my dream, so I was tremendously happy, and I felt like I had connected with the viewers who had the same feeling... I was truly overjoyed.

When I looked on Twitter, people had written up several opinions, making me go, “So there’s this many people enjoying my music”.

“It’s exactly because the desire to protect someone isn’t something simple that we feel uncertain.”

——Other than the OP, you also did the sound production of the band Given, so what impressions did you have from the production work?

I already liked production work to begin with. Until then, I had been doing producer-like things, such as arrangements for the musical compositions of artists around me, but this was my first time doing production as a job.

I mentioned Remioromen earlier, but I also looked up to Kobayashi Takeshi-san, who was Remioromen’s producer as well, so I had also wanted to work on production one day.

——Given’s debut single, “Maru Tsuke/Fuyu no Hanashi”, was released on September 18 2019. “Maru Tsuke” is also included in Centimillimeter’s single as a self-cover, but what kind of route did you take to complete this song?

To tell the truth, I had a song called “Maru Tsuke” for quite a long time. I already had its base form since 2015, so the song was in a state similar to an accompaniment material.

“Maru Tsuke” came into light during the meetings, and I didn’t think this song would have made it into the topic of discussions, so I was surprised. I was anxious at first, but when I tried facing it once again, there were so many fitting aspects to it that it even made me say, “So it can get this close to the series”. I felt like it connected with “Given” on a deep level, despite not having written that song for it.

——Holding someone dear, becoming a coward because of it, shouldering all sorts of feelings, and continuing to live in spite of that... What you talk about in “Maru Tsuke” might be things that everyone thinks.

The moment you start loving someone, you feel fear at the same time and become fragile. It’s exactly because the desire to protect someone isn’t something simple that we feel uncertain, and there is not only light to it, but I think loving someone is something beautiful. I get the sense that this swirling feeling itself is beautiful. That is what I threw into the song, and it was also one of the themes of “Given”. The fact that I managed to connect them goes without saying, but it’s like being told that I wasn’t mistaken about the things I gave importance to, which made me happy. In order to connect even better, I reconstructed the sound making and structure one more time, aiming for higher heights as a composition for “Given”.

——What were you conscious of for the direction?

Yano Shougo-san (the voice of Mafuyu) is a workaholic, so he sings all sorts of songs, but I thought there was a difference between songs sung by band vocalists and songs sung by voice actors. So I figured that it would be good if I could share with him the methods of band vocalists and band sounds in my own way, thus I have him that kind of direction.

I was also very conscious of “conveying words”. I believe that the author, Kizu Natsuki-sensei (who is also a producer of Given), also cherished words a lot. I think this also reflects on the songs.

——Was there anything you felt when you actually conducted the production?

First of all, I was extremely happy that a song I made was sung. It was expressed in a way that I myself couldn’t do, and even if the emotions are the same, the way people view it changes depending on who’s singing. Seeing it hand-in-hand with the series, spreading up just like that and growing bigger made me happy.

——The other song, “Fuyu no Hanashi”, played during the show in episode nine.

From the very beginning, there was already a song titled “Fuyu no Hanashi” in the drama CD, but this song began from me creating a new “Fuyu no Hanashi”. “Fuyu no Hanashi” already existed for the fans, so I saw plenty of everyone’s love for it on Twitter and such, and also how it comes close to their daily lives. I dreaded painting over it, but... I believed it was fate that I had received this proposal, so I thought, “I’m going to do all I can”. While there was pressure, there was also joy, so it was a strange feeling.

To tell the truth, when I received the proposal for “Given”, the offer for “Fuyu no Hanashi” came first-thing. That’s why I actually started the production from there. Afterward, I received proposals for the session track that plays in the middle of the show and for the theme songs... That is how it went.

——Was that so?! The seed, the piece that would give you most pressure came first, so to say.

That’s right. But for me, this was a comfortable wall. I worked on it while thinking that, if I could make many people happy with it, then it would be a big step for me.

——What kind of feelings did you put into it?

I figured it would probably be used for the live concert scene in the middle of the show, so I read the scene and imagined the concert over and over. In the drama CD, it could only be portrayed with sounds and voices, so I think they probably gave importance to how they would insert the monologues into the lyrics. In the anime’s case, there would be an animation accompanying the song, so I reflected on what the “Fuyu no Hanashi” that I could compose was. Like a shout for a person who has been lost... It’s a requiem, but also a follow-up of one’s true intentions... I wanted to treasure those messed-up feelings. Also, I thought it was a song that had been preciously loved until then, so I had a strong sense of duty not to ruin this.

Being involved with “Given” changed his life!!

——Could you also tell us about the track “Sessions” (The Seasons) that plays during the show?

I received the proposal for this one after “Fuyu no Hanashi”. “There’s a scene in the show that goes like this, so if you’d like, couldn’t you make a track for it,” they asked.

I had never made an actual instrumental band track. Counting the fact that three pieces had already been decided for the story, it was quite a pressure on me.

When I actually watched the scene where they are performing it in the anime, my spirits went right up. Like, “So this is how the band will go”. The sensation that oozed from my hands and spread into me felt truly good.

——Lastly, Atsushi-san, could you tell us... about the things you have realized and earned through the music production of “Given”?

It’s a series that has several places where everyone can join hands. I think that is exactly why so many fans love this work.

Being involved with “Given” has changed my notions of life, and I feel that it was a huge feat, if only for my musical life. I am filled to the brim with happy feelings for being part of it.

——Thank you very much for telling us so many things today.

#given #dailygiven #givendaily #fyeahgiven #given anime #satou mafuyu #uenoyama ritsuka #nakayama haruki #kaji akihiko #centimillimental #interview #animate times #my translation

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

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On Your Six, Chapter 7

Only one chapter left after this one! It may not get posted tomorrow though as I’m still working on it.

Day 7: Homesick for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Feet

When Qrow was twenty, he made the biggest mistake of his life.

“You’re leaving?”

He turned away. Couldn’t stand looking at Tai, hurt and confused, knowing he was to blame for it.

Scowled, because why should he care anymore when the other hardly spared him the time?

“’Course I am.” He finally snipped, shoving more socks into a duffel. “Have you seen my face?”

He had to resist the self-conscious urge to touch the cotton bandage on the right side of his forehead, hiding the stitches holding the three-inch gash together.

The beer bottle had shattered on impact. It was a wonder he didn’t get fractures. Small miracles. Though he was pretty sure some memories had been knocked askew because most of the night was a haze. He was only certain of the things that had become routine at that point: coming home to crack open a few with his old man while they watched prime time television and bitched about the state of things. An argument started, over what he couldn’t say, and Qrow never saw the swing coming before he was out cold on the floor.

When he woke up, it was with the hard realization it was time to get out.

Too bad his best friend didn’t get the memo. Tai perched on the edge of his bed as he had a thousand times before, pressing on, “But to the capital city? You don’t have to go so far.”

“Tch. You got any better ideas?” The hangers rattled against one another as he yanked down more shirts.

“Why not stay with me and Rae? We can make room.”

That made him pause, looking over. “Why?”

“Why not?” Was the simple counter as if it were as simple as that. Then, Tai rose his hand to his stomach, fondness smoothing his features, “Besides, then you’ll be close when the baby comes along.”

Fucking, of course. The rush of fury that flooded his system was white-hot, jealousy snapping at the end of every nerve. “So you get yourself knocked up and suddenly it’s my problem?”

“W-What?”

An alarm went off in the back of his head, trying to tell him to pull back – but the words were already leaving his mouth, spiteful and petty and mean, “I’m not sticking around to be your damn nanny. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you shoulda kept your damn legs shut.”

The reaction was instantaneous, Tai immediately on his feet, both taken aback and furious, “Qrow, what the hell?! I brought it up because I figured you’d want to be involved in your niece or nephew’s life! Not-” He threw his hands up. “Whatever the hell you’re implying.”

He knew he was way out of line, but any guilt he had was being held down by a vitriolic sludge of grief and regret that had been leaking, unchecked, out of his broken heart the day he learned Tai and Raven had bonded. An ache that had chipped away at his stability until there was nothing left but a hurricane of outrage and wrath inside him. Thing about hurricanes was, when they blew in, their only purpose was to destroy everything in their path.

That’s how Qrow felt now as he stalked towards the omega, venom spitting out of his throat, “Oh cut the virtuous bullshit already. I was in the hospital for two days. Sure didn’t bother to visit me then. But now that you need something, you come knocking?”

“I came here because I was worried about you!” Tai’s voice rose. “Raven didn’t tell me-”

“Oh-ho-ho there it is. Raven didn’t tell you. Far be it for you to check in on your own best friend once and awhile, huh?” He spat. “Or maybe I’m just the idiot here. Are we even friends anymore?”

This close, he could smell the souring in the other’s scent, his distress palpable. “Of course we are. The only one not acting like one right now is you. Look, I’m sorry about what happened and I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. And I get that your mad but you don’t get to take it out on me, alright?”

“You don’t get it! That’s not what this is about!”

“Then what is it about?!”

Qrow opened and shut his mouth nothing coming out. A coward, even when he’d already lost his chance. He spun away with a snarl so Tai couldn’t see the well of emotion in his eyes, storming to the other the side of the room and kicking his desk hard enough the back of it hit the wall. “Fuck!”

He was so tired of this. Of being unhappy and angry all the time. Of having any and every little thing set him off because it seemed like everything nowadays just made him irritated or sad. When was the last time he’d gone out just for fun? When was the last time he’d laughed?

Qrow buried his head in his hands, disgusted with himself over how close he was to tears. “I hate this.”

“Qrow…”

He heard footfalls behind him, then Tai’s scent was all around him. It was a natural omega response, the cloying sweetness surrounding the air meant to comfort and soothe when emotions were running too high, much like a purr.

It only made him feel worse.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here for you, okay?” Tai’s hand rested onto his shoulder. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”

Qrow couldn’t take this anymore. “You want to help? Then get out.”

“But-”

He knocked the other’s hand away and whirled, his tone shifting into a growl as he pushed his own alpha influence outwards, “I said Leave!”

It was almost disturbing, seeing the way the omega stumbled back, eyes wide, a bit of a tremor in his knees. Usually, the reaction wasn’t so extreme, especially when they were already in the middle of a fight, but he’d never growled at Tai before. Around him, sure – especially if he and Raven were having one of their sibling moments, then the dominance display tended to be a given.

But never at him. It was like he’d broken some sort of unspoken rule.

Try as he might, Tai’s voice shook when he spoke, clearly rattled, “Is that really what you want?”

Some of the guilt finally started to puncture through but it was too little, too late.

“Yes. I can’t deal with this right now.” He looked away. “Just, go. Please.”

A tense, silent few moments passed. Then finally, resigned, Tai said, “Alright then.”

Yet as he headed for the door, he hesitated in the threshold. Stopped to look back, hoping to convey something more than just words.

Years later, Qrow still regretted never meeting his eyes.

“Just, remember I’m here when you need me Qrow. Call when you’re ready, okay?”

He never did.

They were sitting at the table, mugs in either hand. It felt like a mirror image of that very first day six months ago, except this time it was Qrow who couldn’t look up.

“That’s why you were so distant back then.” Tai finally said, an undercurrent of something in his voice that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Qrow swallowed hard. “Yeah.” His fingers clutched his cup harder. “I know I should have said this back then but… I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Qrow. I forgave you a long time ago.”

He head jerked up, mouth agape. “What?”

Tai’s smile was gentle. “I knew something was going on with you. You’d been weird ever since we graduated. And when I found out you were moving away, I figured it was because you’d been feeling lost. I was so frustrated because I didn’t know how to help you.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Now Qrow could see what he hadn’t before: regret. “I just never put the pieces together that I was the problem.”

“You weren’t-! I mean…” He grimaced. It was time to stop lying. “Yeah. Being around you was killing me. I needed to get away, from everything. It wasn’t until I was entirely alone, I started to get my head back together. Took even longer to admit to myself that it was my fault things fell apart because I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to see anyone else. By that point, it had been so long, I didn’t feel like I could go back.” He sighed. “I’m a real moron. If I had just been honest with you, maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they had. No matter what though, it doesn’t excuse the things I said.”

“Oh yeah, you were a total dick.” His friend laughed. “But take it from a guy who’s had his heart broken twice now: sometimes when you’re hurting that much, you’ll often be left with the ugliest side of yourself.”

Qrow arched a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s ugly Tai look like?”

“I think the way my dad put it was ‘robotic’.” Tai rubbed at a sharpie mark on the table as if he was trying to erase the black marks on his own life. “If it wasn’t sorrow or anger, then I didn’t really feel anything at all. It was all just numb to me and it made everything else feel like a chore. Even the littlest things, like showering or eating, were just too much. Some days, I even struggled to get out of bed. Heh.” His shoulders slumped. “It was pathetic.”

He supposed there was something to be said about being the person watching the show instead of being the one playing the part. “Hey, if I’m allowed to skip off to an entirely different continent, then you can stay in bed for a few extra hours.”

“Okay, you got me there.” He conceded. “Still, I can’t imagine how long I would have been stuck like that if it weren’t for my girls giving me the strength to move forward.”

“Well I’m glad you have them.�� Qrow said, and for the first time, he knew he was saying it with full sincerity. A sense of calm had fallen over him, one he’d never felt before.

After his rut had happened a few weeks ago, he’d thought things would have grown awkward between them. Unbearable, even, now that the truth was out in the open.

As always, Tai surprised him as Qrow had started to stumble over himself to make amends.

(“I don’t even know where to start. There’s a lot you probably want to know.”

“There is. But that doesn’t mean you have to tell me.”

“W-What? But you said…”

“I was wrong. Especially when I… accidentally forced that confession out of you.”

“…”

“Look, just because these are your feelings for me, doesn’t suddenly mean I have ownership of them. Whatever you want to tell me, you do it in your own time. And if you never want to speak of this again, then we won’t.”

“Then, we’re… okay?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”)

True to his word, Tai never pushed after that day. Qrow waited for the tension to grow, for something to give. But it never did – and he started to think maybe those over-dramatics only happened in sitcoms and romantic dramas.

Whatever it was, the blissful return to normalcy gave Qrow the breathing space he needed to come to terms with his secret being out. Eventually, the stories came next. Not everything, of course. Some things were just too locked into his heart to give away. Still, the more he did share, the better he felt. No longer did he have to hold in his feelings, never giving them a chance to resolve and leaving turmoil in his heart. Now, he could finally look forward without a ‘what if’ hanging over him.

Maybe he’d never have the life he always dreamed about with Tai. No house with a gaggle of pups running around the yard. No coming home to the omega’s smile being his and his only. But at least he’d always have this. A friendship that had lasted through the ages and against the odds. That had weathered the worst storms and built up stronger after they’d passed. That’s foundation remained strong with the support and care they both gave to one another.

He’d always love Tai. On that, he had little doubt. But it was these past few months that really taught him what it meant to truly love someone. It wasn’t a trade-off. To give something so precious with only the expectation of an exchange for the same in return cheapened the value.

Love was a gift. An offering freely handed over with no intent beyond the desire to see the happiness it provided.

After bearing witness to one of Tai’s lowest points, he’d discovered just how integral that latter part was. He would move mountains and rearrange the stars if it meant bringing that smile back onto Tai’s face.

Even if those mountains being moved were just pictures on a phone and the stars were being moved by a needle-tipped pen that spread an aurora of color over the dark sky.

Qrow finished his tea, getting to his feet. “Alright, story time’s over. Let’s get the last one finished up.”

The buzzing that had permeated the space between them for months on end stopped for the final time.

Qrow set the needle aside, giving the tattoo its finally look over. Made sure every line was in place, every color perfect, every shade drawn.

It was with a heavy heart he realized there was nothing left to do, nothing left to add, nothing left to say except, “It’s done.”

“Really?” Tai turned his head, still trying to mimic an owl after all this time.

“Yep.” He snapped a shot with his scroll. “Take a look.”

The device was handed over, Tai sitting up as he gave it a critical scan. “It’s perfect.” He decided, but his smile was weak.

“You don’t look happy about it.”

“It’s not that. It really is everything I wanted.” He assured, stronger than before. He thumbed at the edge of the scroll, shoulders falling some. “I’m just sad. I’m going to miss this.”

Qrow rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the anchor in his own chest. Before things could get too gloom and doom though, he insisted, “Well hey, don’t go sobbing into my pillow yet until you see what I brought for a celebration.”

“Qrow you know you shouldn’t be buying frivolous things-” Tai cut himself off as Qrow whipped open the nightstand drawer, pulling out two perfectly round, prepackaged cupcakes. “Except those.”

He laughed, tossing Tai one and sliding from the recliner onto the bed beside him. It felt just like old times, tearing into the plastic and taking that first, overly sugary bite of chocolate and frosting. It reminded him of grand adventures on the playground and binge fests during movie marathons and sleepovers.

Qrow chanced a glance over. “So, Friday’s the day?”

“Yeah.” He replied, nibbling a ring around the cupcake like the weirdo he was, saving the vanilla crème filling for last. “I’m… pretty nervous.”

He pressed his shoulder against Tai’s. “Hey. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine. And just think, once you pass those bastards final eval, you’re going to be getting your kids back.”

That brought his smile back in full. “Yeah. You’re right. Besides,” He nudged him back, “You’ll finally get to meet them.”

Qrow’s lungs shriveled up in his chest, leaving only enough air for a quiet, “Guess so.”

“I know the girls are just gonna love you.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, snapping, “And will you finish eating already? You’re getting crumbs all over my bed!”

“Sorry!”

They finished up their treats – but any sweetness left in Qrow’s was gone.

It was rather remarkable, how much two men could stall against the inevitable. It was pushing nearly one in the morning by the time they were shuffling towards the door, both of them trying to hide yawns.

“Maybe I should just stay over again?” Tai suggested.

Qrow rolled his eyes. “And have you trigger another rut? No thanks.”

“Oh, it’s my fault. I see how it is.” All things considered it probably had been. Between the unintentional courting with homemade dinners and the two of them sharing the bed, it really was just a recipe for disaster.

Still, it was nice to joke about it. “Glad to see you’re taking responsibility. More seriously though, no need to risk things when you’re so close to the finish line.”

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.” He mimed a phone to his ear. “I’ll keep you in the loop. And hey, when me and the girls head back to Patch, maybe you can come with us. Start working out of there for a while.”

There it was. The conversation he’d been trying to avoid all night. He shifted on his feet, trying to remain ambivalent, “I mean, maybe. I still have a lot of clients here I’m finishing up with.”

But Tai hadn’t been his best friend for two decades not to see through his bullshit. Most of it, at least. “Qrow. Don’t you dare.”

“I-”

Before he could even try, Tai was clutching onto his forearms, tone frantic, “You were gonna disappear, just like before, weren’t you?”

“That’s not exac-”

Just as quickly, he was hopping back, holding up his hands placatingly. “Wait, it’s me again, right? Whatever it is, we can talk it out. Right now, if you want.”

“Tai-”

“I know that’s not really fair, but, look. I’ll do whatever you want in return for it. Just please. Don’t do this to me again. I can’t lose you too.”

Qrow watched as Tai struggled and lost the fight against tears, a prevalent reek of fear becoming known. It only occurred to him right then that after so many losses, maybe his friend was starting to develop a serious issue with separation anxiety. He ran a hand over his face, grumbling, “I’m such an ass.” Before walking forward and catching the other in a tight hug.

Those powerful arms hugged back so hard, it nearly broke his sternum. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry.” He buried his fingers into blond hair. “I should have talked to you about this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed, pulling back enough to look up at him. He reached around, thumbing away some tears. “I’m not trying to run off again, I swear. But this isn’t exactly a ‘day until I retire’ job. It’s a ‘only a matter of time’ one. If I stay close to home, then you’d probably be tagged as an accomplice.” He met his gaze, resigned and resolute. “I’m not going to put you through losing your children a second time.”

Somehow, that only seemed to make Tai cry more. “Why are you so fair to everyone but yourself?”

“Heh. Guess the privileged lifestyle never suited well.” He joked weakly. “Look, I ain’t dropping off the face of the planet. I’ll keep in touch, promise. And visit, when I can. So can you cut it with the waterworks? You know I’m awful with ‘em.”

Tai sniffed, stepping back so he could dab at his eyes with his sleeve. “Only ‘cause you don’t want to cry too.”

“Semantics.” Qrow waved off.

“And you better keep that promise, or I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll but I’ll do it!”

He crossed an X over his heart. “I will. Even if they threaten to scratch out my eyes.”

“Good.” Tai nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I… guess I better get going.”

“Probably want some sleep to handle that tromp of monsters tomorrow.”

The omega gave him a light jab. “Rude. I’ll talk to you soon, eh?”

“You’ve got my number.” Qrow replied, as the other opened the door, only to hesitate. His fingers started to nervously tap along the doorknob’s surface. “Tai?”

“Qrow I-” He spun around, another sharp spike to his scent. “I want you to know that I… I…”

Qrow breathed in a bit, confused as he recognized the hint of anxiety. Was he still that worried? “Youuu?” He urged gently.

The tapping increased, as did the scent. Then Tai shook his head, smiling brightly, “Just that I’m… really proud of you.”

“E-Eh?” Okay, now he was really lost.

“What you’re doing, you have no idea the impact you’re having. It’s changing lives.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “It certainly changed mine.”

Qrow felt his face flame up, flustered as he tried to duck his head. “Dude, I can’t do this at one in the morning.”

“You need me to tell you again at noon?”

“No!”

Tai burst into chuckles. “I just wanted you to know that.” The hand squeezed gently. “And how glad I am you’re part of my life.”

“Okay, okay. I get the point.” He pat his wrist placatingly. “I love you too, now please stop trying to cause an aneurysm.”

That caused another puzzling spike, Tai’s second laugh more jittery. “Ah what’s the fun in that?” Nevertheless, he did pull back, stepping out. “I’ll see you ‘round.” With a final wave, he started off down the hall.

“See ya.” He called after.

As Qrow shut the door, he couldn’t shake the lingering sense that he had missed something.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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soldrawss · 5 years

Note

Ares kids giving percy shit and then they just see... luke... standing in the background... staring at them... and they suddenly decide to leave percy alone, because they 'just FEEL LIKE IT, oKAY???' jhgfgdhfdhggfjghg

Despite what everyone else thinks, Luke is always angry. He just also happens to be really good at hiding it. He probably had his dad to thank for that, being able to redirect and reassure others with a flash of a smile and a wave of his hand to disarm anyone who’d think otherwise. He hardly ever lets his temper get the best of him anymore. He’s too old for that. Too tired to let the little things get under his skin and leave bruises that the world could see. He can’t afford to wear his anger out like tattooed sleeves, the same way Silena Beauregard wore compassion on hers.

And it would be too easy. Too easy to just let his anger for the world and for the gods fuel and feed the hurt bleeding into his rationality and blaming all his problems on everything other than himself. It would be way too fucking easy to go about his days in a blinding rage that left nothing but empty holes in the places that should have held love and forgiveness and all the good he tries so desperately to instill in the younger campers. It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t help the hurt and it wouldn’t end the suffering. Luke knew this. Luke knew the world didn’t need one more angry, unwanted kid adding that kind of gasoline into the fire. Kronos was wrong, even if his tempted whispers late at night tried so hard to convince him otherwise.

So he hides his anger. Buries it under daily counselor chores and making sure the Stoll brothers don’t get too rowdy during their free time and just keeps busy enough to ignore the pounding tremor in the back of his chest. It works for the most part. It’s easier to smile nowadays, he barely even has to force it anymore, and when he laughs along to campfire stories and songs, it’s something lighthearted and genuine.

But his anger is always right there, like it’s something second hand and lingering. There without him having to reach for it.

And when he notices Percy get dragged behind the armory by the scruff of his neck by some older kids, he lets that all too familiar anger consume him in seconds. He pushes away from the handful of campers he was monitoring by the amphitheater, ‘Activity’s over. You have free break until lunch’, he calls over his shoulder, and doesn’t wait for a response as he marches his way in the direction of the armory with a speed Hermes would probably be proud of if he ever cared enough to check-in.

Luke doesn’t have special skills or powers like other Demigods. He can’t build things like Beckendorf and he can’t charm speak like Silena and he certainly can’t summon lightning from the heavens like Thalia could. But he was respected and feared in equal measure all the same, and no one could deny that he worked hard to earn the title of the best swordsman in camp.

His was still a presence that demanded attention and authority. Even if he lets the seven-year-old from the Haphestus cabin ride on his shoulders after breakfast most mornings, or moves over on his already tiny bunk in the dead of night so that little unclaimed Lily Anderson can sleep with him after a bad nightmare.

He was a self-designated older brother to pretty much anyone who needed one, and Luke took a quiet sort of pride to that so many people liked and needed him.

But he was still a threat when he wanted to be.So when he saw Percy on the ground, with a nose bleed that stained the front of his shirt an awful rusty color, all Luke had to do was growl a low, ‘walk away. Now’, and the three boys took off at a sprint. He only vaguely recognized two of them from the Ares cabin and one from Aphrodite, but he didn’t care enough to do more with the information at the moment because Percy was staring up at him with green eyes electric and burning.

And Luke recognizes those kinds of eyes. They’re the same as his. There's a light like dying stars in them. Angry and terrified and burning with something terrible and so full of single-minded devotion that it has to hurt. And it leaves something aching and red hot in Luke’s stomach when he takes a step forward only for Percy to flinch away out of reflex.

“I’m fine,” Percy said like a knee jerk reaction before Luke could even ask, barking it in a mean and biting way that Luke didn’t take any offense to because he remembers what if felt like to be twelve and have your pride hurt. So Luke doesn’t question it, because Percy is scrappier and stronger than anyone probably ever gave him credit for, and offers a silent hand and the gentlest smile he can muster. Luke does his best to ignore the thumping jolt of anger that vibrates through him when Percy takes it almost immediately and so desperately, like it’s his only lifeline in the world, and wonders what kind of people were in Percy’s life before camp that made him so hungry for a positive human connection.

Percy apologizes a second later with a horrified expression, jumping out of reach when he notices he got blood on Luke’s hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Let's just get you to the Apollo cabin. Lee keeps a first aid kit and a jar of ambrosia superglued to him at all times after Cecil Markowitz’s third greek fire burn.” The comment was supposed to lighten the mood somewhat, but Percy’s face darkens as he takes a step back from Luke.

“Um, no thanks,” Percy says in almost a pained whisper, hugging his middle and trying to wipe the continuous flow of blood from running down his chin by holding his head back. “It smells too much like the infirmary in there. And I hate the way ambrosia burns down my throat. I’m good, Luke, really.”

And that should have tipped Luke off to some bigger problem, but he can’t concentrate on it because he’s already closing the distance between them faster than Percy could object, and softly pushing the back of Percy’s head down towards the ground. “Pinch here, just above your nostrils, and lean forward unless you want the blood to go down your throat.” He instructs, guiding Percy’s bloodied hand to his nose.

Luke can’t rightly blame Percy for his hesitance. The kid’s first moments of conscious grief since his new life as a half-blood began was spent in the camp infirmary, nursing the pain of losing his mom while also nursing actual physical wounds with acidic nectar and ambrosia that even Luke can attest to growing disgust for after the first few battle wounds of his own. Anyone would have some kind of underlying trauma from that, and Percy didn’t have to outwardly admit how uncomfortable he was at the idea for Luke to understand.

Being a 12-year-old without a mom was hard enough. The problems of a half-blood added on top of that was almost a cruel joke that Luke bitterly couldn’t believe was a reality for most the kids at camp.

“Annabeth used to get into a lot of fights too, I’ve gotten pretty used to fixing noses the old fashioned way. Come on, I have a spare medkit in the combat arena,” Luke says, pressing a hand to Percy’s back, not giving him a chance to escape because dammit, someone had to care for this kid. And Percy doesn’t smile, but something in those sharp green eyes turn leaf like and muted as he lets himself get led from out from behind the armory.

No one really bats an eye towards Percy as they walked, and Luke could only assume it’s because he looks like he’s about to kill anyone that tried with a stone-cold glare that could rival Medusa’s.

No one was is in the arena when they get there, and Luke instructs Percy to keep the cold washcloth Luke had snagged for him on his nose for about ten minutes, keeping upright to help stop the bleeding. They don’t say anything after that, they just sit on the arena steps and watch the campers from the Demeter cabin try to flip the canoes of some Aphrodite kids with little success, while they wait.

Luke doesn’t ask any questions on what happened or why, he feels like the answer wouldn’t matter anyway, but Percy eventually softens in the silence between them. Luke pretends he doesn’t notice Percy’s eyes get red and wet as he rubs at them angrily with the palm of his hand.

After about fifteen minutes, and a fresh camp shirt that Luke had given him to replace Percy’s stained one, Percy looked no worse for wear, at least.

“Thanks,” he says softly, like he was thanking Luke for a million things at once, and Luke was all too aware of the crack in his voice and the angry hunch of his shoulders that made him look whole years to young to be angry at the world.

“Don’t thank me just yet, I need your help with something,” Luke decides as he stands up and walks back into arena, not looking back to see if Percy is following him because he knows he is.

“Alright,” he says once they make it to the middle of the dusty pit, holding his hands out in front of his chest and adjusting his stance as Percy looks at him with a doe-eyed curiosity and confusion. “Come at me with all you got.”

Percy frowns, and sniffs once before rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “What? Dude I already got my butt handed to me, I don’t need another nose bleed on top of a few broken bones.”

Luke can’t help but smile at that. “Come on, humor me. I have a few unchecked microaggressions I need to work out and you owe me. I promise I won’t aim for your nose.”

Percy frown deepens, but he sighs like the whole world is weighted on in and gets into a fighting stance of his own, keeping his fists close to his chest.

Now it was Luke’s turn to frown. “Aww dude, you’re breaking my heart here.”

He relaxes his stance and walks over to where Percy stood, dodging the lame attempt of a punch and catching Percy’s fist in the palm of his hand, readjusting Percy’s fingers. “Thumb goes here unless you want to break it. And you wanna keep your fists closer to bottom of your chin.”

Luke uses his own foot to shift Percy’s into a more stable stance. “Feet this far apart and bend your knees, or you’re gonna get knocked down no matter what happens. Try to punch me again.”

Frowning more out of concentration then confusion, Percy took another swing that Luke caught easily and without letting go, pulled it back towards Percy’s shoulder and used his other hand to straighten Percy’s back. “Use these muscles here and punch straight out. You keep swinging too wide and putting all your force behind it, leaving you open.”

He guided Percy’s hand with his own, twisting it slowly in the form of a punch. “You’re gonna feel the bones in your arm want to move this way. Let them and you’ll get more force out of it.”

Percy hummed something like acknowledgment, so Luke let go and retook his stance in front of Percy, mimicking his same posture from before. “Try it again.”

Luke still caught Percy’s fist in his own, but a smile broke his face in two when he, not unkindly, pushed Percy back aways. “A couple more hits like that, and my hand may actually start to hurt, Jackson.”

And the grin that crept upon the twelve-year-olds face was something bright and delighted and outshining the stars as easy as breathing, and Luke soaked in every inch as they continued for the better half of the morning sparing till the lunch horn sounded.

Percy was so much like a younger Luke that is actually scared him, but moments like this, where he knew practical methods of defense would help Percy better than any reassurance that bullies would eventually leave him alone ever could. And Luke knew that Percy wouldn’t be ok with anyone fighting his battles for him, even if it would have been so easy for Luke to channel some of that unchecked rage into beating the ever-living snot out of anyone who looked sideways at Percy again. Just like he knew that Percy wouldn’t ask for help if it wasn’t already freely giving, or that trust was a hard thing to earn when your whole life was built around people burning that bridge before you could ever extend it.

But Luke was prepared for the challenge, and with Percy chatting happily away from underneath where Luke rested his arm across his shoulders as they made their way to the dining Pavillion, Luke could feel the edges of his anger slowly quiet into something barely there. And it’s a feeling that carries him throughout the rest of the day. A feeling that he wants to bottle up and keep on a shelf whenever he wants to forget what hating the world feels like.

Because if it feels like it’s worth it just to keep kids like Percy smiling for the rest of forever, well then, Luke could handle forgiving some of his anger, and letting his heart rest on his sleeves just a little bit more.

#oh no he's 12 au #thats the name of this big brother luke au i'm creating #oh man i didn't mean to go on a big tangent but here we are folks #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan #riordan #i have so many feelings on these two please ask me about them #thanks alex for getting me too hyped up now my home will know no rest

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chinatea · 4 years

Text

Jikook Sexy Alien AU Part 1

Personas are a product of @satellite-jeon ‘s beautiful mind.

This is WIP and still pretty drafty, and I’ll be posting new parts to tumbler as I finish them. I’m planning 4-5 parts overall.

For my best girl @kmheart <3333 Thank you for loving this mess. <333

Warnings: Coarse language.

Jungkook doesn’t know exactly when his life took a dive from awesome to downright shitty.

And even if he did, he wouldn’t be telling that story any time soon ‘cause no one gives a rat’s arse about good ol’ boy Jungkook who scrubs pools for a living.

It didn’t start that way. In high school, he was a local superstar. The golden jock. The whole fucking trope, baby. With titties of all caliber following him everywhere. Boy did love him some pussy. Dicks, too. He loved everything to do with sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.

He believed himself invincible and it was only a matter of time before he mingled with the wrong crowd. Only back then, he thought of them as friends. His bros for life.

Well.

Now, he cleans pools - the only kind of gig he can scrounge up nowadays, what with a criminal record and whatnot - and trusts no bro.

And when he’s not cleaning pools, he’s stuck at the garage being bossed around by a dirtbag who happens to be his uncle. His uncle, Sunmu, hates his guts - one of those stupid homophobic fucks who can’t mind their own fucking business. Needless to say, no love lost.

As much as Jungkook wants to punch his stupid teeth out - what’s left of them anyhow - he needs the money and it’s not like his uncle can do much more than run his smelly farthole of a mouth. Which he does. At lengths. The dude just never shuts up. Until one day, Jungkook made him shut up - even his golden-boy patience has its limits. And the dude blew up, called the police, the neighbors came a-running, the whole nine yards.

One hell of a shitshow, that night.

So now, Jungkook has taken to bringing guys to fuck in his garage instead. Totally intentional. He knows the geezer, like the sick fuck he is, had cameras installed all over for his own perverse pleasure. So Jungkook lets him enjoy it while he can.

‘Cause once the summer ends, Jungkook will burn down his fucking shack and hit the road, because he’s this close to being done with the shitfucks that are hell bent on ruining his life.

Another day. Another mindless grind.

Luckily for him, the client has vacated the house for the day, leaving their big pool in his capable hands. A much welcome break from those rich fucks being all smug and pissy and all up in his grill about every little nothing.

Rich tits always think they know everything.

Not to mention their shitty kids running around, destroying his equipment and yapping his ear off. Or worse yet, their old haggy wives flashing their saggy tits at him - goodness gracious, does his face say he’s into wrinkled-ass pussy or something?

He thinks the fuck not.

Jungkook plops down on a deck chair and pops a can of coke open, taking a long chug. When he doesn’t have people looming over his ass, he prefers taking things slow. At his own pace. That’s what he’s all about.

As much as he could wrap things up faster and call it a day, he’s not looking forward to trudging back to the garage. Sunmu the dipshit would be there, of course, nagging at him with this shit or that and he’d rather chill out here - the house is off-limits, locked tight, but the scenery is gorgeous. The house sits on a cliff, with the pool area overlooking the city below.

It’s private and quiet and damn therapeutic. Like, he could just close his eyes and pretend it’s all his. That he’s not a broke-ass dude about to keel over any day now, but someone who is in control of his life.

And he does just that. Closes his eyes and leans back, cradling the coke to his chest like one does a lover.

Mind blank of any thought.

The sky above crackles in warning, too close for comfort. And it wakes up goosebumps along his skin as he jostles awake from his little moment of inner peace. His hands flap around, knocking his coke over - it drips all over his tank top.

Nice, Jungkook thinks.

Of-fucking-course, it must rain today of all days. He scrambles up to his feet, ready to start hauling all the gear back into his truck when IT happens.

At first, he is not even sure what IT even is. One moment, he’s one grouchy mess, spewing dozens of profanities at no one in particular while tugging at his stained top in a retarded attempt to shake the mess off. And the next-

Something, fairly massive and spherical, materializes a few inches above the pool before plunging into water like a dead weight. Jungkook can only manage an undignified squawk before the impact wave sends him flying into the thorny shrubs framing the pool.

Mother-fucker.

When he drags his ass back from the shrubs, drenched from head to toe and covered in scratches, all he knows is that his stained shirt is the least of his problems now, because this…

What the fuck is this? he thinks, staring agog at the offender, hogging the pool now.

It looks like…something.

Maybe a futuristic car or a flying vessel of some sort. He has no clue, really. What it is or where it came from, but it’s here, right in his face, obstructing his work. Like a bastard.

He’ll have to call up a tow truck or something to pluck this sucker out, which will take forever and there go his plans for Friday night out.

Jungkook walks around the pool, inspecting the strange contraption from all sides. It’s slick and round and very, very chrome. Perhaps - a submarine. Some ultra-slick technology with masking abilities. Which apparently can fly, but not very well, otherwise, how the fuck it’d ended up stuck in his pool.

Those rich fucks and their stupid malfunctioning toys, eh.

Jungkook sighs and kicks the empty coke can lying about. It flies off towards the pod, ricocheting right off its shiny cask with a sharp clank. And now he has even more trash to dredge up from the puddle bellow. What joy.

As he is about to roll over and wail in self-pity, the pod wakes up with a tremor, sending shallow ripples over the water. Jungkook freezes, frantically thinking over his choices - his gut reaction is to hightail the fuck out of here, because the thing is starting to show signs of life and it doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, not one bit.

He better scram and scram fast. Fuck the money and his uncle - especially his uncle - no one told him scrubbing pools involved close encounters of the third kind.

He makes to do just that but doesn’t make it too far as he bumps into someone, loosing his balance and sending them both to the ground. With a groan, he opens his eyes to stare at the unfortunate soul who had to bear the brunt of the fall on their- his.

It’s definitely a he. A he so stunning Jungkook’s jaw goes slack and his brain radio-silent. Meanwhile, the he doesn’t waste any time making the most of their proximity as he slithers his hands around Jungkook’s neck and presses against him in a soft sweet kiss.

A supernova goes off at the back of his skull.

It was awesome.

“Hello,” the other says, a quality to his voice that is out of this world. He must be out of this world, because how?

“I’m Jimin.”

“Hi,” Jungkook says.

A dumb grin takes over his face.

He’s tingly all over. He thinks he’s in love.

“You’re gorgeous, Jimin-ah. Will you marry me?”

“Marry?” Jimin says tentatively as if testing the word on his tongue. His lips are pretty and full, forming a perpetual pout. It’s adorable. “I can’t marry. I need to mate.”

“Oh.” That throws Jungkook for a loop, as his heart swells with emotion. “Mate who?”

“You,” Jimin smiles. “Serendipity has chosen you as the most suitable candidate within this quadrant of our galaxy. We’re compatible.”

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers. He understands jack shit, but it does feel like serendipity, doesn't it. Just a moment ago, he was one miserable son of a bitch and now…he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole fucking quadrant of their galaxy.

“You do know I’m scrubbing pools for a living, right?”

He props himself up on his hands, hovering over the gorgeous Jimin and eyeing him like a candy on a stick. Jimin has pretty dainty hands. They are always in motion, feelings up Jungkook’s arm muscles, bulging all prettily just for him - this shameless little minx.

“I know everything about you,” Jimin says, his voice washing over Jungkook’s mind like a gentle summer tide.

Turns his brain all mush-mush.

“Every second of your waking moment. Every dream, every thought you’ve had. Serendipity has shown me all of it.”

Whomever this Serendipity is, Jungkook hopes it didn’t show every single thought he had. After a certain age, they’d gotten rather repetitive and tended to fixate mostly on things below the belt - which is not the image of himself he wants to project into this world.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jimin purrs, tapping his temple lightly.

His hands wind up in Jungkook’s hair, massaging the scalp and down his neck. His touches are flitting, almost shy and it kindles longing in Jungkook like never before. It tramples all of the questions budding in his head. Melting reason away. Before he knows they’re kissing again and it plays out like a dream.

He’s doing something, but he’s not really in control. It feels good. Peaceful, he’s in a safe place. Jimin’s touches are weightless and tender as he maps out his body with the very tips of his fingers.

Like he can reach everywhere - can touch anywhere.

The moment something prods his mind, gentle and soothing - akin to a light breeze caressing the leaves - Jungkook shivers. Falls under. A feeling like no other. Floating, like a little air bubble.

It’s gone as sudden as it came and Jungkook finds himself yearning.

“We can’t do it here,” Jimin says as they both move upright in sync. He grabs Jungkook’s hand. “Let’s go. Serendipity will have to stay here for now.”

“Serendipity?” Jungkook asks, shaking off the drowsiness as his brain slowly kicks back into gear. “You mean that pod thing?”

“Don’t call her ‘a thing’,” Jimin chides. “She has feelings. Quite a temper, too.”

“Damn, a she-pod with feelings”.

They’re standing now with Jimin plastered against his chest and nuzzling his mighty pec. Not awkward at all.

“She’s a ship. The most intelligent ship in the whole galaxy. Completely self-aware,” Jimin says, exploring the vastness of Jungkook’s chest with his curious palms now. Jungkook starts to notice a certain obsession here of a tactile nature, but can’t find it in himself to complain. “Be kind to her.”

“I am kind,” Jungkook says. “I’m like...wait, who are you?”

“I’m Jimin.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. “But what kind of Jimin are you? Where did you come from? You’re not with the Joneses here, are you?”

With the burden of rational thinking, Jungkook slumps into a realization that he has questions. And he must ask them.

“No, I’m from space,” Jimin says like it’s not big deal. “We need to go,” he commands, taking charge and dragging Jungkook along.

“Space? Wow,” Jungkook says. “That’s, ah, nice, I guess. Never been myself, what with the radiation and minus fuck-ton degrees, you know. Transportation kinda sucks, too. I don’t know if you’re aware but we’re kinda still in the stone age or whatever, but, ehm...remember when I was lying on top of you, with our private parts perfectly aligned? That was nice too, wanna, ehm, do that again?”

“Here is not safe,” Jimin says and at least, it’s not a no. “Serendipity can hide herself well enough, but it’s a matter of time before he tracks me down. And if that happens, I don’t want him to track me down right next to her.”

“Who’s he?”

“Just a man who never gives up what’s his.”

“You mean, like, ex-boyfriend?” Jungkook asks, swallowing down an annoying spike of jealousy. “Do you even have boyfriends in space?”

“I meant Serendipity, not me,” Jimin says. “And yes, we do have boyfriends up there in space. You don’t have to worry though, he’s been mated for the past five hundred years. He’s that boring.”

Jungkook lets out a low whistle.

“If his mate looks anything like you, that’s understandable.”

#jikook #jikook au #personas au

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

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Survey #337

“if i showed you my soul, would you cover your eyes?”

What's your favorite brand of chips? I like Lays best. Are you a good painter? My Painting teacher when I was in college last said I did wonderfully, but I definitely beg to differ. Before buying a car, do you usually test drive it? N/A Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud? No, but a teacher has. It was so fucking awkward; it was very pacifist, the topic being about war, and it had some depressing tones of death; there was just silence at the end of it, and I still don't know if it was shock or "what the fuck, she's messed up." There was this one guy that went, "Nobody is going to clap at that?", though, which I thought was pretty nice and reassuring. Do you like pineapple? Yeah, I do. Have you ever met your favorite author? I don't have a favorite author. Have you and your best friend ever liked the same person? No. Do you have any freckles? Not on my face (though oddly enough, I did as a kid?), but on random parts of my body. How many different languages can you say goodbye in? English, German, and then Spanish. Do you like or hate the smell of fish? I hate it. Have you ever been to Sea World? As a child, yes. I'd never go as an adult. Do you know someone who suffers from short-term memory loss? I don't know how this is actually diagnosed, but my memory is absolutely fucking nightmarish, almost exclusively in short-term situations. I can remember the most obscure events from my childhood, but not what I said to you five seconds prior. I'm rather sure my medications have made it worse over time. Have you ever read any of John Green's books? I got like, one chapter or less into The Fault in Our Stars before the book got replaced with the Wings of Fire series, so I never finished it. Are you a protective person? I'm an immensely protective person over those that matter to me. Have you ever experienced an earthquake? No, thankfully. I'm terrified of earthquakes. What's one thing that makes everything in life worthwhile? The fact that to our proven knowledge, this is the only one we'll ever experience. What type of waffles do you like? (Plain, blueberry etc..) I prefer plain, but I can eat chocolate chip ones as well as blueberry and strawberry. Have you ever seen the show Wife Swap? Yeah, I actually quite like it. Do you like chicken or beef better? Or do you not eat meat? Chicken, I think. I eat meat, but wish I didn't. What brand of dish soap do you use? Dawn, usually. Do any of your neighbors have dogs? Yes, and they never shut up. Do you believe in fortune tellers? They're money-driver bullshitters. Have you ever been to one? No, and judging by the fervor in the above question, I hope you can tell I never would do so and thus monetarily support them. Do you like regular or chocolate milk better? Chocolate, of course. But I love normal milk, too. Once again, wish I didn't, though. Forcing a cow to constantly reproduce to lactate is pretty fucking cruel. Growing up, did you listen to country music? I actually did. Do you normally wash your hands in warm or cold water? If it's just a quick wash, it's usually cold because our water takes quite a few moments to warm up. However, if I'm looking to thoroughly wash my hands, it's gotta be relatively hot. Do you believe in mediums? I see them in a worse light than I do fortune tellers, so... Like sure, manipulate grieving people for profit, sounds great. Have you ever been to one? Obviously not. Have you ever dated someone on the football team? No. Do you have a gazebo at your house? No. Do you like tomatoes? Solely when straight from a garden and on a bacon and mayonnaise sandwich. Otherwise I am noooot a fan. Are you a competitive person? Not very, but there's a tiny spark in me, really when it just comes to photography. I hate it. Google or Bing? Does literally anyone use Bing? What's your favorite brand of bottled water? Essentia. Do you have any ceramic animals in your house or outside? Ummm I don't think so. Have you ever given someone flowers? Yes. What is something you might eat with a hamburger? Fries or mac and cheese. What is a sport that you’ve always wanted to play, but never got a chance to. None. What is a fruit that you might eat in the morning? A banana. Who might you send a selfie to? I don't send selfies to anyone. About how many pages is the longest book you’ve ever read? I THINK it surpassed 1,000? At least in the high hundreds. Who would you call first after getting engaged to tell them the news? Probably Mom. Around what time do you start feeling tired enough to go to sleep? Truth be told, it's usually arouund 7-8. I rarely make it to 9:00 nowadays. What trends do you refuse to give in to? I don't even know what's trendy right now. What subjects in history interest you most? As dark as it is, I find the Holocaust interesting to learn about. Are you superstitious in any way? No. How do you get rid of anxiety? What a relevant question, being in a partial hospitalization program right now. Coping skills that help me are doing deep breathing, mindfulness exercises, and a little jerk back to reality is splashing freezing cold water on my face. It also helps to talk it out with somebody, just get my feelings into words. Then if it's a true anxiety or panic attack, I have my "emergency" anxiety prescription. Are there any items of jewelry you never/rarely take off? My lip and tragus piercings never do, and I always wear two rings. Do you find yourself correcting people’s grammar often? Not really, no. It just seems rude and snobby to me, honestly, if it's not in an educational setting, like helping someone with an essay. Correcting someone in your average conversation is just... unnecessary, imo. Now if you're talking like in surveys and stuff, I definitely do in questions and such, but I don't point it out. Gummi worms: Yay or nay? Yay, love 'em. What do you do when you have ‘me time’? I only ever have "me" time, so what I always do... Do you lack common sense sometimes? I have a horrible lack of common sense, shit's embarrassing. Have you ever poured glue on your hand just to peel it off for fun? No. How do babies make you feel? "Nervous. They’re so damn breakable." <<<< Mood. Would you/Have you milked a cow? No, and I'm not interested. What really gives you the creeps? #!: seeing a baby move inside its mother's stomach. It will actually make me scream and/or cry because it just grosses me the fuck out. Whale sharks' mouths also creep me out big time. Do you ever eat leftover pizza cold? Yeah, I love cold pizza. When you're wanting a midnight snack, what do you normally get? We normally have cashew bars that I like if I'm really hungry. Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Obviously Pikachu. My niece loves Pikachu anyway, so she'd be ecstatic to see a real one. Or well, maybe I'd go for an Eevee. Not as dangerous with electricity and all but just as cute and small. Do you like marshmallows? Yeah. If you had the opportunity to live forever, would you take it? No. It would ruin so many factors of the temporary nature of life. Things would lose meaning, get old and boring, it'd be much easier to take advantage of things... There are many reasons why I have no desire to live forever. Hell, I even wonder if I want an afterlife for those same reasons. Did you ever really believe in Santa Claus? As a little kid, yeah. Do you like quesadillas? I like cheese, chicken, and shrimp ones. What's the greatest/most influential song you've ever heard? Ozzy's "Life Won't Wait." Do you prefer to pull off band-aids slowly or quickly? I tend to do it slowly. What was the last thing someone told you that had you at a loss for words? Uhhh I feel like Sara said something, but I don't remember what. What was the last health scare you had? Ugh... I'm kind of living in one now. As my legs have been worsening, I'm becoming increasingly concerned I'm eventually going to need a wheelchair for "walking" longer distances. And mind you, "long" for me is probably short for the average person. My knees do nothing but crack incessantly and burn when I use them, and they frequently feel like they're going to give way, and in a few rare instances, have. It's my own fucking fault for not sucking it up and exercising with my mom in the room, so I'd like to move on. What is your favorite filling for a piece of chocolate? Caramel. Do you enjoy the sound of birds chirping? I do. If applicable, what’s your favorite drug, and why? I don't do drugs, so. What was the last TV show you binge-watched? Avatar: The Last Airbender with Sara. Would you rather eat burgers or tacos? Definitely burgers. I don't like tacos. Did your mother change her maiden name when/if she got marred? Yes. What was the last job you applied for? Did you get the job? Deli worker, and yes. Do you use TikTok? No. What decorations do you have in your bathroom? None. Our bathroom is pretty small. Well, the one we use, anyway. The one attached to the master's bedroom isn't cleaned up yet, but we'll use it in case of emergency. What year was your favourite band formed? (Before people think I'm smart, no, I looked the dates up, haha.) Well Ozzy was Black Sabbath's vocalist, and the band formed in 1968, but Ozzy became a solo artist in 1979. What's your favourite fruit? Strawberries. Have you ever had an out-of-body experience? No. Do you prefer gory horror films or the psychological ones? I prefer psychological. Are you easily paranoid? Yeah. Do you have a favorite obsession? Meerkats and Mark are kinda tied, haha. Are you a workaholic? No. Have you ever given a tattoo before and would you like to? No and no; that would be an awful idea, given I have bad tremors in my hands. Have you ever seen the movie Labyrinth? I actually have not. Would you rather be called pretty or hot? Pretty. Have you ever gotten a serious injury at school? What happened? No. Have you ever performed in front of my large group of people? Yes; I was a dancer for many years. Have you ever fundraised? If so, what for? You know how Facebook recommends making fundraisers for a charity of your choice for your birthday? I've done that for the Trevor Project and two charities for ovarian and pancreatic cancers. Are you wearing earrings right now? Ugh, no, even though I want to be. The first holes in my ears are just too stretched for normal earrings because I wore heavy ones too often, and I just don't have nice earrings. I still want to get very small gauges to put in the stretched holes. Name a singer whose voice makes you swoon? Fall Out Boy's Patrick Stump can do that, holy shit. "America's Suitehearts" does it for me, man. Y'know, when his voice goes all deep. Do your pets follow you when you walk around the house? My cat Roman is quite literally my shadow. Where I go, he goes. What do you do online? I seem to only exist online, really, so I've got a lot on my plate to choose from, yet I'm still bored half the time, haha. I'm essentially always watching or listening to YouTube, I play World of Warcraft for varying amounts of time depending on the day, I scroll through deviantART, check KM periodically, do surveys obviously, "work" at the wikis I contribute to, wander around on Facebook... idk, that's all I really do at least semi-regularly online. Haha oh, wait, I also check Craigslist like... every day for tarantula and hognoses even though I can't currently get either. Let me dream. Do you have any scars on your face? I have a couple on my chin from when I fainted and busted it open. What countries were your grandparents born in? In the US. What was the most damaging relationship (romantic or not) that you’ve ever been a part of? Ultimately, with Jason, because of how it ended. The relationship itself wasn't at all damaging to me, but the breakup shook my entire fucking world. When in your life was your self-esteem at its lowest point? Self-esteem? Now. I'm very unhappy with my weight going back up, my body is just in poor health in general, I'm not employed, not in school... I just feel like a lowlife. Who was the last person you cut out of your life? Do you regret it? I want to say my sister's mother-in-law. Sure don't, considering she revealed her disgusting support for conversion therapy. I'm civil around her in person, but I kicked that woman off my Facebook so fucking quick when I saw that shit. Who is the most attractive person you know personally? That I know personally... I would say Alon, but I haven't seen even a picture of her in forever. Summer, though, shares selfies frequently, and by god is she gorgeous. I know a lot a lot of beautiful women, asldkjf;awe. It's funny that I'm blanking on men, at least involving people I still "know"/are somehow present in my life. Would you rather look older or younger than you are? I'm fine looking my age. Have you ever dated someone who was very vastly different from your “type”? No. What is the biggest project you’re currently working on? I suppose you can count an RP plot as a "project." I'm procrastinating so bad on it because it is going to be A LOT of writing. Is there a person from your past that you wonder about frequently? Who? Take a shot in the dark for me. Who knows you best, excluding romantic partners? My mother. What are your thoughts on human creation? I believe we evolved. How many people have you had sex with? One. Have you ever had a yard sale? Yeah. Have you ever been surfing? No.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''voices'' by motionless in white

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antlergraham · 4 years

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Summary: Hannibal finally knows Will- and he knows he's sick.

AO3: link in reblog

WC: 2.2k

It becomes a ritual for them. The night of Will’s appointments, they meet up once more in Hannibal’s home, prey already caught on the table and ready for Will’s violent outrage to tear them to pieces. The news says that the Wolf of Virginia has been active outside the kills the FBI has confirmed to be a co-authorship between the two most prolific serial killers on the west coast. It’s a lot to be killing, by Hannibal’s standards, even without Will’s extracurriculars.

“Speed often holds hands with sloppiness,” He tells Will over a meal of roasted thigh. Their victim this week is still alive, and whimpering on the dining room table while they eat on newly purchased barstools at the counter. Hannibal hates their very idea, but Will had suggested this, and had seemed so excited at what he could do to their kills if kept alive through the meal, and Hannibal is powerless to say no to him. “You should settle down before you get yourself, and by extension, me, caught because you lost your head.”

“I’m perfectly in control,” Will argues.

His voice falters, though, and the sick tinge to his scent strengthens in the air for just a moment. Sure signs he is not. Hannibal raises an eyebrow, a quiet but clear challenge, until Will lowers his chin and looks to the side.

“I don’t remember all of the kills they say I did. Not recently.”

“Do you remember any of them?”

Will pushes his food around his plate, something uncharacteristic of his usual ravenous appetite for their kills. He looks gaunt. His cheekbones appear to have sunken in more in the weeks they’ve been doing this, and his eyes- though bright- look colder. Evidently, he really is sick. Whatever it is, it’s getting worse. Will is getting worse.

“Some. Others I find out through the press, or because there’s blood under my nails.”

Finally he takes a bite, but he shudders doing it, and his lashes flutter in indecision. Hannibal worries, for a moment, that it’s his cooking, but then Will leans to the side and spits it out onto the floor. It’s rude, but it’s also Will, for whom Hannibal always makes exceptions. His first thought is not disdain for the behavior. It’s concern. As much as Will likes to flaunt norms, he wouldn’t spit something onto the floor just to see what happens, or because he doesn’t know better. In sum, this was not a chosen behavior.

“Are you alright?”

Will wrinkles his nose and draws his knees up to his chest, curling his body in the hardback chair. “It tastes like blood.”

“I thought you were fond.”

“I am. I am, it’s just-” He rummages through his mind for the words, eyes unfocused in his search. “I don’t think my mind and my body are friends anymore.”

He doesn’t touch his meal again, so Hannibal- trying to provide, to be a good Alpha- makes him a grilled cheese and replaces the decadent meal with it. Will smiles up at him, not reaching his eyes, and dutifully eats half before pushing it away and returning his gaze to the man still weakly struggling. He licks his lips.

“Do you still have taste for it raw?” Hannibal asks.

“No, but I want to watch him suffer.”

Hannibal ruffles his hair, even when Will bats away his hand. “As you wish, sweet Omega.”

The title still makes Will wrinkle his nose, but he no longer protests it as Hannibal picks up his scalpel and opens the man’s chest, ignorant of sloppy, dizzy pleas that get quieter and quieter. He harvests. Kidneys, another thigh, meat from the shoulder. He saves the lungs, calling out to be consumed, for last in order to prolong the agony and please Will. Most things he does nowadays are too that end.

What distracts him, when he turns to ensure Will is looking at him, is the blank look in his eyes suggesting he isn’t watching the show.

“One moment,” Hannibal tells the nearly-unconscious victim, and sets down his scalpel to go to Will. He discards his bloody gloves along the way.

When he kneels in front of Will, he cups his face and gently says his name, trying to get his attention. Touching him, he’s able to feel the faint tremors in Will’s face, his head moving and his cheeks twitching. It’s a seizure of some sort, he thinks, and carefully pulls Will’s chair away from the table so he doesn’t fall and hit his head on it.

There’s nothing he can really do to help Will at the moment, and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave his side. He just sits there. He holds him. He sits with him until Will’s head dips to the side a little and he blinks several times in quick succession.

“Alpha?” he manages. He sounds drunk. “I don’t…”

“It’s alright.” Hannibal strokes his hair, notes how warm his face is. “I believe you’ve had a mild seizure. You should rest.”

“Seizure,” Will repeats.

Hannibal moves to pick him up and carry him to bed. “Yes, a seizure.”

“Don’t touch me.”

He stumbles out of his seat and rubs his eyes. Will is pale and unsteady, but there is still fire in him despite his own confusion.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“I was trying to help you-”

“No.”

He braces a hand on the table and looks so sick, so lost, so… small. This hardly feels like the man who put a hand on Hannibal’s throat, but even sick he is deadly. He has been killing in these postictal phases. That’s his missing memory. Right now, Will could kill him, and Hannibal-

He thinks he might let him.

Nonetheless, he holds his hands out in front of him and tilts his head to submissively bare his throat- a gesture intended to appease. Will seems somewhat alright with it, and doesn’t lunge for Hannibal, an Alpha who has become his latest prey. He doesn’t plead for his life, nor sink so low as to imply it, but simply waits for Will to decide whether or not he intends to be violent in answer.

It takes a moment, but Will sits back down and rubs his eyes again. “My head is pounding. Do you have aspirin?”

“Let me get you something stronger.”

Hannibal resists the urge to kiss Will’s forehead as he passes by, headed to his office for a stronger medication. It was easy to keep on hand, and more than adequate at helping sedate victims thrashing in pain. This will do better to ease the pain. He puts a single pill in his hand and returns, moving Will’s untouched wine glass away. Alcohol and opioids are not a good combination, especially for someone already unwell. He fetches water instead, and smiles when Will accepts both offerings without fight. His still dilated eyes fix on their victim, even though he makes no move toward him.

“He’s still alive,” Hannibal clarifies, “at least for a few minutes more. I was going to finish with his lungs.”

“Let me.”

It is impossible to resist. Hannibal steps out of the way for Will to unsteadily approach their prey, plunging his hand into the open chest cavity like one might reach into a drawer of miscellaneous items. It’s a searching touch. He pulls on something, gruesome in the tug at what Hannibal recognizes as intestines. This is not the way the Wolf of Virginia kills.

As though Will can hear Hannibal’s thoughts, he sinks his teeth into the flesh. It should not be beautiful, but it is, especially when it leads to a frenzy. With his mouth alone, Will destroys this man, eats his raw meat and spits blood on the floor. It will be a pain to clean. Hannibal won’t mind the hours on his hands and knees with bleach when it means he gets to see Will without any inhibitions. Will is not beholden to social expectations or his suppression of his own desires out of some form of social grace, even in murder. He is free. Hannibal loves him this way.

By the time he is finished, Will has decimated the corpse, and Hannibal is desperate to touch him. He knows better than to reach out without permission, however, and waits for Will to come to him, soaked and messy and with faraway eyes. As much as he is a threat, he is vulnerable right now, and it feels precious that Hannibal might see him this way.

“Will, darling Omega,” he murmurs, in his closest approximation to a purr. “You need a bath and rest.”

“Tell me where to go.”

Hannibal knows better than to offer help, though he allows himself to guide Will with a soft touch to the small of his back and give him the softest towels in the house. He turns on the water and feels its temperature on the soft skin inside his wrist. When its warm enough, he makes to leave, only for Will to take his wrist and look up at him with eyes made so much brighter by the contrast of the blood on his face.

“Stay.”

He leans against the counter and watches Will slowly strip, then lower himself into the hot bath and avoid plugging the drain. Hannibal hadn’t done so because he wanted Will to choose the scent he wanted for the bubbles, but it becomes clear Will doesn’t want to stew in his own filth. He scrubs at the blood on his body with clumsy bare hands until Hannibal offers him a washcloth, and then uses the tap to wet and rinse the cloth as he slowly bathes himself. It doesn’t take very long, but Will shivers by the time he stands up and reaches for a towel to wrap around himself.

“Can I borrow something?” he asks.

Hannibal leads him next to the bedroom, and helps him into soft briefs and silk pajama bottoms, a little large on his slim frame but comfortable based on the way Will’s eyelashes flutter and he balls the fabric in a fist.

“I don’t remember.” They sit on Hannibal’s bed together, just close enough for their knees to touch. It is chaste in comparison to all that they’ve done. “I don’t think I’ll remember this either.”

“You should see a doctor.”

He shakes his head, his drying curls bouncing slightly with the motion. “I don’t like people in my head, Dr. Lecter.”

“If you’re having seizures, I think someone ought to be.”

With a huff, Will slips into Hannibal’s lap and kisses him with fevered lips, effectively ending the conversation. He’s finally submissive, out of nowhere, letting Hannibal feel him up and claim his lips in a kiss. It feels good to control him. But it also feels wrong. He goes with it, though, happily nosing against the scent glands at Will’s jaw and enjoying the heavy aroma of his arousal, even through the fog of sick.

“Beautiful.”

Will smiles against his lips and bares his throat slightly, sighing when Hannibal peppers the vulnerable, pale skin with kisses. He could hurt Will right now, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to worship him. And as he lays Will’s pliant body out on the bed, intent on doing so, he realizes how completely wrapped around Will’s little finger he’s become.

It is a lovely position to be in.

“Alpha, your mouth…” Will doesn’t beg, but the plea is still in the words. “Now, please.”

Without a second thought, Hannibal gives him exactly what he wants, leaving kisses on his journey to pull down the freshly donned pajama pants and wrap his lips around Will’s cocklet. Evidently, by his squirming, he’s more sensitive there than Hannibal had initially believed. Of course he still puts in every ounce of effort he has in his body to make Will feel good, hooking one of Will’s long legs over his shoulder to get a better angle. Will comes with a whine in his mouth, and sighs as Hannibal swallows and wipes his mouth.

In moments, his eyes flutter shut, and his breathing evens out to sleep. While it feels like a remarkable show of trust, Hannibal is smart enough to recognize it as an addled brain seeking out comfort from a familiar Alpha. On some level, at least, it does mean that Will trusts him to take care of him when it’s too hard to take care of himself.

Hannibal leaves him to rest in bed while he cleans up. He bags up the unsalvageable remains to dispose of later, and kneels on the tile with a bucket of diluted bleach and a scrubbing brush. This is irritating, but not impossible.

He contemplates Will as he cleans the mess. Many others would be overjoyed by the sudden shift in behavior, but he misses the weight of Will’s control over him. Come tomorrow, it should return. Still, in spite of Will’s denial of wanting medical attention, Hannibal messages an old friend to pull some strings and get a brain scan for the next day. He can only hope Will sees the sense in it, while being all too aware of the unlikelihood of getting Will to do anything the Omega doesn’t crave.

#hannigram #Hannibal (TV)#hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal X will #will x hannibal #emwrite #bmitmfic #wov!series

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the-canary · 5 years

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Playin’ With Hearts - B.B (3)

Summary: You didn’t hate that she had something you could only dream of, but there was always a feeling that there was something wrong. (Implied!Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: “I think I handled that very well.” + “I’ve never seen that much blood my whole life. If that’s what you mean by very well, I am very concerned.”.

A/N: this is for @wintersoldierswhore writing challenge.

there are also mentions of blood and toxic relationships as we move forward, so proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

It’s true that Wanda is the first to notice the little changes in your personality, but in your dreams as well. It’s not like she means to intrude. But, even with all the years of training, there isn’t a way that she can control her powers when it comes to your screams. She tries to calm down the dark recesses of your past captivity, though you don’t ever talk about it

However, in a few short months, your dreams went from trying to protect yourself from trying to protect someone else. You whimpered in the other room as you tried to stop Bucky’s heart from being taken from him. You fought with yourself and an unmasked person to stop the incident from happening. You woke up with a jolt and a pitiful whimper following soon afterward.

Wanda didn’t exactly understand what was going on since she knew you avoided James most of the time. But, that’s when the lingering and staying in the corner of the room whenever he near began. It caught Natasha’s attention as well, but they knew to wait – you would around in your own time to explain the change.

It’s three weeks of you following Bucky. He avoids you, even more, when you come into Wanda’s room with a newspaper at hand. Brown eyes look at you with a question.

“Have you seen this?” you asked with a slight tremor in your voice, as you hand her the paper. The headline JARS OF HEARTS in the front and Wanda knows what you are talking about. There really isn't anything the Avengers can do if there are no leads and nobody from the NYPD is calling them in.

“Yes, what about it?” she tries to ask as calmly as possible as she sees you playing with your hands. The smell of distilled air and chlorine are becoming more of an annoyance to you, at least that’s what your little movements meant.

“What if I knew who that person was? What if they were in the Tower?”

———–

Bucky isn’t one for confirmation nowadays. He prefers to take on life the easiest way possible and enjoy what is given to him, but he isn’t a fool either. He knew that there was something wrong with how Lin was acting and how their relationship was going in general. Yet, he didn’t expect what he saw a gloomy day not that from the Tower – Lin kissing another man.

He won’t deny that it hurt like hell. He enjoyed his time with Lin when it was better, it wasn’t exactly love but it could be someday. However, that wasn’t what hurt the most as he noticed someone familiar watching as well.

How long has she known?

It is something that Bucky can’t help but think as he sees the occasion bane of his existence sitting in another open-air restaurant not too far from the scene of the crime. There are a hundred emotions and questions running through his head, though it does somewhat explain why she was paying more attention now.

Did she pity him? Hate him? Maybe, she planned on throwing all this in his face when the moment presented itself. She was going to show him that a person (a murderer and killer like him) had no right at the little happiness he tried to claim in life.

No, he knew that was the fear and self-loathing in him speaking deep down. She wouldn’t do something like that because from what he had seen (as Bucky had been paying more attention to her as well since she started spending more time in the room with the team), there had never been a bad bone in her body – but, she tended to worry and fret a lot over things.

Bucky can’t help but turn back around and walk back to the Tower, thinking about what he should do now and how long she had been fretting over this.

Lin, I think we need to talk.

———–

It’s supposed to be a quick mission. It was something to get you to better mingle and work with the rest of the Avengers that you don’t interact with. It would be good for team building is what Steve has stated but you’re on pins and needles over much larger things.

You hadn’t caught the smell of rotting flesh in almost a week. You knew that Lin worked at least three to four days within the lab though. You couldn’t help but wonder if she had gotten her latest victim or if she was preparing something even worse, especially when it came to Bucky.

You were worrying about Barnes more and more recently. Though you were sure that he could take care of himself. He was a super soldier after all, but that didn’t ease your mind at all though.

Love makes people do stupid things, was something that your handler had thrown over your head once after one of your first escape attempts. You tried hard not to remember the reason why nowadays. But, the fear is still there (it never left) as you find yourself missing the smell of the sea and clear air that seemed to come with following Bucky around.

Needless to say, you end up with more than one injury due to not your head completely in the mission. Sam ends up bandaging your hand as you head back.

“So, what’s on your mind that you left yourself that open?” Sam asks with a smile, though you can tell that he is being serious by the tone of his voice. You don’t know if you should be truthful or if you should stay quiet to hide your embarrassment.

“Well?” he pushes back, as you can frown just a little.

“I am wondering how Barnes is doing,” you admit with an embarrassed chuckle, “I’m actually really worried.”

———–

“Are we even dating?"

It’s the first thing that Bucky says when he finally meets up with Lin in a little cafe shop near the Brooklyn Bridge. Lin is sitting there and the smile that she has been wearing falls in an instant as she leans back into her seat. He can’t help but wonder if she knew what this was about.

“Well, in some ways, yes,” Lin answers back with a shrug like she knows where this is going and has played this scene before, “Is there something wrong ?”

Bucky frowns but seems to not say anything as the smell of burning flesh and roses sets in.

#Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader #barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #james buchanan bucky barnes #fabiola trying to write #series: playing with hearts

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adventuresloane · 6 years

Note

hurloane v?

It was 3AM when the garage door clamored open, the clanging of the steel sounding all the more discordant against the quiet of the sleeping city. Hurley shut her eyes against the sudden brightness of Sloane’s headlights overwhelming the previously dark space. Then she forced them to open, so that they would adjust more quickly.

Sloane stuck her head out the window as she pulled in. The mask was on, but askew, covering only part of her face. Not that she seemed to feel the need to hide her identity nowadays. “Hurley!” She jumped out of the battlewagon. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you,” she said, in a voice that she hoped to the gods sounded more level than she felt.

“Well, I’m not staying long. Radiator’s sounding weird. I need to take a look at it before I head back out.”

“You look like shit. Have you even slept the past week?”

“Try the past twelve days.” She turned back long enough to give Hurley a grin, like she was proud. “I told you, I don’t need sleep anymore.”

“Don’t need it, or couldn’t do it if you tried?”

“Does it matter? I’m don’t ever feel tired anymore, how’s that?”

It didn’t sound like she was lying. She seemed to take no notice of the shadows beneath her eyes, of the way her body shook as though every heartbeat sent a tremor through it.

“Sloane, I don’t believe you’re thinking clearly.”

“Yes I am. I’ve never thought more clearly in my–”

“You nearly killed someone.”

For the first time since she had come into the garage, Sloane stopped moving, frozen with a wrench in her fist. “What?”

“Last bank you robbed. The vines you grew choked a teller until he passed out. Another minute and there would’ve been permanent brain damage or worse.”

Sloane blinked several times. Then she shook her head a little, quickly, as though she were trying to get rid of gnats flying in her face. “No, that wasn’t me. I would’ve remembered it.”

“Who the fuck else would it be, Sloane?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t–” She ran a hand through her long hair until her fingers got caught in a thick knot at the end. “I would’ve known. I’m sure I…I’ve been losing track of time, lately, sometimes it’s morning and then a moment later I’m seeing the stars–”

“Sloane?” Hurley’s voice went softer and higher, frustration crumbling away to reveal fear beneath it. “Hey, sweetheart, you’re okay. I’m here, okay? Just stop for a minute–”

“I can’t,” she breathed. “I can’t stop. When I stop, it doesn’t. I feel my limbs start to move without me controlling them–”

“What’s ‘it?’ That belt? Darling, please just let me–”

“No!” And like that, Hurley’s hand, which had been reaching for the braided vines wrapped around Sloane’s waist, was wrenched back as Sloane squeezed her wrist.

In her martial arts training, she had been trained to respond to such an attack by going for the opponent’s sternum. The technique had become nearly second-nature to her. But in this moment, her instinct was instead to meet Sloane’s burning eyes and shout, “You’re hurting me!”

Sloane’s eyes stayed gem-hard for another moment before they widened, suddenly. She released and took a step back, staring and staring. Then she spun, ran back to the wagon, and squealed backwards.

Hurley stayed in the garage long after she left, not caring that it was dark enough that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. It was empty and silent, to the point that, if she sat there for long enough, she became convinced that she could hear her own, heavy heartbeat.

(Sorry for the bummer but I’m glad I wrote this because I’ll probably use it in my fanfic lmao. Thank you for asking ily.)

Send me a letter prompt.

#taz #taz balance #taz fanfic #the adventure zone #hurloane #hurley #sloane #ask meme #my writing #fan fiction #idkaylaaa

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heroes-among-us-all · 6 years

Note

Can I please get an angsty scenario of a female S/O cheating on Katsuki?

People just love angst lmao

It was late. Too late.

Nowadays, it seemed like you were almost always busy with work and cooped up at the office, which left Katsuki to eat his meals on his own. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand; hell, he was a pro hero in high demand, and there were times where even he was up to his neck in work. But lately, it just seemed like you were overwhelmingly busy, when you’d never been so swamped in all the time he’d been dating you.

Katsuki hated to think it, but there was something telling him that things just weren’t right. Were you avoiding him? Purposefully spending more time at the office so that you wouldn’t have to see him? You guys had definitely been having a lot more fights than usual, so he could understand if that was the case, but it still fucking hurt. And even though the thought of being avoided was painful enough, there was still one ever-building fear that was infinitely worse.

Could you be…cheating on him?

Granted, you weren’t the type to do so, and he actually felt a bit guilty for making such an assumption, but he just couldn’t shake the thought. It did seem to add up—the obscenely late hours; the impromptu leaving on the weekends to meet up with your so-called “friends”. And just the fact that you would barely even glance in his direction nowadays. It was sickening, to say the least, but he couldn’t keep denying the fact that it was a possibility.

Katsuki clenched his fist, unaware of the fact that his entire body was trembling.

“The next time I see her…” he mumbled, “The next time I’ll confront her about it, plain and simple.”

Unexpectedly, he got his wish a lot sooner than he would’ve thought, and Katsuki jolted in his seat when he heard the jingle of keys outside the doorway. A few moments later you pushed it open, carefully tiptoeing across the hardwood floors so as not to make a sound.

“I’m already awake, don’t worry.”

You jolted at the sound of Katsuki’s voice, eyes flickering over towards the living room sofa where he was messily sprawled across. He heaved a deep sigh before pulling himself upright, wading over towards your frame.

Katsuki cocked an eyebrow. “Busy day?”

“Pretty much,” you shrugged. “Same shit as always. Anyways I’m tired, so I’m gonna head to bed now. You probably shouldn’t stay up much longer, either.”

You waved your hand dismissively and headed for the bedroom, but Katsuki had already clamped his hand down onto your wrist. You frowned, glancing back only to be met with a pair of quivering, crimson orbs.

“Let’s just cut the bullshit,” Katsuki muttered, fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m not an idiot, you know—I can tell that things haven’t been good between us lately. So all these late nights and you just up and disappearing during the day…I want an answer. And I want one now.”

You already sort of knew what kind of question was coming, but you decided to keep silent until he was ready to ask. With a sharp, tremulous breath, Katsuki stared straight into your eyes and spoke.

“(Name), are you…cheating on me?”

There it was—the question you’d been anticipating for a long time coming. To be honest, you were surprised that he hadn’t figured it out earlier; after all, you weren’t exactly being subtle with your actions. If you were really going to go through the effort of hiding it, you would’ve been a lot more discreet. You thought it was as clear as day, just based off the way you’d been avoiding him and barely speaking more than a few words at a time. So why was he looking at you with such fear in his eyes? Why did he look as though he was about to break down into tears?

As far as you were concerned, this relationship had long since been over.

“Yes,” you replied, barely batting an eyelash. “I have been cheating on you.”

The seconds those words slipped out, Katsuki all but crumpled against your body. The strong hand had been latched across your wrist fell limply to his side, and you could hear the small, broken whimper he unknowingly let out.

“Are you…serious?” he choked out, still unwilling to accept the situation. His voice sounded so utterly frail and weak—it was completely unlike anything you’d ever seen from him before. How ironic. All those times you’d wanted him to be more affectionate and emotional around you had been in vain, and yet now he was standing before you, shaking like a leaf blowing in the wind.

Whatever you’d hoped to see from him was already too little, too late.

“I thought you assumed as much,” you deadpanned. “I was expecting to have this talk a long time ago.”

Katsuki shook his head, eyes blotchy and red. “You’re…cheating on me,” he repeated, more so trying to convince himself than make a point. “You’re actually cheating on me.”

“I guess so.”

You’d never been a cold person; just the opposite, in fact—you’d been nothing but warm, kind, and forgiving in this relationship. But all the fights and all the lack of effort on his part had just taken a toll. As you were right now, you could honestly say that you felt nothing for him anymore.

“But…why?” Katsuki croaked, bringing a palm up against his forehead. “Why, why, why?! What the fuck did I do for things to get to this point?! Is being with me really so fucking horrible?! Is that what I deserve??!”

“It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what I deserve—and that’s someone better than you.”

He clamped his hand over his mouth, choking back a sob. You’d only ever seen him cry once around you before, and that had been way back in highschool, when you’d first started dating.

“So you don’t love me anymore,” Katsuki muttered bitterly. “That’s what this is about. Because no matter what; no matter how fucked up things may have gotten between us, I would never have done something like this to you. I love you too damn much for that.”

You glared. “Do you?”

“What the fuck are you saying?” He looked stunned, staring back at you incredulously. “Of course I do. Are you seriously even asking me this question?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I’m only asking because for the longest fucking time, you haven’t made any effort around here. The fights have just gradually gotten worse—when you’re not cursing or screaming at the top of your lungs, you’re slamming doors and punching holes into the walls. Almost every time we have some time to ourselves and say we’re going to have a date or some shit, you forget; or you just say you’re not in the mood and tell me to piss off. Don’t you get it? When you do shit like that, it doesn’t show that you give half a shit about me. If you love someone, you don’t push them away and treat them like they’re worthless.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. “You’re acting as if I’m the only one to blame, but you’re the one who’s been distant and barely even looks in my direction nowadays. And now I find out you’ve been cheating on me—“

“I JUST DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU ANYMORE!!”

His eyes widened. You yourself were actually surprised by how much your tone had spiked, but it was just too tiring; the same routine, over and over again. And for what? You’d been tolerating his brash, near-violent behavior for too long, just because you felt some sort of security in the relationship. The two of you had been together for years, and no matter how bad things got, you convinced yourself that it would get better—it had to get better. But that was all bullshit, and you couldn’t keep staying with someone and thinking back on the good times, when you felt completely and utterly miserable.

Katsuki was still processing your words, unwilling to accept what you’d just said. He was pale as a sheet, and the tears he’d been holding back spilled over to his cheeks.

“Hey…babe,” he croaked out, voice shaky and uneven. “You don’t mean that, right? I know things have been hard lately, but we can get through this, okay? I can live with the fact that you cheated on me—it fucking hurts, but I can get past it, as long as we work things out. I forgive you, alright?”

“I don’t need your forgiveness.”

“But I’m fucking forgiving you anyways! Shit!” Katsuki furiously shook his head, body overrun by tremors. “I don’t know how the hell we got to this point, but we can fix it. We’re still trying to get used to all this shit; we’re both stressed as hell and we’ve just been taking it out on each other but we can fix this. Starting today, things will get better—I promise.”

You sighed. “I’m tired of hearing the same shit over and over again. How long do you think I tried to make things work? I’m not the type to cheat on someone and still hope to hold my relationship. I only did it because I was done.”

Katsuki’s face went pale. His arms had wrapped around you in an instant, pulling you up flush against is chest. You could hear how frantically his heart was beating; it sounded as though it was about to burst.

“You’re not done,” he choked out. “You’re not fucking done—neither of us are done, you hear me? Fuck, I-I’m sorry, okay? I know I can be a fucking pain in the ass to deal with it, but I’ll do better. I’ll make more of an effort, I promise I’ll yell less; I’ll do anything you fucking need me to do so please don’t say you’re fucking done. (Name), you’re just…you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not about to lose you like this.”

He was being so emotional and vulnerable in front of you, and yet you truly felt nothing. Which is why you knew it was time to let go.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki. But I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

“No!”

“Please let go of me.”

“NO!!”

You squirmed to get out of his grip, but his arms only tightened. You gritted your teeth, clawing frantically at his back in an attempt to break free. He was sobbing openly now, the likes of which you’d never heard before. You forced your elbow into his rib, finally managing to pull away as he faltered in place.

“You can’t leave,” Katsuki croaked. “I’ll do better. I swear I’ll do better. I swear on my fucking life that I’ll do better.”

All Katsuki could do was call out after you, tears matting his cheeks. He’d never before felt so completely and utterly powerless; not until the love of his life decided to leave for good.

#katsuki bakugou #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha imagine #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #relationship #bnha bakugou #angst

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sanjisock · 6 years

Text

against all odds

Two: they say a person dreams their soulmate’s dreams. All my soulmate seems to have is nightmares. ao3.

Zoro wakes up from the taste of steel and blood.

He jolts up from his hammock so fast his head unceremoniously hits the wooden hammock above him. It sways dangerously, almost tipping to the side and dumping Usopp to the ground, but it thankfully balances itself. He’s disoriented at first, rubbing his head absentmindedly with his heart pounding in his ears, and it’s only after the adrenaline has filtered out of his bloodstream that he realizes it was just an afterimage of a nightmare.

His soulmate’s nightmare, to be precise. Again.

It used to worry him so much more — the fact that his soulmate dreams of steel and blood almost every night — but these days all he can muster is a fleeting concern, and it makes his chest tight with the guilt for not caring enough.

Kuina told him all about this whole soulmate business the first time he was woken up by a nightmare he couldn’t understand. It was someone else’s dream, she had explained, and this person was going to be the most important person in his life.

It unsettled him then, that there was someone out there who had to go through this nightmare, and it unsettles him still until this day. But Zoro doubts this person is ever going to be the most important person in his life, especially not when —

Zoro finds himself standing in front of the galley. The light is dim, but on, and when he steps inside, Sanji is there.

“One of those again?” Sanji asks as he hands Zoro a small bottle of warm sake.

Zoro gives him an appreciative nod, and takes the bottle. “Hn.”

They fall into comfortable silence as Zoro takes a few sips from his drink.

It has become an unspoken routine for them recently — Zoro would get one of those nightmares from his soulmate almost every night nowadays, and whenever he goes to the galley to get something to chase away the bitter taste of steel and blood from his tongue, Sanji would be there.

Zoro assumes he’s only there to make sure Zoro isn’t stealing more booze than he’s allowed to, but Sanji always stays until the tremors have gone from Zoro’s hands, and the silent gesture makes something in Zoro’s chest warm and light.

Sanji seems to feel more conversational tonight, though, because he suddenly asks, “you ever wonder?”

Zoro looks up from his drink at the question. Sanji has taken a seat across the table, facing away from Zoro, a trail of smoke floating above his head. He looks pensive, and Zoro can’t figure out what he’s thinking. “What?”

Sanji inhales, and blows a lungful of smoke. “That soulmate of yours,” he says. “They’ve been having nightmares recently, right? You ever wonder what happened to them?”

“Not really,” Zoro admits with a shrug.

It’s apparently the wrong answer, because Sanji turns to him at that, a dark scowl etched on his face. “Why not?”

“I — they — we used to have this nightmare a lot, when I was young,” Zoro quickly explains. He has the vague feeling of having said something wrong without knowing what, and it rattles on his nerves. “It’s not exactly something new for them, so I doubt something happened.”

“You never had these night attacks on the Merry,” Sanji fires back.

“The nightmares got rarer as I got older, and it stopped long before I met Luffy.” This isn’t exactly true — the nightmares would still come, occasionally, but it did become more muted over the years. Distant. Zoro would still wake up drenched in sweat the next morning, but it didn’t make him feel like there was a scream permanently lodged in his throat.

“But it hasn’t,” Sanji argues back. “The fact that you’re here says it all. So something must’ve happened.”

Zoro groans. “Why do you care so much?”

“Why do you not care?”

“Because I don’t care about this whole soulmate thing?” Zoro blurts out, agitated. “Someone out there is getting nightmares. Big deal. I’d help if I could, but I don’t get why I should care . This person is a stranger for all I know, could even be some kind of an asshole. They could fight their own battles.”

Zoro regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. Mostly because it’s untrue — he is not so heartless as to turn a blind eye on someone who clearly needs help, especially when that person is his soulmate. He does care; he just doesn’t want Sanji to get the wrong idea, because —

Sanji drops the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out with the sole of his shoe, almost forcefully. “I thought you were better than this,” he says, in a tone that make something in Zoro’s stomach turns cold.

Zoro runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “What got you so worked up, cook?”

“None of your business,” Sanji says, and pushes pass Zoro to walk out of the galley.

Zoro watches Sanji slam the door close, upset and mostly confused. He couldn’t believe how quickly their conversation went south. It’s always like this with Sanji — one second they’d be having a perfectly civil conversation, the next they’d be at each other’s throat. The sake Sanji gave him is still warm, the bottle half-full, and Zoro scoffs bitterly at the sight.

To think he’d confess his feelings to the Cook tonight.

It doesn’t matter. Sanji is easy to anger, but easier to forgive — they’ll be back to their usual antagonistic friendship tomorrow, and Zoro will just have to live with another day of watching the Cook from afar, stopping himself from standing too close, touching too much. He’ll probably have another nightmare, and Sanji is still going to be there when he wakes up, calming him down, and it’ll be enough.

Except they don’t.

The Sunny reaches the harbor of Dressrosa the next day, and the next time Zoro sees the ship again, the galley still smells faintly of smoke and aftershave, but Sanji isn’t there.

And if the worst happens — Sanji will never be there again.

Zoro tightens his grip on his sword at the thought, but there is no enemy to fight. Not here.

Zoro dreams, and it is his own.

Robin explained once, how exactly the dreamsharing thing works: you see the your soulmate’s dream when they dream, and they see yours when you do. But whenever there is an overlap — when the both of you dream at the same time — it will depend on the emotional state of the dreamer. Basically Robin said, if you’re emotionally more affected by the dream than your soulmate is to theirs, it’s your dream the two of you will be sharing.

And how .

Sometimes Zoro dreams of Sanji dying; bloodied and battered under Big Mom’s feet, eyes open but unseeing, and Zoro would scream his name hoarse until he wakes up with the Cook’s name lodged in his throat. Other times he dreams of Sanji leaving them all behind; healthy and safe but walking away from them all into the arms of his bride-to-be, and Zoro would try to tell him how he feels but Sanji doesn’t hear him, refuses to hear him.

Zoro doesn’t know which one is worse.

His soulmate’s dream has morphed, too — it is still drenched with steel and blood, but the images are clearer now. What he always thought as steel was iron; iron floors of a dark basement, cold to the touch; iron bars of a prison cell, tall and imposing and restrictive; iron mask over a child’s head, a reminder of shame and hopelessness.

Zoro wakes up every day with his breath trapped somewhere between his chest. Sometimes someone else will wake up too, and asks, “are you okay?”

I’m fine , Zoro wants to say, but he’s never been good with lying, so he doesn’t.

The Sunny is bobbing idly on an unknown sea, and Sanji is cooking in the galley, humming to himself. When Zoro approaches him, Sanji turns with a smile stretched across his face, and kisses him on the lips.

Oh , Zoro immediately thinks — immediately knows — this is a dream.

He knows this because there is no way Sanji would do this willingly in reality. The Cook has made it clear time and again that he has no interest in men, much less Zoro; it is a painful fact Zoro has long learned to accept.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in a fantasy or two.

The air is light with a dream-like quality to it, and Zoro distantly realizes this is something his soulmate will see. The usual tinge of guilt is back, but dream-Sanji just started to bury his fingers in Zoro’s hair, pulling him closer, and Zoro can’t find it in himself to care — Zoro is only concerned with the way Sanji feels as he runs his hands down Sanji’s sides, the way he shakes, the way he clutches Zoro’s hands and shoulders. If he closes his eyes hard enough, he thinks he could pretend that this is the real Sanji.

And then dream-Sanji says, in between kisses, “best,” kiss. “Dream,” kiss. “Ever.”

Zoro snaps his eyes open at that. “What?”

It earns him a huff of laughter, playful and rich. “Don’t ruin the illusion, you dumbass,” dream-Sanji says. “Let me pretend you’re the real deal, okay? This is my dream. You do as I say.”

“What are you —” Zoro sputters, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “This is my dream.”

The world around him dissolves.

Confusion must’ve been written all over his face throughout the whole morning, because Robin greets him with a, “did something happen?”

“What makes you say that?” Zoro retorts, defensive, almost out of instinct.

Robin shrugs and sips her tea. “There’s a certain glow to your face today. A rarity, considering how it is with your soulmate.”

It bothers Zoro, how most of the crew knew about his predicament with his soulmate these days. It used to be something he shared only with Sanji, but now with the Cook gone and the nightmares increasing in intensity, it was inevitable that everyone else will find out, sooner or later.

He decides that there’s no point in hiding, so he asks “Have you ever shared your dream with someone?”

Robin blinks. “I share my dreams with Franky. You know that.”

The tilt of her smile forms a smirk that seems to imply that the word ‘dreams’ don’t just mean dreams, and Zoro scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’m not asking about that . I’m talking about really sharing. You and someone else’s mind, in the same dream. Is that even possible?”

Robin chuckles at his reaction, before answering, “it happened to us once, actually, right before we were reunited in Sabaody.” She taps her chin, thinking. “It probably occurs because we were both dreaming of — wishing for — the same thing: to be together. So our consciousness existed within that same dream.”

Zoro straightens up in his seat, not willing to entertain what it actually means . “Did you have it with Franky? Your soulmate?”

“I’d imagine it can only happen between soulmates, yes,” Robin says. “Why do you ask?”

Zoro thinks of Sanji; the way he was always awake whenever Zoro had woken up by the nightmares. He always thought it was just Sanji being considerate — and partly it must have been — but have they been shaken by the same dream all along? The ironand blood in the dreams — is that a memory of Sanji’s childhood, growing up with that terrible family of his?

Zoro thinks of the way Sanji felt in the dream they shared, warm and pliant in his arms, and wonders how it would feel to hold him outside the dreams.

They find each other eventually in Wano, before the fight against Kaido. The crew reunited in joy, but Zoro doesn’t miss the way Sanji slips away from the cacophony as soon as he can, barricading himself inside the safe familiarity of Sunny’s galley.

Zoro’s always been good with that. Breaking through Sanji’s barriers, that is.

He closes the galley door behind him just as Sanji puts down his knife. He turns to face Zoro with a glare. “What do you want?”

Zoro doesn’t bother with small talk. He never has to, when it comes to Sanji. “How long have you known?”

Sanji visibly goes rigid from the question, and that confirms it for Zoro. His soulmate has been Sanji all along, and he’s been feeling torn for the past two years for nothing. It’s frustrating and exhilarating at the same time, and something flares in his chest at the way a blush spreads across Sanji’s cheeks.

“Thriller Bark,” Sanji finally answers, after a moment. “I saw myself dying, over and over again, in your dream. Only the two of us knew what happened, so…”

It’s Zoro’s turn to blush, because what the hell. He remembers the fear gripping his chest when Sanji offered himself as a sacrifice to Bartholomew Kuma, and the nightmares that followed — but he always kept that to himself, thinking that Sanji would never know. So much for that secrecy.

“So that dream I had — the dream we had…” Zoro says, and trails off. He wants Sanji to confirm it by himself, that they’re soulmates, that he wants Zoro as much as Zoro has wanted him for the longest time.

Sanji took Zoro’s silence the wrong way, though, because he grits his teeth and looks away as he spits, “don’t make fun of me.”

Zoro straightens up at that. “I’m not making fun of you.”

The glare that Sanji gives him is sharper than any knife. “I don’t need your pity.”

“This isn’t — where did you even get the idea,” Zoro runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “What are you even talking about?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” Sanji says bitterly. “You never cared about the whole soulmate thing.”

“Because of you! ” Zoro fires back, because he needs Sanji to understand — the way the concern he has developed over the years for his soulmate and the affection he has felt for the Cook have now collapsed into one rush of emotions of want , bursting against his ribcage. “I’ve pretended not to care about my soulmate because I wanted you to know that I’d choose you over them — I didn’t know the two of you were the same person.”

Zoro can hear Sanji’s breath stuttering in surprise. The Cook is staring at him now, wide-eyed, and Zoro takes the opportunity to walk across the galley and take Sanji’s hand in his.

“I love you, Cook,” he tells Sanji, because it needs to be said, and Sanji needs to hear it. “I have loved you for a long time, and not because some force of the universe told me to.” He lifts Sanji’s trembling hand and brings it to his lips. “Should that not count for something?”

Sanji’s hand is warm and dry, and Zoro presses another kiss to the back of his hand. “I’ve always thought,” Sanji chokes at that, voice almost a whisper. “You told me you didn’t care, and I thought you’d think of me as — weak.” He sucks in a breath before gritting out, “useless.”

He pulls Sanji into a hug, lips pressed against Sanji’s cheek. “You’ve seen my dreams, Cook — my nightmares . That sometimes I still dream of our nakama dying the way Kuina did, swift and final and —” he pauses, unable to finish his words. Even after all these years, the sharp ache against his heart at the thought of her is still fresh, and he wonders what it feels like for Sanji, who has lost so much; suffered for so long. “Fear is not a weakness.”

“I’ve always wanted to tell you,” Sanji says against his shoulder in reply. “Always wanted you ”

The nightmares might still come, Zoro knows — that the iron and blood are more vivid than ever to Sanji now. But when Zoro closes his eyes, he now knows that he will have Sanji with him. His partner. His soulmate.

“You have me,” Zoro says, tightening his grip around Sanji’s shoulder. “Always.”

#opfanfic #roronoa zoro #sanji #zosan #frobin #nico robin #one piece #soulmate au

257 notes · View notes

subasekabang · 6 years

Text

Ties We Bind (& Break), Chapter 5

Author: composeregg Rating: T Word Count: 15435, Chapter total: 4170 Pairings/Characters: Joshua/Neku, Shiki/Eri, Joshua & Neku & Shiki & Beat & Rhyme & Eri in a queerplatonic poly-pile relationship. Hanekoma, Kariya. Warnings: Includes depression heavily, and mentions of suicide. Summary: One year after the Long Game, a tall boy named Yuuto Kimura, who has messy black hair, glasses, and bright green eyes, stumbles into Neku’s life, and he can’t help but let him get close, letting him join the circle of friends.

One year after the Long Game, Joshua aches to hang out with Neku again, but the restrictions he’s gained for his transgressions are very clear: Yoshiya Kiryu, Composer of Shibuya, is not to interact with Neku Sakuraba.

(But every rule has a loophole.)

Author’s Note: Each chapter is also being added to ao3! Here! (Small delay per chapter).

Featuring autistic/neurodivergent characters, the “Joshua is Neku’s Dead Best Friend” theory, and lots of headcanons abound.

“Where is he?”

Yuuto looks over at Neku from his place sprawled on Neku’s bedroom floor. The declaration makes him raise an eyebrow, and Beat, Shiki, and Rhyme sigh.

Neku is sitting on his bed, flopped over Beat’s lap with a sketchbook in front of him. Rhyme is leaning against its base, and Shiki has staked a claim on the desk chair. Yuuto himself has his back against the wall, laying on his side so he can look at the others. With Neku talking, he sets down his phone.

“Where is who?” he asks.

A sigh escapes him as Neku looks back. “My second week Partner.” Oh. “His name is Joshua, and I haven’t seen him since the last day of my Game.”

“You don’t talk about him much, Neku,” says Shiki, eyebrows scrunched as she looks up from her current sewing project.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s complicated, guys.”

More than you know.

“He did somthin’ to ya, we know that, but you’ve never said what,” Beat chimes in, and oh, they’re prompting Neku. Trying to get the full story out of him.

Neku wavers, fingers tapping at the paper in front of him as indecision flickers across his face. He needs to tell them. Neku can’t keep this bottled up forever, nor can he wait for Josh to emerge.

All it takes is one Imprint. He doesn’t even notice the subtle sway wriggling its way into his head, urging him on, strengthening his impulse to spill the secret.

Tell them. What’s the worst that could happen? They deserve to know, and if Joshua protests, well, you were never told not to tell them.

“Joshua is the Composer, and he shot me. Twice.” The words spill past his lips, tumbling off his tongue, before he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening.

Rhyme gives Yuuto a Look, making sure no one else notices. He shrugs back, sending a thought over to them: He needs to get it out, he’s bottled all this up. There’s nothing against the rules… Explicitly.

“What the fuck?” Shiki is staring at Neku, and Beat is too.

“It’s complicated–”

“Okay but what the actual fuck? He shot you!?” She stands, huffing and pacing the room, running fingers through her hair. “You still want him to show up after he did that to you?”

“Shiki please–”

“I’m wit’ her man, why would you want that?” Beat says, fist clenched.

It should concern Yuuto more, honestly. Rhyme is still glaring at him. Yet, all he can do is frown, and tap a finger to his chin. “I’m sure Neku has his reasons, why don’t we let him speak them?”

Neku shoots him a grateful look as the others quiet down, and Shiki flops back into the chair, keeping her mouth shut but her eyes on Neku, ready to judge if the explanation is satisfactory.

“Joshua is… Complicated.” Neku sighs, sitting up and leaning against the wall, instead of lying on Beat’s lap. It’s no doubt easy to pull away, pull into himself.

“I think he’s a lot like me. Or, before and during the Game he was similar to how I was when you all first met me. Only worse. Depression and loneliness gave him a misanthropic view of the world, and I could feel it.” He runs a hand through his hair. Gelled spikes don’t agree with the treatment, so he switches to twisting the end of one between his fingers.

“I related to him, we had the same sort of humor and outlook, except seeing his helped me re-evaluate my own. It hurt, when I thought he shot me, even though he was an annoying git. It hurt even more, when I thought he got himself Erased to save me, and I thought he hadn’t killed me for that last week.”

Yuuto keeps his expression neutral, a blank sheet of paper. The sacrifice might’ve been over-the-top, it might’ve been what kept Neku from shooting him. Neku knew what it was like to lose him, and he didn’t want to cause himself that pain. Again.

“I dunno…” Neku continues, “I don’t forgive him, but he was my Partner, and you all know what that’s like. He chose me as a Proxy, playing some fucked-up game with the Conductor. At the end…”

“You don’t talk about what happened in that final room,” Rhyme says, moving away from the bed so they can look up at Neku.

“The Conductor got Erased, and he challenged me to a duel. Whoever won got to choose what to do with Shibuya, he wanted to Erase the UG. Even with that motive, even knowing everything he did, I couldn’t pull the trigger. And he shot me. Again.”

A slight tremor runs through Neku’s body. His Music is a cacophony of noise, but Joshua keeps the Noise at bay, even when he looks like Yuuto. There are no tears, but grief wells within Neku.

“If he won, why is Shibuya still standing? Why did any of us get brought back?” Shiki asks.

“Erasing the UG wouldn’t destroy Shibuya,” says Yuuto. “Just the UnderGround, and a shiny new one would grow back. Erasing the UG, however, would Erase the Composer. If the Composer is Erased with no one there to take his spot, no Conductor or person who beat them, then the UG collapses.”

Neku freezes, the guitar strings of his Music snapping as he whips his head toward Yuuto. For a second, he thinks Neku’s caught on, he’s been caught, but… “Oh my god. Did he want to die?”

“I can’t answer that. You did say he seemed depressed, though.” Yuuto doesn’t look up, grabbing a safety pin off his clothes to pick at his nails with.

Of course Neku hadn’t caught him. He shouldn’t even want that. And yet, the idea of Neku piecing together the puzzle fills him with a soft fuzz, warm because it’d mean Neku knew him well enough to see through his disguise.

Maybe if he had all his memories…

But that’s an impossibility.

“Still… I trust him, he and I were Partners. We had a bond.” Neku waves a hand in the air. “The least he could do is meet up with me, because I want an explanation, he owes me one. But no! It’s been two years, and he’s nowhere to be found!”

Silence falls, until: “Maybe he can’t?” Rhyme asks.

Neku’s head snaps to look at them, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Maybe… What if there’s rules you don’t know about, and he’s not allowed to see you?” they explain.

Joshua would hug them, if he could, but alas, it would be weird if he did that now, as Yuuto. He’ll send them a thank-you text tonight.

“If there’s a rule against visiting me but not one against shooting me then the rules are messed up. And if there is one, then he’s a hypocrite.”

Yuuto snorts, rolling his eyes. “Fair enough.”

“He still deserves to get punched in the fucking face,” Shiki says. “If I see him, I’ll chuck something at him for you.”

Neku laughs, and oh, no matter how much he gets to hear that nowadays, it still sends a buzz of energy through his stomach. Like being zapped by a lightning bolt psych.

“Well, if you get the chance, go right ahead, but make sure to tell him to stop being a coward, too.”

White light cascades from the rooftop of 104, obscured by the sun. He sits, legs dangling over the edge.

Rhyme climbs the stairs, and pops the door open.

Joshua doesn’t move. His edges are blurred, ink smeared and blended, and they can’t tell where he ends and Shibuya begins. Not RG, maybe not even UG, a frequency buzzing in the back of their head that sends static stabs through their skull.

They shove it to the side, and plop down by him. “So, sitting on the roof, huh? Wistfully staring out at the city?”

He snorts. “You know how it is: doubting life, and death, choices, being the emo seventeen-year-old you never got to be in life. Having a vague existential and moral crisis.”

“Is this… About what Neku said yesterday?”

“He’s right,” Joshua says, light surrounding him starting to dim. The harsh glow fades, and Rhyme can feel him slide down the vibes, into the RG. “I am a hypocrite. He deserves better.”

They headbutt him, leaning against his side. For all that Josh proclaims to be cold and dead, the warmth emanating from him is full of life. Maybe it’s fake, meant to comfort, or habit so he doesn’t alarm any of the group with clammy skin claimed by the grave, but they think it helps his mental state, too.

“He doesn’t want better though, he wants you. Tell me your side of the story.”

He sighs and flops onto his back, staring up at the sky. “He was meant to be my replacement. I wanted to be gone. I’d messed up bad, and he was so much like me, in so much pain, that I thought the Game could make him better, and he could free me from my misery.”

Looking down, the distance to the ground is far, the people below flowing like rivers, intermingling and dispersing. Individuals are lost to the crowd. “There’s more, isn’t there? You fixated on Neku for this, instead of anyone else.”

“Neku deserves to be the first to learn about that reason. Sorry, but it wouldn’t be fair.”

They nod, and swing their feet.

“You shouldn’t be so close to the edge, you know,” he says, and they laugh.

Pulling their legs up, they flop around so their head dangles instead, hair blowing in the wind. “If I fall, you will most certainly catch me.”

A rustle is the only sign they get that he moves, until he sits right on their feet. “And now you won’t fall at all. Beat would skin me if he knew I let you do this.”

“Nah, Neku and I wouldn’t let him.”

“So,” says Shiki, “you like him, don’t you?”

It would be useless to flail his limbs, sputter and deny her words, so instead, Yuuto sighs and nods. “What gave me away?”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re pining, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. You sprawl yourself over him whenever he gives you permission, like a cat seeking affection. You’re always staring at him when he isn’t looking!”

A cat seeking affection, he snorts. “I’m just a big, cuddly snow leopard. I’m touchy-feely with all of you, how is it different with him?”

“Even on your bad days, you lean against him. You don’t let anyone else touch you, but he’s always allowed,” she says.

“I guess,” he shrugs, tapping his pencil against the paper in front of him.

Since becoming friends with everyone, his apartment had become lived in. Trinkets and gifts from the past year fill the space. Shiki has given him some plushies, and pillows with pretty designs rest on the couch where she sits. Eri’s gifts are clothes picked from the rack, if it’s not a joint-gift from her and Shiki in the form of clothes they’ve made.

Beat has taken to cooking, and Yuuto keeps his kitchen stocked. In return, he gets good food and a skateboard resting in the entryway closet. Rhyme gives stim toys, from the reversible-sequin snap bracelet to the rainbow tangle.

As for Neku… Art hangs on the once-barren walls. A landscape of Shibuya in watercolor hangs behind the couch, and a portrait of the entire gang is framed and placed near the entrance.

Papers and pencils are scattered everywhere. Neku keeps a case of art supplies here. Everyone has small projects that have taken up residency, and Shiki is working on one of them now. Stitching a snow leopard into existence.

“The thing you’re working on, it’s for Neku, isn’t it?” Shiki asks, breaking the silence.

He nods. “I’m composing. I’ve got most of it down, in fact it’s pretty much finished, but I’m worried… Will he like it?”

She looks over at him, a quick glance before her eyes dart away again. “What? Are you gonna serenade him or something?”

“Yes, actually, I am,” he says, tossing the paper to the side and himself to the floor. It’s pointless to sit on the chair when it impedes his creative flow. “But it’s so impossible to know if he’ll appreciate it. If he’ll understand my reasoning. I don’t even know if I want him to know yet!” he moans, rolling onto his side.

“Then play for me,” she says, like it’s the most simple conclusion in the world. “I can tell you if he’ll like it, at least.”

Yuuto perks up. “You’d be cool with that?” When she nods, he jumps, dashing to his room to retrieve the violin.

She doesn’t see it appear from thin air in his hands, doesn’t see his form flicker ever so slightly. He comes back looking like Yuuto as always.

“Serenade me, music boy.” She stabs the animal in her hand with the needle again, something to fiddle with so she can enjoy the music more, no doubt.

A laugh. He sets up the stand for his music, and positions the violin. “Now, ideally, this is somewhere like, WildKat, and I’m wearing one of your super fancy suits, but we can discuss that later.”

Yuuto raises the bow, and lets the magic happen.

Fast-paced, running through Shibuya streets with the beat, weaving through crowds and ducking into back alleys. It starts soft, then crescendos. He closes his eyes, letting the high notes weave together with the low.

The pulse matches time with the heartbeat of the city, spray paint graffiti hits the wall. The echo of a drum plays through his tune, noticed by its absence. A solo player is not a quartet, is not a band, and he does not have techno parts to add for a violin solo, but he lets the music do the talking.

Imagination weaves through the notes, calling forth the memory of other instruments, adding the illusion of more than there is.

Yuuto steps in time, sways, pacing a fluid circle to match his song. Not his song. Neku’s song, Neku’s Music. Music warped and persuaded into playing on a single violin, playing over the strings to describe him.

Magic is kept to a minimum, he doesn’t call forth the actual sounds, or implant them as more than elusive notes, but it’s impossible to give off the feel he wants without it. Impossible to transcribe the flashes of orange and piercing blue, the splash of color he brings everywhere, the conflicting notes and discord of life.

Joshua does his best, but there’s only so much he can do without dropping his disguise.

The final note draws out as the song comes to a close. The real one plays on elsewhere in the city, but he cannot play his violin all day.

Opening his eyes, he looks to Shiki, finding her staring on with awestruck wide eyes, and a jaw dropped far enough to catch flies. The snow leopard in her lap left abandoned.

He bows with a flourish, before setting his instrument down.

“So, think he’ll like it?” Yuuto asks with a grin that wavers like the final note.

“If he doesn’t fall head-over-heels for you after hearing that, you’re shit outta luck my dude.”

She stays unnoticed, trailing behind Yuuto after the weekly meetup. Shiki doesn’t want to suspect a friend, but he’s suspicious, plain and simple.

Yuuto doesn’t make it to every meeting, which she can understand, but it’s a regular occurrence every few weeks. He’s had lunch with a Reaper, chatting like old friends. He knows too much about the Game, more than any of the Players should know, more than Neku ever learned.

WildKat is the destination, and she hangs back to watch through the windows as Yuuto enters. Standing in the shadow of a nearby building, staying out of sight, she expects to find some shady business going down.

Shiki doesn’t expect him to have a fucking magical girl transformation.

Bathed in a glow of light, his features blur, glaring against the window. As it fades, black hair grows and turns white, his body shrinks, and the glasses he wears are removed. His skin goes pale, and–

She’s seen him before.

She doesn’t need to see the violet eyes or the smirk to know that frame. He’s talking to Mr. Hanekoma, facing away, but the picture rings clear in her brain.

Neku has filled pages upon pages of his sketchbook with that person. She’s seen him in the ink staining paper while he vents far too often.

The bell chimes above her head, and she’s faced with Yuuto again. The last vestiges of creamy light fading from view, dismissed as aftereffects of being in the sun if she didn’t know any better.

“Hey, Shiki, what are you doing here–”

The steel in her eyes leaves no room for him to finish that sentence as she marches over to him, her voice a snake’s hiss. “You have ten seconds to explain to me what the fuck I just saw, starting now.”

He slides off the stool, taking a step back from her pointed finger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He laughs, rubbing his neck.

“Try again. You changed. I saw that. I saw who. Six seconds.”

Yuuto scrambles, holding his hands in the air as he retreats, back to the window. “Okay, okay. It’s. Shit, it’s complicated. Give me a moment.”

She holds up five fingers. In the silence, she ticks it down to four.

“I can’t, okay? I can’t. There’s… A lot. Where do I start?”

“Start with why the fuck you’re hiding your identity from all of us!” He’s down to three fingers now, and as Mr. Hanekoma slips out of the room, she takes note of the steaming cup of coffee on the counter.

“Well,” two fingers. “I wasn’t hiding it from all of you. Rhyme figured it out in a month.” He takes another step back. “I just… I can’t tell Neku who I am, okay?”

“So you’re a liar, then?” One.

“No! Well, yes. It’s complicated, give me some time to–”

Gravel escapes her throat as she huffs, grabbing the cup and throwing it.

The scalding coffee never reaches its target, suspended in midair, lid popped off as some splashes over the edge.

Yuuto’s eyes glow violet.

The glow washes over the rest of his body, and vanishes when he blinks.

Joshua stands in front of her. Coffee hangs between them. His hand is still outstretched.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t walk over there and punch you. Or take a picture and tell Neku.” Her voice is flat, buried deep in the anger boiling in her stomach.

“You can’t tell Neku. If he knows, Yuuto will have to leave without a goodbye,” Joshua says, waving his hand so the coffee settles on the table. “I’d hate to do that to him, but you’d give me no choice.”

“You coward,” she spits, acid burning her tongue. “You’d do that to him? What, can’t face the truth? Can’t face his judgement of you?”

It burns. Fire burns in her, eating away at her stomach as the fumes leave her mouth. She’s biting back the flame, for now.

“It’s beyond my control! Give me a chance to explain, please!” His voice cracks, wavers like a pane of glass balanced on its edge.

“Explain what? How you’re lying to us? How you’re trying to manipulate me, so I don’t tattle? How do you explain shooting someone in the face? How do you fucking explain what you’ve done to Neku? What you’re doing,” she flings her arms wide, “to him!”

Reality splinters.

Time tips on its axis. Cracks run through her body, she vibrates a pitch just out of reach, on a different frequency. Static leaks into the air, humid and heavy. She’s frozen, an ancient crumbling statue ready to collapse, unable to hold back the torrent of power coursing through her.

It wants to escape. She gives it a channel.

Mr. Mew launches himself from her purse at Joshua, who scrambles back, collapsing on a chair as he tries to get away from the stuffed cat. Curses fly from his mouth as the echo of light flies from his fingertips, trying to bat the cat away.

All it takes is one hit and Mr. Mew stills, dropping to the floor like his strings were cut. Shiki stares.

She’d done that. She had made Mr. Mew move in the RG. She’d used a Psych.

Joshua is staring at her, she’s staring at the plushie. Her anger stewing in her stomach is stirred by confusion, cooling for a second to digest this.

Joshua stands, inching closer, but not too close. “You’ve still got your power, but don’t worry. You’re firmly RG right now, WildKat is on a thinner part of the boundary between the planes, and nobody in this group of friends has been left untouched by the UG.” Hesitance is scrawled on his face, and his hands bounce, fingers tapping at his leg.

While it helps her to know she hasn’t flipped to the UG, this draws her attention back to him, and she pierces him with an icy glare. “Don’t test your luck by trying to change the subject. Tell me what you’re trying to accomplish. Or I’ll try doing that again.”

“I want to be friends, is that too much to imagine?” he asks.

“After everything you’ve done? Yes! You’re playing at some kind of game here, and I don’t trust it. I don’t trust you.” She steps forward and picks up Mr. Mew, so he doesn’t go flying off again. She’s ready for some retort, some proof, or a laugh.

She doesn’t expect him to go blank. To shut down. He closes his eyes, and they stay closed for a few seconds. Arms go slack, mouth drops into neutrality.

When he opens his eyes, she takes a step back, because they’re dead.

Yuuto is known for his energy, his laugh, the glint of mischief in his eyes. He doesn’t sit still, he can’t. It only happens when he hits a slump.

Joshua very much resembles that rare Yuuto, cold and tired. Dull violet eyes meet hers for one second, before he glances away. HIs voice has slipped into a monotone as he says, “If that is what you believe, then there is no point in me saying anything right now. If you choose to listen to one thing I have said, let it be the fact that if you tell him, he will lose a friend.”

She must blink, because one second he’s there, and the next he’s gone.

Shiki: ^Rhyme listen trust me.^

^I need you to kick Yuuto from the group.^

^He’s trash we don’t need him around but you’re the one with admin powers in the game chat.^

Rhyme: ^Oh did you find out too?^

Shiki: ^Wait what?^

^You actually know?^

Rhyme: ^Of course. If he told you I do, then yeah, I do.^

Shiki: ^And you’re just???? Letting him stick around? You haven’t said anything!?^

Rhyme: ^I’ve always been able to tell.^

^I still have residual instincts from when I was a Noise.^

^I sensed something off about Neku’s second week Partner when I was Noise, and I remembered that. It felt the same around the Composer. And Yuuto. I put it together and he told me what was up.^

^He can’t mention the whys directly, so he dances around the subject until you figure it out. Hints and clues because I don’t think he’s allowed to say it or anything.^

Shiki: ^He’s been lying to us for a year now! And you heard from Neku what he did!^

Rhyme: ^I’ve gotten to watch him as both Yuuto and Joshua for a year now, though.^

^He’s the same person, always. A different face, a different name, but he’s got the same personality. Just, as Josh, he’s more open and honest.^

^I trust him. He’s helped me work through some of the residual Noise stuff, and he wishes he could tell Neku, tell everyone.^

Shiki: ^Then why DOESN’T he? Why not tell us all? He could’ve told me and Beat way earlier!^

Rhyme: ^The more people who know, the more likely someone will slip up and reveal it to Neku.^

^And besides, he plans on telling everyone after he tells Neku. Once he’s allowed, he will. I’ve seen how it’s eating at him, he wants to, but he can’t right now.^

^So no, I won’t remove him from the group. I don’t think he has many people he can befriend, and we’re some of the few he does. I’m not going to take that away from him. Besides, we’d have to explain it to the others, somehow, and I don’t want to reveal the truth and force him away.^

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #TWEWY Bang 2018 #submission

10 notes · View notes

blazerina · 7 years

Text

Here Comes the Sun (Sean x MC)

Author’s Note: This deals a little bit with mental anguish and the basic types of anxiety or stress that happen to anyone after or during a traumatic life event. Just want to say that up front.

Rating; PG-13? (I stink at ratings but there are some mature themes, nothing more than that though)

This is the first time in a while that I’ve entered something into the Choices Creates competition with the prompt of TRAVEL. Tagging @angelschoices and @hollyashton. I know this is a late submission so I apologize for missing the time deadline.

I wrote this because there’s just not enough Sean Gayle love in this world.

Hope you enjoy!

–

A wave of ice-cold water ran up and down his spine. He felt his extremities shiver and seize, tensing up one final time before giving in and becoming completely numb. Soon the water was pouring over his head and his breath began to quicken. The same ice water that was freezing his body, began to rapidly fill his lungs and as they tightened with each shallow breath, it felt as if life was being squeezed and pulled from every vein within him. Somehow, while he was struggling for air and feeling intense, frigid tremors from head to toe, he was also feeling warm. Strong, penetrating waves of heat were making their way up and down his body, but the hotness was mainly pooling at the top of his head, as if he was sweating, all while he struggled and wrestled with himself beneath the water.

He could hear the blood-curdling screams of his friends at the surface of the frozen lake. All of them were calling for him and yelling out his name. Taylor’s voice was piercing and could be heard louder, longer and above the rest. He could feel her hand slipping over his forearm as he was pulled further and further below the surface. Images of her face flashed like a slide-show in his mind.

Her gentle and bright blue eyes that were such a contrast to her dark hair. Her confident smile that reassured him more times than he could count. The way she absentmindedly brushed her bangs out of her eyes and tucked them behind her ear. This was the last memory and thought that flickered in his mind before total darkness hit.

–

“Taylor! TAYLOR!” Sean sat up quickly, calling out to her, breathing heavily and holding his head. His temples were throbbing. In his sleepy stupor, he laid back down and rolled over in bed. His arms reached out for her, fumbling his way through the empty sheets.

“Why do these dreams keep happening? It’s been 7 years…” he mumbled, knowing in a matter of moments he’d feel her arm, or her body next to him, if he continued to feel around for her.

“T?” He opened his eyes and then let out a heavy sigh. Looking around the room, he realized he wasn’t home. He was on the road, in another hotel for what felt like the billionth time.

—

One week later…

“Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of our airline, I’d like to be the first to welcome you to Chicago. Please keep your seatbelts buckled until the captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. We will be arriving at our gate in just a moment. If you need connecting information, please check the monitors in the terminal. For those of you staying with us here in Chicago, your luggage will arrive at carousel 8B…”

The calming tone of the flight attendant’s voice woke Sean from his slumber. He was groggy and shook his head quickly to wake himself up. “Wow.” He muttered under his breath, realizing he slept for the entirety of his flight. His doctor had given him a new prescription for his flight anxiety, due to the fact that the medication he had previously been using stopped helping. He travelled too much these days and was on an airplane at least twice every other week. Sean hated using any kind of medicine to help calm him down, but there really wasn’t any other remedy.

Looking around, he stretched his arms above his head, careful not to disturb the person in the window-seat next to him. “S’cuse me.” He nodded, making eye contact with the man on his right.

“Mr. Gayle.” A flight attendant knelt next to Sean’s chair. “I know you were asleep for the flight, but is there anything I can get you before you leave?”

“No, no thank you. I appreciate it, though.” He smiled, and then bent over to reach underneath the seat in front of him for the leather satchel-briefcase that Taylor had given him for Christmas. He ran his fingers over his monogram “SMG” that was ghost-stamped on the front, and thought of her. He missed her so much. He was painfully aware of his need to have her with him, and never felt completely himself unless she was by his side.

He opened the bag and found his phone, holding down the button to turn it on. He wanted to call her. He craved the sound of her voice.

“Sorry to disturb you again, Mr. Gayle.” The flight attendant returned.

“I don’t typically do this, especially when I’m working in the first class cabin…” she fixed her gaze to the floor of the plane, not making eye contact with Sean, all of a sudden appearing nervous.

“It’s no problem.” Sean assured her, realizing what she was doing. The plane lurched to a sudden stop and a clear bell rang out, signaling freedom for the passengers. While everyone began to stand up and gather their belongings, the attendant stumbled a bit into the Sean’s chair. He steadied her, offering his hand.

“My son would just be so incredibly thrilled if you could sign anything…a napkin, a gum wrapper, anything at all!” She gushed, clapping her hands together, hoping he would comply with her request.

“Sure thing. Uh, let’s see what I’ve got here…” Reaching into the pocket of his sport coat, Sean retrieved his boarding pass. “Do you have a pen, by chance?”

Working quickly to sign the autograph before more passengers made their way to the front of the plane, Sean asked for the boy’s name and signed the ticket with one of his favorite lines “Every moment matters. Always give your best, Sean Gayle.”

The flight attendant giddily read the autograph out loud and thanked Sean over and over again, following him off the plane, promising that he had made her son the happiest boy in all of Chicago that night.

As Sean walked down the long corridors of the airport, he realized how tired he was. He felt so alone when he took trips like this. After everything that happened once the group returned from La Huerta (the interviews, the phone calls, the articles, the movie premieres, the book deals), it was all such a blur. Before he knew it two years of his life had passed. He was drafted by the National Football League, and played professional football, but only for one-and-a-half seasons. He blamed his retirement on an injury, but really it was his mind that wasn’t up to the task of playing football anymore.

He was a high school football coach now. He didn’t really know anything other than football, at least that’s what he told himself. He loved the kids he worked with and really felt like he was able to make a difference. Every year more and more school districts from around the area tried to recruit him to come coach their team. They had all kinds of reasons why they wanted him – they tried to lure him away with more money, more prestige, more access to colleges who could one day offer him an even bigger and better job but he always said no.

He loved the small-town life that he and Taylor had created for themselves. They lived in a modest home, drove regular cars, and had pretty normal jobs and lives – well, as normal as life could be after all they experienced together. They still couldn’t go anywhere without someone recognizing them, or asking them “What was it really like?” when they were in line at the gas station, or doctor’s office, of all places.

Even just a few days ago, a large cable news network called both Taylor and Sean, asking if they would be willing to come in for a reunion interview with the rest of the La Huerta gang. Sean immediately said no, while Taylor told them she’d think about it. She always handled people with more grace and kindness than he did. She handled everything better than he did. Most of the time, Sean felt like a fraud. He felt like a fake person living inside his own mind and body.

When it wasn’t football season back in the district where he coached, he traveled all over the country to various speaking engagements booked by his agent. Some seven years after his return from La Huerta, people still clamored to hear Sean Gayle speak. He talked to CEOs, doctors, high school students, colleges and universities – he was even a featured as a guest at a mega-church one time – and that totally blew his mind because nowadays especially, he was feeling anything but worthy of speaking from a pulpit.

No one but Taylor really knew the toll that La Huerta took on Sean. Outside he may appear to be the same positive, hard-working, loyal and sacrificial leader that everyone knew him to be prior to that summer trip from hell; but on the inside, he was crumbling. The nightmares (or in some cases memories turned dreams) had gotten worse over the past year. The flight anxiety had gone away for a while, but once again returned with a vengeance. He was suffering from mood swings and he could never find a way to work out or go for a run that was long enough, or hard enough to truly rid his mind of the “what-ifs” that plagued him. Even when he was focused on something happy, something that truly brought him joy…in the back of his mind he constantly heard a voice whispering to him: Remember what you went through. Remember how close you were to losing it all. What have you done with the life you’ve been given? You’ve got to keep working, keep moving, focus on the future and what lies ahead.

He and Taylor had been together since the moment they made it back to Hartfeld. She had no family, and was pretty much alone. His family had taken her in from day one and they never looked back. Taylor stayed by his side through his short stint in the NFL. They soon settled into the home they now shared, and she was the most loyal and constant source of support for him throughout that difficult time as a pro. To keep her company when he was out of town, Sean suggested they get a pet. Taylor immediately knew she wanted a dog. She refused to even look at a kitten or a cat. Because of their experience with saber tooth tigers and Furball, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She had an aversion to cats and couldn’t bring herself to be around them. Yet another weird change to everyday life that their time on the island brought them. They settled on a dog, a German shepherd. They named him Aleister, in honor of one of their closest friends.

They had not married yet; weren’t even engaged. Taylor didn’t bring it up, and oddly enough, neither did Sean. Yet, every morning during their daily phone call, his mother would ask, “When are you gonna marry that girl, baby?”

As far as he knew, Taylor loved the life they were living. She was a counselor at the same school where he coached. She had written some books (under a different name, of course – not wanting more publicity) after getting two psychology degrees. One of her books was about being an orphan or an abandoned child, and another focused on living through a stressful or traumatic life-event. She also took great care of the students she was responsible for, and had worked through a lot on her own, after La Huerta.

Sean was in Chicago only overnight. His flight landed early in the evening and he was now making his way to baggage claim, where he would meet up with his driver, get into a black town car and be taken to a convention center downtown. He would eat dinner and rub elbows with important people, speak about the power of positivity and leadership, sharing examples and stories from the island, as well as the gridiron. He’d sleep in a hotel near the airport and head home the next day. Everything felt like it was on auto-pilot. There just wasn’t a lot of passion or emotion behind anything he was doing these days.

While he waited for his bag, he was finally able to have a moment to call Taylor. The background picture on his phone instantly made his heart ache for her. It was a picture that had been sent to him and taken by another coach’s wife. She wasn’t looking at the camera, and the photo was black and white, but he knew she was wearing the high school colors, maroon and gold, while holding a homemade sign that read “Sean Gayle is my HERO.” She was holding it above her head and yelling passionately, but also smiling with her eyes at the same time. Sean always marveled at her ability to combine fierceness with gentleness; strength with peace; protection and loyalty, with genuine care and concern for others. That picture summed up everything he loved about her and who he knew her to be.

Often, he wondered what people would think if they truly knew how much he relied on her. The Sean that so many imagined to be strong, tough, valiant and courageous was weak, tired, scared and helpless without the support, encouragement and dedication of the woman he loved.

Sean exhaled as he pressed her name on his phone and listened to the phone ring…and ring…and ring…he desperately wanted to hear her voice tonight, but wasn’t surprised that she didn’t answer.

When her voicemail picked up, he left her a message, even though he knew he could have sent a text, he wanted her to hear from him how much he missed her.

“Hey – it’s me. I landed in Chicago, just waiting for my bag.” He paused, his voice about to break and tears pricking his eyes. “I’m sorry for the way I left you. I’m so, so sorry, babe. You didn’t deserve any of that and I don’t have any excuses. Please forgive me. I want to know you’re okay. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but somehow let me know you’re doing alright. I’m going to fix this. I promise you. I’m going to get better, and we’re going to be okay, and I’m going to be the man you deserve. I miss you so much. My heart hurts. I love you and I’ll call you later.”

“Mr. Gayle?” A gentleman in professional attire approached Sean just as he ended the call. “I’m here to take you to the conference.”

“Hey man, thanks. Let me get my stuff and I’ll be ready.” His bag was one of the only ones left on the baggage claim, spinning around. He grabbed it quickly and followed his driver out to the car.

–

“Where are you going?” Taylor asked in disbelief.

“I have a flight to catch.” Sean was furiously digging through a drawer looking for something.

“You’re just going to leave?! Sean! Do you have any idea what you’re saying to me right now?” She was calm, but furious. He always hated how scary she was when he pushed her to the point where she finally got mad. The more calm and collected she remained, the worse it would be for him.

“I’m done.” He said, zipping up his suitcase. “We are not having this discussion again.” He quickly turned on his heel and walked towards the closet, pulling of his shirt and tossing it on the floor. He rummaged through some athletic shirts hanging up and grabbed a faded gray one.

Taylor blocked the doorway, trapping Sean in the closet. He shimmied out of his pants and started to put on some shorts, when she startled him. “So this isn’t enough for you?”

He pulled his running shorts up to his waist and snapped the elastic across his middle, dramatically. With a sigh, he responded, “That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said, Sean. You said this,” Taylor gestured wildly, her arms flailing, “…isn’t enough for you.”

“I need to go for a run. I’ve gotta be on the road in less than an hour. They’ve got a car coming to get me.” He brushed past her. Taylor glared at the wall, remaining stoic, and silent, but wiping a tear off her cheek with the sleeve of her shirt.

When Sean got back from his jog, the house was silent. Aleister had not even come to the door to greet him, which was unusual. He mind raced as he thought about the possibility of Taylor being gone, and having taken the dog with her.

As he slowly walked into the bedroom, he could hear Taylor sniffling. She was still in the closet, slumped on the floor with her back against the wall. Aleister was curled up next to her. When he saw Sean, he got up and wagged his tail.

“Taylor.” Sean got down on his knees next to her.

“You made it clear that we’re done talking about this.” She almost whispered, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t help but realize for what felt like the millionth time, how naturally beautiful she was. Her hair was straight, falling just below her shoulders. She was wearing one of his old long-sleeved t-shirts from Hartfeld. Her face was now red and splotchy from crying so hard. A few dark streaks of makeup were left around the corners of her eyes.

He reached out to her, pulling his legs out from under him so he was fully sitting on the floor next to her. While he tried to put his arm around her, Taylor shrugged him off and stood up on her own. Looking down at him, she said, “What’s really sad to me about all this,” she once again gestured enthusiastically with her arms, sure to emphasize the word this, “is that while it’s ‘not enough for you’” she made air quotes when she recited what he had said only moments earlier, “sometimes, no most of the time, it’s TOO MUCH for me.” Taylor looked him in the eyes and struggled with her own thoughts and desires in that moment.

Part of her wanted to hold him and be held by him, but the other part was so mad, so angry, she felt in that very minute, she’d be okay never seeing him again.

“Travel safe.” She stepped over him and walked out of the closet, Aleister following her. Sean could hear her get the leash out of the front closet and then the front door open and close. Sighing heavily, Sean stood up and started the shower. He laid out a pressed shirt, fresh from the dry-cleaner, some khakis and sport coat on the bed, next to his suitcase. “Time to go.” He told himself as he looked in the mirror.

–

The next morning, Sean was back at the airport. He still had not heard from Taylor and he was beginning to be nervous about what he would find when he returned home later that afternoon. He text Craig, who was always good about giving him moral support in times like this.

Sean: I know I put too much pressure on her. I rely on her too much. She’s my everything and she knows that…maybe she’s tired. Tired of me. Tired of us.

Craig: Buddy! No way! Taylor is totally loyal to you, dude. It’ll be fine. Say your sorry and don’t be mean. She loves you. Just chill out!

For some reason, Craig’s encouragement was not helping the situation.

While Sean waited for his flight, he nervously tapped his foot, watching planes take off and land in the distance. He realized he was still tired. Tired of traveling. Tired of re-living La Huerta every day of his life. What he meant when he told Taylor “this isn’t enough” is that this life is not what he envisioned for himself. He knew there had to be more to life than the monotony he was experiencing. Sean made the decision that when he got back home, he’d take a break from the speeches and the conferences and the interviews. He’d ask Taylor to marry him. They’d have a real life; no more emotional outbursts and worrying about each other and if they were “really doing okay.” He was going to take control of his life and stop letting his island experience still control him after all this time.

“Ladies and gentleman waiting in the area for flight 1152 out of Chicago, we want to let you know that the flight has been delayed for, it looks like, about 2 hours. There are some heavy storms approaching our destination and we want to be safe. Of course we will let you know of any updates and will do our best to get you out of here as soon as possible, but the weather seems to be against us…”

The gate attendant’s voice droned on and on as Sean tightened his fist, frustrated that he was stuck, yet again, in another airport, away from Taylor, when all he wanted was to be home.

–

A few hours later, Sean finally made it on the plane, headed home. He had a window seat this time, which also added to his grumpy mood. He preferred the aisle, it was always more comfortable to him. He felt like he had an easier exit if he needed one. Once he sat down, he tried to get comfortable and decided one more time he’d try to call Taylor. He at least needed to let her know when the flight would be landing.

To his surprise, she answered on the 2nd ring.

“Hey.”

“Hi there.” He responded, turning towards the window to try and make the conversation as private as possible, even with someone sitting a few inches away.

There was a moment of silence on the phone before Sean immediately asked, “Did you get my messages?”

“I did.”

“Are you okay?”

Taylor took a while before responding. “I’ve been better. But I��m okay.”

“Alright. Well, I wanted to let you know I’m on the plane. We should be landing in about 2 and half hours, then I’ll be home.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Taylor – I love you.”

She exhaled, before responding. “I know. Travel safe.”

“Travel safe.” That’s what she always said to him. Before he could respond, she had ended the call. He knew he had a long road ahead of him if he wanted to make things better between the two of them.

–

Looking out the window, at the clouds the plane was flying through, and seeing the sun that was setting in the distance, Sean began to daydream about Taylor. Ever since they had come back home from the island, and especially after he retired from the NFL, whenever he’d be down or have a hard day, she would have on hand or be able to recall from memory, some kind of quote about the sun. She would often tell him things like, “Remember, the sun will still shine tomorrow, even if it’s behind a rain cloud, it’s always shining somewhere.”

She had this way of always looking for the sunshine, or positive outcome, in every situation. Yellow was one of her favorite colors. She was always begging Sean to take a walk through the park near their house so they could watch the sunset, and she often got up extremely early to sit outside on their back porch and watch the sunrise. The sun symbolized so much to her; the dawning of new opportunities with each new day; another opportunity to live this life; the promise that life goes on and the world keeps turning even when circumstances and situations make it seem like life is over.

He remembered one particular day a few years ago. It was a day that that would seem regular and ordinary to her – but one that would forever stand out in his mind.

Taylor was cooking in the kitchen as Sean walked in, sweaty and tired from his last two-a-day practice before school started. It was his second season as the head coach at Fairview High and he felt a lot of pressure to have a winning season, since the year before had turned out to be quite dismal. Feeling especially defeated and uninterested in talking to anyone, he tried to paste on a fake smile upon seeing Taylor when he entered from the garage.

Music was blaring, as it often was when Taylor was home alone. She didn’t like silence. She was humming along to “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles.

“Of course.” Sean smiled, muttering to himself.

The meal she was preparing looked like breakfast for dinner, one of his favorites. He could smell bacon and instantly his stomach rumbled. She was cutting out biscuits she made from scratch, with a circular cookie-cutter. As she pressed the cutter into the dough, she began to sing some of the lyrics to the song out loud:

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, And I say

It’s all right It’s all right

She still had no idea that he was there and he loved getting a little glimpse into her when he wasn’t around. He leaned against the doorframe and continued to watch her, mesmerized not only by her beauty, but who she was; who she was made to be; all the pieces that made her the woman he loved more than life itself.

As she continued to place the biscuit dough on the baking sheet, he noticed a few patches of flour on her face, and as his eyes traveled down her body, he realized she had some on her rear as well. She became frustrated with her bangs falling into her eyes over and over again, letting out an exasperated sigh every now and then.

Slowly, he crept up behind her, putting his arms around her waist and lightly kissing her neck, gently and sweetly. She jumped quickly and tensed up immediately as she felt his arms around her, but then relaxed just as quickly, when she realized what was happening.

“Good God you scared me to death!” She turned around, to face him, looping her arms around his neck, but careful not to touch him with dough and flour on her hands. He smelled so good to her. She loved it when he came home after being outside at practice. She knew he had been working hard, and that he was not feeling especially hopeful about the upcoming season.

“How’d it go?” She asked, searching his eyes for the real answer.

“Been better – the kids say their ready but it doesn’t look like it.” He sighed.

“Well, you know what I’m about to say, don’t you?” She grinned, keeping her eyes locked on his. “You know what song this is?”

Sean smiled, biting his lip, holding back a laugh. Not laughing at her in a silly or stupid way, but feeling especially joyful and content; happy to know he had someone in his life who had his back no matter what. She was always there for him, in his corner to encourage him and be there for him when he was at his worst. She had seen it all.

“I know. Here comes the sun…it’s gonna be okay…blah blah blah.” He looked down, resting his forehead against hers.

Instinctively, she closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.” She sighed, hugging him, no longer worried about the mess she may leave on his shirt.

Sean stepped back, and held her face in his hands, gazing at her. “I could not live without you.” He smiled, running his thumb over a patch of flour on Taylor’s cheek.

“You almost didn’t.” Taylor smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Still holding her face in his hands, he brought her lips to his and kissed her fervently, gently guiding her back, up against the counter. She put her hands down to steady herself, losing her balance a little bit. Breathless, she pushed him away playfully.

“Go on. Get your shower. Dinner will be ready soon.” She tried to return to the dough on the counter but Sean grabbed her hand.

“You’re coming with me.”

Pretending to be put out, and frustrated, Taylor sighed and threw her hands up in the air. “Fine. I guess if I have to…” She beamed as she held Sean’s hand and followed him out of the kitchen.

–

Sean had now been in the air a total of 4 hours and on the plane almost 5. The weather had turned ugly again and they kept circling the airport, above the storm, hoping it would clear enough for them to land. If they didn’t get down on the tarmac soon, they would run out of gas, and would have to land somewhere else to fuel up.

He was just about to reach into his bag for more medicine when a voice overhead announced the flight had been cleared to land. Sean thought, for a brief moment, he had never been so happy. About half an hour later, he was exiting the plane. He could feel a weight had been lifted from his shoulders when he was finally free from the confines of his window seat and the plane’s cabin in general.

This time, he didn’t even check his bag as he wanted to be able to exit the plane, get out of the airport and be on his way home as soon as possible. It had started to rain now, and he had made his way outside to the line of taxis, each one waiting for eager passengers to pay exorbitant amounts of money to get to their destination.

A few people were in line in front of him. With a heavy sigh, he watched as a bright green mini-van pulled up to meet him and take him where he needed to go. He felt like this was a fitting way for this trip to end. It had started on an awful note and would end that way, too.

“61st and Treeline.” He said to the driver through the window, while he opened the door to climb into the cab. As he went to close the door, he heard the faint melody of “Here Comes the Sun” coming from his bag. He set that song as Taylor’s ringtone, the day after he walked in on her singing it.

Standing next to the cab, in the pouring rain, he answered it while asking the driver to “Hang on one minute.”

“Taylor? What’s going on? You okay?”

“I’m great. But you’re a little wet.” She sassed, into the phone.

Looking around, over his shoulder he held his bag over his head, shielding his eyes from the bright security lights, hoping to see her somewhere.

“To your left.” She instructed him. His face lit up when he recognized her, leaning against her car. She had parked in the pick-up area, underneath an awning to stay dry. He sprinted from the cab towards her, not worried in the least if he was making a scene.

She lightly jogged toward him too, laughing as she watched him make his way to her. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to come and pick you up?” She asked, trying to catch her breath.

It was their tradition for her to pick him up whenever he came home from being out of town. He assumed she wouldn’t be there this time, given all that had transpired in the last 48 hours. “How do you run like this every day?”

Sean laughed and immediately kissed her. She jumped into his arms and encircled her legs around his waist, not wanting the moment to pass them by.

“I’ve always wanted to make out in the rain.” He told her, again leaning his forehead against hers.

“Welcome home.” Taylor whispered to him, as she kissed him again.

“Home. You’re right, Tay. I’m finally home.”

#sean gayle #sean x mc #endless summer #choicescreates26 #choicescreates #clear eyes #full hearts #can't lose #endless sean #blazerina babbles

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