#my shift starts in seven hours exactly i will wake in six and a half

[oozywoozycon]

why is it so loud outside is it drunk&loud shithead gathering day downtown pls i just want to sleep why does it sound like they’re doing a kegger in the streets

[luminnara]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Ch 6

Summary:  When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | ... | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Tags:  @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely @ bluemoon-icecream @kaz11283 @jenjen8675309 @dollfacev8 @witchinpractice @mystical-b3ar @sukeraa

Bucky refused to leave the omega’s side while she stayed in the lab. Bruce had to stop him from trying to crawl onto the bed with her, and after about the third time, he convinced the super soldier to just pull up a chair like a civilized person and hold her hand while she drifted off to sleep again. Now that she was with her alpha, she had settled down for another nap, more interested in resting than answering any more questions so long as Bucky stayed and kept an eye on her. 

Steve had to admit, it was endearing. He had never seen his friend so absolutely enraptured like this. Whenever the omega, or Ten, as Bruce was still calling her, shifted in her sleep, Bucky’s eyes were snapping over to make sure that she was okay. Whenever she let out a little whimper, he was purring and stroking her hair. Whenever she seemed like she might wake up again, his attention was completely on her.

“So...sure you don’t remember her?” Steve asked, pulling up a chair. He had left for a few hours to work out, and after a lack of updates from FRIDAY, he headed back down to check on everything. They were exactly as he had left them, which was a good sign. At least nothing was getting out of hand. 

Yet.

Bucky shrugged, rubbing the back of the omega’s hand with his thumb. “I dunno. It’s...foggy.”

“Well, it seems to me like you’ve either got a history together, or she’s mistaking you for someone else.” Steve said. “Quite frankly, it’s hard to do the latter.”

“I’ve dreamt of her.” Bucky said quietly. 

“...what?”

“It’s not much, but...I’ve seen her face.” Bucky looked down at her. “I think that no matter how many times HYDRA wiped my memory, she’s always been in there. Kinda like the one constant that was always around, the one thing I could always count on being in the base with me.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Steve asked.

“Never knew if she was real or not.” Bucky sighed. “I thought...maybe she was just something my mind made up to fill some of the gaps. But she smells exactly like I remember.”

Steve sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his friend. Bucky wasn’t snarling anymore, most of his attention trained on the omega while she slept. Now that he was close to her, he had calmed down significantly, though he still wouldn’t let Steve within five feet of her bed. 

“Just got off the phone with Tony,” Bruce announced, walking in. “He and Pepper will be back tonight. Pepper’s having some clothes and personal items delivered for our new omega friend here. They also asked about renovating a more permanent room for her, but I, uh...told them I wasn’t exactly sure what the situation would be.”

“She’s staying with me,” Bucky said immediately. 

“Now hang on, hang on,” Steve leaned forward. 

“Steve,” Bucky growled. “I want her with me.”

“Buck, you don’t even know her—“

Bucky interrupted him with a loud snarl, the omega in question whining and squirming in her sleep at the sound of it. 

He immediately shut up, brushing a thumb over her cheek and shushing her until she was sleeping soundly again. Fuck, he felt so stupid. What was wrong with him? She could have woken up, or been scared, or upset, all because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. She needed her rest, and he needed to stay quiet. 

Steve almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Oh, Buck,” he shook his head. “You’re in deep.”

—

Amoretta woke feeling well rested, and it wasn’t until she tried to stretch and felt the tug of her IV drip that she remembered where she was. Opening her eyes revealed the bright lights of the lab, and as she started to sit up, a few faces came into view.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Bruce said. “How are you feelin’?”

She licked her lips. “Juice box. Now.”

“Way ahead of you. Had this one waiting as soon as you started waking up.” He tossed one to her and was pleased when her hand shot up to catch it. “Reflexes look good. Vitals are all reading normal. I’ll have to run another test to see what’s going on with those suppressants, but I’m willing to bet you’re metabolizing them fairly quickly now. How are you feeling?”

She pulled the little straw off the back of the carton and jammed it into the top. “Nauseous. Like usual.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Side effect of the suppressants?”

“Always has been. Other than that...I feel great, actually.”

“Well, as soon as these wear off, we can figure out something nicer and more modern for you. If you want to use them, I mean.” Bruce shrugged. “Your choice.”

She smiled. “Choice. I like that.”

“Hey, we’re all about independence here,” Steve said happily. He was glad to see she was awake, even though Bucky wasn’t.

The other alpha was still at her side, but, as of about half an hour ago, he was napping. Steve made a mental note to never let him forget the way he slept straight through the one moment he had been waiting for all day. 

“What time is it?” She asked. “There’s no windows in this damn place.”

“Just after dinner,” Bruce chuckled. “You slept most of the day. Bucky hasn’t left your side.”

She looked over to her soldier, smiling warmly at the sight of him sleeping. He was even snoring softly. “I haven’t gotten to see this in forty years.”

“Did you two, uh…” Steve cleared his throat. “Spend a lot of time together?”

The omega laughed. “You always this awkward around girls?”

“That’s not—“

“Relax, I’m just giving you a hard time.” She sucked on her straw. “But...yeah, we did.”

“So...you were just kept for his ruts, or…” Steve was so awkward it was almost endearing. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I think.”

“It’s okay. I know my lot in life.” She kept her eyes trained on Bucky as she spoke. “But if I’m going to answer more questions, I want to get out of this bed. And I want real clothes. Then I’ll talk.”

And so, only several minutes later, Bruce was handing her a sweater and some shorts he had grabbed from a little stash of extra clothing, and Bucky was startled awake by Ten stepping past him. She was finally free from all the tubes and cords that had been sticking out of her during her little hospital stay, and she was all too eager now to explore the tower.

She stood on wobbly legs, almost falling onto him when she tried to take a step. Bucky was up in a flash, ready to catch her, and as she fell against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her. Despite just waking up, he felt fully alert, completely ready to tend to his omega’s every need. 

His omega...he liked that train of thought. 

“We can head up to the common area. It should still be quiet.” Steve said, leading the way out. 

Bucky kept an arm around his omega’s waist as they followed, Bruce bringing up the rear. He wanted to be touching her at all times, constantly in contact so that he couldn’t lose track of her. His instincts were roaring to life, demanding that he do everything in his power to make sure that she was safe and in his line of sight. The elevator ride was tense and full of possessive growling, Bucky constantly shoving Ten behind him to keep her in the corner and as far away from Steve as possible, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the doors slid open and they could step out of the cramped space again. 

The common area was empty, thankfully, FRIDAY informing them that the other Avengers were all either working out or in their private quarters. 

“Good,” Steve said, heading towards the couches. “No interruptions. Got it, FRIDAY?”

“Understood, Captain Rogers.”

“C’mere,” Bucky mumbled, pulling his omega down to sit on one of the couches with him. Part of him was feeling a little sheepish and self conscious of his behavior...but the rest of him didn’t give a shit. The others could stare and shake their heads all they wanted, but he’d be damned if he let Ten slip through his fingers again. 

Or whatever her name was. 

Steve and Bruce sat across from them, making sure that they left as much space as possible between themselves and the new omega. Neither of them had ever seen Bucky behaving quite like this--he was on guard, hyper aware of everything around him. He made sure that she was pressed up against his side, an arm draped possessively over the back of the couch so that it was unmistakable that she was with him.

Christ, what had gotten into him? He couldn’t remember ever acting this way about an omega before. 

“So…” Steve cleared his throat, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees.

Bucky didn’t really like the way his posture made him lean forward towards his omega, but he could deal with it for now. “So.”

“What do you wanna know?” Ten asked, plucking at Bucky’s shirt. She seemed to be even clingier with him than he was with her, perfectly happy to be hanging off him or tucked up against his side. “You met my demands. I guess I’m an open book now.”

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds,” Steve said. “We just need to know as much as you’re willing to share.”

“Then ask a question.”

“...Alright.” he cleared his throat again. “You said HYDRA used you to help with Bucky’s ruts?”

Ten nodded, her expression remaining even and cool. 

“Could you tell us more about that?” Steve glanced at Bucky. “Were there ever any other omegas, or anyone we should know about?”

“There were omegas before me.” she answered. “When I first got to the compound, there were a lot of us. They kept us all in big cells, so everyone talked. People said things about how HYDRA was grabbing omegas off the street for their super soldiers, and how the one at our base was the biggest and scariest.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her tone. He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected her to sound like while she regaled them with her life story, but he definitely thought there would be a tad bit more apprehension in her voice. She seemed proud of herself, and more matter-of-fact than a lot of omegas would be while talking about their alpha’s previous partners. Or...whatever you called prisoners whose only purpose was to help during ruts.

“And I bet he was,” she sighed, leaning her cheek on Bucky’s chest and looking up at him adoringly. 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Bucky said, an almost shy smile on his lips. And...was he actually blushing?

Steve was going to lose his mind. 

“You said the other omegas couldn’t handle it? That’s why you were given the serum?” he prompted, trying to keep them on track before he drowned in the sticky sweetness of her happy pheromones. 

“Right.” she turned her attention back to Steve and Bucky let out a quiet huff. “HYDRA didn’t really like to take care of us. And the soldier--I mean, Bucky--would wear them out. So...HYDRA would just kind of let them go. Or put them down, maybe. I never saw it.”

Bucky’s expression dropped. His blush was gone, and he almost looked like he was going to be sick as he listened to her talk.

“But it wasn’t his fault,” she said quickly, glancing between him and Steve. “I don’t think it was ever on purpose, you were just...demanding.”

He gave a groan, leaning his head back against the couch. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, doll. I’d rather know what I did, at this point.”

She offered a small shrug. “I don’t really remember it being that bad, but I don’t think I ever met you before they gave me the serum.”

“That’s something, at least.” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Why you?” Steve asked. “Did you have any prior military experience, any ties to something the others didn’t?”

“No.” she laughed. “I never even got in fights before HYDRA.”

“Then why’d they use such an important resource on you, specifically? Not trying to take a dig at you, it’s just...well, omegas don’t usually…”

“I know,” she said. “Omegas aren’t supposed to be tough, right? That’s why they only ever let alphas become super soldiers.”

“That’s not what I…” Steve trailed off and then sighed. “Sorry.”

“I told you, they gave me the serum so that I would be strong enough to hold my own. It also ensured I would always be around, no matter how many years passed.” Her fingers found Bucky’s free hand and she took it, absentmindedly playing with the smooth vibranium knuckles. “Having me as a constant meant they could stop spending so much time and effort on always having a new omega around for him. Plus…well, I wasn’t really there, but I heard something about it once…”

“What?” Bucky asked. 

“They let you choose who was going to become your omega.” She said, looking up at him. “They gave you a bunch of scents, and you chose mine. I guess it was the only reason they didn’t, uh...humanely euthanize me.”

His eyes were wide. The thought of HYDRA killing his omega brought a low growl to his throat, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of it. “No.”

“Well, clearly they didn’t!” She said brightly. “My file said I was a kicker.”

“So they gave you, an already aggressive omega, the serum, but never gave you any trigger words or fished around in your brain?” Bruce shook his head. “Surprisingly sloppy, considering who they are.”

“It’s not like they ever sent me out into the world. I stayed in my cell all day, unless I was needed for a rut. Then I went and stayed in a different cell.” She sighed. “And if they ever needed to, they could just use the alpha to grab me.”

Bucky clearly didn’t like the thought of that. He made a frustrated sound, leaning his head back again. “Great.”

“It was never bad.” She let go of his hand, moving her fingers to cup his jaw. “You never hurt me. You wouldn’t. Sometimes, when I acted up, they would make you go retrieve me, because they knew you were the only one who could do it. If they didn’t send you, they would just knock me out.”

“So...that was it?” Steve asked. “Ruts, serum, cryo?”

“For thirty years!” She chirped. “The last time they froze me, they were freezing him, too. They always tried to keep us in cryo at the same time so that I could be thawed out and ready when he needed me. But...I guess they just...left me there?” She frowned. 

“See, that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Steve said. “I didn’t see any signs of a struggle at that base. I’d say they left in an orderly fashion, but the fact that they didn’t take you along makes me think they were in more of a hurry than they made it seem.”

“Natasha might have a better idea,” Bruce suggested. “We can talk to her, try to figure out—“

“FRIDAY, open the damn door or so help me God I will rewrite your entire personality.” A voice interrupted from the other side of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Tony, but Captain Rogers asked me not to.” The AI said. 

“Well, is it an emergency?” The man scoffed.

“No emergency measures have been executed. No security breaches have been identified.”

“Then I’m sorry, but Captain Rogers does not outrank me when it comes to my own robots. Open the door, beautiful.”

She seemed to sigh. “Very well, Mr. Stark.”

Ten perked up, leaning forward slightly. She was watching the door curiously, tilting her head a little when she heard it slide open. Bucky rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself quietly and pulling her up against his side as another alpha strode in. 

“Really? Having a party without me?” the man asked, a smooth, casual air about him as he walked in and looked at everyone on the couches. When his eyes landed on the omega cuddled up next to Bucky, he stopped. “Ah, is this our new guest?”

“Go away, Stark.” Bucky growled. He didn’t like how long the other man’s gaze was lingering on his omega, not when there weren’t any scars on her neck to show who she belonged to.

“Always such a charmer, Barnes.” Tony said, flopping down next to Steve. “Lovely to see you, too. Care to introduce me to your friend? ….No, you’d rather just snarl and forget your words? I knew you were old, but I didn’t realize you were actually a caveman.”

“Tony,” Bruce groaned. “Don’t aggravate him. Please.”

“Why not?” Tony leaned back against the cushions, completely at ease and totally happy to be pressing every one of Bucky’s buttons. 

“Are you Tony Stark?” Ten asked, wiggling out of Bucky’s grip to sit on the edge of their couch. 

Bucky caught her around the waist before she could get very far, though, and dragged her onto his lap. He loomed over her, sneering dangerously at Tony as the other alpha flashed a smile. 

“Bingo.” he said. 

“I never thought I’d meet a Stark,” she admitted. “I always heard about Stark Industries, but I lived too far away from any big cities to ever get to see any of his exhibitions.”

“Ah. You’re from my father’s time. Of course.” Tony shot a pointed glare in Bucky’s direction. “Seems like Bruce left out a few teensy weensy important details on the phone today.”

“Well, it’s been, uh...an ongoing learning experience.” Bruce said sheepishly. 

“Lots of developments, huh?” Tony raised an eyebrow. 

“You could say that.” Steve said under his breath. “We came up here so Ten could be more comfortable while we talk.”

“Oh yeah? What’re we talkin’ about?” Tony asked. 

“They were asking about my time with HYDRA,” she answered, cutting in before anyone else could. “And with...Bucky.”

Saying his name felt odd. Her tongue wasn’t used to it, and her mind wanted to call him alpha, or Winter Soldier. Bucky just seemed so…casual, such a strange thing to call a deadly super soldier. When she heard herself, though, she decided that she definitely didn’t hate it. 

Bucky’s heart gave a little leap at the sound of his name falling from her lips. He wanted her to say it over and over again, in whispers and in screams, for nobody else’s ears but his. 

“...Buck?” Steve asked, pulling him away from his thoughts. “You, uh, kinda zoned out there.”

It wasn’t until Bucky looked at Steve that he realized his eyes had been trained on the omega in his lap. “Yeah?”

“...Is this seriously how you’ve spent the past day and a half?” Tony asked. “Steve, I’m sorry, and I’m sure you’re just trying to be as helpful as you can be, like always, but I think you should let these two get a room.”

Steve looked at him incredulously. “Tony, really? I’m trying to get to the bottom of why exactly HYDRA would abandon the omega they pumped full of super soldier serum. They can get a room later—“

“Yeah, uh, wonder boy? I don’t think your pal is gonna last much longer before he tries to rip our heads off.” Tony nodded towards a very disgruntled Bucky. “You can resume your interrogation tomorrow, Cap.”

Steve looked to Bruce for help, but he only offered a small shrug and stood, heading towards the door. “He’s right, Steve. They deserve some alone time.”

“But—hey!” Steve protested as Bucky picked his omega up, striding past the two alphas sitting on the opposite couch. 

“Thanks for everything, Steve.” Bucky said over his shoulder. 

Ten squirmed, peeking around Bucky’s arm as she was carried away. “Bye, Mr. Stark!”

“Don’t look at him,” Bucky growled as they walked out the door. 

“Did his father really make hoverboards? I heard once that Howard was promising hoverboards—“

“No.” He said flatly. 

“...oh.” She huffed, slumping against him. “Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” Bucky stepped into the elevator, his grip still tight around her. 

The omega perked up. “You have a whole apartment?”

He puffed his chest out a little. “Course I do. Gotta have a nice place for you, don’t I?”

“So I can stay?” Her eyes were bright and happy. “I can stay there, with you, all the time? Not just when you rut?”

He felt a sad little pang in his heart. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Then, his eyes widened as he realized what he was saying. “I mean, uh...i-if you want to, that is. I know it’s fast and all, and maybe...would you rather have your own room? Or I can stay on the couch—“

“Bucky,” she cut him off with a laugh, a soft hand cupping his jaw. “You’ve been my alpha for seventy years. I’d say we’re actually moving pretty slow.”

His expression relaxed again, lips stretching into a small smile. “Right. Yeah. You’re right.”

They spent the rest of the elevator ride in comfortable silence, Bucky rubbing his scent glands all over her hair. He wanted to make sure that the next time they encountered anyone else, she smelled exactly like him.

Like her alpha.

When the elevator came to a gentle stop at Bucky’s floor, the doors opened, and he stepped out in front of his apartment door. It opened for him, having already scanned his biometrics, revealing a small, but cozy, living room. 

He set his omega down on her feet, watching anxiously as she stepped into his quarters. Did she like it? Fuck, was it too small? It was too small. She probably hated it. Fuck, fuck, fuck...he had to salvage this somehow. 

“Well, uh…” shit, he sounded too nervous. He wanted her to think he was a strong, capable alpha. 

He cleared his throat for another start. “Welcome home, Omega.” 

Wait. That wasn’t right. Should he be calling her that? No, probably not, it sounded too possessive, too uncaring. He wished he just knew her fucking name, or something. 

“I mean…Ten?”

Shit, he sounded so stupid. He wanted to impress her, not...do whatever this was.

She just laughed, though, turning and looking at him with those eyes that sparkled like starlight. “Amoretta. My name is Amoretta.”

[kirishimaswife2819]

This is my very 1st request, I hope you won't have trouble answering it! May I ask for headcanons of Bakugou, Midoriya, Todoroki and Kirishima in a Coffee Shop!AU? I don't mind if they own coffee houses, are baristas or frequent customers! Thank you so much for heeding my petition, have a nice day and take care!

Them in a Coffee Shop AU (+Quirkless AU) || Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki

Masterlist 1 || Masterlist 2

↠Author’s Note: Hi! I also made this a quirkless AU so it made more sense with the story. Anyway, thanks for requesting! I hope this okay and I hope you like it. -Danielle <3

↠Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Eijiro Kirishima, and Shoto Todoroki x Reader

↠Summary: Coffee shop AU with Izuku, Katsuki, Eijiro, and Shoto

↠Genre: Fluff

↠Word Count: 2.1k 

↠Warnings: None

↠Notes: Idrk know how coffee shop hours work, so just pretend like they work however I said, okay?, also y/o=your order

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku works at a fairly popular coffee shop, and he’s literally the best worker there

Unlike most of the workers, he pays a lot of attention to the customers and what they specifically ask for, and he’s also always so polite, he was only ever rude to a customer once, but that was because she was being ruder, so it was okay

He also rarely ever gets orders wrong, and when most people come there, they ask specifically for him to make their coffee, so he gets pretty overwhelmed throughout the day and rarely gets a break

Most of the time he didn’t really pay much attention to the customers that asked specifically for him, but most of them straight up flirted with him, and he’s made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested in getting a significant other

That was until he met you

Normally, Izuku worked afternoon shifts, so from about one in the afternoon to nine at night (this was partially because he was the only one who closed up the shop correctly), but they recently began changing the schedules up and he got stuck with six to two in the afternoon

He didn’t really have a problem with waking up early, since he normally woke up fairly early to go for a run, not as early as he was now, but still pretty early

It was his first time working that shift when you came in for your morning coffee

You were playing on your phone when he called out to the next in line, you looked up and proceeded forward and to the counter, you looked up expecting the girl that normally worked in the morning but instead it was Izuku

“Are you new here? I’ve never seen you before,” You asked, clearly confused. Izuku gave you a small smile, and his face got a little red, you were really attractive, despite obviously just waking up

“No, I’ve always worked here. I just normally have afternoon shifts but they changed it,” Izuku replied.

“Oh, are you going to be working in the mornings from now on?” You asked, and after a nod, you spoke again, “Okay, well my name’s Y/n L/n, you can call me Y/n if you want, I come in here every morning and I’ll take a y/o.”

He immediately made your order and it was the best that it ever has been

After that day, you and Izuku both got secretly excited to see each other every morning, and you took got on first name basis with each other

You two ended up developing an odd sort of bond, whenever you came in, you two acted like best friends despite only seeing each other for about fifteen minutes every day

You started drinking your morning drink while at the shop, and you always sat at the bar so you could converse with Izuku while he was working

Eventually you two ended up exchanging numbers and hanging out outside of the coffee shop, and then he asked you on a date, and then shortly after that you began dating

You still went in every morning even after you started dating, and everybody working there thought that you were the cutest couple ever

Katsuki Bakugou:

Katsuki comes to get coffee every morning, and everybody at your shop knows this, and they all play rock paper scissors the day before to see who gets to deal with him the next day because he’s a pretty tough customer

He always finds something wrong with the coffee that he gets and he will make the barista remake it until it’s perfect, and he’s made multiple baristas quit because of this

And I know what you’re thinking “why doesn’t your boss just ban him from the shop” but your boss is a bigger asshole than he is, and he has chose Bakugou’s side every time that he’s been brought into it, so the workers just stopped trying to get him to help after a while

The two of you met on your first day working there, since you had tried to defend Katsuki when you first met them, saying that he couldn’t possibly be that bad, when they tried warning you about him, so they forced you to deal with him on your first day on the job

“Good morning,” you said, smiling at the blonde that came in, as he stared at his phone, he didn’t recognize your voice so he looked up and he was pretty surprised to see how attractive you were

“Morning,” he replied, hiding the fact that he liked you, and turning his phone off, before placing it in his pocket

“What can I get for you?” You asked, still smiling at him, hoping that he really wasn’t as bad as all your co-workers said. He told you his order, before giving you his name as well

All your co-workers were listening in and were shocked when he didn’t add on a rude “And don’t forget the extra cream” or “And if you fucking add too much sugar again, I’m calling your boss and complaining”

You made his coffee, before setting it on the counter, and tapping a few things on the screen, and giving him his total price, which was around seven dollars

He took out his wallet, before placing a fifty dollar bill on the counter. This was also strange to your co-workers because Bakugou never paid before he got a sip of his coffee, in case he wanted a refund or for them to remake it/give it to him for free

You picked it up and went to give him his change, but he stopped you

"Keep the change."

"What?" You asked

"I said, keep the change, you fucking deaf or something?"

"Uh, no, but sir, you handed me a fifty."

"I fucking know what I did, do you want it or not?"

"Yeah, I want it," you said, grabbing the change and immediately putting it into your pocket, "Thank you, sir, and have a good day."

"Yeah, whatever," he replied, picking up his coffee and leaving

As soon as he was gone, all of your co-workers were around you, asking you what the hell you did and why he wasn't rude to you, and you could only answer them with a shrug because you honestly had no idea

After that day, you were the only person that ever made his coffee because he was actually nice to you, and because of you he saw how it wasn’t really that easy to do the job

He figured that they just always messed up because they weren’t trying but they were probably just stressed, and it was probably partially his fault

Eventually, he ended up asking you out on a date and you two got to know each other and then eventually you started dating

Eijiro Kirishima:

Like Izuku, Kirishima works at a coffee shop, he just isn’t the most perfect worker ever, but that’s alright because nobody expects him to be perfect

He makes his occasional mistakes, and I would probably give him a 7/10 when it came to doing his job, but he gets an 11/10 for customer service

He’s not just polite, he’s also really friendly and if you just simply have a conversation it’ll feel like you’ve known him forever

He doesn’t really notice if anybody is flirting with him, he just assumes they’re being friendly and is friendly in return, but sometimes Kirishima’s friendliness can come off as flirting, even when he doesn’t realize, so sometimes he has had to reject somebody asking him out, and apologize for not realizing what they were doing

He never specifically tried flirting with anybody, not until you at least, he purposely flirted with you, because immediately after glancing at you, he knew that you were the one

Or that’s what he assumed, you just looked like his type, and he immediately wanted you

Your old coffee shop had shut down and this was the closest one to where it was, so you started going there instead

“Hi!” He immediately greeted you, happily, despite it being seven in the morning

“Um, hi?” You asked, in return. In your last coffee shop the worker that you normally got was pretty vague, and normally talked in a monotone voice, so Kirishima’s happy and cheerful voice was a bit of a surprise

“How are you doing this morning?” He asked, tapping something on the screen

“Good,” you replied, “Do you guys have y/o?”

“Yup, what size would you like?”

“Medium,” you replied, and he tapped something on the screen, before replying

“Okay, that’ll be $5.30, but it’s on me,” he said, smiling at you, picking up a medium disposable cup, “What’s the name?”

“Wait, what?” You asked, referring the first part of what he said, not the question

“I asked what your name was,” he explained, giving you a smile

“No, why is it on you?” You asked

“Oh, I always pay for somebody’s coffee if I find them cute,” he replied, causing your face to heat up

“You find me cute?” You asked, and then he nodded, “Sir, I just woke up a little over half an hour ago. There are huge bags under my eyes, there is no way that you find me cute.”

“Sure there is! Because I do, now what’s your name?”

“Whatever, it’s Y/n,” you replied, and he used a sharpie to write the name on the cup, before going to get your order ready

And he returned with it, giving you a smile, and telling you goodbye

You thanked him for the coffee and once you returned to your car, you read the receipt and found that his number was written at the bottom along with “call me :)”

And that’s exactly what you did

Shoto Todoroki:

Like Bakugou, he’s also a frequent customer, but not every day, he normally comes in every other day, or every three days

He was normally pretty vague, not wanting to interact too much with the barista, he wanted to get in and get out in as little time as possible

He didn’t have a problem correcting the barista if his order was wrong, and he didn’t expect it for free. He just expected them to remake without him having to pay extra

He also didn’t make a big deal if there was a little too much cream or sugar, they probably just added a bit too much, and that’s pretty easy to do

Shoto never really paid much attention to the barista he got and he didn’t really care about who it was, until he walked up to the counter and you were there

“Good morning, what can I get for you?” You questioned, tapping something on the screen

“Morning,” he said, and then he proceeded to make his order

“Alright? And your name?” You questioned, holding the sharpie up to the cup

“Shoto,” he replied, surprising the barista next to you that was listening in. Shoto never used his first name and it surprised her because he normally just said either “Todoroki” or “I’ll be standing right here, just hand it to me, please”

“Alright, Shoto,” you said, using his name, “I’ll be right back with your coffee.” He nodded in acknowledgement and stood off to the side, watching you as you made his order

“Here you go,” you said, handing it to him, “Sorry if I messed it up. I’ve never made one of those before. I’m new here.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, taking a sip. He hid the fact that he didn’t like it, because you had in fact messed something up, maybe you didn’t add enough of something, either way, he faked it with a smile, “Thank you, have a good day.”

Later that day, your co-worker informed you that she was watching you while you made it, since she knew that you never made one before, and she told you that you messed it up. Then she told you a little bit about Shoto and how it was obvious that he had a crush on you

The next day he came in, you apologized to him, and he brushed it off, saying that it was alright

You made a pretty bold move and left your number on the receipt with a little note “call me sometime?”

He did just that the same night when he got home from his work, and you two agreed to go on a date

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Eight

James Potter x OC

Words: 3,7k

Prologue  Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven

I rushed up the stairs as soon as James left for the boy dorms, trying my best to not squeal right then and there. I had to repeatedly remind myself that everyone else was still sleeping and hardly managed to not burst into my dorm room and jump on Marlene's bed. Okay, I did the last part.

"Marlene, wake up!" I whisper-yelled, shaking her vigorously.

"Wha..," Marlene mumbled, eyes still closed and drool dripping on her pillow. It was a bit disgusting to be honest, but natural.

"Get up, I have to tell you something," I whisper-squealed this time.

The brown-haired beauty groaned, stuffing her face into her pillow.

"James kissed me!"

"WHAT?!" she sprung up and I recoiled as our heads banged together. "Ow!"

"Merlin, I should have said that sooner," I said, rubbing my forehead and nose.

"What did you just say?" Marlene demanded to know, suddenly wide awake.

"I said 'Merlin, I should have said that-"

"Not that. Before that!"

"Oh, right." A wide grin spread on my face again and I gripped her shoulders in excitement, "James kissed me!" Marlene - ever not so careful with her surroundings - gave out a mighty squeal that woke up the rest of the dorm. Cringing slightly, I figured the damage was done and joined her.

"I can't believe it!" Marlene exclaimed, taking my forearms and shaking me, "No, scratch that. I can believe it! It was about time! Tell me everything!" I giggled, a pure rush of euphoria hitting me square in the chest when I thought back on the moment.

"Well-"

"What's going on?" Alice asked groggily as she sat up, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

"James and Cec kissed!" Marlene squealed and Alice's eyes widened. "Wow, really?" she asked warily, and I nodded, not knowing what to think of her expression. It almost seemed dubious, but I shrugged it off as Marlene insisted, I told her every single detail.

"...and well, it lasted for like a few seconds and then we just stood there, staring at each other...," I sighed dreamily, my heart pounding hard again when I thought about it.

Marlene sighed with me, "And then?"

"And then...he left with a good night," I said, and she giggled at the abruptness, "Loverboy probably got shy. I bet that was his first kiss." My eyes widened. "You think so?" Marlene shrugged, "Could be. At least he never kissed someone at school. Or I would know."

I gave her a creeped-out look in which she gave me a what-I-like-gossip look in return.

"Wasn't that your first kiss, too?" Alice piped up as she started rummaging through her closet and I nodded. She gave me a warm smile, "I'm happy for you. The first kiss is always memorable."

"Yes, I'm never going to forget it," I said with dopey grin, causing her to giggle. Just then I took a look around the room, "Where's Lily?"

"Right here," the red head appeared out of the bathroom as if on cue, drying her hair quickly with a swept of her wand.

"Have you heard?" Marlene asked with a sleezy grin, "James and Cec snogged."

"Yeah, I have," she said off-handed as I slapped Marlene's arm, exclaiming 'it wasn't snogging!', "Congrats on your first kiss, Cec."

"Thanks, Lils," I beamed, deciding to ignore her indifference and jumping off Marlene's lap. "Let's get ready for class!"

"Wow, I've never seen her so energetic in the morning," Alice commented as we skipped down for breakfast. Or more like I skipped, and they trailed after me.

"Must be the power of love!" Marlene announced dramatically, causing the others to laugh. My heart went into overdrive as we reached the Great Hall, wondering whether James was already there or not. Fighting down the blush I slapped my cheeks slightly before taking a deep breath. 'Alright, Cec. Act like you're normal. A kiss is a kiss. No biggie. Be cool.'

"Ready to see loverboy?" Marlene whispered into my ear and just like that my semi-calmness left and I couldn't help but giggle with her.

Reaching the Great Hall, my eyes immediately zoomed in on the Gryffindor table, flickering over each face until they landed on the one that mattered right now. He was sitting next to Sirius and across from Remus and Peter, a goblet swinging in his hand as he animatedly chatted about something through a mouthful of cinnamon rolls. I briefly wondered if he was perhaps talking about our kiss, being excited about it as much as myself. Blushing deeply at the thought of the boys talking about this, I felt Marlene nudge me forward to continue walking.

"Shall we sit at your boyfriend's?" she giggled loudly and I shot her look to keep it discreet.

"What about playing hard to get?" I teased her teaching methods.

"Oh, that part was a success. You don't need to do that anymore," she replied, nodding forward. I glanced the way she motioned and noticed James and the other three Marauders looking my way, the former waving me over with a cheerful grin.

"CEC, OVER HERE!" he shouted obnoxiously, and I almost cringed at the heads that turned at the commotion.

"Do you still need me to keep it discreet?" Marlene asked and I gave her the totally-unnecessary-look.

"Hi James," I greeted him almost shyly and his grin turned more into a genuine smile, "Hey. Come sit." Obliging, I settled down next to him, biting back a squeal as he kissed my cheek and naturally wrapped an arm around my waist. Marlene sat down next to me, elbowing me and shooting me a cat-like grin. I shook my head at her to keep quiet as Lily and Alice took their seats next to her.

"Did you sleep well?" James asked conversationally as he poured me a glass of pumpkin juice. I watched him with hawk-eyes, trying to analyse what all these sudden actions were supposed to mean.

"You kidding?" I asked deadpanned. We had literally departed only an hour ago. His shoulders shook with a silent chuckle. "Just asking," he shrugged, gesturing towards the various food in front of us, "What would you like?" he asked, already piling up a huge amount of food on my plate. That was probably the moment I fell in love with him...just joking. Maybe. But in all the time we had been 'dating' for a lack of a better definition he had never been that touchy and...quite frankly acting like a boyfriend to such an extent.

"Do you like bacon?"

"Ehm...no," I said as he squeezed some on the side nevertheless.

Sirius gasped. "Who doesn't like bacon?" he jumped into the conversation after mutely watching us with amused eyes. Now, however, they were widened in horror at my proclamation.

"Meh, they are okay," I said, grinning at his over-the-top display of disbelief.

"They are proof that heaven exists!"

"No, that is chocolate. Don't get it mixed up," Remus intervened, pouring himself a cup of coffee. I noticed he looked more tired than usual. Had it been full moon last night? I wracked my brain for the mental moon calendar. Shouldn't he be still in bed then? He would usually skip the next school day after his transformation. I bit my lip, feeling sorry for him. But he probably wouldn't appreciate the pity so it was good that no one knew what I knew.

Nevertheless, I fumbled for the bar of chocolate from my pocket. "Speaking of."

Remus smiled, taking the established piece of heaven from my outstretched hand, "Thanks, Cecily."

"Oi, how come I never get something sweet from you?" James butted in with a pout.

"You got almost half of the Honeyduke's bags I'd bought for Poppy," I pointed out and he was quick to agree, "Point taken."

"Not to mention he got something else sweet last night," Sirius added with a sly grin and I started blushing before I even fully understood what he meant, purely because of his smirk, "A sweet smooch for the sweet-deprived Prongs!"

Marlene giggled into her cup as I groaned lowly in embarrassment. His proclamation was loud enough for the already curious ears around us to snap to attention in hopes of catching gossip. 'Looks like I'm gonna spend the day in the library,' I thought as some ducked their heads together, whispering and shooting looks at our groups.

"What do you mean?" Remus asked cluelessly, not having arrived back with the others last night.

"They went off all night to Merlin knows where. Prongs only came back in the early morning," Peter filled him in dutifully and the sandy-haired boy's face cleared in understanding. He glanced between James and I, a contemplative look in his gaze. "I see...," he said slowly, and I couldn't exactly decipher the tone in his voice. Whatever it was, it made the messy-haired boy next to me shift slightly in his seat. "I didn't know, you guys were an item now. When did that happen?" The probably smartest one out of the Marauders questioned after taking a sip of his coffee.

I started to speak, "Well, we've never really establish-"

"Since I asked her out, duh," James butted in, casually munching on his toast. I stared at him in disbelief until he looked down at me. "Or not?" he asked, his hazel eyes wide and innocent behind his rounded glasses.

'This is not exactly how a boyfriend-girlfriend-relationship is established,' I thought back to all the romantic novels I had read so far before shrugging, 'But what do I know?'

"You have to ask her to officially be your girlfriend though!" Marlene voiced out, jumping in just as I let the fact sink in that James had already thought of me as his girlfriend for so long...'Wait, WHAT?!'

"Isn't that already implied when you ask someone out?" James asked confused and Sirius barked out a laugh. "If that's the case, I would have had hundreds of girlfriends already!"

"That's disgusting," Lily commented, speaking up for the first time, but there was hardly a bite in her tone. We were all used to his serial womaniser behaviour.

"Don't be jealous," Sirius waved off dismissively as he bit into his bacon.

"I still don't get it. What's the difference between asking someone out and asking someone to be their girlfriend?" James questioned and I could have cooed at his adorably confused expression.

Sirius cleared his throat, adopting a professional tone, "Let me give you a crash course on relationships. If you ask someone to be their girlfriend, your relationship will become exclusive. Asking someone out is the phase before that and you are allowed to date others, too."

"Though, the girl would prefer the dating phase to be exclusive, too," Alice piped in.

"Yes, but it's not in the rules," Sirius added, smirking as she rolled her eyes.

"Why would I date others, though...," James wondered, "If I ask someone out, why would I ask someone else out if I already asked someone? If I ask someone out, I obviously want them to become my girlfriend, don't I?"

Sirius groaned, muttering something about hopeless romantics. The others chuckled as James looked around, almost offended.

"Not everyone thinks that way," I said, my heart warming at his innocent views, "But it's sweet that you do." He gazed down at me, a small smile quirking up the corners of his lips as he saw my sincerity. His arm that was still wrapped around me tightened slightly.

"So, are you my girlfriend then?"

My breath halted in response but before I could open my mouth to stutter and embarrass myself, Marlene butted in, "You have to ask her officially, boy! And more romantically than at breakfast!" James rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, "Fine! As the lady wishes!"

I chuckled along with the others. "You don't have to, really," I told him quietly as we all stood up to head to our first class. James threw his arm over my shoulder and giving me the boyish grin that made my heart skip, "I want to."

The last week passed and before I knew it, the winter break had snuck up on me at last. I had barely registered the time fly with all the fun and sweet days and nights I had spent with James, either chatting in-between classes or holding longer, deeper conversations in front of the fireplace in the Common Room. And whilst I liked to freely talk with him without anyone else around, I couldn't help but prefer his more affectionate behaviour throughout the day where he would always initiate some kind of contact, from simple hand holding to arms constantly wrapped around me.

Something in me was hoping for another kiss but since I was too embarrassed to display affection in public and was also too shy for it when we were alone, it didn't happen again. Maybe he was waiting for me to do the move now since he had taken the step towards me again. The thought raced through my mind, wondering whether he was expecting something from me or not.

However, with the end of the first part of this school year, I had a more major problem to face now: the parents. As much as I had enjoyed the peace in radio silence, I was dreading the point where I would have to face them now.

"Will you calm down?" Alice placed a hand on my shaking knee, a nervous tick I inherited from my dad, "You act like you are going on trial for some committed crime."

"Might as well," I replied, rubbing my hands nervously as I stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express, the white scenery outside passing by in a blur, "Same difference, really."

Alice huffed out a laugh, "Don't be such a drama queen, Cec. It's going to be fine."

"Yeah, they're gonna get over it eventually," Marlene added from across of me, sat next to Lily, whose nose was - as usual - ducked in a book, "If they haven't already. It's been weeks since you've written to them about it."

I sighed, choosing to believe their words in hopes of calming myself down. No point in getting all anxious when we still had hours until we arrived...Hours that went by way too fast. "Seriously, doesn't the ride back to King's Cross usually take longer?"

The door to our compartment slid open in that moment, revealing none other than my self-proclaimed boyfriend and his three best mates. "There you are!" James said cheerfully, nodding at the three girls as he squeezed himself between me and Alice, throwing his arm around me. At this point, I was almost used to his touch. Keyword being almost. Alice scooted over with a silent smile as the other boys tried to pile in.

"No way, we all won't fit in here!" Marlene complained whilst Sirius wiggled down on the seat next to her, causing both her and Lily to move away from him.

"It's fine. Remus and I need to patrol anyways," Lily announced, shutting her book as she stood up and made space for Peter to settle down instead. "See you later on the platform?" We all nodded in consent and the two prefects left. Sirius stretched his limbs out, making himself comfortable and causing Marlene to immediately complain about his lack of manners. "Siriusly, there are other people around here. You are invading my private space, Black!"

"Don't act like you don't enjoy it," Sirius said with a wink and I watched silently as they started to bicker pointlessly, Peter and Alice joining in the attempt to calm them down. And as amusing as it was, it couldn't hold my attention for long and soon I was staring out the window, my mind picturing the stern faces of my parents awaiting my arrival.

"Hey, you alright there?" James asked, placing a hand on my knee that had started shaking again without my notice. He leaned forward slightly to peer at my worried expression. I gnawed on my bottom lip, feeling almost ridiculous at how anxious I was getting over this. Shouldn't I be excited to see my parents again after so many months? "Cec, what's with the sad face?" the dark-haired boy next to me tried again, pulling me out of my reverie.

I turned to him, his warm brown eyes soothing my inner turmoil slightly. I smiled, "It's nothing, really."

"It clearly is something if you are so nervous about it," he pointed out, the small frown not leaving his face. My smile widened though, feeling touched at the obvious worry. 'Merlin, can he be any more precious?'

"Siriusly, don't stress about it," I said, flicking his chin as I suddenly felt bold enough to add, "I'm fine now that you are here." James' eyes flickered in surprise and the boldness immediately left me, embarrassment reddening my cheeks at my comment. I wasn't one to say sappy stuff, so that even took me by surprise. I ducked my head, missing the genuine smile of the boy next to me. Lifting my face back up, he grinned more cheekily, "So cheesy."

I rolled my eyes to hide my bashfulness, "Yeah, whatever. Forget what I said."

"Oh no, love. This I won't ever forget," James retaliated and I ignored the way my heart sped up at his endearing term in favour of groaning in mock exasperation, "You are never going to let me live this down."

"You bet!" James replied and I simply shook my head, smiling as I realised how I hadn't thought about my parents anymore and felt significantly calmer. "Now that...," he added, pointing at my face, "...is way better. Don't worry, be happy." Huffing a laughter, I couldn't help but let his cheerfulness affect me and I felt myself relax more into my seat and his arm, noticing how close we were. He was leaned towards me, his hand still holding my knee. At my gaze, he lifted his hand to take a hold of my own, his warm touch soothing my entire cool limb. "Are you cold?" he asked quietly, shifting his arm to pull me closer.

"I'm fine," I replied, letting myself melt into him as I dropped my head on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek against my head as he stared down at out joined hands.

"You always seem to say that even if you are obviously not..."

"Well, I can't burden you with my troubles all the time now," I said, thinking back on the nights he let me rant about every issue as we sat in front of the fireplace, listening to every problem attentively, no matter how small they were. He was a very good listener, but I didn't want to constantly take advantage of it. And Marlene had stated in one of her million unwanted/wanted relationship advices that constant nagging could be a major turn off and the last thing I wanted was to annoy him away.

"You can, though," James argued softly, playing with my fingers, every touch sending slight electric shocks through my limb. My heart all but melted at his short but sweet retaliation and I intertwined our fingers together. "Thank you," I said softly, "Same goes for you."

We stayed locked in our embrace for the rest of the train ride and I barely noticed the world outside of the little bubble James created for us, feeling like all the problems were miles away and I finally found a bit of inner peace.

But alas, all good things had to come to an end, and I was more than a bit disappointed as we arrived at King's Cross, having to leave his arms and the security with it. The only thing that got me up and going was his hand tugging me outside...and the fact that I wouldn't know where the train would go after this.

"Are your parents picking you up?" James asked and my good mood plummeted at the thought of the inevitable happening. 'Stop being dramatic,' I scolded myself in my head as I nodded mutely. "Cool, mine are probably somewhere around here, too," he stated just as Sirius pointed at someone in the distance, "There they are. Let's go!" he said excitedly, and I smiled at his enthusiasm.

"A nice holiday to you too, Black," I called after him and he waved over his shoulder in dismissive response. I chuckled slightly before turning to his messy-haired best friend. "You should go, too. They are waiting for you," I said, tugging on my hand, not knowing exactly how to bid him goodbye.

"Yeah, just one second," James replied distractedly, tightening his grip on my hand. I watched as he bit his lip nervously, ruffling his hair one, two times before he took a deep breath. "Cec, are we...together now?" he asked almost shyly, staring at me from under his lashes, "Like- together, together? Like in a relationship? As in, boyfriend and girlfriend-"

"Yes," I laughed, surprising both him and I at the immediate response. It was natural for me to say yes. I mean, who would say no at this point? And especially at his beautiful hazel eyes. Maybe Lily would, but I certainly wouldn't. "Yes, we are together," I confirmed, trying to sound as confident as I didn't feel, my insides shaking like jello.

James beamed, causing me to melt inside. "Like, in a relationship?"

"Yes."

"As in, boyfriend and girlfr-"

"Yes!" I laughed, feeling more and more secure with each consent. His grin couldn't get any wider as he tugged me closer by the hand, wrapping his arms tightly around me for a second.

"Awesome! As my girlfriend I expect you to write me every day then," he demanded as soon as he let go, his shy demeanour completely gone. My eyes widened in disbelief, "Every day?"

"Every day," he repeated solemnly.

"Prongs! Come on, already!" I heard Sirius yell in the distance and before I could hastily argue about the 'everyday writing', James pressed a quick kiss on my cheek, rendering me speechless enough to make a quick escape.

"I expect your letter tomorrow!" he shouted as he jogged backwards, flashing me a last grin before he turned to rush to his parents. All the while I stared dumbfounded at his back with a hand on my flushed cheek.

"That brat," I muttered, biting my lips to stop a too wide smile.

Chapter Nine

[jalapeno-princess]

More Than Friends

(I was gonna say he looks so good in here but who am I kidding, he always looks so fucking good)

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst (but mainly fluff I can’t write angst to save my life)

Word Count: 5K

Summary: You and Mark have a very interesting relationship. The two of you are not exactly dating, but you’re not just friends either. Because of who he is, he isn’t able to take things further in your relationship no matter how badly he wants to. However, something causes him to feel the need to put a label on what exactly is going on between you both.

A/N: (It’s kind of repetitive lol idk how I feel about this story) This was requested by another one of my favorite followers on here @safetypineapples Thank you for all your love and support with my stories and I love reading all of yours! I hope you enjoy this one! Based on the song “At my weakest” by James Arthur.

It's a long night and a big crowd Under these lights looking 'round for you Yeah, I'm steppin' outside under moonlight To get my head right, lookin' out for you, yeah

Could it be your eyes Didn't know that I've been Waitin', waitin' for you When your by my side, everything's alright Crazy, I'm crazy for youOh, here I go, down that road Again and again the fool rushin' in But I can't help when I feel some kind of way Do you feel the same? 'Cause And I fall, I fall for you You caught me at my weakest And I fall for you

“Pick up—fuck—please pick up.” 

Mark was pacing back and forth in the hallway; he must’ve looked like a crazy person to all the staff and security guards at the event, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t too sure why it was happening, especially because he was right about to go on stage, but he was currently going through a panic attack. Just a couple of minutes ago, he was sitting in the dressing room with Yugyeom and Jinyoung, waiting for the rest of the guys to finish getting their makeup and hair done. He was playing a couple of games on his phone when he decided to scroll on Instagram and Twitter for a little while when he stumbled across of a few negative posts that crawled under his skin. 

Being a KPOP idol had its perks; he got to do what he loved, making music, writing songs, touring and traveling around the world, meeting new people and learning of their cultures and getting to perform on stage in front of thousands of their fans alongside his six best friends. Unfortunately, pros also came with cons. With the large amount of love he received all around the world, he also got a lot of unnecessary hate. He never understood what he did to be hated so much. 

Mark was a very kind-hearted, soft-spoken, generous, humble and hardworking person. Sure, he might not have been the best rapper in KPOP, but he gave his all in each and every one of his performances, practices, recording sessions and even when it didn’t have to do with the music; whether it was modeling or being on a reality tv show, he made sure to try his best in order to please everyone he was around. That’s all Mark really wanted to do, but it just wasn’t enough for some people. To the people who weren’t fans of him, if he was too generous, they would consider it as him showing off his wealth and social status. 

There were so many different organizations Mark would donate to and speak up for to show his support but so many antis would claim he was doing it just to look good to the public. However, once he went silent to stop all the loathing and hatred, people called him stingy and claimed he didn’t care about others. These days, it seemed as if Mark was the main target for hate within their group and that says a lot seeing as how Got7 were constantly hated on and ridiculed on a daily basis for no reason at all. Whenever something like this happened, his members would constantly tell him to stay away from social media and told him that all the negative people were just jealous of what an amazing person he was. 

Normally he would do quite the good job with ignoring the hate, and the rumors that were made up about him that made no actual sense at all; but for some reason there was one comment about how Got7 would be much better off without Mark in the group because apparently “Mark doesn’t do anything to really help the groups success in any way.” Or so the comment read. He tried his best to ignore it and he wanted to find something to take his mind off of the comment, but he couldn’t. 

Not even the funny video Yugyeom showed him could prevent him from overthinking and he really didn’t want to show that he was bothered to the other members. As much as he loved them like family, the last thing he wanted to hear was to ignore the hate which is what they always told him. One can only ignore something so much until it actually eats away at them to the point where they feel like screaming and since Mark wasn’t in a place where he could verbally or physically let out his frustrations, he excused himself from the room and walked throughout the arena looking for a quiet and empty place to call the only person he knew that could calm him down. 

The only person whose been on his mind and clouding up his thoughts for the last two months since the tour started. Mark considered every single member of Got7 to be his best friend; from day one the seven of them have been through so much together. So many ups and downs, so many trials and tribulations that only made them stronger as individuals and a whole group. Each member had their own way of cheering Mark up; whether it was Jackson making silly jokes, Jinyoung reciting lines from a show he was acting in, Youngjae bringing coco over for Mark to play with her or BamBam buying him a bunch of luxurious items because in his words “a little Gucci never hurt nobody.” 

However, the only person who could really get Mark out of the deepest funk was you. You, in more or less words were the only other best friend Mark had apart from his members. He told you every single secret, worry, doubt and insecurity he had because he trusted you with his entire being. On the fateful day the two of you met over a year and a half ago, Mark knew you were going to be someone special in his life and that was an understatement. If he was being honest, you were his entire life; Mark never believed in soulmates before meeting you. 

The idea of two people out of the billions of people in the world being destined together was so cliche and he didn’t understand why so many people would claim they met their soulmate. As the days went by and he spent more and more time with you, Mark realized that he got more than he bargained for when he became friends with you and that’s when he knew he was in trouble. Your relationship with Mark was hard to explain; for the first few months, you found confidants in one another. He was your escape from reality just as much as you were his. When your education and work got too much for you to handle, Mark would do whatever he could in his power to get you to focus on better things. Further down the line of being friends, it then blossomed in to something more. Even when Mark was still getting to know you, he found himself developing a little crush on you, but it was inevitable. 

You had a beauty that Mark couldn’t even put in to words to describe. He may have been surrounded with so many beautiful idols, actresses and models on a weekly basis, but there was just something; actually many things about you that stood out from everyone else. Mark was sure he’d be able to spot you in a crowded room because his eyes were always looking for you and because you just radiated such a positive and spirit lifting energy that was so contagious. He always wanted to be around you. Around four months in to your friendship, Mark confesses his feelings for you, but he knew he couldn’t act on them. Dating was taboo in the KPOP industry and most idols who were in relationships did their best in hiding it. 

There was nothing Mark wanted more than to be the lucky guy you called yours, but it was selfish of him to want to take things further with you knowing that he’d be holding you back from so many things. And it wasn’t like the two of you could have a normal relationship. He wouldn’t get to take you on all these cute dates he was sure you wanted to go on, he wouldn’t get to post about you nor would you be allowed to post anything about him, he couldn’t hold hands, hug you, hold you and kiss you unless it was behind closed doors. 

He wouldn’t be able to give you the love and attention you deserved and never failed to show him every single day and that’s what bothered him the most. You were so close, yet so far away and Mark was afraid that you’d get tired of being just friends with him and decide that you didn’t want to wait around for him. Especially since you requited his same feelings and made it aware that you were willing to do whatever it was that he asked of you. You were aware of how hectic his life was and you had a feeling a relationship would be something he wouldn’t be able to give you and you respected it completely. 

As long as you had Mark in your life, it didn’t matter what he was to you. But you were only human. You were still so young and had a great head on your shoulders. You had so much going for you yet you were always at his beck and call whenever he needed you. To both his delight yet dismay, you were willing to drop anything and everything for him. While he was away, you’d wake up in the middle of the night to talk to him and stay up till the wee hours of the morning to listen to him talk about his day even if you had an early morning shift or class. 

When he got sick, you’d pick up some medication and make some soup to help him feel better. If you were out with friends or colleagues and he asked to hang out, you’d give them some lame excuse and made your way over to him. Mark could never come up with the right words to say to show you and tell you just how much you meant to him and how afraid he was to lose you. All he could do, was show you through his actions; his gentle kisses on your cheeks, your forehead and your lips, how he would always need to be touching you whenever the two of you would spend time together, the way he would always check up on you to make sure you’ve eaten all your meals and that you were taking good care of yourself and doing all these little things for you like blowdrying your hair for you when you were too tired or helping you study for an exam even if he had no clue what he was reading. 

He could only hope you understood his nonverbal signals of love. Being on tour was always so fun; it seemed as if more fans came out with every new tour and tonight in London, there were at least 40,000 people at the Wembley stadium waiting for Got7 to perform. Over the years, his nerves slowly calmed down and performing on stage was such an indescribable feeling that he was so grateful for being able to do. The only thing he hated about touring, was being away from you. 

Mark made sure to FaceTime you whenever he got the chance, but it wasn’t the same as seeing your breathtaking smile and contagious laughter that he loved so much in person. He’s asked you to go along with them many times, but because you were a full time student with a full time job, and Mark’s company didn’t think it would look good for some random girl to join them on tour and follow them around the world, you stayed back in Korea. As the phone line kept ringing, anxiety built up in his chest the longer he waited. He checked his phone to see what time it was in Korea and he let out an exasperated sigh. 

It was currently six in the morning and since Mark knew your schedule like the back of his hand, there was a chance you were either getting ready for school or for work and he tried his best not to be upset. Just like how his work was his main priority, you had every right to make your studies and your work ethic your main concern. However, you had a tendency to put Mark at the top of your priorities and sometimes he wished you didn’t think so highly of him. He wanted to give you the same amount of attention and praise you’ve shown him over the years and you were his second main focus right after his job. 

He hated putting you second, he was sure you must’ve loathed having to be his second priority but you never complained nor would you make it known that it bothered you and Mark didn’t know what higher power it was that brought you two together nor did he know what he did to deserve someone so patient and understanding, but he would do it time and time again if it meant having you in his life for as long as he possibly could. With one more sigh, he began walking back towards the corridors where their waiting room was located when he felt his phone vibrate. He didn’t even miss a beat, once he saw your name on the screen he answered and he didn’t care how desperate he sounded. He was sure he didn’t have much time to talk to you, but it didn’t matter. All Mark needed was to hear your voice and he knew he’d feel so much better. 

“Hey baby, I’m sorry I missed your call. I was washing my face and brushing my teeth. Aren’t you going on stage here soon? Is everything okay?” 

Just hearing your soft little giggle through the speaker was enough to get him to forget of his problems and all he focus on was the sound of your gentle and extremely soothing voice. The term of endearment made him feel even more giddy and he was sure if the guys were to see the effect that you had on him, they wouldn’t let him live it down. 

“Yeah I just—I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, I just really miss you. That’s all.” 

By the hesitant tone of his voice, you could tell there was something more that he wasn’t telling you, but you weren’t going to pry at him. You never forced mark to go in to detail about what was worrying him and wanted him to confide in you at his pace. But you hated knowing that something was currently on his mind not knowing exactly what it was. Even if Mark was a couple of years older than you, you always felt the need to protect him from any evil. His happiness and well being was all you ever cared about and sometimes you’d put it before your own. 

“I miss you too Mark and you’re never a bother, you know that. You know if something is wrong, you can tell me right?” 

Although you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was nodding in agreement. The two of you had a mutual understanding; you’d wait for each other to find solace in one another but when you did, you’d let it all out. “I know, thanks y/n. I read something so shitty earlier, but hearing your voice makes it all the more better. Don’t worry about me babe, I’m okay. I’m sure the guys are probably looking for me. I’ll call you after the show, have a nice morning and don’t forget to eat a hearty breakfast. I’ll talk to you soon love.” 

Once you both said your goodbyes, Mark felt energized and ready to go on stage. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to change him for the better but here you were, making his heart feel as if it was about to bust out of his chest and he never wanted that feeling to go away. As soon as he made his way back to the dressing room where all the guys were dressed up and waiting for him, they were all confused seeing the huge grin on his face after he left so abruptly as if something was wrong; but none of them were going to question it. They were all aware of who you were to Mark and all six of them approved of you. 

They loved the effect you had on the eldest boy; they loved the way you made him laugh and smile on his darkest days. You were the light Mark needed and they knew you were put in his life to save him from himself. Once they all walked out onstage and heard the thousands of screams and chants echoing throughout the arena, anything that was bothering Mark no longer mattered to him. All he could think about was making the fans happy, putting all his energy in to each and every song they performed and getting to call you again later. The concert went off without a hitch and honestly it had to be one of the best concerts they’ve done since they started touring. 

For the rest of the week, Got7 finished the Europe leg of the tour and as much as Mark loved exploring the many different cities, trying the different foods they had to offer and taking a well deserved rest from all his other work, he couldn’t wait for the two week break the guys were allowed back in Korea. He couldn’t find it in himself to sleep the night before, he was just so excited to have you in his arms again and he came up with the plan to surprise you about coming home earlier than expected. Everyone seemed to know of Mark’s plans because as soon as they landed, they hailed him a taxi and gave the driver your address which he was extremely grateful for. While he was away, he’d find himself overthinking your relationship. 

He wanted—no, Mark needed to set things straight between the two of you. Even if you told him that you were willing to wait for him for as long as he needed you to, humans could only be patient for so long and he was afraid you’d find somebody while he was away. Somebody who could take care of you in ways Mark could only wish he’d be able to. Somebody who would love you freely; out in the open without having to worry about a rumor breaking out. Somebody worthy of all your love and admiration. 

It was late when they arrived back and he could only hope you didn’t log on to social media and saw that Got7 were back in Korea. He quickly stopped by a cute little hole in the wall florist shop and purchased you a dozen of your favorite flowers. No matter how jet lagged he was from the ten hour flight and how much he wanted to go to sleep, the desire and urge to hold you in his arms was stronger than any exhaustion he felt. He knew he should’ve texted you to ask what you were doing in case you were out to dinner with your friends, but he was just too excited to finally see you that it slipped his mind that there was a chance you weren’t home. 

As soon as he buzzed your doorbell, there was an odd feeling that crashed over him and he couldn’t put his finger on it. However, once you opened the door and he saw you dressed so prettily, the numbness he felt in his chest only grew more. 

“Oh my God—Mark! What are you doing back so early?!” 

You didn’t give him any time to answer before you practically jumped on him; wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You began leaving chaste kisses on the sides of his face and finally left a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth before jumping down. 

“Hello to you too baby. I wanted to surprise you. God y/n, I’ve missed you so much.” 

You looked up at him with an adoring look in your eyes before cupping his cheek. These last three months without him was just as hard and if not more difficult on you than it was for him. Mark had all his members, friends, staff, family and fans by his side but all you really had was him. Although he never failed to lean on you whenever he needed to, you didn’t want to bother him and handled most of your problems by yourself. Even if he told you to tell him when something wasn’t going your way; you just never wanted to burden him. Just getting a text of encouragement was enough to help ease your negative thoughts. 

Seeing him, with his fluffy, brown hair down to his neck, his face more healthier and fuller than the last time you’ve seen each other and his biceps more prominent, it was an overwhelming feeling and you had a hard time believing he was actually back and at your apartment. 

“Mmm, I missed you too handsome. Let’s get you settled in. Did you eat? Are you hungry? You look exhausted Mark.” You reached for his hand as he held the bouquet of flowers under his arm and dragged in his luggage with his free hand. Since you were ahead of him, you didn’t get to see the way his cheeks turned bright pink at your sudden movement. He was so whipped for you. Once you walked in to your living room, he was quick to notice the box of chocolates on your coffee table and the flowers in a vase sitting on your counter. There was that weird feeling again and he was soon growing curious with what exactly it was that seemed to be eating away at him. You had him take a seat on the couch as you hurriedly brought his luggage in to your room and made your way back to him. 

“I uh—these are for you.” You gave him a toothy grin; excited at the idea of him thinking to stop by somewhere and get you flowers. The soft peck on his lips was your token of appreciation and you walked in to your kitchen to find another vase to put his flowers in. Although he felt as if he could practically knock out right there, he got up from the couch and walked over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on top of your shoulder. You’ve always adored the height difference between you and Mark. You weren’t the shortest person ever, but you weren’t blessed with height. You shivered at the feeling of him pressing a kiss against your neck and leaned back in to his chest to give him more access to your nape. 

“Where’d you buy the flowers from?” When he felt you tense up at his question, he knew something was up and he had a gut feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. 

“I just came back from a double date—but it’s not what you think. One of my coworkers really likes this guy, but she didn’t want to go out with him on her own just yet so she asked me to tag along with her. Honestly she’s been trying to set me up with all these guys but I’ve told her I’m unavailable more times than I can count on my hands. I think she used that as an excuse for me to go out on a date, but I really wasn’t interested. He gave me these flowers and those chocolates, but I didn’t really give him any of my attention and if I’m being honest, the entire thing was so awkward and I gave an excuse to leave early. I’m glad I did though.” 

You were facing him at his point and ran both your hands through his hair. So that’s why you were all dolled up; Mark knew he wasn’t overreacting for no reason. You just came back from a date. It didn’t matter that your friend set you up, for all he knew you could go on multiple dates and he couldn’t do anything about it. The two of you were untitled. He didn’t have the right to stop you from looking for a genuine relationship. All he could do was hope and pray that the feelings you harbored for him were enough to get you to stick around. 

The way his brows furrowed made you nervous and you didn’t think he cared for you in that way to get bothered at the idea of you seeing someone else. You and Mark may have acted like a couple, but because he wasn’t able to be in a relationship nor did he make it verbally known that he wanted to be one with you, you didn’t think it was possible for him to grow jealous at the thought of you dating someone else. 

“I see. Have you been on any other dates? Met anyone worth your while?”

“No. Just the one tonight. Why would I look for anyone else when I have you Mark? Or I mean—actually I don’t know what I mean. I’m not yours and you’re not mine yet I’m holding on to this tiny little thread and the little voice that’s telling me to not give up on us but I don’t know what you see me as; for all I know I could just be a friend you kiss every now and then just because you can’t have anything to serious. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t bother me and that I’m fine with being stuck in this untitled relationship knowing that I want more, but all I care about is you. I know it’s hard for you to live a normal life and I just wanted to give you whatever it is that you need. I’m sorry, I talk too much—“ 

When you felt a teardrop fell on your cheek, you hesitantly looked up at the older boy and felt a pang to your chest at the sight of his lip quivering as tears were building up at his eyelids. Everyone and anyone who knew Mark was well aware of how sensitive he could be and it was a trait of his you genuinely appreciated. It showed that he had such a big heart. There were moments where he would cry watching a sad video or movie and you’d always smile softly to yourself at how adorable he was. But now, seeing him cry and having a feeling that you were the reason made your head spin. He brought his hands down to your waist and lifted you up on to the counter before connecting your lips together in a rough and extremely passionate kiss. 

You and Mark might have shared quite a few kisses in the last year, but this was the first time his lips smashed and melded against yours perfectly. His lips were chapped and tasted salty from his tears, but it didn’t matter. He all but gently forced his tongue in to your mouth and down your throat and although the feeling was foreign, you could find yourself getting used to this. All too soon, he pulled his lips away and placed his forehead against yours, earning himself a soft whimper from the absence of warmth. He began gliding his thumb along your thigh while lifting your chin up so that you were making eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry y/n, I’m so fucking sorry for having to put you through all of that for the last year but I’m so grateful for each and every single sacrifice you’ve made for me. You’re way more than just a friend to me baby, I thought it was obvious with the way I have to constantly be kissing these pretty lips of yours and the way I always need you around. If you were just a friend, I wouldn’t be calling you and checking up on you every day. You wouldn’t be on my mind the first thing when I wake up and right before I go to bed and I know it’s my fault for not telling you how I feel but I’m telling you now, I’m crazy about you. I was always yours y/n, always. You mean everything to me y/n and you know what? I love you. I love you so much y/n and I plan on loving you for a very long time. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, I don’t care about the repercussions or what punishment I get for this, but please be my girlfriend. I’ll do anything to be yours completely.” 

With the way he was looking at you, as if you were the one who set the entire universe in to the sky, you were putty in his hands. You never said it out loud, but this is what you’ve wanted from the time that Mark stumbled in to your life. Because you were afraid to come off too forward and selfish, you didn’t tell him that you’d daydream of the day he could finally be able to date you without having to worry about what people or say or do if and when they were to find out. You pulled him closer to your body and hid your face in the crook of his neck. Feeling his heartbeat against your chest made it harder for you to keep the growing smile on your face at bay. You really did love the beautiful boy in front of you. 

“I love you too Mark. I’ve always had these feelings for you and I know they’re not going anywhere. You really are one of the best things that ever happened to me. I want nothing more than to take things further with you. It’s always been you too baby. I’m always going to be here for you.” 

He stole a couple more kisses from the corner of your mouth before picking you up from off of the counter and throwing you over his shoulder. “Mark, what are you doing?!”

“You can’t look that amazing and not expect me to show you exactly what you do to me. I’m gonna make love to my beautiful baby.”

“Mark! At least take me to dinner first before getting in to my pants you ass.”

He playfully slapped your butt before making his way toward your room. “You know babe, our relationship was never normal to begin with so there’s no point in following the rules. I like living dangerously. Forget dinner y/n, I’m going straight for dessert.”

Oh, here I go down that road Again and again the fool rushin' in But I can't help when I feel some kind of way Do you feel the same? 'Cause And I fall, I fall for you You caught me at my weakest I fall, I fall for you You caught me at my weakest I fall for you

Love you gonna get hold on me Tell me what you gonna do to me Now you've gone and got your hands on me Tell me what you gonna doAnd here I go down that road Again and again the fool rushin' in But I can't help when I feel some kind of way Do you feel the same?'Cause I fall, I fall for you You caught me at my weakest Yeah, I fall, I fall for you You caught me at my weakest And I fall for you

[blossom-hwa]

Attach - MARK |Swing!|

I wrote 50k words in 10 days I think my brain is going to shut down

THANK YOU @deathbykpopboys​ FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA TO CONTINUE THIS FROM THE ORIGINAL DRABBLE (here). I LITERALLY OWE YOU MY LIFE. THIS STORY WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU I SWEAR. THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE YOUR IDEAS, YOU DESERVE THE W O R L D

One more thing: a long time ago I promised @zhengtongue​ (fari love u) that all further Mark stories I wrote would be dedicated to her :) :) here’s the first Mark story I’ve written since then :) :) dedicated to you and @deathbykpopboys​ :D

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, mild violence, some descriptions of sex (as in like. sex ed. no one actually does it), PANIC ATTACKS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 9.2k

A disastrous field trip to OsCorp leaves you and Mark with two spider bites and a decision to make.

Attach >> Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } 

NCT Masterlist | Swing! 

You wake up with a misplaced sense of excitement that makes you even grumpier than normal. It’s six in the fucking morning, finals and AP exams are in a month and a half, so what the hell is there to be excited about?

Then you open your eyes enough to see the permission slip sticking out the top of your bag and it clicks.

The field trip to OsCorp is today!

A grudging smile comes over your face. It might be six a.m., but you’re about to go on a field trip to one of the biggest biotech corporations in the world – you have a right to feel excited. You may be in high school, and some may say that getting excited over field trips is for little kids, but it’s OsCorp. Not Stark Industries, but still pretty damn close.

Quickly, you shower and dress, careful not to wake up your older brother. As you pass by his room, you feel a stab of guilt. Johnny worked another late shift last night, and he’ll probably have another one tomorrow. And here you are, taking a field trip.

Mood slightly dampened, you head out the door, locking it behind you with a quiet snick. In the lobby, you wait a few minutes for Mark to arrive. Exactly three minutes later, you hear his feet pounding down the stairs.

Any guilt you felt washes away at the sight of your best friend smiling behind his round glasses. Mark is what people might call a typical nerd – you’re a little too confrontational for that label – but you’ve known him for over ten years.

He’s so much more than that.

“Ready for OsCorp?” Mark pushes up his glasses, grinning widely.

You smile back just as eagerly. “Fuck yeah.”

The smiles stay throughout the train ride to school. Mark’s gets slightly smaller when Flash rolls through Midtown High’s gates and gives him that stupid smirk, but you distract him with talk about the labs you guys will get to see. The bus ride passes without fanfare – though Mark gets into a spat with your friend, Haechan, about the merits of computer science versus physics, fucking nerds – and soon enough, you’re is pulling into the huge parking lot at OsCorp.

Even Flash, who was griping about not getting to see Stark Industries and having to “settle for” OsCorp, is stunned by how immense the building actually is from the inside.

It’s fucking amazing. Pristine walls surround your classmates, while people in lab coats and business suits mill around beyond the huge lobby. Conference rooms with walls of glass let you see people giving presentations with complicated diagrams you’re itching to see.

Beside you, Mark catches his breath in delight. When you turn to him, he grins with so much excitement in his face that your heart melts for a moment.

He deserves a break. He deserves this excitement. With that, you link arms with him as a cheery intern starts the tour.

. . . . .

There’s nothing Mark would trade for being at OsCorp today. Even though he can’t go everywhere, the tour guide, Joy, makes the most of the places she has access to. With each new lab Mark enters, his wonder only heightens.

If this is OsCorp, he thinks, how cool is Stark Industries?

The tour ends with a video about what you all could do as future scientists and world leaders, and then Ms. Wilson herds the class back into the lobby to wait for the bus.

Mark has to use the bathroom. Though Wilson clearly isn’t happy about it, she lets him go with a stern warning to hurry.

He finds the bathroom quickly and starts to head back. But at some point, he takes a wrong turn or something because he’s now in a stark-white hallway that he hasn’t seen before.

Oh, come on. He doesn’t need Wilson to hate him any more than she already does. Confused, he looks around for someone to ask for directions, but there’s no one in the hall. In his frustration, he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling.

He barely suppresses a scream at the dangerous looking blue and red spider sitting up above him.

Normally, Mark just leaves spiders alone unless they get too close. He doesn’t have much love for insects or arachnids, but he doesn’t enjoy killing them. They just want to mind their own business, like he does.

This one, though, just oozes malicious intent.

Other spiders just want to do spin webs and eat bugs and stuff. Not this one.

Before he has time to yell, this one fucking leaps, silk tracing behind it, lands on his arm, and bites him.

A sharp sting races up his arm and the spot where the stupid arachnid bit him starts to throb. Belatedly, he starts shaking his arm to get rid of the thing, but it’s already climbing back up the wall and onto the ceiling.

For a moment, Mark just stares at the spider, clutching his arm.

“Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of his daze. Relief floods his veins, but terror and worry soon replace it. He opens his mouth to tell you to get away, but he can’t fucking speak. Then you turn down the hall.

Too late.

“Dude!” You jog forward, ignoring or misinterpreting Mark’s outstretched arm trying to push you away. “The bus is here! We need to –” You stop talking, finally realizing something’s wrong. Your eyes go to his arm, which is now bright red. “Mark? What’s –”

His vocal cords take that moment to start working. “Look up,” he whispers.

The spider leaps without warning, barely after a second after your eyes have even registered it. It settles on your arm quickly and you yelp.

It must have bitten you too.

Thankfully, you have more of a destructive instinct than Mark does. Your arm smashes against the wall with a resounding thud and the crushed spider drops to the ground. A spatter of liquid stains the white paint. You wipe your arm against the wall.

For a moment, you and Mark just stare at the spider’s corpse. Mark can feel the blood draining from his face.

“It bit you too?” you finally ask.

Mark nods tightly. “Yeah.”

You take a glance at your arm and blanch. Mark winces, seeing your skin already darkening with inflammation. With trembling fingers, you untie your jacket from around your waist. “Hide it,” you tell him when he looks at you questioningly. He numbly pushes the sleeves of his hoodie down.

Ms. Wilson yells at him a lot when he gets back, which he takes with a bowed head and many apologies. He barely hears it, though. The throbbing in his arm is almost overwhelming, and his mind is racing too fast to comprehend much of anything. When you all finally board the bus, you drag him to the back where the two of you sit, silent and scared.

That spider wasn’t from any lab he visited today, which means it was probably from some classified, secure experiment. Well, one that was supposed to be secure.

It was bright red and blue. It attacked without provocation.

Clearly, it wasn’t meant to have gotten loose.

Why was OsCorp even making these things?

Mark sneaks a glance at his throbbing arm. He doesn’t dare look under the hoodie sleeve for fear that someone else will see, but it hurts.

What effects will that bite have?

Can I even treat it?

Dread pools heavy in his stomach. Some spiders are extremely venomous.

Am I going to die?

Mark’s hand reaches over and grasps yours tightly. You try to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but your hand is clammy and cold with anxiousness.

Any residual excitement from visiting OsCorp is gone. Only terror floods his veins.

. . . . .

The spider bite doesn’t go away for seven days, and with every hour that passes, the stupid thing only looks like it’s getting worse.

You try to ignore it at first. After all, you can’t exactly call in sick for a bug (or arachnid, whatever) bite. If you did, that would a) sound stupid and b) make your brother worry, which he really doesn’t need. So for the first three days, you grit your teeth, cover the bite with long sleeves even as the days begin to warm uncomfortably, and trudge to class.

The only thing that keeps you going is that you’re not alone. If anything, Mark is panicking a lot more than you. With every day that passes, he grows more and more outwardly concerned with the spread of red inflammation and the aches all over his body.

At least at first, you’d like to think that you hide your concern better than Mark. But by the third day, the inflamed part of your skin is about the size of your hand and hot to the touch, and you’re sure you don’t look much better than your best friend.

Mark comes over after school that day because Johnny’s working late and the two of you want to talk, alone. But at first, you don’t even speak – just lie on your bed and stare at the angry red spots on your arms.

“Are we going to die?” Mark finally mumbles, somehow sounding both panicked and resigned.

You want to reply with a ‘no, definitely not, stop overreacting,’ but the aches feel horrible and you have the strong urge to vomit. Neither of you have looked up your symptoms because the spider was clearly unnatural and WebMD will only make you feel worse, but you don’t need to be a genius to know that something is very wrong.

Nothing gets done that night, and it’s with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you hug Mark tightly before he walks up the several floors to his own apartment. Not wanting to eat for fear of it just coming back up, you messily scribble some answers to your homework and pass out.

You wake up the next morning and vomit all over the floor.

Johnny wakes up to the sound of crying and retching and immediately calls in sick for both of you when he opens the door to you trying to drag yourself to the bathroom, studiously avoiding the pool of sick on your floor.

Bleary-eyed and lightheaded, you text Mark and tell him you’re not going to school. He doesn’t reply until several hours later. He went to school but got picked up early after he threw up in class.

By day five, you have a high fever and Johnny has to take another day off. Luckily, it’s Saturday. You don’t have school. You hope you feel better by Monday.

But on day six, Sunday, you’re shivering and aching all over and the fear of death breaks you down. Tears stream down your face as you toss and turn in bed, intermittently yelling and muttering gibberish that Johnny can’t understand. At one point, you become aware of him sitting on the side of your bed, silently crying. With the last of your energy, you touch his fingers and squeeze lightly, tears still running down your cheeks.

You hope desperately that Mark feels better than you do.

On day seven, you feel slightly less disgusting. You stop vomiting sometime in the afternoon, and the redness of the spider bite has started to fade. The aches are still there, but they’ve concentrated in your stomach, back, and legs, so you don’t hurt everywhere anymore.

You wake up the next morning, already resigned to missing another day of school. But something immediately feels very, very wrong.

You don’t hurt. At all.

This makes you panic even more than when every part of you was in pain.

You roll out of bed with a frantic thud and practically rip off the blanket to check your arm. No redness. No heat. No sign of inflammation.

Your back doesn’t ache. Neither does your core. But wait, what the fuck - are you taller?

Everything’s clear, you realize. No blurriness from your near-sighted left eye, even without your glasses. You can see every leaf on the scraggly tree just outside your bedroom window.

You might have stopped vomiting, but this all still makes you feel like dry heaving. A hand goes to your stomach and you freeze.

Peeling up your shirt slowly, you look down and almost scream.

You have abs.

Abs.

With shaking fingers, you pull out your phone and dial Mark’s number. You know he’s fine enough to pick up – you and him were texting sporadically yesterday. He answers with a groggy, “Y/N, what the fuck.”

“Mark.” You try to breathe. “Do you hurt at all?”

Dead silence on his end.

“... No.”

“Is the bite still there?”

“... No.”

“Do you have fucking abs?”

“No – what the – Y/N, what the fuck is going on, what the fuck?”

He might be hyperventilating at this point. You can’t blame him. You think you’re about to vomit your guts out again.

“Meet me outside,” you snap, hastily changing your clothes. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but those spiders at OsCorp were... they weren’t fucking normal.”

That’s an understatement.

It takes ten minutes to convince Johnny you’re fine, you really are, you swear, you’re not vomiting and you can’t miss your French quiz today, you’ve already missed a week of school, yes you promise you’ll call him if you throw up again. When he finally lets you go, you race down the stairs faster than you’ve ever gone before.

Mark’s already there. For a minute, you two just stand outside the ratty apartment building with similar looks of shock and panic on your faces. Quickly, you tell Mark about what’s happened to you. He confirms it all.

“Are we like. Fucking. I don’t know.” You pull on your hair out of frustration. “Superhuman? Spider-people?”

On any other occasion, Mark, lovely logical intelligent Mark, would laugh and ask you if you were feeling all right. But now?

He shrugs, but you can tell he’s at least considering your words. “Maybe?” he replies in a very small voice, and then you realize he’s shaking.

The overwhelming need to protect your best friend rises up in you, but you can’t protect him from the spider venom in your veins. Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you clench your fist, but one look at the lost look on his face drains the panic from your body and you just envelop Mark in a hug that he immediately returns. “We’ll figure it out, Mark,” you mumble in his ear. “We’ll be fine. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers in your ear.

“Good.”

Then you find that you can’t fucking detach yourself from him.

It’s not that you don’t want to. You literally can’t. Your fingers are somehow stuck to the back of his shirt and you have a feeling that if you yank hard enough to pull yourself away, a patch of cloth is going to come off with your hand.

“Mark? Try to let go of me.”

It turns out he can’t either.

“Mark, we have ten minutes before the next train leaves.”

Long story short, you miss the train. And as the two of you sheepishly walk in late to homeroom, you have a terrible feeling that you’re going to be missing many more trains in the future, too.

. . . . .

That first hug, sadly, does not bring an end to the adventures of Mark and Y/N sticking (literally) together.

Mark tries to be careful, he really does. He knows you’re trying too. But you’re both so used to linking arms, hugging, and holding hands that it’s difficult to remember that touching literally anything could result in a whole stupid fiasco.

You two are late to homeroom every. Single. Fucking. Day. Of. That. Week. Because neither of you can remember to keep your stupid hands to your stupid selves.

On Tuesday, it’s the hug.

On Wednesday, he grabs your arm to avoid a group of rushing passerby.

On Thursday, you playfully shove him.

On Friday, Mark wakes up praying for one day of peace, just one fucking day before he can bury his head in his pillow for two days straight and dream that this never happened.

And it would’ve been perfectly fine if you hadn’t fallen asleep on the train.

It’s not your fault, not at all. The night before, you were up so late trying to fix a bug in your computer science assignment that you almost fell asleep waiting for the train. Almost as soon as you board, you’re passed out.

Mark is stupid.

Normally when one of you falls asleep, the other will hold their hand or arm to keep them from slumping over completely. It’s basically instinct now, so when your head lolls onto his shoulder, Mark quickly grabs your hand and nudges you upright.

Then he realizes his mistake.

Fuck.

His slight jolt of realization shakes you awake. Mark’s heart sinks as your tired eyes open and immediately zero in on their linked hands.

You’re wide awake now.

You try to tug away. It doesn’t work.

“Fuck,” you say eloquently.

Mark winces. “Sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to, it’s just…” He winces again. “Habit?”

Honestly, after a week of this, Mark would have thought the two of you would get better at detaching from each other. But every morning, without fail, it’s been exactly like this – flailing limbs, anxious yanking, clothes threatening to rip.

The two of you stumble into the train station still stuck together. With his free hand, Mark checks his phone and groans.

“We have five minutes.”

Unsticking takes fifteen.

Mark is normally a pretty mild person. He can take a lot more of Flash’s shit than you can without batting an eye, and his teachers usually like him for his calm demeanor. But as he slips into his seat, face hot and ears undoubtedly bright red, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

Four late days in a row. Four fucking days.

He stifles a groan. If you two don’t figure out this sticking situation soon…

The bell for first period rings literally minutes after he sits down. With a sigh, he reaches down to pick up his bag, praying that he won’t stick to it, when Mr. Thomas, his homeroom teacher, calls for you and him to stay behind.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Flash sneers as he passes by.

Mark wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.

Thomas is a cool teacher, as far as Mark has known. He’s chill, likes to make jokes, and has two kids of his own – he knows and cares for his students. This knowledge just makes Mark feel so much worse, and as the two of you walk up to his teacher’s desk, he readies himself to make an apology.

“So, I’m sure you two know why I wanted to talk to you today.” Mr. Thomas’s mild voice contains a hint of reproach, and Mark winces. Next to him, he sees you do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I understand.”

Both of your heads snap up. How does he know?

“First love can be very overwhelming, especially at your age.”

Mark blinks. Then he blinks again.

His teacher just smiles benevolently. “Believe me, I would know. I met my wife when I was in high school, and we had some crazy memories. First love is a beautiful thing.”

Mark doesn’t want to hear anymore. He can already feel the redness creeping up his cheeks.

Please, Earth, just open up and swallow me whole.

“But let me give you some advice.” Mr. Thomas leans forward slightly, looking the two of you in your unwilling eyes. “Romantic rendezvous in the morning shouldn’t be more important than getting to school on time.”

A sort of strangled eep comes out of his throat just as you sputter, “Romantic rendezvous?!”

“You both are very intelligent and hardworking students, two of the best this school has ever seen, and I do think you two are a good fit for each other,” Mr. Thomas continues as if he hasn’t heard anything. “However, it’d be a shame for such good students to give up on your schooling for a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

“We’re – we’re not dating,” Mark protests. “Mr. Thomas, seriously –”

His teacher holds up a hand. “Mark, Y/N, if you two can’t control your… urges, you should at least be safe. I trust that you two both know that.”

There’s a stapler next to Mr. Thomas’s computer. Maybe he can staple his hand and go to the clinic. Or he could bash his head against the edge of the desk and knock himself out. Maybe grab those scissors in that cup of pens and just slit his throat right then and there.

Some sort of croaking noise leaves your throat. Mark doesn’t need to look at you to know how you’re feeling.

Mr. Thomas sighs. “But beyond that, school really should be your first priority.” He flashes a smile that Mark can’t find the presence of mind to return. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll give you two passes for next period. What do you have next?”

Passes in hand, the two of you stumble into the now-empty hall. Mr. Thomas’s parting words – “Remember my advice!” – rattle around in Mark’s mind.

That didn’t actually happen. There’s no way Mark’s homeroom teacher just gave the sex talk to him and his best friend who happens to be of the opposite gender. This is all just a really, really long nightmare, and Mark will wake up in a few minutes, wrapped in warm blankets.

He pinches himself. It hurts a lot.

Not a nightmare.

“That has to be illegal,” Mark mutters. “Fucking… what the fuck even was that?”

“I want to die,” you mumble.

There’s a bit of silence.

“Well…” You swallow hard, resolutely looking anywhere but Mark’s eyes. “I’ll be… going to class?”

He nods dumbly, then watches you disappear down the hall. The closing of the door jerks him out of his daze and he turns around, heading to his own class.

Head down, he hands the pass to his teacher and takes his seat, ignoring Flash’s smirk and Haechan’s look of worry. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to wake himself up from this real-life nightmare.

Could this day get any worse?

. . . . .

You honestly think, after leaving homeroom, that nothing could make this day even worse.

By third period, you’re cursing your naivete.

It’s like the stickiness is on tenfold today. Your fingers glue themselves to everything – textbook pages, the disgusting desks, pens, even a whiteboard marker from when you go up to solve a problem in calculus.

It takes a five-minute tugging match for Mr. Garcia to finally peel the marker off of your skin. The giggles of your classmates join the vestiges of Mr. Thomas’s “advice” in bouncing around your brain like a million vicious ping pong balls.

After that, you avoid raising your hand to answer questions at all.

By the time you meet back up with Mark, you two have come to a silent agreement to not touch each other whatsoever. You studiously ignore each other all throughout English, and at lunch, you sit across the table, not next to each other like normal. At the same table, your friends look like they want to remark on the situation, but they wisely keep their mouths shut.

When you get up to throw your trash away, Diana, a girl you know but don’t really talk to, walks up as well. “Hey, Y/N,” she greets.

“Hey.” You try to smile.

“Um, I just wanted to ask.” She bites her lip, looking sympathetic. “Did… did you and Mark break up?”

You can almost hear the Windows shutting-down noise as your brain short-circuits.

How could you have broken up if you were never dating in the first place.

With an effort, you turn to her and swallow. “We were never dating,” you enunciate carefully. “So we never broke up.”

Diana immediately flushes bright red. “Oh, fuck, sorry. It’s just, Flash told everyone the two of you were together? And you guys seemed super close and all so it really looked like you were. I really did think you guys were dating, you looked super sweet together. But you didn’t talk much today, and you two looked pretty worked up this morning, so people thought…”

You’re going to kill Flash. You’re going to beat him up behind the school and slit his throat with your own nails.

“Well, we’re not.” You smile as best as you can. “Um, yeah.”

It just doesn’t stop. Until now, you never realized this many people actually paid attention to your personal life. Five more people have come up to ask if you and Mark are okay by the time chemistry rolls around, and as you take your place behind the cramped lab table with the boy everyone thinks you’re dating, you can practically feel the steam billowing out of your ears. Mark doesn’t look nearly as angry as you, but he looks a lot more confused and annoyed.

You brush fingers a few times as Mark pours out the acid and you try to set up the buret for today’s titration. Thankfully, you don’t really stick this time.

But then Mark gets his hand stuck to the Erlenmeyer flask and you have to spend ten precious minutes trying to tug it off, causing you to almost not finish the lab and earning both of you another black mark in Ms. Wilson’s mental book.

You ignore anyone who tries to ask you or Mark anything as you all but run out of school, only relaxing once you’ve thrown yourself onto a seat on the train. Mark slides down next to you and puts his head in his hands.

“Tell me this is all a nightmare,” he mumbles.

You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

By the time you’ve walked up the stairs to your apartment, you think you’re going to pass out. It’s been a long day. You don’t care if you have homework or if Mark’s staying over for a bit – you just want to lie in your bed and sleep away the horrors of today.

Then Johnny opens the door before you even have the chance to unlock it and you just know from the glint in his eye that everything is about to get ten times worse.

“Y/N, Mark. What a lovely surprise!” Your older brother is all welcoming words and terrifying smiles. “I got a very interesting call today from a certain Mr. Thomas. Mei did too –” and at this, poor Mark looks like he’s going to faint right then and there – “but she couldn’t leave work, so she asked if I could come home early and give you both a talk.”

You think you’re going to vomit.

“Johnny, whatever Mr. Thomas told you, it isn’t true,” you plead. “I swear on my life –”

“So you two haven’t been late to school every day this week?” Johnny raises an eyebrow.

You think you’re going to die. “Well, yes, but –”

“Have a seat.” Johnny gestures grandly at the small kitchen table, where he’s pulled out two chairs. To your horror, it looks like he’s enjoying this. “Mei and I think it’s time we gave you The Talk.”

If your day was bad before, Johnny gleefully takes it straight to hell.

“So boys have appendages that are called penises,” he begins sagely, “and girls have vaginas. You may know these by more colloquial terms, but those are a bit crass for my household.”

Bullshit. Johnny calls his co-workers dicks and Ten an ass every other night.

“Both of these are integral to the process of sex, and thus, baby-making,” Johnny continues. “During sex, the male – or whatever they identify as – will put the penis inside their partner’s vagina. Of course, that’s traditional. Other forms of sex include oral and anal…”

You’re five seconds away from putting your hands over your ears and just screaming bloody murder. Mark is looking down, fists screwed into his shirt, and his face is so red that he looks like he might implode.

Meanwhile, your evil older brother is grinning like the Joker. It’s infuriating and terrifying. You really, really want to reach out and punch him and just brawl like when you were younger, but your feet feel rooted to the floor.

Johnny’s spiel pauses for a second as he takes a dramatic breath. Immediately, you’re on guard. Whenever Johnny wants to be dramatic, it’s never a good thing.

“So in anal sex,” Johnny starts, “the appendage goes in the –”

Oh my god.

“We’re not fucking!” you finally explode.

Mark breathes a sigh – you think it’s one of relief, but you can’t be sure – while your brother just blinks. “Pardon?”

Your face burns hot, but you grit your teeth and stare Johnny in the eye. “Mark and I are not fucking,” you repeat carefully.

“Who said anything about you and Mark?” Johnny raises one perfect eyebrow.

Oh, you want to punch him so badly.

“But thank you for bringing that up!” Johnny smiles benevolently like a teacher rewarding you for doing something good in class.

You groan, knowing you’ve just made things so much worse.

“You two are hormonal teenagers, so you’ve undoubtedly already started to feel those urges.” Johnny keeps smiling pleasantly, even as you’re having war flashbacks to this morning in homeroom. “That’s perfectly normal. So – and I’m not saying you’re fucking –” he gives you that look that means uh huh, I totally do not believe you, but I’ll drop it for now until you prove yourself wrong – “but if you do become sexually active, you should always get tested for STDs and STIs first, and take preventative measures such as using condoms and birth control.”

That’s it. You’re just going to die. Slit your own throat with, you don’t fucking know, the pencil lying by Johnny’s arm. Maybe you’ll just grab that piece of paper over there and cover yourself in tiny papercuts and bleed to death. That couldn’t possibly hurt as much as hearing Johnny talk right now.

“Now back to anal sex!” Johnny smiles.

Mark lets out a small groan and buries his face in his hands. If anything, Johnny’s smile grows wider. “Anal sex is when –”

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!” You grab the pencil you wanted to slit your throat with and hurl it at your brother. The blunt point pokes him harmlessly in the chest and falls to the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck Mr. Thomas told you, but I – we –” you gesture helplessly between you and Mark – “we’re not doing anything! And I know all of this, dude, I go to high school!”

Even after that excellent point, Johnny still goes on for another ten minutes before he allows you to drag Mark to your room and slam the door shut.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumble into your pillow.

Mark just makes a little pained noise in his throat.

The two of you do end up passing out for the best part of an hour before spending the rest of the afternoon finishing homework. Mark can barely look Johnny in the eye when he says goodbye, and as soon as the door shuts, you round on your older brother.

“What the fuck did Mr. Thomas say on the phone?” you snap.

Johnny raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stirs pasta in a pot. “He just said you and Mark have been late to homeroom every day this entire week, and he was sure it wasn’t much because you are both stellar students, but he worried that the two of you were becoming distracted because this wasn’t normal behavior.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “He might’ve mentioned… romantic rendezvous?”

You sink to the floor with a groan.

“I was just messing with you earlier.” Johnny’s words make you open your eyes to catch his teasing smile. “Seriously. I think I know you and Mark well enough to trust you not to do anything stupid.”

Suddenly, you become very aware of the spot on your arm where the spider bit you, the stupid thing that caused this whole mess in the first place. “Uh huh.”

“But I do want you to be careful.” Johnny’s eyes turn serious. “Mark is still a teenage boy, and you’re still a teenage girl. I do trust you, but things can still happen, even if they’re unexpected.”

Internally, you gag. Outwardly, you just nod. “I know.”

“Good.” Johnny turns back to the pasta, then quickly looks back at you. “Doesn’t it look like Mark filled out a little?”

Your heart literally leaps into your throat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but the spider venom has caused you both to pack on some muscle overnight.

Sure, part of you is worried that Johnny is catching on to something weird. But something else is also making you sweat.

A memory of your linked hands from the morning flashes through your mind. In it, you realize, Mark’s arms are bulkier. A lot more than before.

Heat rises in your cheeks. You want to fling yourself into the void. “Y-yeah,” you squeak.

“Y/N, dating your best friend isn’t anything embarrassing –”

“We’re not dating!” you protest.

Johnny just gives you The Look again as he pours the water out of the pasta. “Okay.”

For the umpteenth time that day, you will whatever god is listening to just smite you down right then and there.

. . . . .

There are a lot of things that come with being a sort of spider-person that neither you nor Mark realized would happen, but in hindsight, they kind of (not really) make sense.

. . .

One: the sticking thing. It does make sense. Spiders walk on walls and other vertical surfaces by sticking to them with the little setules on their legs. Mark hypothesizes that maybe there’s some sort of electrostatic force between your skin and objects around you that makes you stick. After a moment of thought, you agree.

Doesn’t matter. Mark never wants to go through that ordeal of the first week over again.

He used to idolize Johnny. Johnny was something between another parent and the older brother he never had, embarrassing but cool and kind and so, so strong. Even after your parents died and he had to drop out of university to take care of you, he always stayed strong.

But now? After that disastrous Friday, Mark knows what you mean when you complain about Johnny being a menace to your health and well-being.

And of course, that’s not the end of it. Aunt Mei just has to get her hands into it too. The literal day after The Talk, you walk up to his apartment to work on a research paper together for the lab you two volunteer in. When he takes your laptop to read something, the device somehow gets stuck to his skin.

Mei comes home early that evening and walks in on you practically straddling him, trying to yank your laptop away.

Even Mark knows that it definitely doesn’t look that way from her perspective.

But all she does is say, “Use protection,” and close the door behind her.

(You leave early that evening, rushing out of the apartment with a face hot with embarrassment and lowered eyes. Mark slinks out of his room at some point to get something to eat, and Mei just gives him a smirk.)

Thankfully, after a couple more weeks, the two of you more or less figure out how to stop sticking to every goddamn thing you touch. It’s more of a thing that happens when either of you are nervous or stressed, so as long as you two keep calm and purposely remind yourselves not to stick to stuff, you’re fine.

Mr. Thomas still gives you a few looks, but now that you’re coming in on time to homeroom, he doesn’t say anything.

Thank fucking God for that.

. . .

Two: both you and him somehow buffed up overnight. Well, probably during the time that you two were sick. That explains the aching muscles in his stomach and his back – he has abs, and he’s definitely taller. So are you.

Spiders are strong. Relatively. So the new muscles kind of makes sense, even though it’s hard for Mark to get used to at first.

What doesn’t make sense is how much strength these muscles actually contain.

The first casualty is Mark’s apartment doorknob. You go to open it one day after visiting the lab and it just… fucking… twists all the way around. Mark finds himself staring at a doorknob in your hand and an open door with a hole in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh heavily. Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Mei is going to kill me,” he groans.

The two of you spend five panicked hours fixing the doorknob instead of working on the research paper and Wilson’s lab report. When Mei comes home, she doesn’t notice anything (which really is a miracle), but from that day on, whenever the doorknob squeaks or stalls or does anything weird in his vicinity, Mark freezes.

A trail of broken things starts littering your paths. A stapler he pushed down too hard. His locker door, which now has a dent in it. One of your bedroom floorboards, though you hide the crack in the wood under a pile of clothes. Someone’s old MP3 player on the sidewalk literally shatters beneath his feet. Pens, pencils, and highlighters break in your hands. No one wants to lend either of you supplies anymore, so he becomes more vigilant about his own.

Oh, you also “accidentally” step on Flash’s calculus binder, flattening the metal rings and breaking the covers. But you don’t regret that.

It’s like he’s a toddler again, hiding broken toys or messily fixing them with scotch tape and glue. The only difference is now, he uses duct tape and superglue and is somehow even worse at hiding things than before.

Mark starts putting away all of his and Mei’s valuables into high-up cabinets with the excuse of keeping them safe from his clumsiness. He advises you to do the same. Eventually, you two learn to control your strength and the number of things you break slowly dwindles to zero.

Of course, there are accidents. One time in PE, you run the mile a little too fast (which is an understatement – you beat everyone else in your group, which has never happened before), and now Coach wants you to join the track team. Then Mark squeezes a glass buret a little too hard in chemistry one day and the thing just fucking shatters onto the table. While he hastily grabs the broom and starts sweeping up the pieces, you tell Ms. Wilson he accidentally dropped it while Flash keeps insisting that he saw Mark snap it with his bare hands.

Ms. Wilson might vehemently dislike you and Mark, but she now thinks Flash is insane. The one spot of joy Mark now finds in chemistry comes from Ms. Wilson narrowing her eyes at Flash whenever he says something remotely stupid, like she’s thinking of sending him to the school psychologist.

After all, who would accuse spindly, nerdy Mark of having the strength to shatter a reinforced glass tube in his palm?

He’s never particularly liked the stereotype people placed him in, but now he’s pretty thankful for it.

. . .

Three: he has reflexes sharper than he’s ever had before.

It’s not the same as, say, having his senses enhanced. They are enhanced – both of you can see clearly without glasses, he can hear things he’s never been able to before, and his nose wrinkles at smells no one else can detect. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and he has to duck into a quiet shop to escape the bustling noise of New York City.

But this new sixth sense reflex thing? It’s different.

It isn’t fake. Like, Mark could say he’s developed a sixth sense for when Flash wants to be a little shit, meaning he hears when Flash snorts or shuffles around in the back and knows to duck his head.

But this?

Mark first realizes it a few weeks after the spider bite. He’s minding his own business, talking with his friends before class, when Flash decides to be stupid and throw an apple at his head.

Mark doesn’t see Flash. He doesn’t see the apple. He doesn’t hear any swoosh of wind or feel anything in the air. But something in his head screams DANGER DANGER DANGER and he whips himself away from the apple, which smacks into his locker.

The hall falls awkwardly silent as Mark tries to process what just happened.

He didn’t even notice Flash’s arm or the apple. He didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it. But somehow, he knew something was wrong. He knew to duck away.

You recover a few seconds later. “What the fuck, Flash?” Then you pick up the apple, throw it back with far more force, and the hall descends into its normal levels of chaos. You all go to class, but in his peripheral vision, Mark can see you raising an eyebrow at him.

“What was that with Flash?” you ask later, when you two have boarded the train home. “I know you didn’t see that apple coming. Your back aas completely to him.”

Mark shrugs. “I just felt… I don’t know, really. I didn’t see him or hear anything. Just, something in my brain screamed danger and I just kind of moved.”

You look around, making sure nobody is paying attention. “Spider thing again?” you whisper.

“Maybe?”

For the next week or so, nothing happens that would trigger whatever the hell that was again. Mark makes sure to keep everyone he talks in sight, not allowing anyone to get behind him or to surprise him. He only ducked away that first time, but is surprised again, he has a feeling that his reactions could be a lot worse the next time. Like more violent.

The two of you are walking home from the lab when you hear scuffling in a nearby alley. Common sense tells Mark to keep walking, but as you two pass by, he can’t help but look. You stop walking too.

It’s a mugging, but the muggers clearly don’t have a lot of experience. Sure, they’re in a mostly-empty place, but the sun’s barely gone down and they’re trying to get money from a teenage girl who probably doesn’t have much on her. But one of the two has a gun.

He should just walk past and ignore it. Things like this happen all the time. Cops would just escalate the situation, and he’s too weak to help much.

The realization hits him with a jolt. But he isn’t weak anymore.

Mark feels your gaze on him and he turns to meet it. You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly toward the alley. He nods.

He’s always been light on his feet, but the spider bite seems to have made him almost soundless as he steps into the alley. The muggers don’t notice either of you at first, they’re too focused on their crying victim.

It happens quickly. You dart behind the unarmed man and pull him into a chokehold. His partner has fast reflexes though and immediately aims the gun at Mark.

DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER –

Mark drops to the ground seconds before the bullet sinks into the wall behind him.

Together, you subdue the men, leaving them groaning by the side of the street. Under the blanket of darkness that’s now fallen, Mark crushes the gun with his shoe, hoping nobody is paying attention to the dark object under his feet or the cracking noises. The girl thanks you effusively and runs off, and the two of you head on home.

This is what gets him thinking. You two are strong now, sticky, and have a sort of sixth sense for imminent danger.

It terrifies him to think of it, but the more he does, the more it makes sense.

You guys could keep doing this. Patrol the city, help people get around safely. Everyone knows the NYPD and the justice system aren’t shit. They couldn’t charge the drunk kid with a rich daddy who killed your parents. They couldn’t find the thief who shot his uncle. People will keep committing crimes, and the NYPD won’t be able to stop them.

But maybe, just maybe, Mark thinks, you could.

. . . . .

Mark is the one who brings up using your newfound skills – you refuse to call them powers, that’s just a step too far – for the good of the neighborhood.

“Think about it,” he says, looking at his hands. His face is pale, but he keeps going. “We have these, uh, enhanced abilities. Remember how we helped that girl get away from the muggers? What if we could do that for more people?”

You’re usually the brash one in most situations, but here, you take a step back. “There’s a lot of things to think about if we want to do that, Mark.” You chew your lips, thinking. “We can’t get caught, or else we could get arrested too. We need to be able to get away quickly and without injury, or Johnny or Mei will find out. We can’t afford a lot of hospital bills, either. We would need to move fast. Really fast.”

Mark nods. “I know. It’s just…” He looks at his hands again. His fingers are just as slim and graceful as they used to be, but both of you know the strength that now lies within them. “I don’t feel right, being able to help people but not doing it. You know.” He looks at you, and though his face is pale and his voice a little shaky, he’s resolute. “You and I have always tried to help people whenever we could.”

There’s bitterness there and you echo it, remembering the inept, corrupt legal system that couldn’t even bring justice to your family. The same law enforcement that couldn’t bring justice to Mark’s.

You could help prevent that. You could prevent the crimes in the first place, find the criminals and tie them up for the police to put away. Help make sure no one else has to deal with what you and Mark went through.

“Okay.” You rest your chin on your fist. “All right. Let’s say we hypothetically do this. We need to be able to mask ourselves as much as possible, keep our DNA away from the scene. This can only happen when Johnny and Mei are doing late shifts, so they don’t catch on.”

“First aid,” Mark adds. “We’ll probably get into scrapes and things. But we’ll also need to be able to immobilize the criminals and get away fast…”

Silence falls as you start thinking. Ropes are bulky and get heavy. Chains are even worse. Carrying them around would slow you down, so there’s no point. What you need is something lightweight and sticky, but strong.

An idea begins to form in your mind. You and Mark volunteer in labs at a nearby university. Professor Wang in the organic chemistry lab is really chill and lets you perform experiments with polymers and stuff he doesn’t need anymore. Mark works in mechanical engineering with Professor Tuan, who lets him build things out of scrap plastic and metal.

Spider bites.

Spider webs.

You could create synthetic webs, while Mark could make something that lets you shoot them out. There’ll be a lot of test trials and you’ll need to find an empty space for that, but if it works?

It’ll be so worth it.

Your mind races with possibilities. You could immobilize criminals, stick them to walls or the ground. You could stopper guns, or at least slow bullets down. You could trip people up with webs on their legs, keep them from punching or shooting with some on their arms.

And you could swing from buildings, which solves the travel problem.

“I have an idea,” you say. Mark raises an eyebrow.

A smirk grows on your face. “But we’re going to need to work on your fear of heights first.”

. . . . .

Mark thinks he’s going to have a heart attack, and he’s not even the one jumping first.

The two of you have taken a day off to go to Central Park – not for fun or anything (well, you insist it’ll be fun. Mark has other opinions), but to test out the strength of your web fluid. You’ve already done some trial runs with inanimate objects and you think it’s strong enough to hold both yours and Mark’s body weights, but you need to check.

Mark wants to argue that you have the rest of summer break to check, but you insist on doing it as early as possible. “We need time to fix mistakes,” you point out. “Plus, the earlier we finish this, the earlier we can... start doing stuff.”

He can’t exactly argue with that.

The web shooters are working well, Mark is finally thankful to say. Every single time he remembers the first test trial, he wants the earth to just open up and accept him into the void.

(He didn’t realize just how strongly the shooter would actually eject your “webs.” He also didn’t know how to aim very well. Long story short, you got a glob of polymers right to the face and Mark consequently wanted to die right then and there. The ensuing purple bruise on the side of your face made you the subject of several kinky jokes on Flash’s end.

They stopped when you picked up his new calculus binder and hit him over the head with it.

At least you found out the webs were indeed sticky enough.)

“I’m going!” you yell, startling Mark from his thoughts. You’re at least twelve feet up in a tree in Central Park, looking determinedly at a sturdy branch poking out from another trunk around ten feet away. Mark’s heart flips when he sees how high up you are.

Jesus Christ. Twelve feet, and he already feels like he’s going to start screaming.

What’s going to happen when he possibly has to swing off a building?

With shaking hands, Mark holds up his phone, fingers poised over the record button on the camera app. For whatever reason, you’d insisted on recording each “trial” like it was an actual laboratory test. Mark just goes along with it.

“Ready?” he yells.

“Yeah!”

He presses the record button.

For a second, you stand on your branch, staring steadily ahead. Then you raise your right arm, shoot a line of webbing to the next tree trunk, and leap.

Mark’s breath catches.

A screeching yelp tears itself from your throat as you swing through the air, using your momentum to rise back up and land neatly on the tree branch. Mark holds his breath as you wobble back and forth slightly, then drop into a steadier crouch. He sighs in relief and stops the video.

“Holy shit!” You climb down the tree and run over. “Holy shit! That was so fucking cool, Mark!”

“I’m sure,” he replies in a faint voice, looking at the tree you leapt from.

Twelve feet. It’s just twelve fucking feet, not like the monstrosity that is Trump Tower. It’s not even as high as his apartment building.

And yet he still wants to die.

Fucking acrophobia. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a breath.

Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder. “Hey, Mark.”

He looks at you.

“If you’re really not ready today, it’s fine.” The excitement in your eyes is gone, replaced by calm concern. “We can do this another day. Or we can figure out another option closer to the ground.”

God, what did Mark even do to deserve a friend like you? Even after all the work you put in to making the synthetic webs – a stroke of genius, by the way – you’re willing to put it all aside for him. Just for him.

He steels himself. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He flashes you something resembling a smile and starts hauling himself into the tree. “I can do this,” he mumbles once he’s on the branch.

Then he looks down and almost throws up.

Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he looks away and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He trusts in his web shooter to be accurate. He trusts in your webs to be strong enough.

He trusts that even if he falls, you won’t let him get far. He trusts that you’ll keep him safe.

“Ready?” you yell. Mark looks down again to nod, but the world isn’t spinning anymore. He locks his eyes onto the tree you jumped into and aims his web shooter.

“Ready!” he yells back. Faintly, he hears the beeping noise that signals the start of the recording.

Thwip. Web fluid shoots out and latches onto the branch. Before he can lose his nerve, he jumps.

A yell rips from his throat as he hurtles to the ground. Air rushes past his face as he swings his body up, up, until the branch is in view and he can plant his feet against it, using the last of his momentum to pull himself up. He wobbles a bit, then plants his arm against the tree trunk to steady himself.

He gasps shakily. The ground still looks so small from here, but the drop feels a fraction less frightening than it used to be. He takes one more deep breath, then starts to slowly climb down the tree.

As soon as he reaches the ground, you race over and engulf him in a strong hug. “You did it, Mark!” you all but yell into his ear. “You did it!”

Despite himself, Mark lets out a trembling bout of laughter, hugging you as close as he can. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, drinking in the steadiness that you bring to him. “Holy fuck.”

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the secluded spot, leaping from the tallest trees you can find for longer and longer distances. You take notes as Mark pulls the sticky but mostly solidified web fluid from the branches, analyzing how some of them seem to have solidified and cracked a little under stress. “They need a little more flexibility,” you tell him as the two of you pile the web fluid into a bag. You think you can recycle it to make more. “With the adjustments you make on the shooters, I think they’ll be even better next time.”

“Yeah.” It’s all Mark can say. As he sits down next to you on the subway, he suddenly feels so drained and tired that he automatically slumps and places his head on your shoulder.

A small, surprised laugh sounds next to his ear, and he feels your hand go up to pat his head. “You did great today,” you murmur.

He smiles. In that moment, while your hand continues stroking his hair, he feels like he could do anything.

Anything for the world.

Anything for you.

[celosiaa]

Submission by @entitynumber5: Hi Connor, I hope you’re having a WONDERFUL birthday and that you get to take a break from studying to do the things you enjoy and just have the lovely day you deserve!!! For this morning’s “write what I like” sprint (trying a new method of getting it all out before I have to put the brain into study mode), I wrote a lil something about 🎃 spooky season birthdays 🎃set in the Emmaverse… which turned out kind of long and a bit sappy. So there is no pressure to read it! I just love these characters :’) the working title is “Martin and Jon get proven wrong by an adorable five year old”.

Content warnings: brief mentions of blood, alcohol and minor injury (in relation to Martin working a Halloween paramedic shift); food.

Emma is obsessed with birthdays. Just not her own.

She turned five in May, and no matter how special they tried to make the day—with rainbow layer cake and carefully-selected presents and a visit to the roller-skating rink with her best friends—she didn’t seem half as excited as when it was someone else’s birthday. She would hardly sleep the night before friends’ parties. She spent hours wrapping the presents she picked for them with ribbons and bows and even confetti stuffed inside the paper. The only time they could encourage her to practice the piano for her weekly lessons was when she played the Happy Birthday song over FaceTime for her friends’ birthdays that were during school holidays.

The only thing Emma seems to have held onto from her own birthday is the notebook given to her Georgie and Melanie. Martin seems to remember there being two: one with little cartoon ghost drawn in the front by Georgie and the other with a scribble of the Admiral by Melanie. But Emma only carries the one around with her everywhere, and Martin is starting to doubt his own memory about there being a duplicate.

She has it with her now, as they sit outside the lecture theatre where Jon is currently teaching. In the too-big chair beside the door, her legs swing as she holds the notebook very close, staring intently at its pages while she wriggles her fluffy purple pen in thought.

“Daddy,” Emma says, in that voice that means she has a Very Serious Question, “When is your birthday?”

Martin is still a little dazed from nearly a week of night shifts. It’s the first time in six days that he hasn’t been working or sleeping at this time in the afternoon, and while walking with Emma to Jon’s work to surprise him at the end of the day seemed like a nice idea in practice, he really wishes he was lying on the sofa. They could be watching Peppa Pig for the thousandth time. Or getting started on dinner, which he isn’t going to let Jon make after a long day of teaching. He’s been mentally calculating how many hours it is until he can go to bed, how many tasks he has to do before then.

This feels like a selfish thought, though, and he pushes it aside quickly in favour of smiling at Emma. “My birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, still very grave, “That’s what I said. At school today, Miss Jones made us all put stickers on the big calendar on the wall for our birthdays. I wrote down all of my friends’ birthdays.”

“That’s nice.”

“And now I want to write down yours.”

“Okay, well, my birthday is next month.”

Emma frowns. “Next month. That’s…” she counts on her fingers until she seems to reach the answer she’s looking for. “October?”

“It is!” Martin grins. “Well done.”

Emma’s little frown doesn’t ease. “What day?”

“Well, do you know how many days are in October?”

Emma thinks. Shakes her head.

“There are thirty-one days in October,” Martin tells Emma, “And my birthday is on the very last day.”

Emma nods and returns to her notebook, slowly enunciating the words as she writes them down: “Oc-to-ber three-one.”

Martin wonders if Emma realises his birthday coincides with Halloween. Besides birthdays, she still doesn’t seem too interested in dates, no matter how many times her teacher makes her write them at the top of every page in her workbook. And during previous years, they celebrated Martin’s birthday the day before or after Halloween itself, so they can separate the two events, although perhaps she doesn’t remember.

Before Martin can ask, the door of the lecture theatre opens and students start filing out. Emma puts away her notebook and pen, her frown of concentration replaced by a glowing smile as she waits, bouncing excitedly in the chair, for her Baba to notice them waiting just outside.

*

“Jon,” Martin whisper-shouts as he tiptoes into the house after his shift, hoping he doesn’t wake Emma—but that his husband knows it’s urgent. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

Jon emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pair of yellow washing up gloves dripping soap suds and a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Martin ushers him back into the kitchen and shuts the door as quietly as possible, hoping it won’t wake Emma—or, worse yet, the cats, who will sit outside any closed door and cry to be let inside no matter what activity they were engaged in before.

“Martin,” Jon says, “What’s going on?”

“They just released the shifts for the next few weeks,” Martin replies, “And I’m working.”

“Well, good. I should hope so.”

“On my birthday.”

Jon’s expression merges into one of comprehension: Emma. And her newfound obsession with birthdays. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t suppose you could swap shifts with someone?” Jon asks.

Martin sits down at the table, lowering his head into his hands. He wants to shower, change out of his paramedic uniform, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else until they’ve had this conversation. “No one’s going to willingly take a Halloween shift. For a start, Andrew is terrified of clowns. And people are usually drunk, and it’s actually really hard to tell the difference between real and fake blood.”

“We could celebrate the day after,” Jon says, taking off the washing up gloves and sitting opposite Martin. He reaches across the table to take Martin’s hand. “I mean, you were born five minutes before midnight. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as a… slight shifting of the truth.”

“Jonathan Sims.” Martin gapes across the table at him. “Are you suggesting we lie to our daughter?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No, Martin,” Jon says again, “I’m simply suggesting we separate your birthday from Halloween, as we have done every year, and not draw attention to the fact because our daughter is currently obsessed with other peoples’ birthdays.”

“And it might upset her if she knew we were actually celebrating on the wrong day.”

“Exactly.”

Martin sighs. “I don’t know. It feels… sort of wrong.”

“Apparently, children under the age of seven have no concept of the passing of time and—”

“Did Tim tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh, god. It wasn’t Helen, was it? Please tell me you haven’t been having philosophical discussions about parenting with Helen again.”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts, “It was in the parenting book you gave me.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that chapter. Oh, god, maybe I should re-read it. The whole thing. Beginning to end. I—”

“Martin.” Jon squeezes his hand. “You deserve a day of your own. Tim and Sasha already agreed to take Emma trick-or-treating on Halloween. She will be focused on that for most of the day; she’s already talking about how excited she is. Let us spend the day after that treating you to all the wonderful things you deserve on your birthday—and every day.”

Martin manages a small smile, although every instinct inside of him is telling him not to accept Jon’s proposal. Not because he is worried about the ethics of manipulating their daughter’s concept of time—although this is a concern, too—but because he doesn’t want Jon to feel like he has to do any of this. To make a whole day about him, even if he takes great pleasure and care in doing the same for Jon on his birthday.

“Thanks, Jon,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, why don’t you go and have a warm shower? I’ve put the hot water on so it shouldn’t run out while you’re in there this time.”

Martin smirks. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Martin presses, teasing now. “Because I did have to treat a farmer who’d been kicked by one of his cows this evening.”

“Okay, alright, yes. Yes, you smell. Please go and have a shower.”

Martin laughs and gets up from the table. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“That really is disgusting, Martin.”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story. About the farmer, I mean. He’s fine, by the way. I’ll tell you about it when I’m out of the shower.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why today, of all days, have you abandoned the notion of showering before you sit down at the dinner table?”

“I had something important to tell you!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon shakes his head again. “Now please have a shower. For your sake as much as mine.”

“Love you,” Martin sing-songs as he exits the kitchen. He hears Jon’s gentle laugh chase him into the warmth of the bathroom, where Jon has put on the radiator and left him a fresh towel. He smiles, feeling his love for Jon balloon in his chest, and settles into the sensation being home.

*

Martin’s Halloween—and birthday—shift is so busy that he barely has time to check his phone. Tim has sent an album of photos of him, Sasha and Emma out trick-or-treating, dressed as Mike, Sulley and Boo from Monsters, Inc. Jon has been updating him on the number of trick-or-treaters who have visited their house (fifty-four, as of ten thirty p.m.), and how Iris and the cats are holding up with the constant ringing of the doorbell.

On his break, Martin quickly texts Tim to watch his glucose levels and not to forget his insulin (to which Tim replies yes, sir with a number of yellow heart emojis). He also texts Sasha to say she can take home any of the Skittles they get on their expedition, since they’re her favourite but Emma hates them. He tells Jon he loves him and to give Iris a pet on his behalf and that there’s some spare sweets under the sink, if they’re running low. Then it’s back to work.

The shift passes quickly, in the end. There is so much to do and no time to think about anything other than their patients. He does get given a toffee apple by someone dressed as a Minion at a student house party, and he narrowly avoids getting his face painted by twins who are the same age as Emma while his team are checking their mother’s twisted ankle after a fall trying to get to the door in time for a last-minute delivery of sweets. It’s not an awful shift, but it is, like always, exhausting and difficult in the same measure as it’s rewarding and hopeful.

By the time he gets home, all he wants to do is sleep. Emma is tucked into bed, fast asleep, while her nightlight projects solar systems onto the ceiling. Jon, too, is sleeping soundly with the cats for company. Iris barely looks up from her bed when he comes inside, but she gives a little wag of her tail each time he passes down the hallway to shower or get a drink of water. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Emma’s sweets on the table, next to the empty bowl that had once been full of treats to hand out to their visitors.

Martin’s smiles—it looks like a night well-spent for his family—and this thought carries him through an exhausted shower before he crawls into bed next to Jon. Jon must be tired, too, because he doesn’t stir. Martin makes a mental note to check his joints aren’t playing up from all the getting up and down from the sofa during the trick-or-treat visits.

Sometime later, Martin wakes to the soft click of the door as it opens. He squints against the light bursting around the edges of the still-shut curtains, expecting to see Jon tiptoeing to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Instead, Emma is creeping inside, holding a tray of pancakes while Jon follows behind, balancing two cups of tea.

“Happy birthday!” Emma says, as she places the tray down on the bed next to Martin. “We made spooky pancakes!”

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up fully. He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed: 11:42 a.m. He’s been asleep for just over six hours, but it somehow feels longer and yet not enough. “It’s not—”

Jon clears his throat.

“Oh. Oh, thank you, Emma! These are wonderful.”

The pancakes are, indeed, spooky. Emma has used a pumpkin cookie cutter to shape them and then drawn on funny faces with fruit and syrup. No longer responsible for balancing the tray, Emma looks at Jon, a little uncertain, and Jon nods in encouragement as he places their cups of tea down on the bedside table.

“I made you a present,” Emma says almost shyly.

Martin smiles gently at her. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulls something off the tray. It’s the second notebook, the one Martin thought he’d imagined, wrapped in a glittery silver ribbon and some confetti streamers. She offers it to Martin, and he takes it carefully, holding it as if it might fall apart in his hands.

“You can open it,” Emma tells him seriously.

Martin unwraps the ribbon. Emma takes it from him, along with the confetti, perhaps to reuse for another present. Slowly, Martin cracks open the notebook to the first page. There is Georgie’s ghoulish sketch, alongside a new inscription in Emma’s handwriting: Sorted Poems By Emma K. Blackwood-Sims. For Daddy’s Birthday. October 31.

Martin feels something tender and soft unfurl in his chest, until he’s certain he is going to cry. He begins to flick through the pages, but Emma says: “Wait!”

Martin stops. “What is it?”

“Look.” Emma climbs on to the bed, elbowing her way into the space next to him, and reaches across Martin to open the notebook on the first page again, where her inscription is. She points at her name.

“It’s meant to say assorted poems,” Jon says, “But neither of us were sure how to spell it.”

Martin laughs, the sound a little wet and shaky with the tears he can feel building. Jon hates spelling. It’s his least favourite type of homework to help Emma with.

“Look,” Emma says again, “I wrote my name like yours!”

Martin smiles. “Blackwood-Sims? But that’s your name, too.”

“No,” Emma insists, “Emma K Blackwood-Sims. Like you! Like a proper poet.”

“Oh,” Martin murmurs, “Oh.”

He’s sure he and Jon will laugh about this later. Martin doesn’t actually have a middle name. Emma does, but it certainly doesn’t begin with K. But right now, he feels tears on his cheeks as he takes in his daughter’s hard work.

Emma reaches for his face, patting away his tears with the palms of her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” Martin replies, sniffling in an attempt to draw back the tears, “I’m happy. And I love you so, so much.”

Emma frowns. “Will pancakes make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Emma. I promise. These are happy tears.”

“Pancakes always make me feel better,” Jon announces, climbing onto the other side of the bed and sliding back underneath the covers. He settles Emma down in the middle of them, handing her a mug full of juice. She doesn’t drink tea yet, but she doesn’t like to be left out when they do, so she has her own mug.

“These look wonderful,” Martin tells them, arranging the tray so they can all reach. Emma takes a plate and hands it to Jon, then does the same for Martin, before grabbing the final one for herself. “You’re getting very good at pancakes.”

“Baba said we can learn French toast next,” Emma says.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Emma nods. “It’s more difficult than normal toast.”

Martin chuckles. “It certainly is.”

They distribute the pumpkin-shaped pancakes between them. While they eat in bed, they tell each other stories about their Halloween night. Jon talks about the costumes of the people who visited their house, how many compliments they got on their pumpkin carving skills. Emma narrates her trick-or-treating adventure with Tim and Sasha. Martin shares the safest tales of his nightshift, the funny costumes he saw and the extravagant decorations at the parties they visited.

Martin is exhausted again by the time they’ve finished the pancakes. Jon insists on taking their empty plates back to the kitchen and making them another cup of tea, while Emma snuggles against Martin’s side. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not your birthday, Daddy,” Emma whispers.

Half-asleep until now, Martin grunts himself awake. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I know it’s not really your birthday,” Emma tells him, not moving from where she’s clinging to his arm, “Your birthday was yesterday. On Halloween.”

“Oh, Emma, we—”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, “It’s like when we had a party on Saturday even though my birthday was on Wednesday because I had school.”

“Yeah.” Martin stokes his hand through Emma’s hair. “It is a bit like that.”

“I still get to say happy birthday.”

“You do.”

“But can we have a party on the right day next year?” Emma asks.

“For your birthday?”

“No, for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Martin laughs. “Yes. It might not be a party, if I have to work again, but we can do this. This is lovely. Thank you for being so thoughtful. And I’m excited to read your poems.”

“Baba said they were good.”

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”

“It was fun.”

“That’s good. That’s what matters most when you make things.“

Emma wriggles around until she’s grinning up at him. “Can I read your poems now?”

Martin sighs, barely supressing a laugh. This isn’t the first time she’s asked. “Emma.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting in a way that breaks Martin’s heart to the point where he can never turn her down when she’s looking at him like this. “Please.”

“Alright,” Martin gives in, “I’ll read you one tonight. Before bed.”

“Yay!” Emma’s grin grows even wider. "Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And I love you very, very much.”

“Love you, too.”

They settle back down. Martin dozes a little again, a smile on his face, as he thinks about telling Jon later that their daughter very much does understand the concept of time. There really are some things parenting books don’t prepare you for—like the way his love seems to grow with each day he gets with Emma and Jon, even when he thinks it’s impossible, that he already loves them more than any person can.

Some things are gifts even when they are not given as such, and Martin is beginning to allow himself to think of his life with his daughter and his husband as one. He didn’t ask for it with words or lists. He doesn’t know, even now, if he deserves it. But it’s his. And he will treasure it always.

Not featured: Martin realising what he’s agreed to and frantically trying to find a non-angsty poem he can read to his five-year-old daughter. Jon thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

<3

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-three

Title: Prove it

Words: 6800

Warnings: Talks of pregnancy, mentions of vomit

Summary: A friend. A foe?

ST Rambles: I look pretty good for a dead bitch.

Okay. In all seriousness. In the five weeks that I have not updated, it has been chaos. School is absolutely kicking my ass this semester and I am not afraid to say it. Maternal-Newborn is a hell I would not wish on my worst enemy. With this said, I know any further updates will be sporadic, BUT - and I say this to snuff out any doubt on the matter - I will never, EVER, abandon this story. However it ends, rest assured that it will, in fact, do just that.

I thank you all for your patience and encouragement. This story is something I care deeply about and it just floors me that others do as well. I love interacting with you all, either on here or tumblr or TikTok (if you've made one and I haven't seen it, please tag me! My fyp does not work in my favor lol).

Be kind. Don't forget to be a person. All you can do is try your best.

[MASTERLIST] | BANNER/@elmidol

Good afternoon,

I can only hope this correspondence finds you safe and well.

The Board of Physicians sympathizes during this time of displacement and potential grieving. There are countless variables to be considered during uncertain times like these, but those of your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance. In an effort to convey the depth of our understanding, a unanimous vote has approved the decision to extend the dates of the trial by seven days. Upon receiving this official communication, you should plan to arrive on Canto Bight a minimum of two days prior to the morning of the initial hearing. An updated outline has been attached at the end of this e-mail for reference and sent to all pertinent parties.

Per the initial correspondence, Commander Ren is to receive a new provider prior to the trial’s start date. This objective has been met with the solemn barrier of the diminished population of approved nurses and physicians which resulted from the recent tragedy of Starkiller Base. There have been additional unforeseen circumstances also working to lengthen and altogether halt this approval process. Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to ensure the trial proceedings occur in an organized and professional manner.

The emergent provider shortage, along with the unknown – and likely diminished – amount of surveillance retained from Starkiller Base prior to its destruction, has laid the foundation for the discussion of potential and probable employment during your time on Canto Bight. The discussions surrounding this issue are in their infancies. Should it be that you are to assume a care position during your trial, you will receive a further updated and in-depth itinerary. This would include the dates, times, and location you would be expected to work; this information would be accompanied by any specific limitations regarding your scope of practice while on trial.

Though you are encouraged to reach out to discuss any questions or concerns you may have pertaining to these new developments, the current agenda is to be followed with strict compliance. Should there be any changes, as stated previously, I will communicate these to you in a timely and conscious manner.

Respectfully,

Karmen Zag, Esq.,

Head of Communications,

The Board of Physicians

“Yeah, well, you can go fuck yourself Karmen Zag. Stupid ass name anyway.”

Not that anyone could hear you, nor that anyone would care, you could not help the petty jab. Karmen Zag, the faceless mouthpiece of the institution actively seeking your death, had little to do with anything. Karmen Zag was not the one who had carved initials into your body; that person was elusive to you now. Karmen Zag was not the one who kept you from sleep; that person was dead, killed by the trembling hands of the very survivor they’d created. Karmen Zag was not the one you were currently hiding from; that person, achingly kind and too ignorant to know different, still came to pick you up from shift every night.

Cramped in the corner of a supply room, you sat with your knees tucked to your chest and your datapad resting on your thighs, eyeing the vent at the bottom of the door to spy Mason’s tapping foot. In the seven days since waking up in the medbay, six days since returning to work to help with the increased patient population – or, at least that’s what you were telling yourself – you had found yourself with a desperate need to distance yourself from Mason. He was unaware of all that was haunting you, nescient to the fact he was at the epicenter of the majority of it. To see him was to remember the choice you’d made, to hate yourself for regretting it, to be morally ripped in half by the unwavering war in the back of your mind.

The first three days he would always sneak up on you, flurries of white lies leaving while you fumbled away from him and into the nearest room. I’m on call tonight was your favorite. No, you weren’t, though you had been staying in the on-call rooms to hide the fact that you no longer held a residence on this ship. No matter if you had not received official word on your employment status, you felt an unease when thinking of returning to Kylo Ren’s quarters. It felt too broken, like you’d be a stranger somewhere you’d once considered a home.

Eventually, Mason being an inherent creature of habit, you’d picked up on his timing. On the fourth day you’d decided to stake him out, finding he would spend exactly ten minutes waiting, send a message to your commlink, spend another five toying with his own as he waited for a response, eventually asking whoever was nearest to tell you to call him. You never did. It was despicable, watching his hope falter as the days passed and you were never there to leave with him; wretched, but that did not make it any less necessary.

So long as you were away from Mason, you couldn’t hurt him. If you could create a rift between the two of you so great as to discourage any further interaction, you could save him from all the suffering that came along with being associated with you. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in deferring any conversation with him. Avoidance may not be a healthy coping mechanism, but all the ones you’d learned of in school were useless to your set of circumstances; there was no talking this through, no way to speak of Snoke or Kylo or Robbie without getting someone else hurt. You were trapped in your own, sole company; whoever you had become recently, you were barely tolerant of them, let alone fond. It was growing increasingly difficult to recognize your own reflection. At some point you figured you might stop looking altogether.

Zag’s update had been present in your inbox ever since returning to work; with each read through – which, now, you’d have read a hundred times – you felt time pass by. Each night you spent time tucked away here, the cold tile permeating the scrub pants you now wore; the uniform you’d had on when you arrived back on the Finalizer had been too tattered to reuse. Not that you wanted to wear it; in those tattered, bloodied threads lay the obvious truth of how entirely you had failed at the only assignment you had ever been trusted with.

Trusted. The thought made you shiver. Yes. Trusted. Past tense. In every sense it could be. Thus, folded into yourself, away from prying eyes or well-meaning friends, you scrolled aimlessly up and down the message. Though its existence annoyed you, knowing full well that there was no empathy or genuine concern behind the decision to delay the trial, it also brought you ease to know this portion of your life was almost over. Again you were embracing the possibility of your death, only this time rooted in hatred for yourself, not Kylo Ren.

“Alright, well, can you tell her-,”

“Tell her to call you. Got it. Do every night.” One of your coworkers had grown exasperated with Mason – or was it with you? Either way, peeking through the vent slats, you spied Mason’s legs drag out of view. It made your heart fall, feeling more disgusted with yourself each day; it was this confusing combination of feeling a pull to run after him, to apologize to him with every breath you had left, only for that initial urgency to be swallowed by the knowledge that the action would be futile.

With tired eyes, not having gotten more than two hours of unbroken sleep since the sixteen you’d woken from, you looked to your left wrist. It was a routine gesture, pointless in the fact you had not worn the watch since finding it on your bedside table. Much like your uniform, only agonizingly amplified, the sight of the gadget inspired a hollowness in your chest. It remained in a pillowcase, hidden atop the bed you’d claimed. Each night you toyed with it, thumbed at the lifeless screen and wondered if it would ever offer another flicker; each night you caught the hazy reflection of two unfamiliar eyes, finding only the remnants of shattered promises staring back at you.

A sigh crept into your lungs when you stood, arms stretching and hands smoothing back your hair before going to activate the door. It hissed open without your indication; before you could question how, two hands pushed you out of the way and sent you flying face first into the storage shelves. Nose first, actually; the collision rang through your ears, pain throbbing in prominence as you stumbled for stability, arms widespread and eyes pinched shut.

“Oh! You have to be kidding!” Copper crept down your upper lip, cascading over your sharp tongue, foggy eyes opening to blood-stained fingers. “Watch where you’re going, jeez!”

Away from you sounded the door as it shut, but that wasn’t the sound that alarmed you. Across the room, near the sink – at least you hoped it was near the sink – came the horrendous retching that could only indicate vomit. The longer you listened, though, all the while blindly searching for a package of gauze, you found it wasn’t vomit, but an attempt towards it; echoes of dry heaves wracked the room, vomit absent even as the stranger continued in their effort toward expulsion.

A spill of winces left you, a grimace following suit when you tipped your head back, blood draining down your throat. You found a box of gauze squares and tore it open, peeling away a layer and rolling it into a cone before pushing it into one nostril. Vessels pounded against the material, injury soaking into it as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice said, groggy and breathless. “The refresher was occupied, and the occupancy indicator wasn’t on.” She took another breath, gasping back spit. “I figured the sink in here would do.”

Another person you’d been avoiding. Talia. Sick. As she would be, of course. It was something you’d fought thoughts on; it was too confusing, too unnerving to put the pieces you’d been offered together. Hux had left her room, had been so distraught. Talia had seized and ended up in the medbay. Armitage. Stars, how that word haunted you in the way it left her paling lips. She’d been so disoriented, so scared. Glassy eyes and green pallor. And the person she’d asked for was Armitage.

With these thoughts, dizzying as they had become, came the image of the very thing that tied them all together: that square-cut, printed, glossy ultrasound picture. Between nightmares of Robbie and desperately trying to find any amount of sleep, you saw it clear in your head, remembered how you’d lost your ability to stand when you first considered the reality of it. It all made sense clinically; the symptoms, the tangible evidence showing a yolk sac, the patient identifiers framing the monochrome image.

But, when you remembered running into Hux, remembered the ghost in his eyes and felt the rather unsettling demeanor – one not marked with errant hatred – he’d met you with, it all started to blur. Jumble. Your mind rejecting the thought that Talia and Hux-

Talia mewled, your eyes opening to find white knuckles outfitting a vise grip over the sink’s metal edge. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling made it all too easy to see how sick she really was. Tears glinted down her cheeks, her hair dull in its tousled bun, a string of spit straying from her bottom lip; there was a suggestion of green just below the surface of her skin, exhaustion evident in the lavender drapes below her eyes.

A shaky breath left her before she rested against the sink, elbows bent and fingers rolling over her temples. For a moment there was a deafening silence, one that strangled you and emphasized the throbbing in your nose when you stopped breathing. It dissipated when Talia groaned, her head drooping and stance shifting.

“At least shift is done, right?” She sounded like she was talking to anyone. She didn’t know it was you. She didn’t know you knew.

Swallowing, dropping your hand from your face, you tried to think of anything to say. But nothing would come. And, considering how little time you had left to know her – execution or not – you saw no point in frivolous small talk.

“How far along are you?” It was a low rasp; frail in its existence yet bludgeoning the quiet that had preceded it.

She didn’t look up, but you knew she recognized your voice; her every muscle stalled, hair even stilling as your words sank into her. It was the first thing you’d said to her since she’d seized. In her silent shock it dawned on you that it had not been long since you’d been in a situation similar to this; the two of you, a pitting silence, a mess – obvious and blaring – surrounding you.

Only this mess was not something that could be cleaned. This mess existed outside all you had once thought to consider. Though this room was less gruesome in appearance, it held that same suffocated dread, carried with it the reminder that everything could change without a moment’s notice. Watching the color return to her cheeks, absentmindedly brushing your fingertips across the raised marks atop your thigh, it hit you how true that fact was.

A small sound – a swallow – filled the room, a sigh to accompany it. “Six weeks. I think, at least. Maybe more.” She stood then, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink. A wall stood between you and her, invisible yet so entirely present. “No one knows.” Her jaw fluttered at its hinge. The wall was for her; a façade, a crutch. She was scared.

The door lit cool shivers down your back, hands digging into your pockets, a weak attempt at a smile pulling at your face. “Congratulations,” you offered first, forgetting the circumstances before seeing her eyes fall to the floor. “Or not, I guess.”

She kept her eyes down. “I’m not showing, and I’ve been good about sneaking away to throw up, so…”

“Last week,” you said, her stare coming back to you, “after Starkiller. I fainted after arriving back here, and after I woke up,” I washed the Commander of the First Order’s hair and cried to his comatose body about how my life is falling apart, “I just had to know you were okay, so I visited you.”

“I don’t remember seeing you. I actually… How did you even know I had been admitted to the medbay?”

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” You chewed your cheek, recounting any of those 48 hours made your pulse jump. “You weren’t well off when I found you, before they took you to the medbay, so I wouldn’t expect you to remember me being there.”

Her brow dipped for half a second, a crack creeping into that wall. “I didn’t know you found me. It’s difficult for me to even recall most of that day.” Her shoulders dropped, stature less rigid now. “Thank you, though.”

You nodded, not entirely sure why she felt it necessary to thank you. “Yeah. So, you were sleeping and I saw the tests ordered on your board. And then I found your ultrasound on the floor.”

Her eyes were so distant, pupils housing a familiar ghost. “It must have fallen when I was sleeping.” Her lips parted with the whisper, egregious loneliness overwhelming the thought.

It felt like the floor would fall out at any second, the interaction so fragile. Watching her with intent, measuring her reactions, you charged ahead into territory you’d been afraid to enter for so long.

“Talia,” you started, buying more time to think on your phrasing. Her focus startled back from wherever her mind had taken her. “I mean, maybe this is ridiculous, and maybe I’m so far off base in even suggesting it…”

Her arms dropped when a hand reached to tuck a collection of stray hair behind her ear, nose sniffing, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. She took her eyes from yours, breath picking up. That wall she stood behind was wearing.

You couldn’t stand beating around the bush any longer, sick of theorizing about it all. It fled out, no breath to separate any of it. “I’ll just say it: Hux was leaving your room when I came around. And he was being weird. So weird. I mean, he was being… would I say nice? Maybe just, less awful? He complimented me. And it was so weird, but I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt because, you know, he’d just lost a lot of men. But then it was you in the room and I.. he was so distraught? That is barely the right word, but I mean? He just wasn’t General Hux. And then I found the ultrasound and remembered how you’d asked for ‘Armitage’ earlier when I’d found you, and-,”

A weep signaled the destruction of the wall she’d thrown up, hands clawing into her eyes and lungs heaving full of ragged, desperate air. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t tell him! He can’t- I don’t!” Sobs rolled off of her between each exclamation. “I haven’t told him. I don’t know how. I- he’s so evil! I can’t believe I ever slept with him!”

Seeing her come apart, feeling the guilt she did in every word she cried, you could only think to take her into your arms. In your hold you felt her shaking and the pain roll off of her in thick, grating waves. It was familiar, like she, too, had been existing alone; you had not noticed, so buried in your own avoidance that you had not thought to consider hers.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so- I’m so sorry! It makes me so mad that- ugh!”

“Hey, stop. Slow down,” you soothed, hugging her tighter. “You have nothing to apologize to me for. You’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”

“No, I have! I slept with my Master! And got pregnant! And he’s such a fucking jerk! He’s the whole reason you’re losing your career, you know? And I had sex with him! And I feel- felt real things for him!” A breath stuttered into her lungs. “I never meant for it to go any further than that first night, and then… fuck.”

It burned down to your marrow that you had the power to comfort her, knew everything she was feeling even if it wasn’t hatred that left you crying at night. She would be embraced in knowing you had also slept with your Master; it would minimize the guilt she now felt. To tell her you had fallen for Kylo Ren could help her know that she wasn’t alone.

Instead, feeling her tears accumulate on your sleeve, struggling to keep in your own, you kept quiet. She would not learn how you had burned so bright for your commander. It was selfish, but it was necessary. Self-preservation. She would be testifying against you, taking the stand right after Hux. Her not knowing would do no harm; it would keep her from having to consider or commit perjury. Talia now joined Mason, another soul to protect, another person you would lie to.

Several minutes passed before she stopped trembling, another few before the tears stopped staining your uniform. Humanity existed in these moments, and though you would hide how you knew the advice you would offer her, you knew she needed to hear it. A part of you did, too.

Moving your arms from her back and grasping both her shoulders, you locked eyes with her and forced her to see that you somehow understood her pain. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. Not that you slept with him, or that you got pregnant. Not that you felt things for him or that you still do.” Her eyes shut at that, a fresh streamlet dragging into her mouth. “You can still love him even if he has done awful things.”

“Gosh, how can you say that? He’s ruined your life,” she shuddered, grimacing before looking back up to you.

“I made the choice to take that blood. I had a choice,” your throat tightened, not knowing if you were reciting the words from their origin or from your dream, “I made the one I thought was the best at the time. Hux may be an ass in the way he has gone about the issue, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have reported me.”

She sobbed your name, confusion and hurt wrought in her features. “That blood saved that patient. You saved that patient. We both know that. You saved him and you’re suffering for it and I’m the one who wrote the incident report. He made me write it. Such a fucking bastard.”

Just like that, whatever weird internal truce you’d made with Hux disappeared. “Yeah, that is a dick thing to do, I will say that.”

She wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. “I should have lied on that report.”

“And gotten both of us in trouble? That isn’t a solution.”

“If I had, you would be less alone in this. And I wouldn’t have to testify against you.” Talia’s eyes shot to the ceiling and back, frustration hot on her breath. “It’s just so-,”

“Unfair. I know. I have… I’ve beaten myself up about it too much not to know that.” This conversation was too similar to those you’ve held inwardly. It was becoming repetitive to keep sulking over something you could not change. But Talia, if she wanted, could change her situation. “We went through the same program, got the same schooling, I know you know your options here.”

She chewed her cheek, shaking her head. A long drag of breath found its way into her chest, releasing when your hands fell to your sides. “This is where you find out how stupid I am.”

It pulled at your heart to hear how hard she was being on herself. “You aren’t stupid. And if you are? Could’ve fooled me with your class rank and just general existence.”

A laugh, weak but not acrid. “Academics were easy. Career is easy. This life stuff? Messy. Complicated. I feel like no matter what I do, it will blow up in my face.” That earlier distance glazed over her stare, a glimmer of yearning present in the way her eyebrows pinched. “And what I want…think I want? I’m not sure it’s even possible.”

“What do you want?”

Talia shut her eyes, capitulation and indignance set in her features, jaw flexed. “I haven’t spoken to him since that night,” she whispered. “He watched me fill out that report. I was sobbing in front of him and he said nothing.” A hand smoothed over her hair and clutched into her bun, lips quivering for a moment. “I didn’t even know until last week. I woke up for a few minutes and they started talking about all that had happened – fainting and seizures and blood tests – and they immediately wheeled me down to have an ultrasound to confirm the hCG results and urinalysis.”

She paused, growing in distance the more she shared. “Was it just your electrolytes that caused the seizure?”

“Yeah. Yes.” She blinked back to the present. “Belkar actually said I was severely dehydrated and that my metabolic panel reflected that.” Talia was dancing between two timeframes; gentleness framed her face when revisiting that of the past. Something so delicate in her stare; adoration cusping on hope. “I always told myself I would never have children. It scared me seeing how sick they could become when we had our unit on pediatrics. I’d never wanted to feel so helpless as the parents I saw during clinical.”

It almost winded you to watch a single tear slip down her cheek, allowing her silence during her pause before she looked up at you, desperation drowning her eyes. She couldn’t find – or, maybe, did not want to believe – the words that overwhelmed her. “What changed?” You knew, but she needed to hear it for herself.

Her lips had become puffy, teeth pulling at the bottom one. She reached into the front pocket of her scrub dress, pulling from it that square print, only now with rolled, worn corners. “I know it’s early and there are so many things that can go wrong and I know I had been drinking before I knew, but…” A swallow bobbed her throat, a fond smile forming when she toyed with the scan. “When they handed this to me? Something just, I don’t know, came into view.”

A surge of immense pain coiled into you. In her reverie you saw yourself, realized how fortunate her situation was; she had something she wanted and even though it was complicated, she had a choice in the matter.

Again, her mind had wandered, distraction framing her tone; her brows pinched together for a second, a question sparking from her memories. “Have you ever wanted something so much, and maybe you didn’t fully understand it, but you just knew? For whatever reason, this was the thing you would do everything in your power to make possible? To have what you want, no matter how daunting or nonsensical it seemed?”

“Yeah,” you choked out, coughing against the new strain on your throat, “I think so.” Talia had that ability, though, and it cracked against your skull how helpless you were to go after what you wanted.

“You said that I could still love him if he’s done awful things,” she quoted, her attention returning to you. “I don’t love him. I don’t think I really know him that well. But…” She shook her head, shoulders shrugging and a puff of breath leaving her nose. “I miss him. It’s so dumb, but the bastard is nice to be around when he isn’t buried in politics. When he’s just a person. When he isn’t the General. When he’s just—” another smile, similar to her earlier one “—Armitage.”

“That has to be the strangest part of this whole thing.” A small laugh bubbled past your lips. It had been so long since the last one. “Armitage.”

“It was very odd at first. But I’m not going to cry out General, oh please General! when I’m cumming, so I got over it.”

Dumbfounded, all you could do was gawk at her candor. It warmed you, though, feeling like that first night you’d hung out with her. A good memory. Her cheeks pinked in your silence and the sight pulled you straight into a ruckus of laughter, tears – born in pain, falling from humor – and lightheartedness. It was short lived, but Talia joined in your fit; abashed giggles leaving her smile-tight face.

“I mean, I feel like it would be weirder if you were sleeping with Commander Ren.” Talia jabbed at your shoulder. “Calling him… Kylo? That just feels downright wrong.”

Instantaneously, your high fizzling into nothing before her, you found yourself right where you were when you’d said your first goodbye. Ky. It wilted your heart, shrouded whatever glimpse of happiness you’d just caught. Talia was too lost in the joke to notice you’d backed away from her, face turned so she couldn’t see the suffering rise to the surface.

“Ha, yeah. Wrong. So, so wrong.” You cleared your throat, brushing past the weak attempt at nonchalance, ready to be off this subject. “So you miss him? You miss… Armitage? Yeah, no. I’m gonna stick to Hux, if that’s alright?”

A final laugh lit from her chest, Talia waving you off. “That’s fine, of course. And yeah. I miss him.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think it could work? Me and him, and—” she gestured down to her abdomen, placing the scan back in her pocket “—this?”

This was none of your business, and you doubted anything you could say would help her, but there was genuine curiosity in her voice. There was respect in how she wanted your insight into something so intimate and personal.

A sigh preceded your reply, unsure if you were speaking to her or yourself. “I think… Just as you said earlier: no matter if its daunting or nonsensical or even completely impossible – if you want it and you are willing to do everything in your power to get it?”

Hope lit behind her eyes, bloomed in her chest at the suggestion. “It could work.”

Struggle hid behind a mask of hope. Of course she did not know how it pained you to offer words that would never exist for yourself, and it wasn’t fair to ruin her moment of clarity with the bitter bite of ill-placed jealousy. There was no part of you that envied her condition, but instead what it entailed; you coveted her ability to choose the life she wanted.

Talia shook her head free, a giggle warm on her breath. “We should get out of here. Night shift is gonna run us off soon. You have the time?”

“Uh, not readily available. But I’m sure it’s way past shift change.” You started toward the door.

“Hey, I noticed you’ve been staying in the on-call rooms?”

“Oh.” It surprised you that she’d noticed. The knowledge warmed you to your core, both from embarrassment and appreciation. “Yeah, I know you guys have been swamped down here with all the fallout from Starkiller, so I just thought I’d stay near to help out.”

She tsked, your name a mocked plead. “You are Starkiller fallout. You need to rest. Especially now that you can. I got an update from Zag about the trial. You’ve got, what? Three or four days before Canto Bight? Seven until the initial hearing?”

She’d done the same math you’d gone over at length. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth made it that much more real. Frightening. “I know. I do, I know. But what’s wrong with spending them here?”

“You know as much as I do that working constantly drains the absolute soul from you. Even just working these past three days I have been dying for my time off.”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to be tired.”

“I’m pregnant. You survived a planet exploding all the while keeping the Commander of the First Order alive. Are you forgetting that?”

Talia, I wish I could forget all of it. “No, I’m just-,”

“And I know you’ve been blowing off that McCarty guy. He’s a physician, right?”

Maybe you’d been less discreet in your efforts toward avoidance than you thought. It felt like being caught; this web of lies was becoming a strain, less of a benefit, a hinderance rather than protection. “He’s… Mason doesn’t know what he’s asking for, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Talia strode to your side, stern eyes on your own. “Look,” a breath softened her demeanor, “whatever happened on Starkiller, whatever you saw or felt – it’s affecting you. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not asking you to tell me – though, you can tell me anything – but at some point it becomes a choice to remain stagnant in grief.”

“Hey!” Talia had always been blunt, but her audacity now clawed at your patience.

“Okay, sorry, yes that was very harsh,” she placed a firm hand on your shoulder, “but you are the one who made me realize that. Here. Now.”

Tears threatened but remained stuck in your throat. “Like you said, I’m alone in this. I have to be.”

“The way I see it, you aren’t-,”

“Talia, I am.”

“You aren’t. Me being here and that physician coming here every night is proof of that.” You met her with silence. She shrugged. “You could have left me to deal with my issues alone, but you saw me and knew I couldn’t.” More silence on your part, her stare flicking between your eyes. “I see you. You can’t deal with this alone. I won’t let you.”

You fought to hide them, but one by one fell the tears you had not permitted before. For so long it seemed you had been shielding others from hurt, ensuring a safety they were not aware they needed. Talia was offering that to you, now. Rejection was the first instinct to kick in, feelings of doubt and thoughts of I do not deserve this blaring in urgency.

But then she spoke, naming what you had been too scared to confront. “Choose to not be alone. It doesn’t make you a bad person,” her hand left you, overwhelming assurance in her smile, “You’ve been strong for long enough, for so many others. Let someone be strong for you for once.”

The next breath you took was a million times lighter than any you’d had since seeing Kylo those days ago. She really did see you, more than she could ever know. It was imperfect, of course; you weren’t sure anyone would ever be fully aware of how much pain you were in, there was so much you could never share. It was her offer that brought you solace; it may be superficial for you, but Talia was in your corner, and she believed, knew, that it meant something. In her eyes, pooled with intensity, you heard her loud and clear: that oath, born in blood, was renewed here and now, its strength indelible even in silence.

“Now,” she activated the door, its hiss shivering down your spine, “I think Mason would love it if you caught up with him.” The two of you stepped into the hall, already beginning to part paths. “I’d invite you to stay with me but I, uh…”

“You’ll be otherwise predisposed?”

“…We’ll see,” rose bloomed in her cheeks, “I don’t think I’ll tell him. Not tonight. Not yet.”

“Ah,” you sighed, a yawn slipping past.

“Get some sleep! And maybe just… get some, you know?”

The joke registered too late, her paces halfway down the hall before you called out, “Oh. Oh. No, I’m not with- we aren’t anything more than friends.” Not sure if she even heard you, she waved behind her before turning a corner. Well. That’ll need clarifying.

Heat flared in your cheeks, several pairs of eyes weighing on your shoulders at the outburst. Would there ever be a day when you were not embarrassing yourself on this unit? Given this would be the last shift before going to Canto Bight, probably not. Eyes tracking your steps, deciding to surprise Mason instead of call him, you found your way to the on-call room where your entire world was set up; remnants of a past one, at least.

In it you gathered your belongings – a pair of back up scrubs, a toiletries bag, and the lifeless watch. There was a hesitance before placing the device with the other items. Six nights you had spent staring at its blank face, resenting the stranger you’d come to see. Glancing your face before placing it in the bag, you did a double-take. In the most minute details, barely there, you found a familiarity in the eyes you met; they were less dull, something like life or light peeking through the surface.

You dropped the gadget into your pocket, gathered your uniform into the bag, and took a final glance at the shelter you’d sought amidst a storm that had nearly consumed you. Even though nothing had truly mended, there was comfort in the absence of solitude; in the face of probable death, the explicit knowledge that you were not alone made it less daunting. Less impossible.

A final breath brought the door to a close, footsteps leading you into the vast expanse of the Finalizer. The change in air was nice, lungs welcoming the difference and cluing you into the fact you still had a gauze square shoved up your nose. It took a tug to pull it from its place, a sting pinching at the sudden release of pressure.

“Shit,” you hissed, feeling a new stream of warmth trickle past your lips. Two fingers pressed to your mouth, testing for a mirage but coming back with the real thing, red creaks splintering into the ridges of your fingerprint. Without thinking you wiped it down your scrub top, forgetting you were no longer clothed in camouflaging black, but instead unforgiving grey. “Fuck!”

“Wasn’t this how I left you here the last time?”

The airlock must have snapped, lungs solid, muscles frozen. Tension seized your ribcage, pulse plummeting, blood bounding against tuned ears. Every bit of moisture abandoned your mouth. Every bodily process you could think of stopped.

There was no modulation, each word raw, bare, and clear as the last time you had heard their founder. At least, the last time you’d heard it while awake. It was less haunted now, filled not with insidious rage but rather bone-chilling earnest.

“I suppose not, given it’s your blood tonight.”

He drew nearer, boots heavy and steps paced to perfection, the rhythm of his stride an echo of your heart. Kylo Ren was less than three paces from you and all you could do was endure the sensation of a singular ruby droplet following the line of your artery, dragging past your clavicle, and ghosting the skin over your sternum. The crimson trail began to dry, steps no longer sounding when you forced yourself to look up.

Chaos tore into the base of your spine, every nerve ending firing at the sight of his bare face, no helmet to veil the visage you had memorized. The black strip rested in prominence, striking through his features; in it you found a curious attraction, finding it fit him. The wound was less severe now, healing with time. He wore no helmet, but that by no means meant there was no mask keeping him at a distance only he knew the measure of.

“Where have you been, officer?” Cyanosis was a likely reality, breath still evading you as each word fell in baritone; petrified pupils not knowing where to focus. “Your services finally required, and yet you were nowhere to be found.”

Nothing. No words. No sound. No thoughts. Barren in every aspect of cognizance, you remained silent and still, only knowing to perceive him for what he was: superior.

A twitch at his brow, a narrowing of his eyes. Studying. Testing. “How unfortunate; starved for words when they would actually count.” His injury moved fluidly against his words, a beauty in the way it ebbed with each syllable.

A ping sounded at your waist, commlink buzzing in your pocket.

Languid, Kylo’s eyes dipped toward the sound. “You should get that,” he drawled, eyes twitching before conquering yours once more, “could be important.”

His tone haunted you, demeanor too suggestive. You swallowed against a dry throat, locked in his stare, knuckles brushing your watch when you took out your commlink. It trembled in your grip, shocked muscles heavy with weakness. His concentration had become adamant, palpable, an eyebrow prompting your attention to whatever message had triggered the alarm.

Concerning the defendant,

In the week since the previous correspondence, it has come to be that the defendant is to partake in nursing practice during her time on Canto Bight. This allows the Board of Physicians ease in collecting surveillance imperative to their final judgement.

Commander Ren’s decision to bar the defendant from external practice has been nullified as to not contradict this process.

In permitting the defendant’s practice while on trial, the objective to obtain a new provider has been benched. Due to this, the defendant shall remain assigned to her current Master while residing on Canto Bight…

At last, breath flourished your lungs, an inadvertent gasp thrusting a glutton of oxygen into your airway. Crazed eyes darted over the message for any sign of a mistake that would prove it to be falsified; the only thing you could find was finality, a document containing the proposed schedule attached at the end of the message.

A buzz washed through your brain, overstimulated by the information, everything around you suddenly all too close and bright. Jaw bound shut but still trembling, eyes low and unfocused, a familiar pressure flicked just under your chin. The Force tipped your face upward, pupils strict in their position, passing first over a tense jaw and landing at last on the challenge that lay behind Kylo Ren’s glare.

“I’ll see you on Canto Bight, officer.” A serpentine smirk slithered along his lips, one stride bringing him so his face was hidden, shoulder linked with yours, and fingers jut out to graze at the hidden permanence atop your left thigh. His voice, an onslaught of emptiness, a cold threat, suffocated all that surrounded you. “You wanted to give me more? Prove it.”

[lifeofclonewars]

Decko and Lies

Part Seven of Pun Wars. As always, can be read alone. And also as always, AO3 link below. 

Summary: Before Fives could shift, a wall of plastoid slammed into him. It could only be one thing: his twin.

His strained knee locked, and down he went. His batchmate rolled past him. “Hey, kih’vod,” the traitor said before racing off again.

He groaned. “‘M older than you,” he mumbled.

The ground wasn’t too uncomfortable. He could just stay down here for the next while. It was a better friend than his brother was being.

Rex leaned over him. “I’d ask if that was normal if I didn’t already know it was.” He didn’t look amused.

Fives shrugged as best he could. “I should’ve seen it coming, in all honesty. That’s another batch thing of ours. We didn’t tackle as much until the two of us became ARCs, though, since we can take it better now.”

The captain sighed, muttering something that sounded awfully like, “This is my own fault for insisting I got them instead of Cody.”

--

In which Echo decks Fives to the ground in the middle of the mess, Fives decides to just lie there afterward, and some troopers have to change their perceptions of the Legion's ARCs.

----

It was an average day in the 501st Legion. Or, what they considered average and not what a civvie or even some other battalions would call average. Between campaigns and in hyperspace, troopers settled into routines and shifts and enjoyed the free time they found. 

Echo and Fives, recently returned from a campaign with the 41st, were more beaten up than the rest of their brothers, who were returning from a short shore leave. Echo himself wasn't too bad. Just some bruising and a few scrapes and plenty of sore muscles, but not at all unmanageable. He felt worse during ARC training, quite frankly, and he survived that. 

It had only been two days since they went straight from one battle and a short trip on a cruiser to the Resolute headed back out to the Outer Rim and he already felt antsy. Definitely a side effect of being an ARC now — any downtime longer than a day, much needed as it may be, began to feel too long. He couldn’t imagine what being stationed on Rishi would feel like now, as bored as they had all been before that fateful day.

Rolling a stiff shoulder, Echo stood from finishing up his mission report. He needed to do something about this restlessness that was pestering him. A good spar might help, or maybe an overly complicated brain puzzle someone was struggling with, get either his body or his mind working. Luckily, he knew just where to find both.

Exiting the ARC barracks, he headed for Torrent’s. The trip wasn’t long, officer and ARC barracks being far enough for privacy yet close enough to still feel connected to the men and any emergencies that may arise. Stepping inside got him just what he wanted: a handful of off-duty infantrymen arguing over the rules of sabacc while playing what appeared to be a completely different game.

“Echo!” Hardcase perked up from the middle of the circle, effectively silencing the group. “What can we do for you?”

He gave them a half-wave in greeting. “Have you seen Rex or Fives? I have a question for them.”

The heavy-gunner snapped in recognition with his free hand. “They were just in here, actually. Left for the mess not too long ago.”

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t run into them in the hallway on the walk over here,” Jesse added. “It really wasn’t that long ago, about twelve-forty.”

Echo stifled a laugh. “Jess, it’s thirteen-fifteen.”

The group blinked back at him. For once, silence resounded in the Torrent barracks.

“Have we really been arguing that long?” Ringo asked, eyebrows near his hairline.

“Either that or Jesse forgot how to read a chrono properly,” Echo responded. Jesse put a hand on his chest, sending him a faux-offended look.

“Eh, well, either way, you might still be able to catch them as they leave,” Ringo said. 

The ARC shrugged. “Thanks anyway, guys. See you around.” 

A chorus of replies followed him through the doors, arguing picking back up before they fully closed again. 

The mess, huh? Great. So long as he had the space and Fives was there, Echo knew exactly what he could do, and it wasn’t asking a question. Or, at least, not at first. Plus, he could go for some food right now. It might be contributing to his need to move more than he initially thought. Two jarts, one stone.

Setting off with a purpose, the walk to the mess didn’t take long. Entering, the room wasn’t too crowded, considering the time of day and how the shifts aligned. Fives and Rex were easy enough to spot among the crowd. The duo stood conversing, the captain in an aisle between two rows of seats, the other ARC in the walkway. Their helmets sat on the table next to them, forgotten like the meals a quick glance told him they hadn’t gotten yet. 

Rolling his eyes to himself, Echo walked toward the beginning of the aisle Fives stood in. Now, if he started at this exact point... avoided the trash can... attacked from that angle... rolled tightly, so long as nobody walked past, he was good to go. He could continue on and get his food, and, considering how Fives’ stance seemed to be favoring his left leg since it’d only been two days, nobody would or could stop him. 

Perfect.

Reaching the first row of tables, he set his feet, shook his arms out, and sprung forward. Grinning to himself as nearby observers vocalized their confusion over his actions, he ran toward the duo. Trash can avoided, he dove, snagging his twin by the waist with his left arm. 

Down they both went. Using his momentum, he did a combat roll as planned, popping to his feet. Fives groaning behind him, he said a quick, “Hey, kih’vod,” and took off toward the line at the opposite end of the mess before either man could follow after him. 

Yep, that did the trick. He felt much less restless now. And now that he was thinking about it, he really could go for some food. Another successful plan, and, if Echo was being honest with himself, it was retaliation for Fives waking him up by pushing him off his bunk. 

Three jarts, one stone. 

----

Fives was glad to be back with the 501st after their campaign with the 41st. He had strained his right knee avoiding some droids early into the campaign and, while he could deal with working through the pain because of ARC training, having a medic threaten him to stay off it for a few days was surprisingly refreshing. 

Other than that, all he had was some minor bumps and bruises, though Echo certainly was the better off of the two of them. Nothing that could actually stop him from postponing his mission report for a tad longer and talking to Rex. Really, he would get to the paperwork. He just needed to talk to Rex about this next campaign. And training. And how he and Echo have been since they last saw their ori'vod. And whatever else that may spring to mind while they talked. 

So when Rex ran into him on his hunt to find the captain, he took the opportunity to do so. Nevermind the fact that they decided to get lunch together after checking in on Torrent and still hadn't gotten the food yet.

“So, is there a reason you’re talking to me about upgrades you and Echo have been working on instead of writing out your mission report?” Rex abruptly changed the subject. 

Fives scoffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.” 

Rex gave him a pointed look.

“My brain works too fast for my typing skills to keep up?” Which wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the current reason he was avoiding doing his report. “My whole batch had a problem with that, even as our typing speed increased.”

“If that’s so, then why did I just receive a notification saying Echo just sent me his to forward to Cody?” His older brother crossed his arms.

“Ah, you see, that’s one area he has better self-discipline than I do.” He shifted his weight more onto his left leg. Hopefully, that’d help the ache spreading through his strained knee.

The captain rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “As long as you get it to me by the end of the cycle. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

Fives clasped his hands together. “Yes, actually. Echo and I were talking about the upcoming campaign, and we had a few ideas that might work.”

“Great, let’s hear them.” 

Launching into the strategies they talked through last night, still adjusting to a different sleep cycle, Fives explained multiple possibilities for the legion. They were going to take the planet back, even if it took all of Fives’, Echo’s, and Rex’s combined plans (and Skywalker’s improvised ones) to do it.

Halfway through Plan Ebla, subpoint Holo point six, one of Echo’s, something rushed toward him. Before he could shift, a wall of plastoid slammed into him. It could only be one thing: his twin.

His strained knee locked, and down he went. His batchmate rolled past him. “Hey, kih’vod,” the traitor said before racing off again. 

He groaned. “‘M older than you,” he mumbled. 

The ground wasn’t too uncomfortable. He could just stay down here for the next while, rest his knee like he should have been. It was a better friend than his brother was being. Though he had a feeling Echo tackled him because he shoved him off the bunk this morning because Echo had slapped him upside the head the night before. Eh, whatever.

Rex leaned over him. “I’d ask if that was normal if I didn’t already know it was.” He didn’t look amused. To be fair, he didn’t look upset either.

Fives shrugged as best he could. “I should’ve seen it coming, in all honesty. That’s another batch thing of ours, though between Echo and Hevy it tended to be more aggressive-aggressive and not just lovingly-aggressive. We didn’t tackle as much until the two of us became ARCs, though, since we can take it better now.”

The captain sighed, muttering something that sounded awfully like, “This is my own fault for insisting I got them instead of Cody.” He held his hand out for Fives. Louder, he said, “You say stuff like that, and every single time, I have to reevaluate the hour or so I knew Hevy. Makes me wish I could’ve gotten to know the other three like I have with you two.”

Fives gave him a weak smile. “Me too, Cap. Though I think you’d have more grey hair if you did.”

The hand fell back to Rex’s side. “Alright, that’s it. Pick yourself up off the ground, trooper. I’m not that much older than you.”

His smile turned into a smirk. “Whatever you say, ori’vod.”

At that point, Echo reappeared, tray in hand. “Hey, get up,” he said, kicking Fives in the ribs. 

Fives groaned again, curling in on himself. 

Echo scoffed. “Oh, please, I didn’t tackle you or kick you that hard. I know you’ve survived worse.”

“Yeah, like growing up with you. You should respect your elders better.” 

Echo kicked him again. He slapped the foot away. “I’m older than you,” his twin had the gall to say.

“No, you aren’t.” The floor really was looking like the better friend at the moment.

Rex cleared his throat, the two of them turning to him. He had crossed his arms again. “Are you two done?”

They glanced at each other. “For now, sir,” they answered in unison. 

“Good. Fives, I’m serious, get up or I’ll let Echo or Hardcase pick you up. We really should go and get our food. We’ve been standing and talking for too long, and we need to finish going over those strategies you were telling me about. Preferably not on the floor in front of all the men.”

“You started to go over them without me?” Echo asked, moving away and placing his tray at the table the helmets sat on. Distantly, Fives realized Echo didn’t have his helmet on or on his belt; he must’ve left it in the barracks.

Sitting up, he stated, “I was going to comm you. Eventually,” he quickly added at his fellow ARC’s look. Standing up, he turned toward their older brother. “Okay, Rex, let’s go get some food before Echo decides to punch me again.”

Rex and Echo shared a look. “Lead the way, then.”

Off they went, Echo’s chuckles following them. Yeah, being back with the 501st was always a comfort, being able to slip back into habits and relax from the stress of missions. No matter how many grey hairs they may have already caused Rex. 

----

Etch still couldn’t believe he’d been deployed to the 501st battalion with Captain Rex, General Skywalker, and Commander Tano. The 501st! It was a dream come true. One deployment and his first, albeit rather short, leave on Coruscant later, and they were headed out to his first campaign. But they still had a ways to go, traveling through hyperspace for the next day or so. Nobody ever mentioned that even hyperspace travel could take a long time.

Lock and Key, two of his new squadmates who were batchmates, sat next to him in the mess. Etch’s own batchmate was off doing who-knew-what with the rest of their squad. Probably exploring the ship — the Resolute, he still couldn’t believe it. If he wasn’t so hungry, he’d be with them. 

Lock tugged on a bit of exposed blacks between his armor. Looking up from the (still as bland as Kamino) food, he asked, “What?”

Instead of answering, he pointed ahead and to their right. 

“Captain Rex and ARC Trooper Fives!” Key exclaimed. “Wow! I didn’t think we’d see Captain Rex again until maybe training or the campaign or something. I haven’t really seen him since he welcomed us on board.”

They weren’t part of Torrent Company, which was apparently the Captain’s personal Company. Not that they expected to be put there right from Kamino. The Captain spent a lot of time with Torrent when he wasn’t running the rest of the Legion or doing something with their Jedi. For now, they’d only seen him supervising their training, which Sergeant Pry ran, and giving orders during their first deployment. Other than that, orders had come from a Lieutenant or Sergeant Pry, and they hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the Captain in the downtime they were beginning to suspect he didn’t have much of. 

“When did the ARCs get back? I heard they were on a mission with a different battalion and that’s why they weren’t there when we arrived and the officers were introduced to us or on the deployment,” Etch asked. 

Lock shrugged.

“I don’t know, but I frankly don’t care,” Key stated. “Did you hear that ARC Fives once ripped a droid’s head off with his bare hands— ”

“I thought that was the Captain that did that.”

“— and another time he took down a Seppie base with nothing but a single detonator, a vibroblade, and his dual pistols while ARC Echo sliced into the base from a safe distance and gathered a bucketload of information that saved us a base or two? Or how one time ARC Echo faced down a whole droid platoon with an injured and unconscious ARC Fives on his back and came out with only a twisted ankle?”

“Wow.”

“I know, right?”

Lock nodded in agreement.

“Actually,” Etch began, “I heard you know ARC Trooper Fives considers you a friend if he punches you. That’s so weird, but, like, now I wanna see it happen, you know?”

Key furrowed his brows. “He does?”

“Yeah! It’s like how Sergeant Pry keeps patting us on the back and nudging us when we do something good, except ARC-levels of roughness or something. Now that there aren’t any kaminiise around, I’ve noticed everyone’s more open about doing that stuff. ‘Parently, the General’s okay with it, hasn’t sent anyone back for it.”

Lock and Key both had wide eyes. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, it is. Also, I heard that ARC Trooper Echo punches ARC Trooper Fives back in retaliation. But he doesn’t start it, as far as I’ve heard. I also heard they’re batchmates, that’s why they work so well together. Like, ARC Trooper Echo’s the brains most of the time and ARC Trooper Fives is the brawn, even though they can easily switch roles if they want to since they’re ARCs and all that. They just know what the other’s gonna do.” 

“Chip told me that Twos told him that Flopper told him that Zeck told him that he heard they were twins and when he asked them, they said ‘maybe’ in unison and didn’t say anything else on the topic.”

Wait, look, Lock signed. There’s ARC Echo. He pointed at the entrance of the mess. 

“Holy kriff, he’s here to talk to the other two, isn’t he? Do ya think if we get closer, we can hear what they’re talking about?”

“You mean eavesdropping on our superiors?” Key looked scandalized. He paused. “Count me in.”

Just then, ARC Trooper Echo broke out into a run. Etch stood to his feet. Why was he running? Was something bad happening or about to happen that he didn’t notice? “What —” 

The ARC Troopers collided, flying to the ground. ARC Trooper Echo rolled, stood up, stated, “Hey, kih’vod,” and continued on his way. ARC Trooper Fives stayed on the ground, groaning. “‘M older than you,” he mumbled to the empty air. 

As the Captain leaned over his ARC, Etch, Lock, and Key stared at each other. “I think something we heard was wrong,” Etch murmured.

Lock and Key merely nodded at him.

“Maybe we shouldn’t believe everything we hear about them.”

They continued to watch as ARC Trooper Fives stayed on the ground, conversing with the Captain. Soon enough, the other ARC headed over and kicked his brother. Once again, the trio shared shocked looks, unprepared for this development, almost missing the wack back ARC Trooper Echo received. Captain Rex, though sounding exasperated with what they could catch, looked… was that fond? 

This was not how Etch thought his meal would go.

As ARC Trooper Fives and Captain Rex went off to get food, Etch’s batchmate, Chip, ran over. 

“Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you enter the mess.”

“A cloning vat, thank you very much,” Chip replied. “I have more news!”

The trio leaned in, eager to learn more.

“I heard from Dean, who heard from Flopper, who heard from Feedback, who heard from Oz, who’s in Torrent Company that both ARC Trooper Fives and Echo once saved Captain Rex and Commander Cody from a Seppie base after they’d been captured with only a ten-minute window, a handful of droid poppers, and their normal gear, and against a whole fifteen rollies! They made it back to the rendezvous with four minutes to spare and Captain Rex took down three of them himself while midair and Commander Cody punched one to bits…”

And just like that, the group of barely-not-shinies forgot the lesson they just learned, getting swept up in stories and rumors of their commanding officers. Well, shinies are gonna shiny, after all. They’d have the lesson they learned that day knocked into their heads permanently in a month or so, once the shininess completely wore off. All in good time. 

----

Jart: Bird native to Ryloth

Kih’vod: Little brother

Ori’vod: Big brother

Kaminiise: Kaminoans

This was longer than I initially planned lol. Still shorter than my writing tends to get. Anyway, here's the first post of break! Hopefully, I will get to both Beginn and WK within the next two weeks I have of break. If not, Happy Holidays! Also, apparently, I'm incapable of writing any of Domino Squad without mentioning the rest of them now. *shrugs* I'm not sorry.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment or send me an ask or message

[feedmecookiesnow]

Just Like A Circus

Short fic based on @midnightwinterhawk‘s  headcanon about Clint running SHIELD’s obstacle courses to Britney Spears. Thanks for the inspiration (and the excuse to listen to Britney all day)!

***

Bucky decides to give up on sleep after waking up in a cold sweat from his third nightmare. He throws back the covers with more force than is really necessary and stares up at the ceiling. “JARVIS,” he says tentatively, still unused to talking to an unseeing, all-knowing entity. Or at least, one that actually talks back.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“What time is it?”

“It is 2AM.”

“Fuck.” Bucky rolls over and looks at the soft light of the city as it comes in through the window. He can still feel the pull of the nightmare, hear the whine of a bone saw, see the unbridled glee on Zola’s face as he detailed exactly what they were going to do to Bucky---

Bucky gets up, goes into the bathroom, and sticks his head under the faucet. The cold water is a shock to his system but it grounds him, wakes him up a little more. Helps chase away the lights and voices and pain that still echo in his head so many years in the future.

“You’re out,” he tells himself, looking up in the mirror. “You made it out.”

He looks like hell, honestly. There’s dark circles under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his face, and his whole face just has a sunken, haunted look to it. Bucky turns his head away and flips the light off, then makes his way out into the dark of his room.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, not sure who exactly he’s talking to, or why he’s even saying it out loud. “I can’t---I don’t want to see that anymore.”

JARVIS makes a sympathetic sound, eerily human. Bucky’s not sure what to make of it. “If I may make a suggestion, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are. He is currently running the obstacle course in the gym. I suspect he would appreciate the company.”

Bucky considers this. Clint’s a decent guy. Not as abrasive as Stark, not as clingy as Steve. Certainly not as scary as Natasha. Bucky likes him well enough. Could be worth checking out. The obstacle course part gives him pause, but he’s pretty sure it won’t be anything like Hydra’s used to be. He doubts Clint will be waiting at the end to punish him for any mistakes made.

Bucky looks at his bed, which promises more nightmares, and shudders. “Okay. I’ll go.”

He pulls on some clothes and pads down the hallway barefoot to the elevator. The gym is towards the bottom of the Tower, on the levels where the Avengers and SHIELD start to blend together. He punches the button and leans against the wall. “JARVIS, how long has he been down there?”

“Not long,” JARVIS says. “No more than an hour.”

Bucky nods and taps his fingers on the wall, curious as to what exactly drove Clint to go run an obstacle course at two in the morning.

Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are.

He wonders briefly what Clint’s nightmares look like, if they’re as skin-crawling and horrible as his own, if they make him wake up screaming and---

The doors open into the gym, and he loses his train of thought.

The first thing he notes is the music, blasting loud enough to make him wince. It’s some kind of pop song, nothing he knows. Bucky shakes his head and moves away from the speakers, looking around to see where Clint is.

After a moment, he spots him, hanging upside down in the cargo net. There’s three knives in his right hand, a bow hooked over his right arm, and a quiver strapped to his back. As Bucky watches, he holds one of the knives up to his mouth. For one insane moment, Bucky thinks he’s going to stab himself, and he surges forward, arm already extended to climb---

But no. His mouth is moving, and his head is nodding along to the song, and after a second, Bucky realizes that he’s singing. Singing, and holding the knife hilt-up like it’s a microphone. He’s really into it, gesturing and waving his other arm to the point where he almost loses the bow.

Bucky stares at him incredulously. Clint finishes the song and launches all three knives at the same time, sending them tumbling across the room to lodge into the projected target on the wall. Then as the next song starts, he flips himself upright, detangles his legs from the cargo net, and starts climbing up. At the top of the net, he rolls onto the platform and nocks a couple arrows. He draws the bow back to his ear, then freezes as he finally notices Bucky.

They stare at each other, frozen in an awkward moment. Then Clint says something that Bucky can’t hear. Around them, silence descends as the music shuts off. Clint unstrings the bow and sticks the arrows back in the quiver. Then he slings the bow over his shoulder and jumps off the platform, easily catching a nearby cable and sliding down.

“Hey,” he says at the bottom, pulling the bow off his shoulder. “What’s up? Something going on?”

Bucky has a lot of questions about what’s going on, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “I can’t sleep.”

Clint studies him for a moment, then says, “Nightmares again?”

Again?

Bucky stares at him. Clint shrugs. “I’ve heard you. You scream sometimes.” He gestures to the course. “Wanna run a couple laps? That usually helps me.”

“Is that why you’re here? Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, honest and open. He shrugs. “You know about the New York battle, right? With Loki and the wormhole?”

“I know.” He’s gotten the story in bits and pieces, mostly from Tony, who he expects exaggerates a little bit. But he knows the gist of it. “Loki...he brainwashed you, right?”

Clint nods. “Weird magic shit. Nat knocked me out of it but every once in a blue moon I still get nightmares about it. So I come down here and run a couple laps with Britney. Helps me think. Or not think, really.”

Bucky rubs his forehead, sure he’s going to regret asking this. “Who’s Britney?”

“The music.” He points at the ceiling. “Britney Spears. I always start with Toxic, but then I let JARVIS pick after that. I think you came in around...” He stops. “Wait, how long were you in here?”

“You were singing,” Bucky says. “In the cargo net. With the knife.”

Clint doesn’t look embarrassed about this at all. “Ah, so you heard the end of Womanizer. Alright.”

Bucky is fairly sure that Clint is speaking English, but it’s not anything he understands. Clint sighs. “Really? No one’s introduced you to Britney Spears yet?” When Bucky shakes his head, he sighs again. “Alright. Let me educate you.”

“No, wait,” Bucky protests, because every time Clint says that, Bucky ends up being forced to do something that inevitably confuses him. The whole concept of modern pop culture is just not something that he grasps well.

Not that that ever deters Clint, though. “You’ll like it,” he says, which is what he always says. Sometimes he’s right, but Bucky’ll never admit it. “You liked that other playlist I made for you, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, Britney’s the queen of that list. She’s my go-to for running this thing.”

“Why?”

“Why not? High energy, good voice, sets a kicking beat.” He points at the course. “You should try it.”

Bucky looks over at the obstacle course. It doesn’t look too hard. Certainly not anything worse than Hydra ever had him do. “You first,” he says, eyeing some of the pieces he’s not sure about. “I haven’t seen this set-up.”

“Sure,” Clint says easily. He picks up a couple knives from the table nearby the door and restocks his quiver.

“How long does it take?” Bucky asks.

“Not long,” Clint says, adjusting one of his hearing aids. “A little under seven minutes for just the basic run through, give or take a few seconds. Depends on the songs.”

“Depends on the songs?”

“JARVIS,” he calls up. “Queue up...oh, let’s do 3 and then Circus for me, will you? And reset the course to basic.”

“Certainly, Agent Barton.” There’s some grinding as the floor shifts, and various obstacles unfold and refold themselves.

Clint grins at him and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Ready to watch the magic?”

Bucky makes some kind of helpless go on motion with his metal hand. Clint has this odd talent for knocking him off-balance at every turn, and at this point Bucky’s given up trying to understand him. He’s not entirely sure he wants to, anyway. There’s something inherently charming about the layers of oddness and mystery to Clint. He’s some kind of undefinable puzzle that both fascinates and annoys Bucky in equal measure.

“Sure,” he says, because Clint is apparently waiting for an answer. “I think.”

Clint picks up one of the knives and grips it in his hand, testing the heft of it. “Alright. Hit it, JARVIS.”

A woman’s voice fills the room, loud and...computerized, almost. Clint sings into the knife handle, perfectly in sync, other hand flipping up fingers in time with the words.

One, two, three

Not only you and me

Got one eighty degrees

And I'm caught in between

Bucky stares at him, vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open. Clint finishes the opening of the song, winks, then backflips onto the raised platform behind him, throwing the knife at the same time. It lands on the target, and he moves on without missing a beat.

The course itself is relatively simple. Lots of climbing and jumping, rolling and ducking. Bucky has a very dim memory of doing something similar in basic training so many years ago. Except, in basic training, he’s pretty sure they weren’t allowed to dance while on the course.

And Clint is dancing. There’s no other word for it. He’s intently focused, never missing a step, but he’s also pretty clearly moving to the music, twisting his body and moving his feet in time with the song. It’s hypnotizing, in a way. Bucky can’t take his eyes off him as he darts around the course, effortlessly climbing obstacles and shooting arrows.

Six and a half minutes later, Clint lands in front of him. His feet touch the floor just as the last note of the second song plays. “Ta-da,” he says, breathing hard, and does an overly dramatic bow.

“Jesus,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “That...”

“I know,” Clint says with a grin. “I’m amazing.”

“You’re something,” Bucky says, but Clint’s smile is infectious, and he can’t help but return it. “You know you’d be faster if you weren’t dancing.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.” He gestures to the course. “You wanna try? It really does help.”

Bucky turns to look. “I’m not dancing,” he says.

“We can work up to that.” He points to the weapons locker. “There’s guns over there, if you want to shoot the targets. Otherwise you can just ignore them.”

Bucky goes over and picks out a gun. “I suppose the music is required.”

“Of course.” Clint pulls a water bottle out from his bag and takes a drink. “Any preferences?”

“You’re the one who knows them. You can pick.”

Clint rubs his hands together. “Aw, yeah.”

Bucky has a distinct feeling he’s going to regret that, judging by the sudden gleeful look on Clint’s face, but he also kind of likes that look. So he just sighs and heads to the starting point. “I’m not singing, either.”

“We can work up to that too.” Clint looks up. “JARVIS, start him off with Toxic, as per tradition, and we’ll collaborate from there.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS says, polite as always. “Sergeant Barnes, are you ready?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and he jumps up to the platform.

It is calming, he realizes as he moves through it. Despite the blaring music, and the adrenaline thrumming through him, he does feel significantly more relaxed by the time his feet land on the ground at the finish line. Or at least, less keyed up than he did a few minutes ago.

Clint is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He bursts into applause as soon as Bucky straightens up. “Good work.”

Bucky wipes the sweat off his head and catches the water bottle tossed at him. “Okay, you’re right. That helps.”

“Told you so.” Clint pats the ground next to him. “I used to get up and run, but once we all moved in here, I figured out this was better. More engaging. It’s hard to focus on nightmares when you’re trying to sing and shoot arrows and backflip off shit at the same time.”

“You don’t have to sing,” Bucky points out.

“Yes I do,” Clint says, looking scandalized at the very thought. “It’s Britney, bitch.”

Bucky snorts. “So which songs should I learn? Since you’re the expert and all.”

Clint’s eyes light up. “You serious?”

“Sure.” Bucky can’t really explain why, but he’s interested. Not necessarily in the music itself, but more in having another glimpse into the weird and wonderful mess that is Clint Barton.

“I’ll send you a playlist,” Clint promises. He reaches for his bag and pulls it over, then digs out his phone and starts swiping at it. “I’ll do it right now, I’ve already got one.”

“My phone’s upstairs,” Bucky says. “I’ll look at it later.” He tilts his head towards the course. “Want to race?”

“Definitely,” Clint says, engrossed in whatever he’s doing. He taps a couple more times, then drops the phone into his bag and gets up. “Sure you can keep up?”

“Pretty sure, twinkletoes,” Bucky says, holding out a hand.

Clint laughs as he pulls him up. “You’re on, old man.”

They run the course together three more times. Clint wins two of them---definitely by cheating, despite his protests otherwise. Bucky doesn’t really care, honestly. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun doing anything, and watching Clint pull off some ridiculous acrobatic moves while singing along just makes it better.

After the third round, they both collapse on the floor. “Okay,” Clint says, wheezing a little. “Two out of three, I win, which means you’re buying the donuts.”

“I don’t remember anything about donuts,” Bucky says, rolling his head to look at him. “When did donuts ever enter this conversation?”

“Two seconds ago.” Clint looks at his watch. “It’s three-thirty, I know a shop that’ll be open.”

“Right now?”

“You got a better idea?”

“I was going to go shower,” Bucky says. “And then maybe try to sleep.”

Clint waves a hand. “Sleep is for the weak. Come get donuts with me.” He looks at his sweat-soaked shirt, and then says, “We can shower first.”

Bucky means to turn him down, honestly. He’s tired, and he thinks he might be able to sleep without nightmares for a bit. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Okay.”

“Yay,” Clint says, rolling up to his feet. He offers a hand down, and Bucky takes it. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in an hour?”

“Sure.” Bucky tosses him his bag, and they both head to the elevator.

They get off at their respective floors. Bucky immediately goes for his bathroom. “JARVIS,” he says as he strips off his clothes. “Can you play the...whatever he sent me?”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS replies, which is how Bucky ends up showering to the dulcet tones of Britney Spears. He’s still not entirely sure what to think of her music, but he can’t deny that they’re catchy songs. He’s still humming one of them when he goes into the kitchen, and finds Clint already perched on the counter, drinking coffee and drumming his heels against the cabinets.

Natasha is there too, and she raises an eyebrow as Bucky walks in. “Oh, no.”

Bucky stops humming. “What?”

She looks at Clint. “Are you making him listen to Britney Spears?”

“Hey,” Clint protests. “She’s fabulous. Don’t hate.”

“She is kind of catchy,” Bucky admits, noting the way Clint smiles.

Natasha rolls her eyes.“I will never understand your thing with her,” she says, dropping her own coffee mug in the sink.

“Your judgement is unnecessary and unwelcome,” Clint tells her.

She blows him a kiss before leaving the kitchen. “Let me know if you want good music,” she says to Bucky. “I have some songs you’d probably like.”

“Rude,” Clint calls after her, then turns his attention to Bucky. “Donuts and coffee?”

“You’re drinking coffee,” Bucky points out.

He slams the rest of it back like a shot and sets the purple mug on the counter “Your point?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re so goddamn weird, you know that?”

Clint throws his arms out wide. “There’s two types of people in the world, Barnes. The ones that entertain, and the ones that observe.”

“And you’re a put-on-a-show kind of girl?”

He can see the exact moment when Clint registers what he said, because Bucky’s just about blinded by the brilliant smile that follows. “Exactly,” Clint says, and he hops off the counter. Bucky can’t help but smile back. “Come on, then. I’m calling the shots, and I say it’s time for donuts.”

“I’m in,” Bucky says, and he follows Clint out the door.

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (3/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K this chapter. Again.  AN: I continue to have a lot of thoughts and feelings about all the thoughts and feelings you guys have about this mess of words. Thanks for being lovely. We get to that eventually this chapter. Also, happy hockey day internet. Yesterday obviously didn’t count because the Rangers don’t play until tonight. 

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, eight and half hours old when she wakes up to an empty apartment. 

This, normally, would not be cause for distress, but Emma is less than twenty-four hours removed from making sure Killian Jones wasn’t buried in the same cemetery she once kissed him in and they probably should have discussed the rules more. 

Like the never leave her apartment rules. 

Because everyone thought he was dead rules. 

Emma exhales, a breath of air she didn’t realize she was holding onto until she suddenly realizes how much she desperately needs it and it cannot be healthy for her vision to keep fading in and out like that. She assumes it’s a symptom of something. Possibly insanity. 

She feels a little insane. 

And questionably well rested. 

Because for someone who broke most of the most fundamental rules of the universe the day before, Emma didn’t wake up once all night. 

She refuses to acknowledge that that is probably a sign too. 

“Ok, get a grip, Swan,” she mumbles, mostly to herself because she is, in fact, the only person in that apartment. “He can’t have gone that far.”

Pushing out of the pile of blankets tangled between her legs, she glances around her admittedly small living room and the smile on her face feels equal parts unnatural, incredulous and a little overwhelmed. And kind of charmed. 

The blankets on the other side of the room are all folded – sharp corners and folds that are, very likely, Naval grade and the clothes he’d slept in are next to them, looking as if they’ve just been dropped off by the world’s most effective dry cleaners. 

This, however, does not give Emma any sense of where the hell Killian has actually gone and she can’t keep talking to herself. That’s a line she refuses to cross and a rabbit hole she refuses to go down and she jogs into the kitchen before she realizes that’s where she’s decided to go next. 

The plates are still in the sink, not much looking out of place, but Emma has been spending most of her free time with Ruby for years now and she’s got an eye for these things or something that would definitely make Ruby laugh and there’s a peace of paper folded on top of the coffee maker. 

His handwriting is different than it was when he was a kid, not quite as lopsided as it was when he got points taken off a spelling test for illegibility that required Liam to meet with the teacher. It’s blunter now, like he’s trying to work out all his emotions about the entire state of the world in a few letters on a piece of paper that Emma can’t even begin to imagine he found easily. 

You didn’t have any coffee left. You’re an awful hostess. 

Her hand doesn’t shake when she reads it, a moral victory she’ll probably hold onto for the rest of the day, and her smile still feels incredibly out of place. 

Because Killian is not in her apartment. 

Or dead. 

That’s probably the most important part of the whole thing. 

Emma genuinely has no idea what sound she makes in response to that. It’s not a laugh, she’s teetering far too close to those metaphorical precipices to actually find much humor in the situation, but it’s not actually a scoff or a groan either. It’s a weird mixture of all three, a sound that actually manages to hurt her throat on the way out before lingering in the air and pressing down on every side of her skull and he’s right; she doesn’t have any coffee. 

She was going to go to the store last night. 

She got a little sidetracked. 

God, now she wants a cheeseburger too. 

And Emma is disappointed she didn’t realize exactly where a very-much alive Killian Jones went as soon as she woke up. Because, once, when she was seven and he was eight – only a few days after his birthday and he’d been bragging about being older and wiser and several other things that made Emma kick at his ankles – he’d decided he wanted to know what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street. 

And the only way to figure out what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street was to lift it up, climb. down and start exploring. Immediately. He’d ignored most of Emma’s protests, smiling and nodding like she was making any progress in the argument, and eventually she’d run out of fight and gotten a flashlight out of the hallway closet. 

They didn’t find much of anything, just managed to ruin both of their shoes and Ingrid resolutely refused to give them pie for three straight days because they had to throw away their clothes when she couldn’t get the smell out and—

“He went back downstairs,” Emma sighs, shaking her head in something close to disbelief. 

She doesn’t time herself, but she assumes that she gets ready in record time – only a few minutes and a few droplets of water thrown at her face, not even bothering to brush her hair before tugging it up while jogging down the stairs to her own restaurant. Emma put the note in the back pocket of her jeans. 

Killian doesn’t immediately look up when Emma walks in, skidding across the linoleum tile of the kitchen floor, but she can see his lips quirk slightly and, if put under oath, she would swear his eyes get brighter. 

That is a scientific impossibility, Emma is sure. She’s also not entirely convinced they’re dealing with normal science. 

She doesn’t know what category magic fingers fall under. 

He’s half leaning on the counter, arms crossed lightly over the button-up he was wearing the day before and feet crossed at the ankles, a mug of what is, presumably, coffee in his right hand. There’s no tie, which is probably for the best because Emma isn’t sure she’d be able to handle that. 

And he’s not alone. 

“Hey, Em,” Graham says brightly, and Emma is glad she’s not holding anything. She would drop it. Killian’s tongue moves into the corner of his mouth. 

Emma needs to study science more because it feels as if the blood actually falls out of her face, vision doing that thing again and she’d just like some kind of confirmation if that’s even possible. 

Killian doesn’t move, although his eyes do narrow, a hint of a concern shifting into the space between him and Emma. There is not much space between him and Emma. 

“So, uh...I met your friend,” Graham continues, eyes doing an admirable job of looking like they’re bouncing around a pinball machine. “Didn’t really know you had friends.”

Killian snorts into his coffee, and Emma is torn between scandalized and...mostly scandalized. 

“I have friends,” Emma sputters. Graham does not look convinced. “Are you not my friend?” “I am your employee.” “Ok, well...yes, that’s technically true, but—” “—Do you want to share friendship bracelets, Em? Is that what you’re telling me?” “There’s no need to be a jerk about this.” “What about those little heart pendants? Where we each have half? Or is that too retro for us? We’re some kind of proper millennial relationship, right?” Emma scowls – an expression that is starting to become her default setting, and Killian is suspiciously silent. Until he isn’t. 

“We had matching temporary tattoos one summer,” he says softly, and Graham nearly falls over. He doesn’t actually, which makes it eight-hundred thousand times worse, and Emma briefly considers drinking the coffee straight out of the pot. 

She assumes burning her tongue beyond recognition will, somehow, ground her. 

“That so?” Graham asks, voice going gruff and disbelieving. “What summer was this? Recently?” “Do you honestly think I am the kind of person who has had a temporary tattoo in recent history?” Emma mutters. Graham shrugs. 

“I have a sudden and very strong suspicion I don’t know much about you at all, boss. It’s not for lack of trying, but…” He trails off in a way that makes Emma’s stomach twist uncomfortably, an allusion to almosts and possibilities that were never really either because Emma doesn’t like those words and she’s much better on her own. 

It’s safer that way. Less connection, means less possibility for getting hurt. Or something. 

She can’t really remember the reason for anything anymore, particularly when she can feel Killian’s eyes boring a hole in the side of her head and her pulse has only recently recovered from finding her apartment as empty as it normally is. 

“If memory serves, Swan was eight,” Killian says, still speaking mostly into his coffee cup. “She’d gotten a rather disappointing mark in third-grade science.” Graham’s shoulders shake when he chuckles. “What kind of science is third grade science?” “The most basic science possible.” “That’s a complete and total lie,” Emma argues. “That was...there was that frog thing involved and I—” “—Resolutely refused to do the assignment,” Killian finishes. “Did you also get detention?” Emma nods, not as stunned as she probably should be that he remembers this so well. Although, he’d also gotten detention with her because if Swan isn’t going to dissect the frog, then I’m not either. “Ingrid was furious,” Emma says. “She said we were challenging authority and couldn’t I have just done what I was supposed to do for once in my life.” “I always thought that was a little heavy-handed. What did the frog ever do to you that it deserved to get cut up like that?” “Died, apparently.” Killian hums, the conversation drifting dangerously close to topics they absolutely cannot discuss in front of Graham. “That was awfully rude of him to do that.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure the frog would agree with that, though.” They stare at each other for a moment – metaphors and metaphorical dances of the conversational variety and Graham coughs pointedly when they don’t do anything else. “Anyway,” Killian says, a forced brightness to the word that makes Emma’s jaw clench. “Swan refused to cut apart the frog, Ingrid was very upset about it, as was the teacher, God, what was her name?” “Ms. Feinberg,” Emma answers. Honestly, Graham does not appear to be breathing at this point. 

“That’s right. That’s right. She wore that ridiculous fur coat in the winter and—” “—We thought she could control the animals with her voice. Some kind of ridiculous magical thing that made a lot of sense when I was eight.” “Does it not make sense now?” Emma shrugs, not sure how she manages to stay upright when it feels as if the floor shakes under her feet. “How’d you get coffee?” “I’m absolutely incredible in unfamiliar situations,” Killian grins. He leans forward as he says it, another test of fate that Emma can’t voice and he knows she can’t voice and she’s going to have to give Graham an entire week off for subjecting him to whatever this might be. It feels like flirting. Again. “Also your coffee maker does not require me to be a rocket scientist, love.” Graham sounds like he’s choking. 

“You ok?” Emma asks as he continues to sputter on oxygen. 

“Yup, yup, yup,” Graham nods brusquely. “I’m fine. Totally fine. So, uh...you two knew each other when you were younger then? What was Emma like when she was a kid? Aside from the weird science thing.”

“It’s not weird to refuse to dissect a frog,” Emma hisses. “I was a kid. I liked animals.” She wishes she could come up with another phrase then kill him because that feels a little insensitive and Emma clearly doesn’t want to kill Killian, but he keeps laughing and pouring more coffee. He twists around, opening a cabinet he shouldn’t know is there and offers Emma a mug. 

“I don’t know how you take your coffee, Swan,” he says quietly.

Emma reaches out slowly, careful not to touch his fingers and it’s as weird as possible – gripping the mug from the top while Graham’s actual head snaps back and forth. “Cream and three and a half sugars,” she says. “If it’s not espresso.” “You don’t have an espresso machine?” “It’s not that kind of restaurant. Espresso is way too new wave.” “New wave,” Killian echoes, but there’s nothing even resembling teasing in any of the letters. He says them as if he’s chasing them and they’re both still holding the goddamn mug. 

“Yeah. I’m not...great at change, really. Like. At all, you know.” He lets go of the mug. 

She doesn’t drop it. So, points to her or whatever. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Graham says. He waves both his hand through the air, as if that will clear it or make any of this make sense and maybe Emma should just give him two weeks off. “I am...very confused. I thought you knew each other. You…” He glances at Killian, blinking quickly. “I don’t know your name.” “That’s because I never told you,” Killian says. 

“And?” “And...what?” “Ok, you’re really not going to tell me your name? Are you...Em, what the hell is going on right now?”

Emma shakes her head, not sure where to begin or how to explain and Killian is pouring her coffee. As if that’s a normal thing that is allowed to happen and the urge to run is almost overpowering. That’s always been her thing – even when she was eight years old and refused to follow the rules of a science class that was almost too dependent on rules and a classroom that smelled like formaldehyde no matter what they happened to be studying that week. 

Emma does not do conflict. She does disappearing acts, her own personal brand of magic that’s served her and her slightly patched-together heart very well for the last twenty years, but that same heart is really only patched together because it was forced to run away from the man in front of her who, once upon a time, wouldn’t let her get in trouble by herself. 

So she doesn’t run.  

She swallows instead, biting back words and explanations and the very real desire to just scream as loud as she’s capable of. 

“You want to double check on the napkin dispensers?” Emma asks, not actually looking at Graham and that does admittedly feel like kind of a dick move. 

“I’m sorry, what? Was that the answer to the question? Seriously who the fu—” “The napkin dispensers,” she cuts in sharply. Emma turns her whole body when she speaks, hopeful that her face betrays the regret she feels festering in the tips of her fingers. “Just...you know make sure that they’re full.” “Are we expecting some kind of mad pie rush today?” “God, I hope not. Also, why are you here early?” Graham’s expression shifts – tremulous and clearly concerned about Emma’s immediate reaction to whatever he’s about to say. He glances Killian’s direction, but is only met with slightly interested eyebrows and a recently refilled coffee mug. 

“You heard her,” Killian mutters. It’s not quite a threat, although Emma can’t stop the shiver that drifts down her spine and lingers in between her hips, a flash of cold that makes her wonder if they’ve suddenly time traveled to the middle of December. 

He hops onto the edge of the counter when Graham’s mouth drops slightly, eyebrows still as high as ever and hackles almost visibly raised. 

Emma has no idea what hackles even are. 

“Hey,” she says, waving a dismissive hand as close as she can get to Killian without ensuring disaster. “What…” Emma trails off when she realizes she can’t formulate that question either, another head shake that makes her neck ache. “Alright,” she continues. “I want a straight answer Humbert. What are you doing here so early?”

Graham shuffles on his feet again. “Ruby called me. Late last night. Which, honestly I thought you were dead, but she promised you weren’t, just that you might be and—” “—I’m sorry, I might be?” “Emma, if you keep interrupting me, I’m never going to finish the story and I’ve got a jam-packed schedule of refilling napkin containers.” “Are they that empty?” “Emma!” "Fine, fine,” she grumbles, shooting a glare Killian’s direction when he dares to laugh at what may be her very real mental breakdown. 

“I didn’t say a word, Swan,” he grins. 

Graham coughs again, but it also sounds a bit like a groan and three weeks of vacation seems almost exorbitant. “Ruby called me,” he repeats. “Was certain there was something going on with you and that you were acting shady after you guys left here yesterday morning. She said she’d been doing some research and some names had come up and—” “—Wait, what kind of names?” Emma interrupts. Graham throws a strawberry out of the closest bowl at it, the fruit bouncing off her left hand and landing at her feet – rotten, again. 

Killian slides off the counter. 

“Do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?” he asks, stepping in front of Emma like he’ll be able to block her from the threat of the one waiter she employees. She has to dig her nails into her palms to resist touching him again, those ridiculous and inconvenient magnets proving particularly problematic once more. 

She doesn’t hear whatever Graham says in response, is far too busy trying to figure out what the buzzing in the back of her head is. It sounds a bit like flies, or maybe a little more like bees, a hum and a sound that isn’t quite distracting, but feels a little powerful. 

The noise grows the longer she stays in one place, as if it’s getting stronger or more intense, knocking at the edges of Emma’s consciousness. It feels a bit like a memory she forgot, but is desperate to remember and that doesn’t make any sense at all. It’s déjà vu, a familiarity and a reminder and it almost feels warm, like it’s wrapping its way around her shoulders and holding her tight and Emma doesn’t think it’s a threat. 

She’s got no idea what the hell it is, but she doesn’t think it’s trying to hurt her. 

It might be trying to help her. 

Or remind her. 

And she nearly jumps out of her skin when Killian tugs on the side of her shirt. 

“Holy shit,” Emma growls, stumbling backwards. “What the hell were you thinking?” “You’re going to have to be more specific, Swan.” “What time did you get down here?” He shrugs, an air of nonchalance that’s far more frustrating with the noise that’s starting to ebb in between her ears. “Not long before you got here.” “Was Graham down here?” “No, he showed up in the middle of my quest for coffee. He’s fairly desperately in love with you, you know.” Emma blinks. “Ah, shut up,” she says before she can come up with a better retort and, that time, Killian’s answering laugh is almost warranted. 

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” “Yes. You can’t...you can’t do, like, any of the things you have done in the last hour.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules.” “Well there are rules,” Emma snaps, and she knows it’s not his fault. He was dead yesterday. And now he’s not and that’s got to be messing with his head, no matter what he tells her. Even if he keeps staring at her that very particular way, as if she’s some kind of magical being descended from on high to...do something. Emma isn’t sure what yet. 

Killian moves back towards the counter, grabbing the strawberries along the way. The whole thing is ridiculous. “And they are?” “You can’t come down here. Not...not without telling me or when Graham is down here and—” “—And just who exactly is Graham, Swan? He seemed quite interested in figuring out who I am.” “Because you aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen!”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s because he’s hopelessly, inextricably head over heels in love with you and he made several different assumptions as soon as he saw me. Do you not often have men in your kitchen, love?” “That’s not even clever.” “And that’s a very pointed attempt at not answering the question.” 

Emma huffs, crossing her arms, but that only serves to twist up her shirt and Killian’s eyes dart towards the suddenly obvious patch of skin above her right hip bone. “No,” she mutters. “That’s not...this has never happened before.” Killian eats another strawberry. 

“And Graham, he doesn’t...he’s not a partner in your side endeavors?” Emma shakes her head. “He knows that sometimes I take elongated breaks that usually require Ruby to arrive, but other than that, no. He’s got no idea. No one does.” “Why not?” “Why not?” Emma balks, voice rising of its own accord. Killian’s face doesn’t shift, but she can see his tongue press on the inside of his cheek and that might be one of his tells. “No one can know that,” she presses. “It’s...that’s way more power than anyone should have. Life and death and—death.” “You said that twice,” Killian points out. His own voice drops, like it’s trying to balance out Emma’s near-shriek and she probably shouldn’t be taking comfort from it, but she can still dimly make out the buzzing in the back of her brain. 

“I left Storybrooke and I got shipped around the country. I bounced around from group home to foster homes and houses and no one was ever even remotely interested in actually adopting me. One family tried to use me as a tax break, but that was as close as I got and it was never...it was never Ingrid. It was never you.”

She has to take a deep breath to stop herself from crying and Emma isn’t sure how the words keep coming, but Killian Jones is in her kitchen and everything seems to fall out of her without much concern about her set of rules. 

“There was never anyone,” Emma continues. “So I learned to keep to myself and figure things out on my own and it’s better that way, don’t you think? No chance of making a mistake or doing something wrong and I’ve managed to rationalize the whole thing with Ruby.” “Justice being served, huh?” Killian asks knowingly. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” “I can’t just stay in your apartment forever, love.” The endearment switch catches her off guard, a trend that Emma should really start expecting at this point. Nothing seems like it’s on even ground anymore. 

“People know you’re dead,” Emma argues. “There were news reports and, well, you heard it. Your name was there and there were graphics and—”

“—All of that seems a little tacky, don’t you think?” “I’m not here to debate the merits of journalism with you.” “Then what are you going to do, Swan? Because I’m not going to stay cooped up forever. I can’t. I did that for a very long time and I won’t—”

“I told you,” Graham announces, turning towards the wide-open door of the restaurant where a fuming Ruby appears to be doing her best impression of carved marble. “Doesn’t he look just like that dead guy on the news?”

Emma drops the coffee mug in her hand. 

“He looks exactly like that dead guy on the news,” Ruby seethes. She stands in the doorway for a few more moments, likely considering where to dump Emma’s body when she inevitably kills her, but then the clack of her heels moving towards the kitchen sounds impossibly loud and Emma regrets not getting dental insurance. 

She’s got a feeling she’ll need it sooner rather than later. 

“That’s super weird,” Graham continues, stuffing a handful of napkins into the container at table six. “Didn’t he die under suspicious circumstances?” “They don’t know,” Emma bites out. She chances a glance at Killian who, it seems, has also frozen, fingers wrapped around another strawberry. 

Ruby’s laugh is distinctly lacking any humor. “Or so the reports go.” “I heard some rumors there was some shady stuff involved,” Graham says. Emma’s head is going to fly off her neck. That would be for the best – then she could ignore the whole situation entirely. 

“What kind of shady stuff?” Graham shrugs, dropping the container back onto the table and every noise sounds magnified. Emma has to glance down to make sure there aren’t sparks shooting out of her fingers. There are not. That’s almost disappointing. 

“Well they didn’t find anyone else there, did they?” Graham asks. “At the scene, I mean? Usually there’d at least be a suspect or something.” “Maybe you should be the PI,” Ruby drawls. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hysterical, Lucas. I’m just saying. There should be DNA or something right? And they said he lost his hand. But...no hand at the crime scene.” “What?” Killian snaps, looking only slightly affronted when Ruby glares at him. “Where did it go?”

“Do you think I’m aware of dead peoples missing limbs?” Graham asks. 

Emma’s never had an actual heart attack, so she can’t be entirely certain of what the symptoms are or what it actually feels like, but she assumes it sort of feels like this. Her arms feel too heavy for her body, hands like weights dragging her into the kitchen floor. Bobbing on her feet, she tries to dispel the extra energy she’s suddenly flush with and that can’t possibly be medicinal.

No one notices at first – Ruby far too busy asking Graham where he’s getting his sources and Graham snarking back and it’s not a surprise when Emma feels Killian’s gaze move back towards her and her tiny vertical jump. 

“Swan,” he starts, leaning forward. “What…” “Oh, no, no, no,” Ruby shouts. Her hair hits the side of her face when she shakes her head, eyes bordering on dangerous and possibly tinted as red as the highlights in her hair. “No, no, you did not call her that. Is that...Humbert, you need to get out of here.” Graham drops another napkin container. “What? I work here, Lucas.” “I don’t care.” “You are not my boss.” “Get out of here, Humbert!” He lifts his hands in frustration, clearly waiting for Emma to object, but her jaw is stuck mid-clench and there is something wrong here and a heart attack probably shouldn’t last this long. “Fine” Graham growls. “Fine. You guys want to play secret and not act like this is the first time Emma has acknowledged there are other human beings on this planet, that’s fine with me.”

He’s gone in a huff of napkins and knocked over chairs, the bell on the door ringing loudly as soon as he slams it behind him. 

And for half a moment Emma is almost hopeful they won’t say anything else. They’ll just stand there until the end of time when the meteors come and dinosaurs return or however the world is going to end and she’ll be able to avoid this particular brand of conflict. 

“Emma.” No such luck. Killian is still staring at her. 

“So, guess we’ve got some things to talk about, huh?” Ruby asks, more forced calm that’s almost worse than screaming and shouting and throwing fruit. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” “The truth would just...blow my mind.” Emma sighs, closing her eyes and trying to come up with something that’s even remotely possible and everything sounds worse than the last lie. “I couldn’t,” she whispers, staring at her shoes. Her shoes are less judgmental than the other two people in the kitchen. 

“He is kind of dreamy. I think it’s the hair. Or the earring.” Emma lifts her head – Ruby grinning knowingly at her because Ruby knows that other rule and they’ll have to deal with that eventually. Preferably when Killian isn’t within hearing distance. 

“I think my uncles thought it was a joke,” Killian murmurs, tugging lightly on the jewelry and the wisps of hair that curl just behind his ear. “I looked this morning. Just to make sure I wasn’t taking on any zombie-like characteristics.” “You’re not a zombie,” Emma groans. He grins at her. 

“No harm in double checking. But I noticed the earring and that’s definitely Nemo’s, so...in the grand scheme I suppose it’s nice.” “Who’s Nemo?” Ruby asks, grabbing a pie off the counter and two forks. She hands one to Killian. And they’re all taking this surprisingly well. 

Emma may be the only one who isn’t. 

“The aforementioned uncle,” Killian says. “This one is good too, Swan.” “All Emma’s pies are good.” “Are you two bonding right now?” Emma demands. “Because that’s...Ruby are you not furious?” Ruby nods, tugging the fork out of her mouth slowly. “Oh I’m super pissed at you, but you’re currently exercising three of the five tells, so I figure you’re doing a really great job of beating yourself up already. Also I’ve got some news and, like, eighty-thousand questions.” “Only eighty-thousand?” Killian asks. 

“At least. Don’t try and play cute with me though, Jones. I’ve got some very strong suspicions about you.” “Such as?” “You weren’t as naive about the situation as you told your girlfriend.”

Killian’s grip on the fork noticeably tightens and Emma should really clean up the puddle of coffee at her foot. It’s starting to seep into her sneaker. Maybe she should buy new sneakers. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, and Emma’s breath catches because she’s incredibly familiar with that particular tone. It’s the same exact tone it was when he was seven and trying to convince Liam he’d only had one slice of pie at Ingrid’s. 

And the tips of his ears go red. 

Ruby shakes her head. “Incorrect. And as much as I hate to admit Humbert is ever right about anything, he does bring up a good point about your hand. What do you remember about that?” “Not much,” Killian lies. 

“Nope, try again.” His eyes dart towards Emma’s, tongue flashing between his lips and it’s as if they’re standing on a tightrope above several dozen crocodiles or alligators, whichever are more dangerous, and there’s probably rain involved too. Just to make everything as slippery as possible. 

“You said you’d already done the cooped up forever thing,” Emma whispers. “And you wouldn’t do it again. What did that mean?” “You ran and I stayed put, Swan.” “English, Jones.” The twist of his answering smile is enough to make Emma’s heart stutter against her rib cage. He tugs the pie plate out of Ruby’s hands, taking another exaggerated bite – eyes never leaving Emma. “Seriously, you should be winning awards for this,” he mutters. “And I didn’t actually lie to you before. I have no idea who actually killed me.” “But?” “But,” he repeats. “I’m not exactly the kid you remember.” “Who are you then?” Killian inhales, only to exhale even sharper and—”It’d really be much easier if I could hold your hand.” Ruby gags. “That’s not a line,” he promises. “That’s...it was always easier that way.” “Start at the beginning,” Ruby commands. He salutes again. 

“My brother died when I was ten years old and it changed my entire life,” Killian explains. “For awhile I thought it ruined my entire life because it meant Emma was gone and, you know no one ever moved into your house, Swan?” She shakes her head, not sure what the right response to that is, but some twisted part of her is almost glad. “They didn’t,” Killian continues. “It was just there, forever, taunting me of what was gone and what wasn’t ever actually coming back. And, well, Shakespeare and Nemo were used to being on the road, but the acting troupe they’d be in for the decade before they got saddled with me...it was on its last legs. There’s no money in it and they sort of stumbled into guardianship without much prep or guidance and they didn’t...they sat in that house and they’d both seen so much already. 

“You know Nemo’s ship was attacked once, that was part of the reason he wanted to avoid the bars on that port leave when he met Shakespeare and they’ve both dealt with so much shit from the world. They weren’t really….they weren’t really interested in the world anymore.” “But I bet you were, weren’t you?” Ruby asks, tugging on the plate again. 

“Not at first. Well, no that’s a lie. I was a shit kid as soon as Swan was gone, always getting in trouble and blowing off class and I think I tried to run away no less than sixteen times before I actually turned sixteen.” “How would you get out of town?” Emma asks, hating how soft her question sounded. 

Killian smirks “I never made it very far. You know Storybrooke, love, eyes everywhere and people gossiping even more. I think Cora Mills caught me trying to sneak out of my house even more than my uncles did.” “Oh she always gave me the creeps.” “You’re going to want to remember that in a second.” “Can you please put a pause on the flirting for, like, point two seconds so we can get on with the story?” Ruby groans. “Time, as they say, is a-slipping.” “You’re not very patient are you?” “It’s a family trait,” Emma mumbles. “You should meet her grandmother.” “Hey,” Ruby cries. “My grandmother taught me every PI trick I know. She’s the reason we’re going to find Jones’ killer and collect both rewards.”

Emma tenses. “Both rewards?” “Yeah, now you’re interested, aren’t you? Keep going Jones. This is almost interesting backstory.” “Almost interesting,” Killian chuckles, and they really should have each gotten their own pie. “Alright, alright. So Cora Mills—the mayor of Storybrooke,” he adds at Ruby’s questioning expression. “She’s been mayor since the dawn of time really, and she’s known I’ve been trying to get out Storybrooke for years, but I never did.” “Why not?” Emma asks, Killian’s hum of confusion feeling as if it lands between each one of her ribs. “I mean...couldn’t you?” “Eh, I’m sure I could have if I put my mind to it. But at some point around high school graduation, which was never entirely a guarantee for me, I realized that Nemo and Shakespeare were done with the world. They were tired of fighting it and tired of trying to find their place in it and—” “—You couldn't leave,” Ruby finishes, a note of sympathy in her voice that stuns Emma more than just about anything else that’s happened. 

Killian hums again. The disappointment and regret in the sound is bitter on Emma’s tongue, and maybe she should be taking some adult-ed science classes because she’s clearly got no idea how any of this works, but she’s never seen that look on his face before. 

As if the whole world has passed him by and left him in the metaphorical dust. 

“They’d given up their whole lives for me,” he mumbles. “And we were good. For a very long time. I...well, I figured out how to make money and I had books.” “Books?” Emma repeats. “You had books?” “I like to read.” “Are you a nerd now?” “I wouldn't go that far. It’s a...hobby, possibly some kind of obsession depending on who you ask. Don't ask my uncles.”

“I promise.”

He smiles at her again – slow and genuine until that replaces the whatever in between Emma’s ribs and she feels as if she breathes normally for the first time since she woke up. Ruby sticks her entire tongue out. 

There are berry stains on it. 

“Is this going to be a thing now?” she shouts. “The flirting? Are we going to flirt our way through several different crime scenes?” Emma tilts her head. “Are there more than one crime scene?” “There might be if Jones doesn’t get better at telling us his goddamn life story. Also, the less sarcastic answer is maybe because I’ve got news, but seriously the life story. If you were good with the shut-ins, why did you leave?” Killian doesn’t answer immediately, and the tension in between his shoulder blades is almost too obvious. Emma isn’t sure she hears him at first. And then she’s not sure she wants to. 

“Nemo got sick,” he says. “Suddenly and...badly? Is that the right word? It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t great and so I was trying to figure out a way to get some money and an opportunity presented itself.” “How?” “Remember creepy Cora Mills?” Emma hates that her jaw drops, but she can’t stop it and she knows this is not a good story. She didn’t expect it to be a good story and it is, somehow, even worse. “What could she possibly offer you?” “Money,” Killian shrugs. “And the chance to get out of Storybrooke, which given the situation paints me in a particularly asshole-light, but that’s always been kind of my MO too and—” “That’s not true.” “You haven’t known me for a very long time, Swan.” “I don’t believe that.” Melting certainly isn’t the right word for whatever happens to Killian’s expression. Emma doesn’t care. It’s the first word her mind comes up with and latches onto, in some misplaced effort to maintain control of a decidedly out of control situation, and she wishes she could hold his hand. 

Too. Or still. 

Or always. 

Honestly, whatever. 

“Thanks,” Killian mutters. “I promise it’s warranted in this situation. I was getting desperate. I never went to college and I couldn't figure out what to do or who to ask.” “No girlfriend to help, then?” Ruby asks archly, ignoring whatever noise Emma makes at that particular question. “What? First of all, that’s a genuine question. Because if there is a girlfriend, then we should probably prepare ourselves for her arrival in defense of Jones’ previously discussed very dreamy face and, second of all, if there is a girlfriend, she probably should have helped him rob a bank or something.” “Are we advocating bank robbing now?” Emma fumes, her anger having nothing to do with the sanctity of the American banking system. 

“No girlfriend,” Killian says. Emma wrings her hands together. So, naturally, Ruby notices. “Anyway, Cora found me one day and told me she had an opportunity if I was interested.” “And were you?”

“I didn’t see any other option, really. It made sense when she explained it. I had to get on the ship and—” “—Wait, wait, there was a ship involved?” Ruby asks. 

“Yeah, a cruise. To uh...shit, where was it to?” “We weren’t on the ship.” “That wasn’t the important part that’s why,” Killian mutters. “It was Tahiti or something. But I was told that I wasn’t supposed to do any of the onshore stuff they do. You know, zip lining and...swimming with sharks or whatever.” “The thought of that always freaked me out,” Ruby muses. 

“Yeah, me too actually. They say it’s safe, but—” “Can we focus, please?” Emma exclaims, met with two wide-eyed expressions for that especially emotional outburst. “Sorry, sorry, just...what were you supposed to be doing on this boat? Oh my God, are you some kind of drug mule?” Killian makes a face, ridiculous enough that Emma has to dig her heels into the ground to make sure she doesn’t try to do something absurd like kiss it off. The rules of the universe can suck it, honestly. 

“Are you kidding me?” “You’re the one who said I didn’t know you anymore!” “I was not a drug mule,” Killian sighs, dropping his fork so he can run his fingers through his hair. “I was...a water mule.” “What does that mean?” “Cora said that once we got to the island, there’d be some people getting on the ship who had something for me. I was supposed to bring it back.” “Did you meet these people?” Ruby asks, business-like and Emma knows she wishes she had a notepad of some kind. She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket. 

“Yeah, that was kind of the problem.” “How so?”

Killian doesn’t shudder, but it’s awfully close, a nervousness to him that doesn’t match up with anything Emma knows about him. “There was a whole group of them. Each one of them shadier than the next and they all spoke in grunts, I swear.” “Sounds like lackeys.” “Yeah, probably. They didn’t know anything about Cora though, so the orders were coming from higher up and that’s kind of when I realized I’d gotten into something I wasn’t particularly interested in.” “What do you think that was?” “I don’t know exactly,” Killian admits. “But one of the goons handed me a vial of something that was, maybe, filled with water, demanded my immediate and complete silence and told me his boss was expecting me when I got back to New York.” “New York?” Emma asks. “That’s where the ship left from. I asked this guy what exactly it was I was supposed to be moving and how I was supposed to get it through security.” “I’m sure he didn’t appreciate that,” Ruby chuckles. 

“He did not, actually. He told me to shut my mouth and do my job and that, this is where it gets weird, his master wouldn’t be pleased if I deviated from the schedule.” Ruby’s eyebrows pull low. “He switched from boss to master?” “Weird, right?” “Super weird. And incredibly creepy. So what did you do after that?” “I told him that I thought there was a mistake,” Killian says with a laugh that sounds full of a slightly different brand of regret. “And that I wasn’t interested in shipping whatever product they were trying to move. I don’t remember much after that, but I do remember the vial falling and breaking. Goons one through six were not very happy about that. There was a lot of moanful grunting about it.” “There were six of them?” Emma breathes, not nearly as confident as she’d like to be. She rocks backwards on her heels when Killian slides off the counter, ignoring whatever Ruby is doing with all of her limbs as she steps into her space. 

There haven’t been very many moments in Emma’s life that stick. She’s made sure of it, run from the thoughts and the feelings and the relationships for years. This moment, however, seems determined to linger and fester and that second word is absolutely wrong. 

It doesn’t fester. It grows – the buzzing returning until it sounds like someone’s turned the metaphorical volume up as high as it will go on Emma’s life and soul and, possibly, the magic she’s done her best not to acknowledge for the last twenty years. 

None of that, however, holds a candle to whatever look settles on Killian’s face. It’s not quite understanding – there’s still that pesky rule hanging over their heads and she’ll tell him the truth at some point, eventually, she will – but for right now, this moment, she wants to memorize every shift of his face, the twitch of his lips and the turn of his eyebrows, hair falling almost artfully across his forehead when he tilts his head slightly. 

He doesn’t look scared of her. And, really, that’s what makes all the difference because Emma’s been a little scared of what she can do and terrified of what everyone else will do if they find out about her, but Killian just takes another step towards her and smiles as if everything is normal or could be normal and—

“I’m fine, love,” he promises. “I’m very good at surviving.” Ruby scoffs. The moment ends – with Killian’s hand hovering just a breath away from Emma’s side. “Right, right,” Ruby mumbles. “Sure you are. That’s all very well and good and everything, but you’ve thrown a very large wrench into a case that already makes a negative amount of sense. Plus, you know...you’re supposed to be dead.” “I think we’ve covered that several times, Rubes” Emma mutters. 

“And I don’t think Jones died in Storybrooke.” Emma is very glad they’re not open until ten. Ruby’s proclamation rings out in the empty restaurant, bouncing off walls and tables and half-filled napkin containers. It hangs there, taunting and teasing and it can’t possibly be true. 

It can’t possibly be...not true. 

“I think you died on that boat, Jones,” Ruby adds, rolling her eyes when Killian mutters the technical term is ship under his breath. “And I really don’t care about that. But I think the goons killed you then and there and moved you to Storybrooke because you were some kind of very dreamy recluse who, if we’re keeping up appearances, should be dead in your hometown.” “But then why is Cora the one with the reward money?” Emma counters. “She’s the one who set this whole thing up.” “Unless she doesn’t really know who she was working for. Or she didn’t expect Jones to show up dead. Or she’s a little nervous about her own safety because Jones did show up dead. There’s plenty of reasons. All of which I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to answer when we go pay her a visit.” Emma does her best to form actual words. She does. It does not end well. And Ruby snickers at her. “Five figures, Em,” she says, pausing between each word to really drive her point home. “And whatever the uncles have offered now.” Killian jerks his arm back to his side. “They did what?” “Oh yeah, it’s not as much as Madam Mayor, but it’s a good amount and I think they’ve got some suspicions about you and your little jaunt to the...what water is Tahiti in? That doesn't matter. What does matter is that there’s more money being floated around and that means that more eyes are going to be on this and it’s in our best interest to figure it out.” “Don't you think that’s dangerous?” Emma asks, fighting the itch to start mixing something. 

“Oh, I think it’s incredibly dangerous. Except we’ve got a living, breathing dead person in this kitchen who’s involved in some kind of shady something and those same shady somethings will probably be very interested in him being alive. So solving Killian Jones’ murder seems to be our only option at this point.” Killian smiles at Emma – as if he’s won a competition they absolutely were not staging. She groans. “This is not a victory for you,” she hisses. “This is...how do you expect to just go outside? Graham knew who you were.” “He suspected,” Killian corrects. “And I’ll wear a hat. And sunglasses.” “Your ears look ridiculous in a hat.” “I hate to be that person, but I don’t think we should be all that worried about the fashion choices of the dead here,” Ruby says. 

“And you’re very worried about your own fashion choices.” “Ok, that’s rude. I am worried about you. Incredibly so, in fact. Because we’ve got a good thing going here and I...well, I am worried about you. That’s the headline.” It’s not a particularly impassioned speech, but it may be the most emotional Ruby’s gotten since Emma ran into her perp in an alley. Her heart strings are, effectively, tugged. And the guilt in the pit of her stomach churns. 

That’s less pleasant. “Fine,” Emma snaps, like she had any chance of convincing either one of them otherwise. “Fine. Let’s all solve a goddamn murder then. It’s not like I had pie to bake.” “Should be award-winning pie,” Killian adds. They’re definitely flirting. “And I’m serious about 30-30-40. Except from my uncles. That’s...there’s got to be a line, you know?” Ruby stops pouring the coffee Emma hadn’t realized she’d started pouring. “What exactly does that mean? Exactly?” “You said that twice.” “I’m going to get Emma to touch you.” “God, Rubes, that’s dark,” Emma grumbles. She’s run out of coffee. 

“I think I should get the forty percent of the reward because I died,” Killian says, easy as well, pie. “And we’re not taking money from my uncles. Nemo’s still sick. There’s gotta be some kind of morality clause in your familial PI code, right?” Ruby considers that for a moment before bursting out into a laugh that is so loud Emma glances at the walls to make sure the paint hasn’t been chipped. She’s still doubled over nearly thirty seconds later, body shaking and tears in her eyes and it’s a little concerning, but also kind of nice because it sounds real and Killian is still standing far too close to Emma. 

Like he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Yeah, yeah, that does seem fair actually,” Ruby nods, laughter still clinging to her words. “It wasn’t in the original instruction manual, but I doubt Granny was really prepared for people coming back from the dead.” “Magic’s got a way of sneaking up on you like that.” “I guess it does. And I guess we’re going back to Storybrooke, huh?” Killian hums, a barely visible shift of his weight that’s really a dismissal without the words. Ruby almost looks impressed. “I’ll, uh...I’ll give you guys a second.”

Emma needs to take the bell off her door. 

It’s far too loud, particularly when she can’t hear Killian breathing next to her. He turns on the spot, quick enough that Emma feels like she has to blink to make sure it’s really happening. It is. He’s still there. 

Looking at her. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, desperate to say something before he can. She’s a great, big, giant coward really. 

Killian’s mouth quirks up again. “Still as fine as advertised. And you stole my question, actually.” “There’s not anything to be worried about.” “With you or the situation in general?” “Me. Always.” “That’s a decidedly depressing mindset, Swan. I’d very much like to worry about you, at least for the time being. And I know there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Emma startles at the certainty there, the distinct lack of blinking or confusion. He’s positive. And he’s right. She makes another absurd noise. “I don’t know anything about you,” she points out. “It’s...we’re in the middle of something here and I just, well—”

“Why is it a minute?” 

“Why is what a minute?” “This whole magical side of you,” Killian says. “A minute seems incredibly arbitrary. It’s not a lot of time to do anything productive.” “You’d be surprised.”

He chuckles, tongue doing something incredibly unfair again. “You know I haven’t often been jealous of other people, but it seems to be a trend for me this morning.” “That’s ridiculous. Graham is not...we’re not like that.” “You may not be, Swan, but he certainly is. And I can’t say I blame him.” “That felt like flirting,” Emma accuses. 

“It was absolutely flirting. Was that not obvious? That’s frustrating. I am, admittedly, out of practice though, so...” “That’s surprising actually.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Emma nods, taking a step back to try and maintain her sanity. It seems to be slipping through her fingers the longer they stay in that kitchen. “I’m kind of out of practice with the flirting thing too,” she admits. “But, yes, it was meant to be. And, again, there’s no reason to be jealous. I’m talking to dead people.” “And then dead’ing them again.” “Usually.” “Alright, so we’ll work on the flirting then,” Killian promises, and Emma resents whatever her pulse does at that. He certainly hears it. “But why the minute? Did you decide that?” “A minute is a very long time. Plus, the longer someone is alive who isn’t really supposed to be alive, the more likely something is going to go wrong and people get very preachy when they realize life and death is in the balance.”

“I’m still here though. You’ve avoided kissing me on multiple occasions.” “That’s what you're worried about?” “Not in the way you’re thinking. Well, partially in the way you’re thinking, but mostly in the way that you said you’ve never done this before, right?” Emma nods. “And you don’t have some boyfriend aside from the love-struck waiter.” A less enthusiastic nod. Killian’s smile widens. “So,” he continues, leaning around her to grab something she can’t possibly be bothered looking at. “My main question before we dive into the seedy underbelly of the world is...why me?” “I told you that already,” Emma whispers, and she is not emotionally prepared to deal with this many emotions this early in the morning. Or ever. She can’t believe she still has so many emotions about Killian Jones. She desperately wants to brush his hair away from his eyebrows. 

“No, you did a rather horrible job of avoiding the question. So, I’ll ask you one more time, love, why didn’t you let me go?” Emma opens her mouth – certain I couldn’t will come spilling out of her, again and on loop, but she meets his gaze and it’s all too much and not enough. He’d know if she was lying anyway. 

“I just thought it made more sense,” she says. “To have you there. I...I thought my life might be...better if you were in it. You know, again.” He’s infuriatingly quiet or a moment, gaze penetrating. That’s not altogether uncomfortable either. Emma doesn’t blink. 

And, that, that, eventually seems like the turning point because it’s in that moment she realizes what exactly Killian is holding. 

Saran wrap.

He moves quickly, leading with his head so as not to touch her with anything else. The saran wrap isn’t perfectly tight between his fingers, a strange balancing act with only five fingers, but Emma’s too stunned to worry about that for too long and then she’s too amazed to be stunned and she’s wanted to kiss him since she saw him. 

Again. 

She moves forward, the taste of plastic on her tongue when she presses her lips against his. Her arms twist behind her, determined not to give into the metaphorical magnets that feel as if they’re yanking on Emma and begging her to card her fingers through Killian’s hair. 

She fists her hands, but she doesn’t pull away. Part of her is stunned, toying with fate and fire and the rules of the world, but the rest of Emma is screaming out in triumph, desperate to press her mouth closer to Killian’s, to breathe him in until he’s found his way back into the middle of everything. 

It feels impossibly easy. 

It always felt like that. 

Emma makes a noise, almost a groan and possibly a sigh and she can feel Killian’s smile through the twisted up saran wrap. Their noses bump.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she mumbles, not moving her head away. His laugh times up with the buzzing in her ears. 

“Consider it a well-executed science experiment.” “What would you have done if it didn’t work?” Killian shrugs. “I was pretty confident it would work.” “That’s not an answer.” “I really, really, really wanted to kiss you.” 

He bunches up the saran wrap before Emma can object, another quick press to her cheek that isn’t really to her cheek and she feels like she’s floating. She’s not sure she’s ever felt like that.

Ruby groans when she walks back into the restaurant. 

“Oh my God,” she sneers. “Is this our new normal? Because if it is, I’m taking my own car. Or that bus. It wasn’t really that bad.” “You made her take the bus, Swan?” Killian asks, tossing the saran wrap in the trash. Emma probably shouldn’t regret that. 

“I was trying to figure out how to get you away from your own coffin.” He beams at her. Ruby throws several napkins across the restaurant. 

“Can we go solve a murder, please? I’m sure Madam Mayor is very busy.” Emma takes a deep breath, glancing at a still-smiling Killian and the slight flush to his cheeks. She’s a little proud she put that there. “Yeah,” she nods. “Let’s go solve a murder.”

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Seven

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I wish I could take credit for a single original idea in this part, but I’ve literally stolen it all from my favourite dramatic space nerd: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SI4g0Sxs1jA 😉 

This is technically the last part before the epilogue which should hopefully be posted soon! There may or may not be another hug in this one...

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

*****************************************

Consciousness returns to him slowly, expanding in tiny increments over what feels like hours.  

It starts with a bone-deep chill settling over his flesh like crystallised ice, followed by a soft breeze ruffling hair which feels longer than he remembers. He finds that he still has fingers, which surprises him somewhat, and he flexes them experimentally against the shifting surface beneath his prone form. Fine grains of sand cling to his palms in the process, though he lacks the strength to wipe them clean. Acute awareness of his shirt clinging to his chest sends a flurry of discomfort through his spine, and a choked-off groan escapes his lips when he becomes all-too-aware of the many layers of sweat coating his skin. The only thing that doesn’t return is vision. All other senses creep back to him with a pace that would rival a snail’s, but his surroundings remain as black as an endless void, and he lets the darkness carry him off into a doze once or twice.  

It occurs to him that he appears to be alive, despite having prepared for an entirely different outcome. He can’t say he knows how to feel about that. There had been something so peaceful about the notion of simply fading away, comforted by reclaimed memories of home, and this current uncertainty is far more terrifying than finality could ever be.  

And yet, there is no denying his survival. The first sound to return to his ears is his own heartbeat; slow at first, only to quicken as anxiety infects his brain. Shallow breaths fill his lungs with precious oxygen, and before long his discomfort at being curled up like an overgrown child force him to stretch limbs which feel arthritic in their creaking stiffness. Eventually the sound of his thudding heart is muted by the rush of crashing waves and the hiss of a cool breeze kissing the earth. It takes longer than it should for his mind to paint a picture – to comprehend the impossibility of hearing ocean waves on the place he now calls home – and his breathing only grows more rapid when he opens his eyes.

The pervading darkness doesn’t abate.  

He can’t see.  

Alex blinks several times in quick succession, consumed by panic, but no light invades his retinas no matter how desperately he tries to focus. A harsh gasp rips through him, only to erupt into painful, hacking coughs as his mouth fills with sand, choking him with the taste of earth and salt. With trembling limbs, he lifts his torso from the ground and retches in an attempt to clear his throat, feeling hot tears stream down his face as his airway clears at an agonising pace. When he can finally breathe again, the cool sea-air soothes his lungs and has him closing his eyes in newfound bliss. A shaky hand comes up to feel his forehead and he frowns as he becomes all-too-aware of an unseen vice squeezing his skull, as though trying to force his brain out through his ears. The frown only deepens when his fingers trace smooth metal instead of warm skin.

Before any ridiculous notions can fill his head - no doubt concerning cyborgs - he traces the curve of metal downwards until he reaches a groove resting just below his eyes. The vice is a helmet. A tight one, certainly, but no more a part of him than his battered shirt. Further exploration reveals a conspicuous lack of visor or straps, or even wires plugged into god knows what. The sheer unfamiliarity of the device grows with every second it remains fused to his skull, compounded by the absolute certainty that he wants it off.

Before he can second-guess the logic of his decision, he tugs on the helmet with all the force he can muster. Meeting more resistance than expected, he lets out a cry of frustration before easing both palms underneath the groove and shoving upwards with all his might. The force of the device pressing against his skull has stars bursting behind his eyes and nausea rising in his gut. A shock of pain followed by the sensation of wetness implies that blood has been spilt, but he eventually manages to free himself from the helmet’s clutches with his skull somewhat intact, and a choked sob escapes his throat as colours flood through his vision, revealing his surroundings at long last.

Still heaving from a mixture of nausea and elation, he watches as a stiff breeze scatters sand over the sleek surface of a device which resembles his old virtual reality mask too closely for comfort. Matt’s birthday gift had been considerably less confining, but the resemblance is still close enough to have Alex shuddering. Warm wetness trickles from his temples into his thoroughly mussed hair, and he reaches up only for his fingers to come back coated in red. The flow of blood is sluggish, however, and the pain little more than a negligible throb. The wound is no more than a scratch.  

A small price to pay for the view that greets him when he turns his head seaward.  

The sunset is a brilliant collage of pinks and oranges spread across an endless sky like broad paint strokes, occasionally interrupted by thick clouds shifting like ghostly shadows over calm waters. The sun rests just above the water’s surface, its outline vibrating as the ocean spreads its golden glow like a halo. Closer to home, calm waves wash up against a golden shore, leaving masses of seaweed and froth in their wake. The resounding crash as they batter the hardened sand before politely receding tugs his lips upwards into a dazed smile. He never thought he’d see the ocean again. Never thought he’d feel sand beneath his feet or watch the sun from afar or idly gaze upon overhanging gulls scouting the waters for prey. The hotel pool had been a poor substitute. As tempting as its waters always looked, he cannot recall seeing them so much as ripple in all the time he’d observed them. Had he ever taken the plunge himself and dived beneath the surface? He honestly can’t remember now. Nor can he recall any guests disturbing the water’s calm surface either. In comparison to the sight which greets him now, the only significant body of water on the moon had been a positively dull affair.

It occurs to him far too late that he knows this beach. As he casts his eye along the seemingly endless shoreline, disturbed by scattered driftwood and craggy cliffs, he recalls several early-morning runs along the adjacent paths and quickly-terminated attempts at surfing. In theory, the gaudy comforts of Los Angeles should lie just behind him, barely miles away from the shore. When he turns to look, however, he finds that such hopes are quickly dashed. The coast may be familiar, but the colossal sand dunes stretching beyond it are an entirely new finding. What little greenery remains is brittle and broken, swaying stiffly in the breeze with little resistance.  

Not that that’s the most striking thing to befall his eyes. The lifeless remains of a landscape he once called home appear almost unremarkable in the face of the half-buried monstrosity peering directly at him from beneath a rounded helmet.

The creature appears to be dead. At the very least it remains unmoving, jaw locked in an eternal snarl as it leers towards the clouded sky. One towering, skeletal hand pokes out from the sand to point at an unseen insult with a single extended phalynx. Beneath metal plates which appear rusted by the humid sea-air, the creature is little more than faded bone held together by silver ligaments; its gaping mouth and nose consisting only of empty sockets. Alex can’t even bring himself to fear it. Perhaps he did once. A pang of recognition gnaws at him, and it occurs to him that the reason his heart hasn’t stopped is because this particular image no longer has the power to frighten him. The only emotion he can muster for it now is misguided pity.  

The helmet encircling the creature’s skull is the spitting image of the device lying dejected by his side. Is that what Alex would have looked like eventually? Had he remained within the confines of the hotel for all eternity, would some future remnant of humanity have stumbled upon him half-buried beneath the sand, with nothing left of him but discoloured bone?

He suspects he already knows the answer to that, and he rejects the mental image with a shudder.  

The evening is growing cold and he isn’t exactly dressed for it. Glancing down at his attire, he notes a torn pair of jeans and a faded white shirt resting beneath a blue cotton jacket. He remembers this get-up all-too-well. It’s the last thing he ever wore on Earth; the mismatched outfit he’d pulled on when the call to evacuate tore him from his rest. The outfit he’d been wearing when he and Miles navigated their way through a desperate crowd, before being torn apart and left drifting in spite of their efforts to crawl back to each other.

Miles... He needs to find him. The others too; Jamie, Nick, Matt and anyone else who has ever remotely mattered to him. He’s well aware that doing so is likely impossible. God only knows how long he spent trapped in that carefully crafted lie; millions of years may have passed for all he knows.

Only, he has to try. Has to believe there was a reason for coming home, otherwise what was the point of waking up at all?

Forcing himself to his feet with all the elegance of a newborn foal, he casts a glance in all directions only to find himself incapable of picking one. Whichever way he looks, the road ahead appears to be endless. A couple of experimental steps is enough to bring back recollections of stumbling through hotel corridors - real and imagined - drunk out of his mind and craving unconsciousness. His mind feels out of sync with his limbs; his synapses reduced to a tangled mess, with all the instructions winding up at the wrong destinations. Even standing still doesn’t spare him from swaying in the breeze like a weightless leaf.  

His weakness should bother him, maybe even frighten him a little, but he’s too tired for that. Perhaps if he lets sleep claim him he will wake up in his own home, cradled in the arms of someone he loves, to find that this whole mess has been an elaborate dream. He may even get a few songs out of it. Paul McCartney had used that technique once or twice, he recalls, though he imagines his dreams didn’t revolve around space hotels and simulated realities.  

That line of thinking sends a huff of laughter shooting through him, and he shakes his head before directing his attention back to the ocean. He feels like he’s going mad. Who knows, maybe he is? It certainly wouldn’t surprise him at this rate. As he watches the surface of the waves shimmer beneath the light of a tangerine sky, he cannot help but think there must be no better place to lose one’s mind. Perhaps waking was a mistake. There would certainly be worse fates than being unknowingly buried beneath the shifting sands while his consciousness remained lost on the moon.

He shakes his head to rid himself of such morbid thoughts and closes his eyes, just for a moment. Just long enough to embrace the coolness of the breeze sending goosebumps across his flesh; the familiar sensation of sand between his toes; the taste of salt in the air and the strong tang of seaweed hitting his nostrils. Sensations which are simultaneously alien and familiar to him. Sensations which help him believe that, despite any lingering doubts, he must surely have made his way home.

Whether hours or minutes pass in his sightless haven, he cannot say. Time no longer appears to have meaning; the only indication of it passing at all is the growing fatigue in legs which are still unused to supporting his weight. Even that mild discomfort is dismissed easily enough, and when his reverie is ultimately shattered, the culprit lies much further afield. A small frown creases his features before he can begin to process the new interruption, but eventually he hones in on the sound of a distant thudding, gaining volume with each passing second. It doesn’t take long for his heartbeat to join the fray, but he buries any panic and opens his eyes as the rhythmic hammering starts to resemble hoofbeats, of all things.

Sure enough, he’s left gaping as a sleek black shadow approaches from the distance, hooves battering the sand relentlessly. The lone horse doesn’t claim Alex’s attention for long, however, for that is quickly snatched by the lit beacon carried upon its back. Vibrant against the darkening sky, the rider appears to be sheathed in the broken remnants of a disco ball. Shifting reds and purples emanate from what Alex presumes to be a torso, while a pair of glowing blue eyes scan the horizon like a lighthouse beam encircling the coast. The sight is ridiculous and unexpected all at once, but Alex hardly needs to be told who the new arrival is before the details become clearer. As the horse draws closer, it becomes evident that the shifting lights originate from illuminated LEDs adorning a ludicrous nylon jacket; that blazing blue eyes are in fact a pair of neon sunglasses, and that the lone rider who looks like he just leapt off the set of a sci-fi western is the very same man who dragged Alex into this mess in the first place.

Matthew draws his equine companion to an abrupt halt with a tug on a set of makeshift reins, responding to the horse’s harsh admonishment with a gentle “Woah!” before patting its mane with an ungloved hand. The hand still holding the reins in a death-grip is concealed by a clunky silver contraption which appears to be a strange mix of metal glove and animatronic limb. Alex doesn’t let himself focus on it for too long, lest the sheer unrelenting oddness of everything he’s seeing finally break him. The only emotion he can summon as he watches Matt dismount with unexpected grace is a vague acceptance – too tired to be shocked by anything anymore – followed by a twinge of fear as the jet-black mare regards him with a distrusting gaze.

“Alex?” Matt asks with thinly veiled disbelief, and Alex pulls his gaze away from the idle horse to face the new arrival.  

The sunglasses have been removed and the LEDs shut off without him noticing, possibly to spare his retinas. Without all the showy effects, Matt looks as small and lost in the world as Alex feels. His blue eyes are wide, as though distrusting the image before him, and a tiny broken smile tugs at his lips before being discouraged by that very same distrust. It almost looks like he wants to say something but cannot bring himself to for fear a spell will break.  

Alex can relate to that much at least. Any attempt to respond is cut short as his throat closes off, and he’s forced to settle for a sharp nod instead.

The gesture is confirmation enough, it seems. Matt’s face brightens as a wide grin stretches across his cheeks, his eyes sparkling in the light of a fading sun, and the sheer force of his relief is so palpable that Alex feels his own heart being lifted by it.  

“I was starting to think I was alone,” Matt utters, almost as a whisper. While his smile doesn’t fade, Alex can sense the other man’s residual terror all too clearly. The same thought had crossed his own mind, though he’d refused to contemplate it for fear his sanity would snap like a dry twig.

It occurs to him that he’s still gaping, despite the fact that he’s hardly surprised to find Matt of all people standing right in front of him. Who else would it be? Matthew uncovered the falsehood of their reality long before Alex could even remember his own name. No doubt there’s a direct correlation between Matt’s actions following his brief stint at the hotel and Alex winding up on this very beach. The exact details may remain a complete mystery to him, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that everything that’s occurred since that night at the bar is Matt’s fault, directly or otherwise.

Alex doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or kiss him.

He settles for neither, which is less a conscious decision and more a choice thrust upon him by instinct. Turns out the only thing he can do as Matt starts to approach is laugh. Wild, hysterical laughter tears from his chest with so much force that it hurts. Tears gather in exhausted eyes and he’s forced to curl in on himself as his muscles cramp from the sheer force of his hysteria. He cannot help but wonder if this is the point of no return; the point where his mind finally shatters into fragments under the weight of all it’s been forced to endure. Barely five feet away, Matt freezes and his face falls with what might be terror, sending a pang of guilt shooting through Alex in the process. He can only imagine what he must look like now - a lone barefoot lunatic with unkempt hair, cackling at the sunset.

“I’m fine,” he manages to choke out with some difficulty, though he doubts he sounds convincing. His laughter abates eventually, though aftershocks continually threaten to send him into a fit of giggles at any moment. Matt hardly looks relieved by his self-assessment, not that Alex can blame him for that. “I’m fine, it’s just... Do you have any other clothes?”

Matt freezes, momentarily stunned, and Alex can’t help but feel proud that he’s been able to stump Matt rather than it being the other way round. Matt recovers quickly though. A choked laugh erupts without warning and he runs his bare hand through his reliably wayward hair, mouth gaping with the force of his relief. 

“Oh, thank fuck for that!” he exclaims, the words carried on another shaky laugh as he finally deems Alex safe to approach. His outfit does look rather ridiculous up-close, Alex notes with a sense of validation. When they’re not lit up like a Christmas tree, the LEDs pasted onto his jacket are little more than a mass of wires and unlit panels. “I thought you were off your rocker for a second there.”

“Give it time,” Alex responds with a weak smile, casting his eyes to the soft sand beneath his feet before he can erupt into another bout of shaky laughter. No doubt the madness will come eventually, but the longer he can put it off, the better. It’s a bad sign that Matt seems to be the reasonably sane one out of the pair of them. That said, a frustrated whicker from the nearby horse is enough to remind Alex of the other man’s rather dramatic entrance, so the outcome of that particular contest may yet be undecided.  

Without thinking, Alex staggers the rest of the way towards Matt and proceeds to pull him into a forceful hug, burying his face in the crook of his neck and closing his eyes in contentment. He’s not usually in the habit of hugging random people at will. Friends yes – often enthusiastically – but strangers less so, unless they specifically ask. That said, Matt hardly feels like a stranger anymore. Alex can probably count their total encounters on one hand, but that hardly matters in this moment. His relief at being reunited with another human being is too suffocating to ignore.  

Matt freezes in his arms like a frightened statue, releasing a gasp as Alex clings to him with childlike desperation. Before Alex has the chance to free him, however, he feels a pair of arms wrap hesitantly around his torso before squeezing him gently.

“It’s good to see you,” Alex whispers, surprised by how strongly he means it. He feels Matt’s arms grip him tighter in response, all prior hesitation gone, and he sighs at the comfort of being able to hold a solid human being again. It nags at him that the act of embracing Matthew feels little different than hugging Jamie or Nick or his Matt had felt back at the hotel, but he casts such thoughts aside. This has to be real. He won’t accept anything else.

“It’s good to see you too,” Matt says, his voice dripping with such earnest sincerity that it feels like they truly have been friends for decades.  

They remain like that for several minutes, clutching each other tightly like lost children huddling for warmth. Matt is the first to break the hug, pulling away with a hint of reluctance, but he keeps his hands glued to Alex’s shoulders as he casts his eyes over him with burning scrutiny. “Can’t say I rate your fashion sense either. I much preferred you as a swanky hotel manager.”

“Oh, come off it!” Alex scoffs, not bothering to mask a shy smile. Compared to Matt, he imagines he must look like he just stumbled out of a rundown vintage charity shop, though his outfit probably looked far more appealing before he decided to take a nap on the beach.

With considerable reluctance, he breaks away from Matt’s hold – the sudden absence of human warmth settling upon him like a stone – before turning to observe the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Matt doing the same, as though only now acknowledging his surroundings. Together they watch as the sun makes its final descent beneath the waves, leaving a fiery streak upon the water’s edge as an echoing golden glow lingers in the distance. Alex can’t recall the last time he watched a sunset, never mind the last time he allowed himself to fully appreciate one. How he ever thought he could live without this view is beyond him, and the vital question hanging over his head tugs at his heart with newfound insistence.

“Is this real?” he asks, with a tremble in his voice which cannot be masked no matter how hard he tries. Not that he needs to. Matt of all people must surely grasp the gravity of his question. He’s also the only one likely to know the answer with any degree of certainty. “Are we home?”

His desperation isn’t lost on Matt it seems, for he turns to Alex with an expression which appears almost apologetic in the light of a dying sun.

“I wish I knew,” he admits, running a hand through his hair in a gesture which betrays his anxiety. The lack of a solid answer makes Alex’s heart sink, but he supposes that was inevitable. By this point he trusts Matt not to lie to him. “Honestly, I thought I’d be dead by now.”

The words are carried on a disbelieving sigh, followed by a nervous chuckle as Matt drops his gaze and frees his hand from his unruly hair, letting the strands dance willfully in the breeze. If Alex had to guess, he would wager that Matt is currently trapped between the two lines of emotion that he himself is still battling; torn between utter relief at being alive and bone-chilling terror with regard to the uncertainty of their situation. He can’t help but wonder if Matt’s story mirrors his own. If he too had awoken one day to find his world trembling in the wake of an unseen force, before watching it all crumble before his eyes. Or had he taken a more active role in his reality’s destruction? Had the quake which ultimately claimed Mark’s identity, along with the hotel itself, been a by-product of Matt trying to fight his way home?

He should be upfront and ask him, Alex thinks, but something in the man’s demeanor stops him and all he can utter is, “Yeah, you and me both.”

The admission draws Matt’s gaze back to his own and Alex feels himself shrink at the sudden scrutiny. A momentary flash of sheer misery passes over Matt’s face; so infinitesimal that Alex can’t help but wonder if he’s merely projecting his own grief onto the other man. It appears to have been genuine however, for even when Matt’s lips tug upwards to form a weak smile, his eyes refuse to reflect any sense of lightness.  

It strikes Alex that, in many ways, Matt is still a stranger to him. While he could read every miniscule detail of Miles’ face or the expressions of his bandmates as clearly as he could read a book, Matt’s true emotions remain buried behind a lock for which he does not possess a key. As grateful as he is for the other man’s presence – and he is – his traitorous mind cannot help but wish that the person standing before him now was more familiar; more beloved.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says eventually, as though having read his mind, and deep blue eyes bore into Alex’s own with an intensity that must pain him.

“What for?” he asks, though he doubts there’s a clear answer to that. Alex is sorry too, for a great many things. No doubt trying to list his failures at this point would only result in a very muddled list: ‘I’m sorry for allowing myself to lose my mind. I’m sorry for not realising that my friends weren’t real until it was too late. I’m sorry for letting myself get tricked for so long. I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m sorry I lost my grip on your hand...’

Matt appears to be caught in the same predicament. His mouth opens as though he means to say something, but he clenches it shut before any noise can escape, settling for shaking his head instead. His eyes glance towards the ocean for a moment, watching the distant waves crash against jutting rock, leaving mist and spray in their wake, but disinterest claims him quickly. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to point in the opposite direction, and he stills, only momentarily, at the sight of the hulking beast lying buried beneath the dunes.  

If the creature surprises him, he does an excellent job of masking it. Given how easily he recovers - settling himself upon the cool sand and casually drawing his knees up to his chest - Alex doubts this is Matt’s first rodeo with the dead creature.

“Ugly fucker, isn’t he?” Matt utters with a twinge of sharp malice which doesn’t suit him.  

Alex doesn’t respond. The question strikes him as rhetorical anyway, yet he can’t help but agree as he slumps inelegantly next to Matt. With the light beginning to fade, the intricate details of machinery latched onto the oversized exoskeleton are beginning to conceal themselves from view, leaving only the impression of a sad, lonely creature reaching out for solace it will never be granted.

“I remember seeing him on the news, not long after the wildfires got bad,” Matt says, not seeming to care if Alex listens to him or not. The mention of wildfires is enough to have Alex flinching however; even if he’d wanted to tune Matt out, his mind would refuse to allow it. Through Matt’s casual utterance, he’s just been handed proof that his broken memories from before the hotel – memories of heat and panic and being ripped away from his one beacon of hope – are genuine. Or rather, he now knows that those memories are shared with at least one other human being. “Figured it was just another hoax. It’s not like we had a shortage of those at the time.”

Alex tries to cast his mind back to those final days. To the build-up preceding the calls to evacuate; to the anxiety-inducing news broadcasts which stopped wielding the power to surprise him by the fifth apocalyptic declaration. Much as he tries, he cannot summon a clear recollection of anything beyond a mounting sense of dread. Casting his mind back unveils only a thick fog in the stead of clear memories, and he cannot help but begrudge Matt for sounding so certain when discussing the past.  

And yet, something does appear to be clicking. He’d noticed it earlier, hadn’t he? When faced with the creature back in his suite, his shock had ultimately been compounded by a vague sense of recognition. If he clears his mind and closes his eyes, holding the image of the creature’s broken body in his head, he manages to capture a flicker of recollection; a still image of a towering robotic skeleton on a television screen - the photograph blurred and taken from a distance - while a bedraggled newscaster mutters something about mass disappearances. His resigned delivery had been interrupted by a Scouse accent, breaking in with a disbelieving, “Oh great, even more bollocks!” which had made Alex laugh before changing the channel.  

If only Miles had been right on that count.

“That’s the thing that’s been controlling us all this time?”  

Alex knows as soon as he utters the words that he already knows the answer. The momentary glimpse he’d stolen of the creature hadn’t been a trick of the light, or an exhaustion-induced hallucination, or even a computer glitch. It had been Murphy all along, intentionally letting the mask slip as punishment for Mark’s attempts at resistance. It had been the actions of a watchful tormenter letting him know, in no uncertain terms, who was truly in control. No doubt he had done so with the intention of making Alex believe he was going mad; the jury still appears to be out on whether he succeeded or not.

No wonder Murphy always appeared as a broken amalgamation, never fully adding up to a cohesive human being. What could a creature like him possibly understand about being human?

“Us and a million other poor sods, I reckon,” Matt confirms with a grim nod, hands clenching tightly as he wraps his arms around his knees. His jacket creaks awkwardly with every movement and his ridiculous glove gives a soft whine as it’s moulded into the shape of a fist. “That’s what he does, you see. He takes control of people’s minds and traps them in a never-ending game for his own amusement. Or at least that’s what I gathered. He tried to make his intentions sound nobler than that but trust me, that’s the gist.”

A lone brow rises in response to Matt’s admission, but Alex thinks better of questioning him about it. The fact that the creature supposedly confronted Matt head-on is hardly an earth-shattering revelation.  It had spoken to Alex too after all, on a fairly regular basis at that. They’d had appointments and everything; allotted moments in time to allow Murphy to keep him compliant. True, Murphy had never exactly been upfront with Mark about his true nature, but given that Matt cracked the code long before Alex realised there was even a code to crack, he supposes it makes sense that the beast had been more direct with him.  

Perhaps that encounter is what ultimately killed it? It seems so unlikely given Matt’s unassuming stature, but at this point Alex is willing to believe that nothing is truly impossible anymore.

“I just wish I could remember how he did it,” Matt continues, a trace of palpable frustration seeping into his otherwise conversational tone. “Last thing I remember is Elle waking me up when the sirens started and running to get the kids out of bed. Everything after that is just...gone.”  

Though he forces his expression to remain neutral, Alex can’t mistake the feeling of ice slipping into his veins. Matt’s experience mirrors his own far too closely for comfort. He can barely remember the call to evacuate emanating through the city, but he remembers the frantic aftermath clearly enough. He can still taste the ash and poison in the air; can hear echoes of Miles’s desperate reassurances as they forced their way through a panicked horde. While the memories preceding that moment are partially concealed behind a shifting fog, the events that followed may as well lie beyond a brick wall. There’s nothing to latch onto. No half-forgotten sights or smells, not even vivid emotions. His final hours on Earth before waking up in Mark’s skin are as unreachable as they are unknowable.  

All Alex can determine with any certainty is that whatever happened to him and Matt and those million other poor sods, it must have been terrible.

His stunned silence stretches to the point of becoming uncomfortable, and he can feel Matt’s worried gaze turning in his direction, but he cannot bring himself to break the spell. He tries to re-orientate himself; focuses on the cool sand beneath his feet, the scattered grains sticking between his toes. Focuses on the ever-present rush of water behind him; the occasional huffs from the patient black horse strolling nearby; the sounds of Matt’s jacket crinkling with every movement. Focuses on the unmoving creature before him and tries not to let hatred consume the tattered remains of his heart.  

There’s a chill in the air now which sends a shiver through his thin frame. Night is beginning to fall. Already the last traces of orange are starting to fade, making way for deep blues dotted with shimmering pinpricks. There are certainly worse places to be, he thinks, though he can’t help but long for a warm embrace instead of the bone-chilling breeze.

Matt’s voice, when it eventually returns, is a fair substitute however. The reminder that he’s not alone does more to lift his spirits than he could ever have deemed possible.

“I got sent back to the Battle of the Bands,” Matt explains, eyes downcast as long fingers play distractedly with scattered grains of sand. “We were back in Teignmouth, performing in clubs to audiences consisting of one man and his dog. We were even calling ourselves ‘Rocket Baby Dolls’ like a bunch of twats,” he adds with a warm smile, and Alex struggles to hold back a grin of his own. He supposes he’s in no position to judge. He’d actually committed to his silly band name in the long run instead of discarding it in his teens. “Wasn’t quite as fancy as your hotel, but it had its moments. Almost felt like the good old days, only for some reason it was the eighties and we still looked like old geezers.”

“Guess that explains the clothes then?” Alex interjects, and a warm sense of pride flows through him when Matt releases a surprised chuckle before conceding Alex’s point with a bashful shrug.

Alex’s smile doesn’t fade despite the heavy exhaustion which stubbornly clings to his bones. He can certainly relate to Matt’s experience in a sense. Among the madness that characterised his own customised reality, he’d found solace in playing regular shows with the lads by his side. It had been a much-needed strand of consistency to keep him grounded when everything else in his life was so fundamentally different. A taste of normality in an environment where normality was an increasingly rare commodity.

“It was nice for a while,” Matt continues, a wistful smile resting on his lips. “Maybe I could have stayed there forever. There was something so pure about being able to play with my mates like we were teenagers again, y’know? But I always sensed that something was wrong. Took me fucking ages to figure out what, but I always knew that something important was missing.”

The smile fades and Alex feels a familiar discomfort nagging at his chest. He’d become accustomed to that very feeling. Despite the constant buzz of activity in the hotel and the fact that his friends were always a mere phone-call away, the most pervasive emotion he’d experienced was a deep, all-consuming loneliness. His days were spent surrounded by other human beings – many of them perfectly warm, friendly people – but his heart had grasped onto his crushing isolation long before his mind had a chance to catch up. No doubt the absence of several key figures like Miles and his parents had played a part in that, but he’d spent his days surrounded by convincing replicas of his lifelong friends and even they hadn’t been capable of filling the void.  

“I missed Chris and Dom,” Matt goes on, and not for the first time Alex wonders if the man is capable of reading his mind. “Which was fucking ridiculous. I mean, they were always with me. We’d spend hours playing shows together, or getting pissed and having a laugh, but none of that changed how I felt. I still missed them so much it physically hurt. It was like my instincts were trying to tell me that they weren’t real before I had the chance to figure that out for myself.”

He stops tracing circles along the sand, wiping his grainy hand on crimson jeans before staring up at the unmoving creature with weary eyes. For the first time since their unexpected reunion, Alex realises that Matt is as thoroughly drained as he is. Despite the fact that his eyes are fixed upon the creature which sentenced them both to a broken falsehood, there’s no longer any rage simmering in their depths. It looks like Matt is staring straight through the creature, its presence barely registering as a blip on his radar. Only the tension gripping his shivering frame gives any indication that he’s still orientated to the present and not lost a million miles away.

“How’d you get out?” Alex asks with newfound curiosity. It isn’t lost on him that there are still major gaps in Matt’s story. He didn’t simply come to the conclusion that his world wasn’t real and then sit back quietly; he’d fought the notion tooth and nail. He’d wound up in Alex’s reality - and no doubt countless others - and used the opportunity to plant seeds of doubt in Mark’s head, ultimately orchestrating his mental unravelling. On at least one occasion, he had been forced to escape while armed caricatures of his best friends set out to hunt him down and kill him. Had they followed him wherever he went? Had the creature been so frightened of this one man that he’d sent assassins in the shape of his friends to mentally torment him?

Did Matt kill the creature as revenge for all the pain it had caused him?

“It’s a long story,” Matt confesses evasively, and Alex feels his heart sink a little.

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to hide his eagerness before it can become obnoxious. No doubt many aspects of Matt’s story will be as painful as his own, and he has little desire to pry into details which are none of his business, but he settles for honesty regardless. “I’d like to hear it.”

Matt’s eyes meet Alex’s own, studying him intently before a soft, sincere smile takes hold. There’s a bittersweet quality to it, marred by lingering exhaustion, and Alex suspects he will not get his wish. Not tonight anyway. The lack of outright refusal or hostility carries a certain promise, however, and he’s able to bury his disappointment easily enough once Matt confirms those suspicions.

“Maybe one day,” Matt says, and against his better judgement, Alex believes him. “A lot of it doesn’t even make sense to me yet. I still need time to sort my head out. But I’ll tell you all about it one day, if you still want me to.”

Alex doubts there will ever come a time where he doesn’t want to hear a firsthand account of Matt’s adventures, if only to help him join the dots between the hotel and this beach. Maybe then everything will start to make sense for him too. He doesn’t say as much, but his small smile and earnest nod must be convincing enough to assure Matt that he won’t be interrogated further tonight.

“Besides,” Matt continues, voice loaded with sudden conviction as he stretches his legs out in front of him. “We should head off before it gets dark.”

“And go where?” Alex interjects, with more force than he intends. “Where the hell do we even go from here?”

“I suppose that depends,” Matt says, seemingly unfazed by Alex’s outburst if the amused smirk tugging at his lips is any indication. “Assuming we really have made it home and this isn’t some cruel trick, where do you wanna go? What’s next on the agenda, Turner?”

The question is asked so flippantly, rendered even more so by Matt’s rapid-fire delivery, that Alex finds himself throwing his head back in a startled laugh. Planning ahead when the future is so unknowable and the world so fundamentally alien is a tall order, but he supposes Matt’s right. They can’t stay here forever.

“You’re giving me way too much credit if you think I actually have an answer to that,” he admits once his fitful laughter has died down. Matt seems to agree if his high-pitched giggle and muffled utterance of “fair enough” is any indication.

It’s still a valid question though, and one he’ll need to ponder sooner or later. If he truly has made it home and is no longer confined to a reality consisting of algorithms and complex coding, what is there left for him to do? He’s fairly certain he’s in Los Angeles, but based on appearances alone there’s little remaining of the city to go back to. Any bolt-holes of his have likely been razed to the ground and subjected to the ravages of time. Safety is no longer guaranteed to him, and if the world is as ruined as he remembers, he may never feel safe again.

Of course, none of that truly matters. He knows exactly what he wants to do. Whether it’s actually achievable remains to be seen, but he knows he would rather die than give up without at least trying.

“I wanna go home,” he admits, more so to himself than to Matt. His voice is small and fragile to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I want to find my friends. I have to know that they’re safe.”

Matt doesn’t say anything, not immediately anyway, but Alex doesn’t miss the almost imperceptible change that overcomes him. The signs are subtle enough. A minute clench of the jaw, a brief downwards twitch of the lips, the fact that despite being rather personable all evening, Matt suddenly can’t bring himself to look Alex in the eye. Alex could pry and ask what’s wrong but he suspects he already knows. He can’t help but silently wonder just how closely Matt’s agenda aligns with his own.

The spell breaks quickly. Matt forces a smile back onto his face and drags himself to his feet with little fanfare, brushing sand from his clothes with visible distaste. Alex doesn’t follow, not trusting himself to stand on his own two feet without stumbling. Instead he simply watches Matt approach his four-legged companion, attempting to appease her in spite of her displeasure at having been ignored for so long, and the sight sends a certain thrill through him. He cannot ascertain if it’s a thrill of excitement or fear. Most likely it’s both. It occurs to Alex that if he wants to leave here with Matt, he’ll most likely end up joining him on horseback, and he wonders if the night is going to end with him falling and breaking his neck mid-canter. It would certainly be an anti-climactic end after all he’s endured, and the mental image has him releasing a huff of laughter, but when Matt returns with a slightly calmer horse in tow, the overwhelming emotion flowing through him is one of terror.

“Shall we?” Matt proposes, offering a hand to Alex which he takes gratefully.  

He still feels unsteady when he’s guided to his feet, like a recently awoken coma patient who no longer remembers how legs work. Matt stays close by however, offering help where needed, and the reassurance has an immediate calming effect. Some trepidation must still linger on his features, for when Matt spots him staring at the hulking black shadow, he releases an amused giggle before clapping Alex on the shoulder. “I promise Midnight won’t bite. Not unless you piss her off.”

“I weren’t planning on it,” Alex mutters warily, but he swallows down his fear easily enough.

Maneuvering onto the horse is a rather clumsy affair given the makeshift equipment and the fact that the saddle is clearly designed for one person only, but he succeeds with significant help from Matt. Any protests the mare may have to his presence are hushed by Matt’s surprisingly soothing influence, and the smaller man soon joins Alex with relative ease in spite of the monstrosity adorning his left hand. Alex will need to ask him what it’s for one day, but right now they have an uneasy journey ahead of them. Random curiosities can wait.

With the flick of a concealed switch, Matt lights up once again like a Christmas tree, and Alex has to avert his gaze to avoid being blinded. The light is somewhat comforting given how dark the night has become however, and he doesn’t need to be prompted into wrapping his arms securely around Matt’s waist. They take off at a steady trot at first, easing their way carefully along the sandy beach, but as the mare grows more comfortable, she carries them away with a brisk canter along an untrodden path.  

An overwhelming sense of freedom pulses through Alex’s veins, as the world passes by in a blur and the wind flows through his unruly hair. Though he can hardly say he feels particularly secure, the thrill is intoxicating nonetheless. He glances back towards the spot where he awoke, casting one final look upon the broken creature who manipulated his mind, until Midnight turns a sharp corner and the shadow is lost from view.  

Good riddance, Alex thinks. He hopes the sand covers Murphy entirely, erasing any trace that he was ever here.

As the horizon becomes more difficult to interpret beneath the darkening sky, Alex allows his gaze to aim upwards. The view that greets him is fundamentally different to the one he’s grown accustomed to, but the warm sense of comfort which fills his chest is exactly the same. In the absence of clouds or pollution, the sky is ablaze with stars, scattered across a vast canvas like sparkling polka dots. Some shine brighter than others, and Alex spends some time trying to determine if they’re actually planets before deciding it doesn’t matter. The sight is beautiful either way, and he honestly didn’t expect to ever lay eyes on it again.  

The crowning glory steals his attention before long, as she guides them onwards with her luminous glow. It’s a full moon tonight, and the sight sends a bittersweet ache through his heart. It’s been a long time since he saw her from this angle, yet her beauty remains untarnished. He allows himself to imagine being back on her surface when times were simpler. Imagines the smooth walls of the hotel and the delicate blues of the pool and the inviting neon interior of the casino. Imagines the elevated highway splitting the youthful town in half as it stretched towards the towering station. Imagines the rockets flying to and fro above his head, while he watched from his perch on the hotel balcony.

No doubt the moon’s surface will be barren now, but it’s easy to pretend that his tiny civilisation still rests upon her surface. Alex knows he shouldn’t miss it, but the sight of her gazing down at him instils an overwhelming sense of nostalgia nonetheless. It was home once. If he casts his mind back far enough, he can even remember being happy there. His existence within the hotel had certainly carried moments of isolation and exhaustion, but ultimately it had felt safe. No doubt that safety was as much a falsehood as everything else around him, but now that he’s returned to this earthly plane, it strikes him that he may never acquire that level of contentment again. Even in exhilarating moments like this, he is doomed to always be looking over his shoulder for signs of danger, waiting for the end to sneak up on him unannounced. It’s one of the major drawbacks to consisting of flesh and bone after all; his newfound freedom has rendered him breakable.

None of that matters though. Not in this precise moment. The heart-stopping fear will come with time, no doubt accompanied by a generous dollop of grief, but in this precise moment it feels as though nothing can truly hurt him. Casting aside any lingering doubts, Alex rests his head against Matt’s curved back and lets his mind go blank; carried away by the rhythmic beat of hooves against the sand and the soft light of the moon’s pale glow.

[yukayjei]

Linked Universe FanFic: No Courage Without Fear

Hi! I’ve been a fan of @jojo56830’s @linkeduniverse for a while, and I’ve been dying to contribute my own fan work to this incredible series! I’ve worked on this fic since July (2019), and it’s finally finished (May 2020), so I really hope you enjoy it! I’ll upload it in separate chapters.

While in hot pursuit of an infected monster, two Heroes face fears they battled long ago.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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It was just before midnight, and a luminous full moon shone silver rays through the trees. The Heroes were all sound asleep under a large rocky overhang, save for two who sat keeping watch from a large, flat boulder sticking out of the ground a short distance away.

Today’s weather had been cursed with a brutal downpour. It was just their luck that all the rain drained into the valley they were traveling through, so the group had spent the day trudging against a frigid, unforgiving gale and slogging through knee-deep mud. Understandably, their relief was euphoric when they happened upon their natural shelter perched on a higher ridge, and they built a roaring fire at once.

Once the Heroes were sufficiently dried out and warmed up, the sun had already set, so they settled in. Miraculously, the clouds cleared up, and since Hyrule felt the least tired, he offered to take first watch. After a silent-yet-furious argument exchanged through indignant glares and avoiding eye contact, Sky volunteered to join him, despite being a hair’s breadth away from snoozing off.

Still, the two Heroes managed to keep each other awake through a constant stream of chatter, jokes, and (quiet) songs. Hyrule played a rather soulful tune on his flute; the notes produced were slow, yet smooth. They flowed through the air without haste, almost like a lullaby. Yet when Sky closed his eyes, instead of falling asleep, he felt his heart soar like it had grown wings, and an almost weightless sensation stole into his body.

It reminded him of a time he and Zelda snuck out of Knight Academy in the middle of the night and gone for a flight. The atmosphere was perfect. The quiet stillness in the air, the twinkling of a million stars. No clouds, just a light mist. The moon had been full, just like this night, and cast a beautiful silver glow over them and their Loftwings. He could still picture Zelda, lovelier than all of these elements combined, illuminated in the heavenly light. She looked like the goddess Hylia herself, which he’d later learned she was. The memory ebbed all the day’s stress and soreness from his body, but left a little ache inside his heart.

“That was incredible,” he sighed happily when Hyrule finished. “Where did you learn that song?”

Bashful at the praise, the brown-haired boy looked away. “I’m not sure, actually. It’s an old tune. Some say it’s been around since the dawn of Hyrule.”

“Really?” Sky leaned forward. “I never heard it until just now.”

Hyrule flashed him a quizzical look. “Well, maybe my flute doesn’t convey it as well. Sometimes, I think it sounds better on my recorder.”

Sky cocked his head to one side. “Then why not play the recorder?”

“Because I don’t want to summon a whirlwind in the first six notes!”

Sky blinked, not fully grasping what he just heard. “You don’t want to what?”

“You heard me! It would carry me off to who-knows-where!” Hyrule stood up, gesturing dramatically to the wilderness. Though his tone was serious, it also carried a hint of exaggeration.

“Seeing as you’re prone to getting lost, I’d say it suits you,” Sky joked.

Hyrule faced him now, a jolly glint in his eye. “Oh, but you don’t know half of it! It can also warp me right back where I started! In fact,” The glint turned mischievous, and he began slowly advancing toward Sky. “I could be gone for hours…”

Sky chuckled as he edged away. Exhaustion, combined with the late-night hours, must have caught up with Hyrule; delirium had taken hold, the kind that makes anything and everything downright hilarious, and Sky grinned as he felt it creeping up on himself, too.

“…And then, pop up right when you least expect it! Raaah!” With a yell, Hyrule lunged and shoved Sky off the boulder, only to slip and fall flat on his stomach where the latter just sat. A most undignified “Oooooof!” spluttered from his mouth, like air escaping a balloon. The Heroes erupted into hysterical laughter, Hyrule’s mixed with groans of pain, and Sky, sprawled on the ground with his legs propped against the boulder, clutching his stomach as he cackled like a Cucco.

“Shhh! We’re gonna wake the others!” Sky tried to sound serious and his voice cracked from the effort.

“You shhh!” came Hyrule’s witty retort before he dissolved into another laughing fit.

They laughed until they were literally gasping for breath, and even then, managed to laugh some more. Loud enough to drown out a third voice, cackling softly in the distance.

“Oh geez,” Hyrule finally wheezed out. “I feel like I cracked a rib.”

Sky rolled over onto his side, gulping in air. “You deserve it,” he croaked. A silly giggle hiccupped out. “I hit my shoulder hard when you pushed me! If it swells up, you owe me fifty Rupees.”

The brown-haired boy snorted. “Don’t exaggerate. Besides, I don’t even have fifty Rupees!”

“Then I’ll give you a matching bruise for payment.”

An empty threat, but Hyrule still offered, “How about some ice instead?”

“Deal!”

Hoisting himself up on his arms, he looked down at Sky. The Chosen Hero had already removed his green tunic and pulled down his undershirt’s left shoulder to examine the damage.

“How bad is it?” Hyrule asked, voice devoid of concern.

“The size of Four’s Octorok.”

“So, puny.”

“Feels worse than it looks,” Sky admitted, poking tentatively at the blackening bruise the size of a grape.

“You still want ice?” Even as he posed the question, Hyrule started to get up, only to lean back down. “Hey, that’s a neat scar!”

“Huh?” Sky flinched like he’d been slapped, hastily covering his shoulder with his hand. “I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyrule rolled his eyes at the atrocious lie. “I already saw it. Looks like you fought a hard battle!” As he spoke, he eagerly leaned in closer.

Sky yanked his sleeve back up. “N-no, no I didn’t,” he stuttered, ears bright red. Deliberately turning his left side away from Hyrule, he added, “It’s none of your business.”

Normally, Hyrule might have let him be, but curiosity overtook him (it wasn’t like he had anything else to do). “What happened?” he pressed. “From what I saw, only a sword could have left that mark.”

“It’s nothing!” Sky growled, glaring daggers at his friend.

“Then why are you getting so defensive?” Hyrule straightened up, taken aback by his friend’s uncharacteristic surge of anger.

“Because you won’t leave me alone!”

“Was it an accident?”

“No.”

“Do you simply hate having your skin permanently disfigured?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is!” Hyrule threw his arms up in exasperation. “Scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“This one is!” Sky snapped. The redness in his ears spread like fire to his face as he realized he’d said more than he wanted.

For a minute, he remained completely silent, refusing to meet Hyrule’s gaze. Then he exhaled heavily. “Look, unlike the rest of you guys’ crazy stories, it’s… it’s not my– my proudest moment, okay? I don’t– I don’t want to– to talk about it.”

A muffled giggle. Sky shot Hyrule a bewildered stare, more surprised than offended. Though not above poking fun at his friends, the Hero of Hyrule was the last to laugh at someone if they were genuinely upset.

“What?” Hyrule stared back, eyes wide.

“Why’d you laugh?”

“I didn’t. I thought it was you.”

He was dead serious. The two Heroes continued to stare at each other, silently posing the next question: Then who did?

A high, cold cackle answered. Further away this time, but loud enough for the Heroes to know they weren’t imagining it. Jumping to their feet, they unsheathed their swords. Instinctively, they put their backs together as they fervently scanned their surroundings for the source.

“Do me a favor,” Hyrule muttered. “Wake the old man. It’s his shift now.”

Rushing back to the camp, Sky shook Time as hard as he could, though this would prove in vain. If the old man did not want to be woken, he would not. He’d sooner sleep for seven years if you let him.

“Hey…! Hey! Wake up!” No response. His leader simply grunted and rolled over.

Sky tried the next-closest person. “Twilight? Can you hear me?”

No response. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Wild?” he tried again, voice rising in desperation. Surely the lightest sleeper would rouse. But there was no answer. “Anyone?” Sky couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Wake up!”

But no one answered, let alone stirred. He may as well have whispered.

“What’s wrong with them?” Hyrule demanded, hurrying to Sky’s side.

“They’re…they’re not waking up. It’s like they’re—”

“—Under a spell,” Hyrule finished in a hushed voice, as though his worst fears had been confirmed. “Of course… this must be the work of a Wizzrobe.”

“Wizzrobe?”

Another shrill cackle, like lightning splitting a tree. Immediately, the Heroes snapped back on guard; it sounded close. Too close.

“Robed monsters possessing incredibly powerful sorcery,” Hyrule continued, eyes narrowed as he peered into the shadows, trying to spot their unseen foe. “They typically rely on elemental magic, but stronger ones are known to wield dark magic. But to incapacitate seven people at once…there could be more than one, but it’s more likely one alone that’s beyond exceptional.”

Sky gulped. “You mean, infected?”

Face pinched, Hyrule nodded. “Exactly. We need to locate it as quickly as possible.”

“Would up there be a good place to start?” Unblinking, Sky raised a stiff hand and pointed above Hyrule’s head.

The Hero of Hyrule whirled around and gasped, for there atop the highest hill, the very creature he had described gazed down upon them.

Little more than a silhouette outlined by the moon’s full shine, the only features that could be made out were a tall figure draped in a heavy cloak, and two large bloodred eyes. Before either Hero could react, the Wizzrobe raised its hands and fired a tidal wave of black magic.

“Get back!” Hyrule jumped in front of Sky and raised his shield. The wave struck the shield directly, exploding in a blinding flash. But the shield remained unscathed, and the Heroes unharmed.

Undeterred, the Wizzrobe fired again. A blast twice as large as the last screamed towards them at breakneck speed. Yet the Hero of Hyrule remained poised, and quickly chanted something under his breath.

Bright radiance enveloped his shield a split second before impact, yet the dark magic was not blocked. It was reflected straight back at its source.

The wave’s full might slammed into the Wizzrobe. The monster collapsed, doubled over in shock and pain. For a few glorious seconds, the Hero of Hyrule thought he’d won, but the Wizzrobe rose up. He couldn’t read its expression, but those bloodred eyes looked murderous.

It let out a bone-chilling screech so loud it the Heroes’ ears threatened to bleed. The moon swelled to twice its size and took on a sinister crimson tint. Wind whipped around them like a tornado. Just seconds ago, the sky was clear, yet it now filled with ominous red clouds. Lightning flashed. Thunder reverberated high in the heavens and deep under the earth.

A bolt struck the ground right in front of the Heroes. With a yell, they threw their hands up over their faces, struggling not to fall down. Then the wind died down, leaving eerie silence ringing in their ears. Raising their heads, the boys saw that the sky had miraculously cleared. The moon shone stark white again. All seemed well, but the Wizzrobe had vanished.

“Where did it go?” was the first thing out of Sky’s mouth as he checked all around. Had it snuck up behind them in the confusion? Alas, there was no sign of the sorcerer. Their friends still slept peacefully, much to his relief.

“Was that…an illusion?” Hyrule stared blankly up at the hill, trying to comprehend all he’d just seen. “I sensed its magic was beyond ordinary, but I never imagined…”

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t have your shield,” Sky murmured. “Sorry, but how’d you repel it like that? I didn’t see you move an inch!”

“A spell I picked up in my travels,” Hyrule explained shortly. Sweeping his gaze over the camp, he muttered, “No one’s stirring.”

“They aren’t awake?” Sky shot him a worried glance.

“The Wizzrobe only retreated. Temporarily, I’m sure.”

Sky sheathed his sword. “What should we do, then? Prepare for its return?”

“No,” came the Hero of Hyrule’s decisive response. “We’ll pursue it.”

“Hold on a second!” Sky held up his hands. “I’m not against hunting it down, but what about the others?” He gestured to their friends, who still showed no signs of waking up. “We can’t just leave them here, defenseless! Suppose the Wizzrobe doubles back?”

“It won’t,” Hyrule responded forcefully. When Sky stared blankly, he elaborated, “I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling it won’t continue its plan— whatever it is— unless it traps all of us where and how it wants.”

Sky bit his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I–I trust you. I just don’t trust the Wizzrobe. Maybe one– maybe one of us could find it—”

“No! It’s too dangerous to go alone. We need to confront it together, especially if it’s like all other monsters we’ve fought!”

“But—”

The Hero of the Winds cried out in his sleep. Hyrule and Sky whirled around to see the youngest Hero tossing and turning, his face twisted in pain. His hand stretched out, like he was reaching for something.

Hyrule and Sky rushed to his side, falling to their knees. A desperate, fragile hope clung to them. “Wind? Wind, can you hear me?” Sky called, his voice hoarse.

Wind’s reaching hand seized Sky’s arm. In his feverish state, the young Hero mumbled, “Got you… just… hold on… don’t let go!”

With his free hand, Sky grasped Wind’s. “Everything’s going to be okay, Wind. It’s just a bad dream! Wake up!”

But the youngest Hero only tightened his grip. “Please…hang on…” he whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The sight was too much to bear. Hyrule felt a huge lump forming in his throat. A choked gasp escaped from his lips and he fought to stifle it. He turned away, but he could not escape the horror that enveloped the rest of the sleeping Heroes. There lay Wild, twitching and shaking like a frightened rabbit. Warriors, curled up into the fetal position and muttering nonstop. Legend, shouting incoherently into the night, each tormented cry more agonizing than the last. Twilight, hands balled into fists and growling “no” through clenched teeth over and over. Time, whose whole body shuddered every few seconds. Four, who lay so still they couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

The Hero of Hyrule was at a loss for what to do. What to say. Their friends’ condition had evolved into something far worse than imagined. Could he and Sky, who were just two people, even consider confronting the Wizzrobe, which he was starting to see more as a demon? Despair welled up inside his heart, weighing down his entire body like heavy iron chains.

As quickly as it had set in, he shook off the invisible shackles. How dare he think like that? Their friends were depending on them! A spark of determination flickered in his heart, spurring him to action.

Standing tall again, Hyrule approached Sky, who still knelt beside Wind, cradling him and clutching the smaller boy’s hand. Hyrule rested his own hand on Sky’s shoulder. “Listen,” he murmured softly, “I don’t want to leave them, either. But even if we wait for it to return, we’re at the bottom of a valley. With the range Wizzrobes have, we’d be at a tremendous disadvantage.”

Sky didn’t meet his gaze, but after a few moments’ silence, he sighed. “You’re right. The only way we can help is if we find and put an end to what’s threatening them.”

As gently as possible, he lay the Hero of Winds down and tucked his blanket over his shoulders. Letting go of his hand earned Sky a heart wrenching sob from the boy, but he managed to push past it and stand up. The same spark glinted in his eyes, too. “Let’s go.”

[pink-hao]

Love Me Right ~ p.cy

word count: 3.6k

warnings: really marshmallow, kinda angsty???, idefk

masterlist

 It doesn’t feel right, waking up in a queen sized bed alone. The void feeling in your chest as you look out the little window where the distant sun peers through. He used to lay on the right side of the bed, head digging into his flattened out pillow with one hand on it and the other around your waist. You could swear you still feel his fingers wrapped around you, his faint snores that were quieted by the cushion under him. He loved the gray bed covers, and at one point you did too, but now they’re simply a sign of what used to be. It’s a quarter to 8 in the morning when you finally rise from your spot on the bed and go into the bathroom. 

 The hot shower is burning your skin, but it’s a particulary numb morning. As you rub the remnants of sleep from your eyes you dwell once again on the fact that it has been exactly 4 months since you broke up. Sometimes, you really hate being an idol. Your whole life is put on display and critiqued by everyone. Who cares if someone doesn’t love your boyfriend? You did, wasn’t that enough? But no, the fans hated you together. They didn’t think Chanyeol and you were “a good match.” Who were they to judge who your match was? They don’t know you like he did, don’t know him like you did. It was all so unfair and stupid.

  You got out of the shower when the water began to shift to an uncomfortably cooler temperature, continuing on with your morning routine and getting dressed to head over to practice. Your comeback is soon and now is more stressful than ever, learning all the dances for your songs and creating the music videos. The pressure is on this comeback, especially for you, because I helped write and produce the main track on the album and you really hope the fans like it. When you walk into the practice room today, the girls are already there waiting. The eight girls turn their heads and shuffle over to your side of the room, and before you know it, you’re being engulfed in a large yet tight group hug.

 “We know about today, babe. It’s okay to let it out if you have to.” said the eldest, Sun-Mi unnie.

 “You’re a super strong girl, unnie! You got this!” said maknae ChaeHee.

 “FIGHTING!” spoke your best friend, Minah. She was the first person that knew about you breakup with Chanyeol and she stuck by your side, letting you cry on her shoulder or sleep in her bed when you were alone. All eight girls are a family to you, but Minah is definetly your closest sister.

 “Maybe today won’t be as bad as you think it could be.” she continued.

 “We’ve been invited to a party! And I think we should go! It will help us loosen up and shake off our nerves for this comeback.” said Rosamie.

 “A party?,” you wondered nervously. “I don’t know about a party today unless you could count me alone on the couch watching Netflix as a party. Of one.”

 “Come on,” Minah stressed, tugging on your hand. “If you let this get the best of you now, how will you be in 6 months, a year, 2 years? Still miserable? You can’t let this pull you back, my love. Come with us, just tonight?” she exclaimed with a cute pouty face.

  You looked down at your red worn-out converse highs. She was right, you can’t be so weak as to let a breakup get in the way of living your life. Even though the breakup was with the best boyfriend you could ever ask for and you totally and obviously regret doing it in the first place. With that said, you decided to just try your best to forget about it all in one.

 “I guess we’re going out tonight?” you questioned, the smallest of smiles creeping up on your face as well as everyone else’s.

 “That’s my girl!” Nya, your leader, shouted.

 “See? We all knew that you were strong!” said Minah as she pulled you into another embrace.

 “Heck yea little mama we bouta get wasted tonight bitches! HAH!” said our maknae.

 “Excuse me? I didn’t hear that right, did I?” said Sun-Mi unnie. If looks could kill, ChaeHee would be six feet under right now. And with that, she dashed out of the practice room with Sun-Mi unnie following close behind and left seven girls laughing their asses off at the sight in front of them.

 “I’m nervous.”

 “Why?” Minah chortled while helping you with your eyeliner.

 “Who’s going to be there? I haven’t been to a party since we were together.” you sighed looking down at your black heels.

 “Not too many people, but it’s still a pretty formal get together. Tonight’s event doesn’t exactly scream ‘vans and ripped jeans,’ but it’s not too bad.” she explained. You looked in the mirror at what you had on. A sparkly black dress with a stacked necklace and a light face of makeup. This isn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your Saturday night.

 “You look great baby. Every guy in there is gonna have a hard time. Maybe you could relieve of that stress you got, you know?” she winked.

 “Eww,” you giggled. “You know I’m not into that though,” you replied with a slight blush.

 “Well, we’ll see. You haven’t seen the guys yet, right? The night is young, the booze will be there and so will we. For lack of better terms, let’s make this a night we will never remember. Or, one we’ll never forget? Depends on who you wake up next to.” she shrugged.

 “How could you be so serious about this stuff?” you laughed. “You deadass just implied that the only thing you’ll remember from tonight will be the guy you may or may not get lucky with.”

 “I’d bet you $20 you won’t get laid tonight,” she exclaimed, hands crossed over her chest.

 “You know you’d win! I told you already, I don’t just sleep around.”

 “Well what if you find someone you know?” she asked.

 “I-“

 There was a quick knock at the door and Nya came in with the smallest blue dress you’ve ever seen paired with black gladiator heels. Her now gray hair was curled slightly and makeup is done. Light, like yours, but still noticeable from the immense amount of highlight she always uses.

 “Are you guys ready to go?” she asked quirking a perfectly arched eyebrow.

 “Well, you seem eager. In more ways than one.” Minah tilted her head and took in all of Nya’s attire.

 “What does that mean?” Nya asked, putting her hands on her hips, which somehow managed to make her already crazy short dress ride up even more.

 “Not much, you just really put it all out there tonight, huh? Someone special coming to this little get together?” she smirked.

 “Someone like Taeyong?” you smiled knowingly. Nya’s little crush on the leader of NCT wasn’t exactly hidden. And neither were his reciprocated feelings. “He’ll surely be the one having a ‘hard time’ tonight.”

 “Oh shut it. Let’s just go,” she said with a small smile and flushed cheeks. Minah and you just looked at each other knowingly and got your stuff to go.

 The room was hot and full of sweaty bodies by the time you arrived. Taeyong was the first to notice us, or Nya for that matter. While the rest of us got a quick hi, Nya got an all too friendly hug from the eager redhead. Here you are at the bar, looking over at the crowd of dancing idols, seeing some of them get very friendly with each other, a stark difference from how they act in the public eye. You wonder if you and Chanyeol came off like that at places like this. Before you got carried away with your thoughts, you felt a tapping on your shoulder.

 “Somebody sitting here?” asked Jackson, one of your best friends.

 “Jackson! Hey handsome, how are you? It’s been too long. How was your tour?” you asked, pulling him into an embrace.

 “It was good. I love my fans and my group, but I need a drink right now. Want somethin’?” he asked, calling the bartender over.

 “Uh, yea definitely. Patron please, make it a double.” you call out.

 “Same for me,” he said to the guy. “Double? We stressin’ tonight? You got a comeback soon too, yea?” he wondered.

 “Yep, and I wrote and produced the main track. Stress is an understatement in the feelings department right now.” you replied.

 “Damn, and I guess it doesn’t help that you know who is here too, huh?” he asked with a guilty look.

 “Wait, what? Who’s here?” you asked genuinely lost.

 “Um, Chanyeol? he said half-confused, taking half his shot of Patron before putting it back down.

  You felt like you were going to throw up. Did the girls know? Did everyone know but you? What if he was already with someone? What if you look like a fool, or a desperate bitch trying to get anyone you can now that he’s out of your hands? You took your shot and gulped it down, but realized the double wasn’t enough and grabed the remnants of Jackson’s drink.

 “Woah. Slow down! We don’t want you passing out or worse, looking like a fool in front of everybody. You know, he-“

 “Please, I don’t want to know. I’m sorry Jackson, I gotta get out of here like, right now. I’m sorry, tell the girls I left? Love you lots, let’s catch up one of these days.” And with that, you began weaving your way through the crowd of people. From the corner of your eye, you saw Minah and Changkyun getting very cozy. And by cozy, you mean that their tounges were down each other’s throats. You were happy for her, she seemed to be having a good time. God knows you’ll hear every little detail tomorrow, whether you want to or not.

 As you got outside, you hailed for a cab to no avail until you saw a tall lanky guy getting into one with ease. So you decided it was either now or never to get out of here, so you followed the guy into the cab. When you asked him if he minded he simply shrugged, not even turning to face your way. You closed the door and told the driver your apartment building number and at that, the tall stranger turned his head and you finally knew who you were in the car with.

 “Namjoon?”

 “Hey! It’s been forever! You.. you look beautiful.” he said looking down and giving his heartstopping dimple smile. “How are you? What did you leave the party for? It only just started like, an hour ago.” he questioned.

 “Not feeling the best honestly. Besides, there weren’t too many people I wanted to hang with and I’d just rather be home alone doing nothing. Anyways, why are you leaving so soon? Like you said, the party only just started.” you retorted.

 “Can I be honest?”

 “Of course Joonie.”

 “Lalisa is there. She honestly makes me so nervous. She is so beautiful and smart and talented.” he answered. ���I’d rather go home than choke up in front of her.” he frowned.

 “Oh, Joons. Babe, look, if you don’t try someday, how will you ever say she’s yours? You can’t. When you want something, you just have to go for it, no matter how difficult. Anything can happen, everything is possible. She turns you down, there are literally millions of other girls that love and adore you. But that’s like a one in a million chance anyway, Jooniebug. You are an awesome guy and she’s a great girl. You two would be a truly astonishing couple. I ship it.” you smiled.

 “Do you know how cool you are? Like really? That Chanyeol is a really lucky guy to have you. I wish you both the best of luck, you two are something really special together.” he beamed. You think he realized his mistake when he saw your smile fall at the comment regarding you two.

 “I thank you Joons, but,” you hesitated, “Yeol and I.. we aren’t together anymore.”

 “I’m so sorry, what happened? I thought you two had a future and..” he trailed off.

 “Its okay, really. I mean I did too but.. things change I guess? I don’t know. The fans didn’t think it was real and before we knew it, we were asked to end things. We lived together and did everything together. I walked around and saw my shadow as two people, and now I feel empty. It’s been four months. I shouldn’t be feeling this anymore. He’s probably at that party with some pretty new girl wrapped around his shoulder. God knows there were so many others that wanted him.” you rolled your watery eyes looking away from Namjoon so he couldn’t see your glassy eyes.

 “If you need anything, you know I’m here for you. You’re my girl! All of Bangtan loves you. And as for boyfriends, oh, Jimin is free! He’s sweet, cuddly, and a little clingy sometimes. But he’ll love you like there’s no tomorrow and support your every single move.” he joked, hopefully, as you chuckled and blinked away the tears that threatened to spill mere moments ago.

 “I love you Joon. You know that?” you said with a small smile.

 “Love you too. This is your stop, yea?” he questioned pointing out the window when the cab came to a stop.

 “Yes. I thank you for letting me into your cab, hope you have a good night, and I really encourage you to try things with Lalisa. She would love you so much!” you grinned.

 “I think I’m going to try it. I thank you so much for everything, and we must catch up more very soon! Goodnight!” Joon beamed.

 “Night Joons!” you hollered whilst getting out of the compact.

 As you turned around and walked down to you building I saw yet another tall figure leaned up against the wall. This guy was clad with a dark hood and black skinny jeans, which were paired with black vans. The stature of the outsider looked so familiar you could almost recognize who it was just by their stance. Almost. But he couldn’t be here, he was at the party. Your heart ran a marathon in your chest, ready to either fly up into your throat or slip down your stomach if it was who you thought it had been. As you neared the stranger, he turned his head.

 “Dean?”

 “Hey girl,” he replied pulling you into a quick embrace. “I just came to tell you something. It’s from Zico, he wanted me to tell you that he is expecting a call soon. He can’t wait to get in the booth with you, and I can’t wait to hear whatever y’all two got cooking up because I already know it’s something I’m gonna love.” he smirked.

 “Aww, thanks, babe. You want coffee or something? Why aren’t you at the big ass party down on Fifth?” you wondered.

 “I’m actually headed over there right now. You coming with me?” he quirked an eyebrow.

 “Just came back from there. You know parties aren’t my scene. It’s better for me to stay here. But I’ll see you around yea?” you smiled knowingly and pulled him into another quick embrace before he agreed and we parted ways.

 I finally got out of those damned jeans and the way-too-tight excuse for a shirt and pulled on my favorite pajamas. They were a simple royal blue satin duo that Chanyeol got for you on your 3 month anniversary. They weren’t anything sexy, because neither of you were really into that stuff, and you had at least two pairs that looked almost exactly the same, but you loved them more than any other pair for obvious reasons. After you got your makeup off and put to make your popcorn, you finally sat on your couch and turned on your beloved Netflix when you heard a knock at the door. As you got up and wandered to the door you wondered who it could possibly be. Haven’t you seen and spoken to everyone today? At least that’s what it felt like. You sighed looking at my bare feet as you opened the door and raised your head to see who it could be.

  You didn’t think you would see him.

  You were left speechless when you saw Chanyeol at your door after 4 months of being apart. It felt foreign to see him come into the apartment we once shared so happily. He too must’ve felt the strange sense of nostalgia as he took a seat on the couch opposite mine. The quiet quickly escalated into awkwardness as we were both unsure of what to say to the other after so long.

 “I-“ he began.

 “Why did you come here? Why today? Why now? Why not stay at the party?” I asked in a rush of questions. Your heart once again faltered at the many ideas rushing through your head.

 “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, to be honest. I don’t even know why I came here today of all days.” he announced, avoiding my gaze altogether and looking down at his favorite pair of Air Jordans.

 “You don’t know why you came? you inquired.

 “I-“ he repeated, biting his lip and finally meeting my eyes for the first time. You took the time to scan his awe-inspiring face for the first time in what feels like forever. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than ever, his hair looked all tousled as if he had been running his hand through it for days on end. He sat with a bit of a slouch and looked almost like he was about to cry.

 “You don’t know how much I missed you. I’m still in love with you. I will always be in love with you. I don’t care who doesn’t like us together because I can’t live without you.“ he began. You couldn’t tell at that moment if your heart skipped a beat or just stopped altogether. He took your silence as a cue to continue.

"I know I waited a long time to tell you, hell, you’re so beautiful that I almost know that you’ve moved on for sure from my bum ass and I look like an idiot right now. But on the off chance that what I just said was wrong, and you still love me as much as I love you, I’m here right now to ask for your love and appreciation in my life again. I can’t explain in words the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I wake up every day and realize that you aren’t there next to me. That I won’t see your face or make you smile and laugh. That I can’t cuddle with you or see you wearing my Supreme hoodie that you said you loved because it smells the most like me out of all of my sweaters.” he cracked, watching your every move. You were tempted to look away so he couldn’t see your glossy eyes, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of the stunning man in your living room professing his undying love for you.

 “I-” it was your turn to pause as I finally looked down at the white fur rug that coated the floor.

 “I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped wondering how you were, if you missed me if you were with someone else and if this would ever happen.” you looked back up at him.

 “I don’t know what to say.”

 “Take me back. I promise you, I will never let them get in our way again. I can show you more affection, take you out more, anything you want. I just need you by my side.” he spoke lowly, standing up and coming closer. He held out a hand for you to get up and join him once again.

 “Please. I love you,” he spoke in a throaty whisper, choking back tears.

Once you got up and stretched on your toes to reach his still towering face better, I whispered, “I love you, Park Chanyeol.”

  Your lips met with an urgent passion but maintained a long, loving touch. The kind that builds over time and is created by two people that aren’t only in a relationship based off of lust, but love and affection as well. as the kiss deepened, Chanyeol pulled you up and rested your legs on either side of his waist, bringing you to the bedroom.

 The rest of the night was filled with many overdue kisses and stolen touches, amongst other things. The morning after, You were awakened so rudely yet again by your alarm. A quarter to 8, you thought. You looked to your right and were welcomed with the seemingly foreign sun seeping more powerfully through the window than it had been in the past weeks. But what really got you was a rather familiar hand laying over your waist and a pretty boy next to you with his head digging into the pillow and his low yet perceptible snores.

“I love you, Park Chanyeol,” you said once more, raking your fingers through his hair cautiously not to wake him up before you got up and started your routine. ‘Today is going to be different, and so is every other day after this,’ you thought to yourself, smiling.

[quiet-hypnotist]

Of Drinks And Dreams

(Just a quick heads-up:  This story features a fairly conversational induction scene. And given the nature of that style, please have a content warning. All suggestions that the tist in this story mentions are about feeling pleasure from obedience and being taken into hypnosis. At the end there is the mention of a re-induction trigger, yet that along with all suggestions is framed to fade as the story ends, much like waking from a dream. A dream about what exactly? Well, for that much detail you gotta read it yourself. Enjoy!)

“Hey there. I hope you saved a beer for me.” The friendly call turned some heads, but not more than on any other Friday evening in this place. The small hotel bar wasn’t exactly the place where people would go to find isolation.  During the work days that might have meant a bustling bartender and busy waiters all throughout the room. Yet as it so often went the last days of the week flushed only the weary or the troubled through the doors. And whoever didn’t silently cling to their glass eventually let silky dark air outside flush them back out the same way, sending them to bed or back to the grind.

As such the room was already almost deserted, the only one’s who truly took note were the three people who, with beaming faces, turned to face the source of the noise and wave. The two guys sitting across from each other smirked before one of them corrected their glasses for the dramatic effect, donning their best imitation of what might have otherwise been a stern voice: “Get your butt moving and order one then. Ain’t no one saving a drink for the tardy around here.”

“Oh, woe is me! My best friends leave me to just die of thirst.” “Yeah,” the second guy nodded with a smug grin, “and of hunger, too. Don’t think just because you let me copy your notes every week that you’d get even one of these fries from me.” “Oh, guys, c’mon! He was just half an hour late. Why would we possibly have a reason to take that out on him?” The group’s only lady looked no less amused by the exchange than the other two. Though as she shifted in her seat to tug a strand of pink hair behind her ears that expression softened from one of mockery to honest warmth. “Take a seat for now. And here’s your drink.” As he seated himself opposite from her she pushed a filled glass in front of him. “And here I thought I would get to see the day where you finally keep all the good stuff to yourself.” Despite the words he received it with thanks, all the more seeing as both she and the guys still had their own glasses right there. “Already on the second round?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” the first speaker waved it aside, “isn’t it only natural we’d wait for you?” On the other side of the table the smug guy laughed. “Ryan, you do notice how much you’re contradicting yourself, right?” Adjusting his glasses again more out of embarrassment over his act from before than of necessity, Ryan countered: “Not like you or Brielle were any better.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Brielle winked, “I think Jeff here was pretty convincing. Or can you imagine him willingly sharing food with anyone?” “Ah, you have a point.” “Excuse me? What are you implying here?” “Nothing, of course. Could these eyes lie to you?” “Damn, yes, they could.” “Hey now, that’s the privilege of a lady.”  “C’mon, Erik, say something to her, will you?” Instead of saying something he took a sip from the offered beer before chuckling. “Nah, I think I’ll let you folks do the talking tonight.” “See, that is why I don’t share my fries with him.”

“Don’t tell me…” Brielle stopped to take a good look at his face. “Did it happen again?” He nodded. For a moment the group fell silent. “Damn, you really have it figured out, huh?” “I wish.” Ryan shook his head in disbelief. “You need to get a grip, man. There’s no way it works like that.” “You’d really think so.” It was always the same reaction. Not like Erik could blame them. Honestly, he himself often enough doubted what was going on. And he was there when it happened. How would they have an easier time believing it?

“Err, sorry to be the party pooper or something.” Jeff scratched his head in hopes of finding the right tone for the occasion: “But could someone maybe give me a quick rundown here? What are you even saying happened? Traffic jam or some such? We… we are talking about why Erik was late, aren’t we?”

Brielle chuckled with that same helpless eye roll as the day Erik had first told her about it. Ryan meanwhile frowned: “You haven’t heard yet?” “That’s why I’m asking, wouldn’t you say?” “Hey, no need to get snarky. Just… oh, who am I kidding, it’s not like I would have that clear an idea myself.”

To assist him Brielle mentioned: “Erik chatted up a girl.”

And fell silent again. As if that would explain anything. Thousands of people chatted up someone. And just as Erik would have expected, Jeff seemed to be of a similar opinion: “Hey man, good for you! You’ve been single long enough! What’s it been since that cutie from the pool party? Six years? Seven?” “Something like that,” Erik forced himself to smile, “but it’s not what you think.”

“Aww, no need to get shy now! We’ve all flirted with a girl before here. Some of us still are.” Jeff winked at Brielle who just let one of her hands disappear under the table. Seconds later he grimaced but at least today he managed to not make a sound despite the pain where she pinched him.

“You’ll never learn, will you?” Erik sighed. “But be that as it may, really, it is not like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I had every intention on maybe getting her number. Ask her out on a date, get to know her. You know the drill. But… well, I kinda… talked to her.”

Still wary and with a grumpy glace at the girl besides him Jeff fired back: “That’s usually how flirting with someone new works, Mr. Smartypants. Though hopefully you didn’t only talk to her. Because if that is how you ended up half an hour late I have an idea why you’re making such a long face now.”

Ryan on the other hand nodded, suddenly a lot milder than a few minutes ago: “I feel you there, buddy, believe me. They wanna hear about your hobbies and before you even get into the third arc of Gundams they mysteriously have a prior engagement to get to.” “No, sorry, that might be just your problem there.”

Brielle shut the guys up with a glare that probably would have managed to freeze lava if she tried. Before directing her attention back to Erik, all concern and worry. “What I don’t understand,” she carefully approached the issue, “is why it keeps happening? It would be odd enough if it happened at all, of course, however sometimes life just plays out that way. But every time?” “Tell me about it,” he grimaced. She didn’t seem to press on after seeing his expression. A gap that Jeff more than eagerly used to get a word in himself: “Or better yet, you tell us! Sure you might not exactly play up there with the big movie stars when it comes to sex appeal, but really I can’t see a single reason why you wouldn’t find a date when you actually make an honest effort. So what are you doing that it ends up like this each time?”

It was obvious that their interest was raised to the point where they would never let him off the hook. Especially Jeff, friendly, supportive, nosey Jeff. If Erik didn’t watch his step the guy might just drag him to five blind dates a week until the matter was solved or something. He sure wouldn’t hesitate all for the sake of helping a friend. Though would it really be considered help given the circumstances? So he cleared his throat, taking another sip of liquid courage and tried to express just how it went.

“Really, I’ve been convinced it had to be just a coincidence for the longest time, much like you guys. I mean, it sounds lunatic no matter how you slice it. Chatting up a hot person is enough of a hurdle as it is. But seeing how odd they behave every time… ”

“So what if they tiptoe around you not being their type?”

“Oh, no. No, I doubt you could call it that. Though granted, that’s what anyone would think the first couple times around. So, you know, that’s a fair point to make. But no. It’s not like they feigned interest until a convenient distraction moves the conversation into safer waters. Or like they mysteriously get phone calls that need them to leave and postpone any meetings with me for the indefinite future. Nothing of the sort.”

It had a soothing effect to watch the golden brown alcohol swirl in the glass when he gently moved it while speaking and he found the motion helped the words flowing.

“If anything it is exactly… well, maybe not exactly but still pretty much the opposite. They don’t lose interest. If I had to say it, they get too interested in what I say. Like this girl today. She actually was the one coming up to me this time.”

“Aren’t you just bragging now?” Jeff’s question was swiftly followed by a painful yelp and a death glare that quickly vanished behind Brielle’s gentle encouragement: “Now I would get why you’re sure she wouldn’t just politely avoid you.”

“Right?” He appreciated how she helped him get back on track after the interruption. “I don’t even really remember what she started off with, but within a couple minutes we found ourselves sitting down at a nearby bench with two cheap paper cups in our hands and letting the heat of the coffee inside just warm our fingers. And I want to claim that we had a really eloquent conversation about this or that, but… well, to be honest I just talked. And I guess it was fine because she didn’t do much else. The words just kept flowing as a welcome reason to sit together, spend the time in each other’s company and  whatever was said didn’t even matter compared to just keep that moment going.”

Jeff seemed to have some words of his own but no sooner had he opened his mouth when with a careful glance at the pink haired girl next to him he fell silent. Erik barely noticed how dumbfounded he looked with his mouth opening and closing like a carp. In his mind he was back there, on the bench, a flimsy cup of coffee in his fingers instead of cold beer, once more seeing the expression of that young woman.

“She didn’t mind just listening. In fact sometimes she would nod along much as if she were feeling every word she heard. Maybe you already know that sort of fugue when it just feels so right to listen that the only important thing becomes to keep hearing that other person’s voice?” “Mhm,” Brielle murmured, all her attention on him. The guys both leaned back, evidently happy to wait their turn with further words.

“And honestly, had anyone been seeing the two of us sit there it likely wouldn’t have seemed like something out of the ordinary. Just imagine it, taking a stroll in the sun and seeing her there, focused on every word she heard and yet not being aware of a single one of them. Because in that moment it was much better to let the warmth from the cup soak into her. Much easier to simply nod and listen. So very comfy to stop thinking about where the conversation flowed. And how could it not? When even I, the one who kept talking, stopped thinking about the words and focused only on how lovely this person looked?”

He took another sip more to wet his throat than because he was thirsty, but neither of them so much as moved.

“And had such an onlooker continued to take in the scene, can we be sure they had noticed the signs? Would they really have become aware of how that woman’s head started drooping a little more with each nod? Would they have realized the way those shoulders slumped a little more with each breath? Would those eyes have seemed glassy and doll-like even from a distance? Or would all of those things simply happen without anyone noticing at all as the body simply responded to impulses beyond control?”

It was a question he still knew no answer to and at this point he began to wonder if it even mattered at all.

“Memory is such a blurry, foggy thing sometimes but perhaps you remember moments like that, caught somewhere in an unexplored haze between waking and dreaming, between listening and blankly absorbing. And I suppose that must have happened to that girl. Because by the time I noticed she was leaning against me, those eyes fluttering as if dancing on the line between watching and dreaming. Who really knows if she even had the ability left to notice her lips being softly parted, a faint trickle of drool escaping her as she slumped that far.”

Somehow the swirling beer inside his jug became a canvas, conjuring up all the impressions from that time anew. The weight of a person leaning on that arm. The warmth of another body right next to his. The slow, steady rhythm of her breath. The subtle moans as he continued to speak: “She was beautiful like that, no doubt. And as such I dared not to disturb the moment. Whether aware or not,  she felt here and now was exactly the right place and exactly the right time to let all worries and cares go. And I cannot put my finger on why, but we both knew that it was perfectly fine because that mind was so good at absorbing the words that continued to flow around it.”

Did the words flow down into the depths between slumbering thoughts like a warm, soothing liquid down a thirsty throat? It was a nice image at the very least. He smiled, appreciating that his friends had fallen still to give him a chance and get it all out.

“Of course, I say that the words don’t matter but that does not mean they were without meaning. It was just that neither of us needed to think about them because conversation took a life of it’s own, flowing on and on in a way we could drift along with. Like when I just began putting into words how attractive she was or how pleasurable it felt to be this close.”

The memory alone stirred up a blissful shiver.

Opposite from him Jeff and Brielle seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, both of them leaning against each other with dopey smiles on their faces and half-closed eyes. Meanwhile Ryan next to him slumped against the wall and seemed close to dozing off. Not like anyone could blame him. It was the middle of the night and by now the three were the only guests left. As the evening progressed it would be a surprise if people didn’t fall asleep.

He considered ushering the group to bed. But… he had never really had someone listen to him about this issue before and to be honest it was cathartic in a way to get it all out.

“Was it maybe the warmth of our drinks that melted one moment into the next? Or maybe the way the wind seemed to carry words and thoughts and anything else away for a while? Whichever it may have been, neither of us noticed how the longer I kept talking, the more pleasurable she found it to listen to me. Which may have been remarkable in hindsight, considering how the more she entrusted that mind to my words the more she began to shiver and moan. It almost seemed like that young woman’s mind felt the sheer sound of my voice with the intensity of soft, intimate touches. And it wasn’t before she was clutching my arm, openly panting in aroused heat that it dawned on me. It had happened again. Somehow it happens all the time. Like there were a pattern in the way I speak that inevitably draws someone in if they are willing to listen and follow the thoughts my voice offers.”

It was nice that his friends restrained their comments to moans under their breath. They clearly had to hold it in a fair bit, the excitement from not talking seemed to nearly overwhelm them as they shuddered and panted the moment he began to speak.

“It is like my words were putting her under a kind of hypnotic spell until all she could think about was whatever I told her. Like she were mesmerized to believe obeying this voice she hears meant pleasure and pleasure meant obedience. She was falling more and more under this spell the longer she kept listening. And kept listening only ever more intently the deeper she fell for me. By the time we realized this she was already so deep that the thought of obeying something I said alone was already sending wave after wave of pulsing arousal through her.”

Goodness, those three really gave it their all to hold back their opinions! They sounded just like that girl had as he wondered if the talk they had was going to turn her into a slave to the sound of his voice.

“In the end, of course, just as Ryan pointed out before, that just isn’t how flirting works. Of course in many ways a good flirt is about honing the art of seduction. Thus I could easily see how someone who enjoys this kind of flirt might get seduced into letting their thoughts fade the more they listen. Or might even get drawn into such a joyful haze that they start to crave doing as they are told when it is a safe time and place for that to happen. But in the end, a fun flirty dream is all it was. Because that is how that works.”

As he watched their faces Erik couldn’t help but wonder if they were already on their own way to dreamland. Ryan looked totally knocked out. Jeff was sprawled all over his seat, his mouth hanging but whatever comment he may have wanted to make long forgotten. And meanwhile Brielle rested on his chest, though her eyes fluttered open every now and again, unfocused and merely vaguely gazing in his direction. While one of her hands rested on a suspicious bulge in Jeff’s pants.

“That’s how it works. And yet, can you imagine why this keeps happening? It’s like this same dream keeps returning every time. During every flirt. As soon as I say something specific. Like, could it be possible that I would only need to say something as unusual as ‘Hibiscus puppets’ for that mind to drop right back into this dream of obedience and mindless submission? If that were so, can you imagine how powerful and intense the pleasure from this dream must be to draw them right back here when they feel it is appropriate and safe?”

The empty jug made a dull sound as it came to rest on the table. From across the room the waiter gave him a warning gesture by pointing at the clock. Sounds didn’t carry across the room as easily, but that wasn’t necessary to realize how late it had gotten. No wonder all three of them fell asleep.

“That woman is on her way home now, and honestly I don’t even know if she remembers the talk we had. That’s the thing about dreams, even if they leave an impression the brain usually remembers exactly as much or as little as it likes. What I do know is that she asked for my number right around the start, so who knows? If she really wants to, perhaps she will chat me up again sometime. After I returned to my senses and found that this weird flow had happened again I certainly did no longer dare ask for hers. Not when there were greater priorities. Like waking her up, for example. Because as comfortable as it may be to rest and dream with a kind voice flowing around those heads, eventually all the dreams will end and dissolve. As each dream gets followed by thoughts and awareness returning. But who am I kidding, of course you would already be so familiar with that. Speaking of which, you three, rise and shine. We gotta get you home safely as well after all. So c’mon, try to hear what I say so the sound can slowly guide you back up and awake!”

“Hmm… What?”

While rubbing the sleep from her eyes Brielle got up first. The guys took longer, but then again maybe they just really needed some shut-eye that bad.

“Sorry, probably bored you to death,” Erik shrugged, “Tell you what, as thanks for listening this round is all on me. Deal?”

“Awesome! Why didn’t you say that first? Feel free to always talk to me about your troubles from now on.” Jeff beamed at the news that he could leave his purse untouched tonight.

“Leech.” Ryan chuckled before turning pale at the sight of his smartphone display. “Shucks, folks, no choice here. I gotta run. Thanks for covering for me tonight. We should do this again sometime. I feel like I missed half of what you said. See you later!” And just like that he was out the door.

“He could at least have taken the time to say some proper goodbyes first if that’s how it was.” Despite her choice of words however Brielle didn’t sound displeased in the slightest. “Are you really gonna just treat us all? It’s perfectly fine for me to…”

“Don’t you worry about that. I was late and on top of that we only talked about my date today. This is the least one can do as thanks.”

“Ah. Maybe you really want to hold your horses then. Because sorry as I am to say after you went through the trouble of explaining it all, but I still feel pretty out of it. Not sure if anything of what we talked about stuck. Even though I finally hoped to understand just how to help you with your problem.”

“Don’t sweat it. Really, you guys were sleeping for most of it anyway. It would have been outstanding if you remembered the conversation in detail despite that.”

Even while responding a buzzing sound distracted him. A mail on his phone. From an unfamiliar number.

“Someone important?” Of course Brielle wouldn’t miss the effect these few digital words had on him. Which given his dumbfounded stare would likely have been hard even for a less attentive person. Like Jeff, who simply grunted: “Probably spam.”

“It’s her. The girl from earlier.  She’s asking if this was my number and if so, if I remember what we  had to drink during our talk. So that I can treat her to a repeat tomorrow evening at my place.”

“Smooth,” Brielle commented with a smirk, “So you can do it after all. Now I better hope your memory is more reliable than mine. I still can’t recall what that word was you mentioned along the way. Even though I really liked the expression. What was it? Did it have something to do with flowers?”

She was darn cute when she scrunched up her face like that. Without thinking he blurted out: “What? Did you mean ‘Hibiscus puppets’ maybe?”

As if struck by lightning both of them dropped whatever they were doing, eyes fluttering shut as they slumped in their seats. The change was far too dramatic so that even Erik could not have missed it.

“Oh fuck me,” he breathed as his eyes drank in the sight of his two hypnotized friends, “I did it again!” ***

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[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Missed Moments with You

Rating: M

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 14353

Summary: Almost six months after Baz drunkenly stumbled back into Simon's life, they're still together and happy. Well, mostly. It'd be great if they had more time together, but work keeps getting in the way. Can their relationship survive their real lives?

Read on AO3

Sequel to “Back to Haunt Me”

AN: HAHAHAHAHA I DID IT BITCHES!!!! I FINALLY FINISHED A FIC AFTER MONTHS OF ILLNESS AND WRITER'S BLOCK!!!! Seriously, I could not do ANYTHING for so long. But I was finally able to do this! Big thanks to @carryonmylovelies for all her help and encouragement. She is the best.

Sadly, I couldn't get this to fit into any of my requests. I will try to get to those, I promise. My brain is just not functioning at full capacity and really hasn't for awhile. Hope you enjoy this one tho :)

Disclaimer: I am not a teacher or a psychiatrist. Most of my knowledge comes from being a student and a therapy/psychiatry patient, plus a little research online. This is not meant to be a super duper accurate representation of either. Dramatic License was taken.

———————————————

Simon

Even though it’s soft, I still hear the door close. It’s not like I have super ears. I’ve just been sleeping lightly, trying to stay up until Baz comes back. I hear him quietly take off his ugly shoes, walk towards the room, and open the door. I stay still as he flops down next to me and gets under the blanket. He lazily throws an arm over my side, long nose pressed against my neck. I love when he does this, wraps himself around me. Baz makes me feel so happy.

“Hey,” I say, barely a whisper. “How was the hospital?”

Baz’s groan reverberates down my skin. “Nearly punched a patient’s father in the face.”

“Sounds like the usual.”

“Mhm. Just another day and night at University College Hospital.” He tosses his leg over mine. Sometimes I swear he wants to bloody climb me. “You should be asleep, Snow, it’s late.”

“You’re up.”

“Because I’m a medical resident and my hours are completely insane. You’re allowed the luxury of a mostly normal sleep schedule, take advantage of it.”

I grab his hand over my stomach, weaving our fingers together. “I like waiting for you.”

“Mm.” He nuzzles closer and holds me tighter, then presses a soft kiss behind my ear. I’m in heaven. “Sap.”

“Always.” I kiss the back of his hand. “We should both sleep now, love.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Night, love.”

I close my eyes, finally sinking into sleep as my wonderful, exhausted boyfriend holds me tight.

———————————————

I’m woken up by my alarm blaring shitty hair metal at top volume. Baz lets out a loud groan into my shoulder.

“Why do you play that rubbish?” he growls. “Why not some nice classical?”

“Because this rubbish wakes me up.” I reluctantly extract myself from Baz’s lovely arms. I hear him roll onto his stomach and spread out in a starfish on my bed. He loves cuddling with me, but he also likes to stretch out his long limbs. I grab my glasses, returning my ability to see properly, then turn around to look at him, and my mouth drops open.

“Baz!” I shout. “You climbed into my bed in your fucking scrubs again!?”

Baz lifts his head slightly and pulls at his light blue scrubs, eyebrows pulled together. “Hm, looks like I did.”

“They’re filthy!”

“No.” He flops back down, face smushed into my pillow. “I washed them yesterday. There’s just a bit of dried blood on my trouser leg. No sick or spinal fluid this time.”

I shake my head, but it’s with a smile. “I can’t believe my neat freak former roommate has developed such low standards of cleanliness.”

Baz makes an annoyed grunting sound before sinking further into my bed. I chuckle and press a kiss to his hairline. He’s already asleep again.

I grab my bathrobe and go into the kitchen, a smile on my face. It’s been five months since Basilton Pitch drunkenly wandered his way back into my life. I never imagined we would see each other again, let alone start dating. But it’s been pretty great. Baz is so much more than I thought he was. I already knew he was brilliant, but he’s also hilarious and kind and utterly amazing. I’m happier with him, and I think Baz is happier with me too.

The only problem is exactly what Baz warned me about when we started dating; he’s insanely busy. The hospital has him on a weird, inconsistent schedule. He’ll sometimes work for over twelve hours then collapse for an entire day afterwards. If that wasn’t hard enough, when this started, I didn’t factor in my own job. Very dumb, considering what I do. When I’m not teaching, I’m usually grading or writing lesson plans, so it’s not like I have a lot of free time either. We once went two and a half weeks without seeing each other. It was awful, but both of us understood. Still missed him though. I miss him a lot. In nearly six months, we’ve been on three proper dates. It’s not that I like fancy dinners and shit, I just like being with Baz. I wish we could be together more.

I stop to give Cherry her morning pet and wet food. She purrs under my hand. Then I make myself instant coffee, the ambrosia of primary teachers, and toaster waffles. I leave some for Baz to heat up later. He has pretty refined tastes, but no one can resist toaster waffles. He’ll probably be up to eat them around noon, when we’ll Skype chat while I have lunch at school. It’s my favourite part of the day. I want it to happen more often.

The phone ringing breaks me out of my lovesick melancholy. Penny’s grinning face stares back at me. I quickly pick it up. “Hey, Pen.”

“Hey Si,” she says, voice crackling slightly. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going alright. Just making myself some shit coffee and toaster waffles.”

“I’m a bit horrified your breakfast habits haven’t changed since uni.”

I scoff very self righteously. “Neither have yours. Last time I visited, you were stuffing your face with pop tarts.”

“You have no proof of that.” I can feel Penny’s glare from across the bloody Atlantic.

“No,” I chuckle. “I guess I don’t. Oh, I did almost get video proof of Baz wolfing down two Big Macs. He finished just after I got my phone out, it was amazing.”

“Ha! Get a video of it when it happens next time, then show me that and I’ll owe you a pint.”

“I’ll try next time we go out.” I slump a little in my chair.  “If we go out...”

Penny sighs in a particular way. It’s the one she uses when she knows I’m down and wants to bring me back up. “Baz still working those long shifts, huh?”

“Yeah, so he’s tired a lot. And our schedules have trouble syncing up. It really sucks and it’s not like either of us have a choice in it, especially him. But still it...it’s like- I just-”

“Part of you doesn’t give a shit about work, you just want to be together more.”

I sink further on the chair, so much so I fear I’m going to melt into the vinyl. “Kinda, yeah. Does that...does that make me a bad boyfriend and person?”

“No, no, absolutely not, Simon. It makes you a normal person who desires their partner.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but Baz warned me about his job. He told me that he would have insane hours and it would make having a relationship really hard. I told him it was okay, that we would make it work, so I can’t get mad now, right?”

“You’re allowed to be upset that you don’t get to see your boyfriend as much as you wish you could.”

“I guess, yeah.” I shove half a toaster waffle in my mouth. It marginally helps. “I don’t know what to do, Pen. I can’t ask Baz to cut his hours, it’ll mess up his degree and piss off the doctors cause they’ll say he’s ‘not being dedicated’, which is a load of bollocks but it’ll happen. And it’s not like I can change when I work. There doesn’t seem to be a solution.”

Penny sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Si. There’s no easy way to deal with this. I think you just have to talk things out.” I groan heavily. “Yeah, I know, you hate talking. But can you think of anything else?”

“No,” I grumble. “Save for just shagging him senseless so we can both let off some nervous stress.”

“Sex doesn’t fix everything.”

“Well, no, but it would be nice to try it period.”

“You two still haven’t slept together?!” she says far too loudly. I hope Micah isn’t home. God, that would be embarrassing. “It’s been months!”

“I know,” I groan, “but we’ve both been busy and tired, especially Baz. Mostly we’ve just been snogging, which is awesome. Baz is a great kisser.”

“Too much information, Si.”

“Sorry, sorry. I like kissing, I’d just like to do...other stuff too.”

“Which is perfectly understandable, and the only way it’s going to ever happen is if you figure out where to go in your relationship. And that’s only going to happen by  talking about it and working something out that both of you can live with.”

I eat another toaster waffle. Again, helps a little, not enough. “That’s hard.”

“And necessary if you want to keep this relationship.” There’s a short pause and I try to speak before Penny interrupts me. “You definitely do want to keep it, right?”

My leg jerks so hard I nearly knock my coffee over. “Of course I do! Baz is kind and amazing and funny and brilliant and I fucking lo-”

We both go silent. I put a hand over my mouth. Holy shit, I can’t believe I almost said that. I haven’t even thought about it before, until now. (Typical, I don’t figure it out until I’m right in the middle of shit.) I mean, I’ve thought about it in a sort of abstract, future way. But not right now, not after only five months together when we spent seven years apart and an equal amount of time hating each other. Could I really be in love already?

“Shit, really?” Penny whispers. “You love him?”

I bite my nails, something I haven’t done since second year of uni. “Uh, I guess, maybe. I don’t know. It’s way too soon and I’m not exactly that experienced in love. I don’t think I can say for sure of anything...”

“Okay. What can you say for sure then?”

“Well,” I stop chewing on my nails, “I know I care about Baz. I enjoy being around him. And I really, really,  really  like him.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, I can deal with that.”

“Good, stick with that, don’t jump too far. Figure out where you two stand before you start talking about love.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

I scoff and roll my eyes, similar to Baz. I’m picking a lot up from him, “I know, I know.” My eyes catch the clock. “Oh shit, I’ve got to go right now. If I’m late my kids are going to destroy the classroom.”

Penny snorts. “The trials of a parent of thirty two children.”

“Exactly. Talk to you later, Pen, love you.”

“Love you too, Si, bye!”

The phone clicks off, leaving me hopelessly alone with my thoughts. So, I want to be around Baz more. That’s reasonable, he’s my boyfriend. But neither of us can be around more because of our beloved jobs. I’m going to have to find some solution. But not right now because I’m going to be very, very late. I rush out the door with only the thoughts of the tube schedule on my mind.

———————————————

“Lishie, no,” I say, taking the marker from her hand, “that’s a shared class writing utensil, you can’t chew on it.”

Lishie pouts at me, blinking her big brown eyes. “But Mr. Snow,” she whines.

“None of that, please. If you must chew on something, please use your own pencil.” I lean down to look at her drawing of a castle. “This is your favourite place, huh?”

“Yeah.” She points at her lovely pink palace. “This is my Lishie only place. It keeps my brother out and shoots lasers at bad guys.”

I nod with a big smile. “Both are very important. Nice work.” I turn to Zahir. His drawing is of a beautiful shoreline with a fiery sunset. “And what place is this?”

“It’s the view from my grandparent’s house,” he chirps.

“It looks lovely, Zahir, good job.”

I stand up and check the other kids. They’re all doing wonderfully. I help where needed, handing them markers and giving colour suggestions. Luckily the kiddos are being good today. I don’t think I can handle their particular brand of tornado like insanity right now.

“Mr. Snow, look what I did!” I lean down to Harrison’s level. His picture is of himself with his two Mums holding hands under an abundance of trees.

“It’s amazing, Harry,” I say. “Where are you three in this picture?”

“We’re at the camping ground where my Mums met. They got married at the lake last year. We go there every summer break.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet.”

“Are you married, Mr. Snow?” Rosanne calls out. I hate mean nicknames. They’re a dumb bullying tactic. At the same time though, “Nosey Rosie” is occasionally apt. Not that I’d ever say that out loud, of course.

“No, I’m not married, Rose,” I say calmly.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The kids start muttering and giggling. I sigh, shaking my head. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend either. But my love life is none of your business, munchkins.”

“A boyfriend?” Liza shouts. “My mum said you probably have a boyfriend.”

I sigh and rub my temple. Well, while her mother is correct, the beautiful and single Ms.Thorn has also made many advances on me. I suppose me being gay rationalises my kind rejections of her. I believe she needs to get over herself.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” I hate lying to the kids, but I’m not going to talk about my relationship with them. “Again, my love life is personal.”

Thandi gasps, and leans over to Riya beside her. Her tone suggests a whisper, but her volume shows she absolutely means to be heard. “What if Mr. Snow has a  secret girlfriend or boyfriend?”

They all start chattering away with big grins on their faces. I sigh heavily. There is nothing ten year olds love more than gossiping, especially about their teachers. I’ve caught my munchkins talking about if the football coach and year 11 science teacher are together. (They aren’t. Both Coach Markova and Mr. Saadia have been married for over twenty years. Their husbands are wonderful friends.) I don’t want to become the next rumour on the playground.

“Okay, hush up all of you,” I say loudly. They all quiet down. “It’s not appropriate to discuss my personal life, so you’re going to stop right now, understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Snow,” they reply all at once in a shamed, slightly annoyed tone. It’s one I’m extremely familiar with.

“Good. Now go back to your drawings, or we’ll start the maths worksheets early.”

They all gasp, then go back to drawing. I hear whispers about normal things, like Power Rangers and Disney movies. I sigh and return to my desk, leaning back in the chair. Honestly, even if I did want to answer the kids, I wouldn’t be sure what to say. I do have a boyfriend officially, but I barely see him. Twice a week at best. It’s not his fault, he tries his best. I fuck up more than him honestly. I just wish we could be...more boyfriends? That doesn’t make sense.

My pocket buzzes and I pull out my phone. I’m not supposed to use it during class hours, but the kids are working right now, it’s fine. The text is from Baz. My pulse speeds up like it does every time. But when I open it, my heart drops instead.

Baz [13:40] Hey love. So sorry but I can’t come over tonight. Need to pick up an extra shift. I promise I’ll make it up to you ❤️

I sigh heavily, trying to suppress the disappointment and hurt. It’s not his fault, he’s doing his best. We’ll figure something out. Right?

Simon [13:41] it’s alright love we’ll find another time

Baz [13:41] ❤️

———————————————

“No, no, hold the rock like this.” Baz adjusts my grip. I love his fingers, long and elegant. If he wasn’t a doctor, I think he would make an incredible pianist.

“How does the way I hold the rock change anything?” I ask.

“It helps you get the right angle to skip it.”

I frown in confusion. “I thought the rock’s shape helped with that.”

“Both help. So,” he guides my arm back, “let’s try.”

Baz’s callused fingers caress my bare skin. I let out a shaky breath. God, I shouldn’t get this hot and bothered from Baz just touching me. I’m not some horndog, I can wait for sex. The pent up tension is just...getting to me a bit.

“Now flick it, Snow,” Baz says.

I fling the stone forward. It flies over the pond, sending ripples across the aquamarine water. The stone nearly reaches the other side before finally dropping. I’m grinning ear to ear. When I turn around, Baz is too.

“Wonderful job, love.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “I knew you could do it.”

God, I’m going to melt into a puddle. I peck his lips softly. “Thanks for showing me, love.”

He kisses me back, a bit firmer. I would snog the life out of him right now if we weren’t in the middle of Regent’s Park, apparently a popular relaxation spot for UCLH. We’re surrounded by nurses chatting, residents resting, and doctors smoking cigarettes. (Baz says doctors truly have the least regard for their own health.) We sadly pull apart and take a seat on a bench. I put my head on his strong shoulder, and he throws his arm around me.

“How were psych rounds today?” I ask.

“Awful,” he groans. “Mr. Teversham still refuses to take his medication, and Mx. Joseph is fighting therapy at every turn.”

“Hm, well, you expected this. Any ideas?”

“Mx. Joseph needs to be in therapy without  knowing they're in therapy. Mr. Teversham needs to be sedated so he can’t yell at me anymore.”

I snort. “Not sure that’s legal.”

“It’s not, but one can dream. Both probably need adjustments in their medications but that would affect serotonin levels too much at this delicate stage of treatment.”

“Mm, that sucks. Anything you could do for now?”

“More group therapy and coping techniques, I suppose. Little else we can do.”

I nod thoughtfully. Honestly, I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I try to be interested. It’s important to him so I do my best. 

He slowly strokes my hair. I lean closer to him. “How’s your work going, love?”

“It’s alright. Kids aren’t being too destructive. Oh, I’ve been working on something else though.”

Baz smiles, pulling me closer. “What’s that?”

“A new scone recipe.”

He lets out a joyous laugh, throwing his head back so far some of his gelled hair gets dislodged. I like the way a few raven strands fall in his face. “You seriously haven’t run out of new ones to try?”

I shrug. “Not yet. Maybe one day.”

“And then you’ll start making your own.”

“Probably.” I throw both arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. “I’ll give them to you to try.”

He chuckles softly. “Well, maybe. I have to stay in good shape to keep up with the other residents, and I can’t mess up what little sleep I have.”

I deflate slightly. Right, he’s gotta watch his health more than me. I should remember that. Bloody hell, I’m a terrible boyfriend. “R-Right. Well, I’ll make something else for you I guess...”

He makes a humming noise, but I can’t tell what it means. I’m horrible at non-verbal cues and unfortunately Baz is still no exception. I want to ask him about being around, about us being together, but the words get all tangled in my throat. I don’t know how to ask him without sounding like a selfish arse. 

(Maybe I am a selfish arse. Maybe I don’t deserve this, deserve him.)

(No no, Simon, stop it, stop with the self deprecation.)

(Even though he is better than me...)

I’m about to open my mouth when two clashing beeps ring out. Baz and I scramble to our phones.

“Fuck,” I groan. “Emergency staff meeting in twenty minutes. I’m gonna need to get a cab.”

“Me too,” Baz sighs. “Dr. Dehnavi wants to talk to me about a new inpatient. I suppose I should be flattered, but I’m more annoyed.”

“We’re both suffering it seems.”

“Apparently.” Baz leans over and pecks my lips. I lean forward, just slightly, asking for more that I can’t have right now. “I’ll text you later, love.”

“Yeah, me too.” We dash off in different directions. The questions I have still hang in my throat, but I put them down for now. Next time. Maybe...

———————————————

Thursday April 21

Baz [06:06] Hi, love. I’m finally done my night shift. We still on for the cafe this afternoon?

Simon [07:01] hey sorry I didn’t get this until now. unfortunately i’ve got some last minute extra tutoring to do with Sasha sorry 

Baz [07:02] It’s alright. You free Friday night?

Simon [07:02] nah got grading ☹️ gotta go to class ttyl!

Baz [07:02] Alright, talk to you later.

———————————————

Sunday April 30

Simon [17:37] hey baz can I come over tonight?

Baz [17:58] Unfortunately not. I’m on call for OBGYN all night. Lots of sitting with tiny sick babies in the NICU...

Simon [18:05] fuck that doesn’t sound fun at all ☹️

Baz [18:06] Absolutely is not. I’ll text you later okay?

Simon [18:06] Okay ❤️

———————————————

Wednesday May 8

Baz [22:24] I miss you

Simon [22:24] I miss you too

———————————————

My phone rings at lunch. Baz’s slightly smiling face looks right back at me. I took the photo one night when we were watching telly. He’s got his hair all piled up in a bun, wearing an LSE sweatshirt. He looks gorgeous, as always. I’m so entranced by the picture that I answer it just before the last ring.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Baz replies, sounding extremely tired. (He’s been sounding like that more and more lately.) “How’s your day been?”

“Not too bad. Joey fired a spitball at me, but I took the straw away pretty quickly.“

“Dear Lord, you teach monsters.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nope, just children, love. They’re naturally nightmares.”

“Don’t have to tell me, Snow, I have four younger siblings.” He sighs, and I can imagine him tilting his head back, hair falling down behind him. It’s a nice image. “Are you free next Friday?”

“Hm, let me check.” I look at my Google calendar, which is filled to the brim with multicoloured event tabs, everything from field trips to when lesson plans need to be done. (I consider the second one more a guideline than a rule.) Friday is surprisingly blank. A grin breaks out across my face. “Yeah, Friday is good. Got something in mind?”

“Well, I finally have a Friday off. So I was thinking we could dress up and go somewhere nice. Somewhere with fine food, candles, a generally romantic atmosphere. Does that sound good to you?”

I can’t help biting my bottom lip like some stupid teenager. I haven’t seen my boyfriend in person in nearly three weeks, sue me. Sure there’s been some texting and calls and Facetimes, but none of that compares to the real thing. I’ve missed how Baz’s long fingers feel between mine, or the way he cups my cheek perfectly when he kisses me. I just want to be with him. And finally we have a chance.

“That sounds very good. And uh...” I take a pause to muscle up courage to say what I really,  really  want to say. “Do you want to go to my place afterwards? And sleep over? But y’know...not sleep?” Baz snorts. My cheeks are probably bright red. I groan and rub my forehead. “Sorry, that sounded dumb. I’m an adult, I should be able to talk about sex openly.”

Baz sighs in his strangely affectionate way. “Well, we both know you’re not the best with words, Snow.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Okay, true. But the message still got across right? What I’m asking? But please don’t feel pressured, I just wanted to ask if we could try...”

“Yes, it definitely did. And I would love to try. I think six months is a long enough wait. And I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t blame yourself, love, we’ve both been pretty physically absent. Life has just been nuts for us.”

“Agreed. So it’ll be nice to...unwind a bit.”

My face is absolutely bright red now. A lot of inappropriate thoughts are racing through my head right now. I have to shove them down so my brain doesn’t start dribbling out my ears before I have to go back to teaching.

“I-I would like that a lot too.” And of course the first lunch bell decides to ring just then. I groan loudly. “Fuck, lunch is over. Kids will be back soon. Text you later to set up details?”

“Sounds good. Bye, darling.

“Bye, darling.”

I listen until Baz hangs up, then press my phone to my chest with a sigh. I feel so unbelievably giddy. It’s ridiculous, really, to be this excited about a dinner and (possible) sex. But for some reason, my chest is so full it's about to explode. I want to run around the room, shouting to the heavens that I’m going on a lovely, romantic date with Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Fuck, maybe I really am love. That’s a terrifying, wonderful thought.

———————————————

“Does my hair look alright?” I tousle it to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. Penny sighs and shakes her head on my screen.

“It looks fine either way. But if you don’t decide soon, you’re going to be late!”

I groan and tighten my tie, trying to see myself in my tiny image in the corner. “I know, I know, I just want this to be perfect.”

“Nothing can be perfect, Si.”

“Yeah, but I can try.” I sigh, buttoning my grey suit jacket. This is the one nice suit I own, and I took great precautions to keep it from getting wrinkled on my way to work. “So much hasn’t gone right or easily in our relationship. I want one thing to not go down the drain.”

Penny nods thoughtfully. “Understandable. Just also be realistic.”

“Yes, I will.” I check my watch (a graduation gift from Penny that goes really well with my suit) and inhale sharply. “Shit, I really do have to go. Bye, Pen!”

She waves with a big, toothy smile. “Bye, Si, good luck!”

“Thank you!”

We press the red button at the same time. I tuck my phone into my jacket, then do a last cursory look at myself. No wrinkles? Check. Dashingly messy hair? Check. “Supplies” for later waiting in my bedside table at home? Absolutely check. Awesome. I’m so bloody excited I could seriously start flying right now.

“M-Mr. Snow?”

My head head whips around at the small, familiar voice. It’s Jeremy, with his wavy brown hair and little freckles. He’s sniffling, wiping his nose and blood shot eyes. I immediately rush forward and get on my knees in front of him.

“Jeremy? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He makes a big sniff, more tears falling down his cheeks. “M-My dad was supposed to pick me up outside, but he never came! And Ms. Reinhart tried to call my mum and she’s not answering and I don’t know what to do!”

He breaks out into another sob. He wraps his little arms around my neck, crying into my shoulder. I pat his back, trying to comfort as best I can. Poor kid. I’m unfortunately aware of what Jeremy’s parents are like. This isn’t out of character for them. His dad’s probably off with his college age mistress and his mum is partying late with her friends. From what I know, Jeremy was an accidental teen pregnancy, and now his parents hate each other and resent Jeremy for “ruining” their young lives. (Baz would say something about emotional stunting and projecting and shit.) This is the first time they’ve truly abandoned him though. Poor, poor kid.

“Is there anyone you trust who could come get you?” I ask quietly.

“My aunt,” he sniffles. “But she’s super far away.”

“Okay, where does she live?”

“L-Luton, I think.”

Fuck, he’s not exaggerating. Luton is an hour away on a good day, and it’s the middle of London rush hour. His parents may be able get here before her, but she’s probably much more stable than both of them put together.

“Alright. Do you know her number?”

Jeremy nods and moves off my shoulder. He pulls out a cheap flip phone. One of his parents probably gave it to him for emergencies. That’s one good decision on their part. He then hands it to me. The contact is listed as “Auntie Caroline.” I stand up and press dial, Jeremy still clinging to my leg. It only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Jeremy?” a seemingly female voice says, sounding utterly frantic. “Are you okay, love?”

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Simon Snow, Jeremy’s teacher. Don’t worry, he’s here with me, he’s safe.”

She lets out a very deep sigh. “Oh thank god. Is there something wrong?”

“Unfortunately, yes. His father was supposed to pick him up but hasn’t shown, and his mother isn’t answering her calls.”

“Those bastards,” she growls. “My brother and his good for nothing wife have already put him through hell, but this just takes the bloody cake!”

“Believe me, I agree with you. Considering our shared opinion, I was hoping you could come pick him up? I know it’s a lot to ask this late and you’re all the way in Luton but-”

“Don't have to ask me twice. I’ll be there as soon as I can. But it’s going to take me an hour, maybe two.”

I think about Baz, about everything we have planned, about every missed connection these past few weeks. But then I look down at Jeremy, who has the most tragic expression I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. I sigh heavily, then put the phone back to my ear.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with him at school until you come. Let me give you the address.”

I rattle off the school’s address, my room number, and the best route to get here. She listens raptly, obviously scribbling it all down.

“Alright, got it. Thank you, Mr. Snow, this means so much to me.”

“No problem, see you soon.”

The line clicks off. I get back down in front of Jeremy. “Your aunt is going to be here soon, Jer. Until then, we’re gonna stay here and sit tight. Okay?”

Jeremy nods, wiping away more snot. “O-Okay.”

“Awesome. How about you go sit in the reading corner and I’ll join you in just a sec.”

“Okay.” He throws himself at me, hugging me tight. “Thank you, Mr. Snow.”

I smile and pat his head. “You’re very welcome, Jeremy. Now go read and get your mind off all this.”

He pulls away and runs over to the reading nook, throwing himself into the neon pink bean bag chair. He grabs a Harry Potter book. Good pick, it’s something he’s familiar with. Though I hate to think how much he relates to the way Harry grew up.

I go to my desk on the other side of the room and take my phone out. Baz’s beautiful contact picture stares back at me, and my heart twists painfully. I hate this situation. I hate that I’m doing this again after nearly three bloody weeks of no physical contact. I can only hope he can understand. And forgive me. The other end rings three times. 

“Hey.” Baz’s honey sweet voice is both comforting and painful right now.

“Hey,” I sigh.

“Oh no, that’s not a good ‘hey,’ is it?”

“No, unfortunately, it’s not.” I run a hand through my hair. “Remember Jeremy? One of my kids?”

“Yes, the one with the arsehole parents.”

“Yeah, that’s him. And tonight his parents have really taken the cake. Dad was supposed to be here but is probably off shagging his barely legal mistress, and mum is probably out clubbing and not picking up either.”

“Bloody hell, what a nightmare.”

“Exactly.” I slump into my chair, tugging my tie loose. “His aunt’s coming to pick him up, but...she lives in Luton...”

It’s Baz’s turn to sigh deeply. “And you’re going to have to stay with him until she gets there.”

God, I'm such an arsehole, and a predictable one at that. “I’m so, so sorry, Baz. I really wanted to go out tonight, and I know you don’t get many days off. This is such an out of the blue thing and I can’t just leave him. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s alright, Snow, I understand. I’ll hold you to that promise, okay?”

“Please do. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“That’s good. Bye, love.” The tinge of sadness in Baz’s voice fucking kills me.

“Bye, darling.”

He hangs up, and I hang my head with a quiet groan. I’m such a dickhead. I could’ve left Jeremy with Ms. Reinhart and went on my date, but I know she has a sick mother at home that she takes care of. Then I would have ruined the date by feeling all guilty and shit. I hate that this is probably the best choice.

“Mr. Snow?” I turn to Jeremy. He’s looking at me with a furrowed brow and pout. “Are you okay?”

I shove all my guilt and worry deep down, and put a big smile on my face. “Yeah, I’m good, Jer. Now how about you read some Harry Potter to me? I’d love to hear it.”

A grin breaks out on his face. “Okay.”

I leave my jacket and tie on my desk and stride over to him. I sit in the beanbag next to him. (Of course I didn’t get these things just for the kids.) Jeremy opens the book to his page.

“Chapter 12,” he starts with gusto

And I sit there listening to him for God knows how long. I laugh, make comments, correct his pronunciation when needed. I'm still a teacher after all. Then when the chapter is done, we watch silly animal videos on my laptop. I make sure Jeremy is happy. He deserves that after all of this. He needs to feel safe. I just wish it wasn’t at the sacrifice of Baz getting stood up,  again. God, am I ever going to get to see my boyfriend again? Is the universe ever going to let us have a moment together? I can’t really blame the universe though, I guess. This was my choice. I’m awful. Baz doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him, honestly.

Soon enough, a middle aged woman with long pink and purple hair sticks her head through the door at the other side of the room. “Hello?”

Jeremy grins and drops the book immediately. “Auntie Caroline!”

Caroline grins and catches Jeremy right in her arms, holding him up high. I walk to them but keep a good distance. “Hey munchkin, good to see you. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Snow stayed with me. We watched kittens!”

“That sounds awesome.” Caroline turns to me. “Thank you so much, Mr. Snow. Is there any way I can repay you?”

I wave my hand. “Don’t worry, no payment is needed. Just glad Jeremy has somewhere to go.

Her face falls slightly. She puts Jeremy down, touching his head. “Can you go get all your stuff, dear?”

“Okay!” Jeremy races off to the cubby area at ten year old speed. It’s a unique phenomenon. Caroline looks at me with a very serious expression.

“Here’s the thing,” she says in a hushed tone, “I’ve been trying to build a custody case for months, but I haven’t been able to get concrete proof of abuse and neglect. This changes things. If my lawyer needs you to, could you please testify at the custody hearing? I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve already done so much, so if you can’t, I understand-”

“Say no more.” I take a sticky note from my desk and write out my mobile number. “Here. Tell your lawyer they’re free to call me. I’ll do anything to help Jeremy get somewhere safe.”

She sighs and takes the note. “Thank you, Mr. Snow.”

“Please, call me Simon. Only my students have to use my last name so I can pretend I have their respect.”

She chuckles. “Okay, Simon. It’s no wonder Jeremy says you’re his favourite teacher.”

Well, I don’t need an ego stroke (at least that’s what I tell myself), but...it’s nice. I nod with a humble smile. “Good to know.”

Jeremy runs up, wearing his bright red power rangers backpack. “Ready.”

“Awesome. Say goodbye to Mr. Snow.”

Jeremy gives me a big, full arm wave. “Bye bye, Mr. Snow.”

I tousle his hair, making him giggle. “Bye, Jeremy. See you Monday.”

“See you!” He grabs Caroline’s hand and literally skips away with her. Honestly, I’ve never seen him this happy outside of class. He usually hangs his head and slumps off after hanging around in the cubby area for as long as possible. I know the patter well. It's what I used to do before I went to Watford, when I was stuck in shitty group homes. I hope Caroline gets custody. Jeremy deserves to be happy.

Slowly but surely, I collect all my stuff, from my snot covered jacket to my book bag. I look at my phone, and see a few texts from Baz.

Baz [16:56] Hey, just wanted to reassure you that I’m not upset, I understand. I’ll get another day off eventually.

Baz [18:30] I’ve got some takeout, it’s lovely. I’ll save some for you the next time you come over ❤️

Baz [19:18] I’m going to bed soon. Hope Jeremy gets to his aunt’s safe. Good night, love.

I sigh, my heart feeling like a lead balloon. I absolutely need to make this up to him. I’ll figure something out when my brain isn’t so exhausted. For now, I can at least text him back.

Simon [19:23] Sleep well, love. I’ll talk to you in the morning ❤️

Baz doesn’t reply. He’s probably asleep. Probably...

I walk home with my shoulders slumped and feeling like an utter, utter twat.

———————————————

“I’m a dick,” I groan.

“You’re not a dick,” Penny says. “You did the right thing and kept a student safe. That makes you an incredible teacher.”

“And a crap boyfriend.” I throw my cookie dough on the counter a little too hard. It makes an awful splat noise.

“Well, maybe, but Baz has bailed because of his work as well. And he said he understood.”

I grumble as I roll out little balls between my hands. Baking always helps me calm down. Well, usually. Right now I’m close to crushing each one. “Yeah, I guess, but I still feel super bad.”

“Well, take him out on his next day off.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle darkly, “that’ll probably be in about two or three months.”

Penny sighs, sounding just as defeated as I feel. “That fucking sucks. I can’t believe his schedule is really that insane.”

“He works himself to the bone, because he’s a great doctor and he’s going to be a great psychiatrist. It just means we don’t get a lot of time together, but it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. Both of you need to carve out more time for each other. You’re not the only one who is having issues, Si.”

“Yeah, but like, he can’t help but work more. Being a doctor is more demanding than being a teacher. He doesn’t have control of his hours.”

“Neither do you!” She’s practically yelling. “Being a good teacher means going above and beyond for your students. Therefore, you  have to put in extra hours if you want your students to have a great education.”

I make a semi agreement noise. My non-verbal way of saying she may have a point but I don’t like it. “Okay, maybe. But Baz doesn’t deserve to be neglected because of it.”

“Of course he doesn’t, Si, which is why you have to make time for him. And he has to do the same for you if you want this relationship to work.”

“I know you’re right, Pen, I just don’t know how.”

There’s a small pause, and I can imagine Pen stroking her chin like the old scholar she is in spirit. It’s comforting to think of. Penny thinking was a staple of the best parts of my childhood.

“What time is it where you are?” she asks.

I look down at my watch. “Uh, about 11?”

“Good. Finish what you’re baking, bring it to the hospital, surprise Baz with home baked treats. Then see if you can get Baz to go to lunch with you. If not, at least give him something to eat during his insane shift. Try to talk to him or ask him to talk about all this later. Sound doable?”

I’m grinning so wide it threatens to dislodge my earbuds. “Yeah, definitely sounds doable. Thanks, Pen.”

“No problem. Si. Now can I run this new lesson plan by you?”

“Absolutely, go ahead.”

Penny starts rattling off her curriculum points while I throw the cookies in the oven. And for the first time today, I feel good. I feel hopeful. It’s nice. I’ve missed it.

———————————————

UCLH is a towering, intimidating giant of white metal and panes of glass. It’s hard to not feel freaked out looking at it. Anytime I went to the hospital as a kid it was because of a fight at the group home or injuries from particularly awful foster parents. There was never a good reason to be here. Until now, that is.

From what I remember, Baz said he would be on psychiatry today. Problem is, I have no idea where the fuck that is. I can barely navigate my tiny school. This is an entirely different, far more sterile beast. I walk to the front desk where a man with big round glasses and very cool arm tattoos is sitting.

“Hi,” I say cheerily as possible.

“Hello,” he replies with a perfect, pearly white smile and a thick American accent. “How can I help you today?”

“Uh, I’m looking for the psychiatry wing? Specifically for Dr. Grimm-Pitch.”

“Okay. Are you a patient...?

“No, no, I’m his boyfriend. Got some stuff to drop off for him if he’s not too busy.” I hold up the Christmas tupperware filled with raspberry and white chocolate chip cookies. They’re Baz’s favourite.

The man’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, you’re Basil’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah, last time I checked,” I chuckle.

“Wow. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Shepard, from Omaha, Nebraska.” 

He holds out his hand, and I of course shake it. “Nice to meet you, Shepard from Omaha, Nebraska. I’m Simon, from uh, Lancashire, I guess.”

“Good too meet you too, man.” He leans his cheek on his hand. “Y’know, Basil has mentioned you exist a couple times, but won’t say anything else no matter how much I beg him.”

I shrug with a smile. “He’s a private person.”

“Yeah, but if I were dating you, I’d be bragging about it.”

Well, now my face must look utterly ridiculous. I’m twenty five years old and blushing from one compliment. “T-Thanks, wow. You’re pretty forward.”

He throws his head back laughing. “Nah, just blunt, man. And way too nosy, at least according to your boyfriend. Says I have some sort of anxiety fueled need to overshare and figure out everything about people."

"That...sounds odd."

Shepard shrugs. "Pretty sure it's made up. Besides, I already have two therapists. Don't need a third one." He laughs, and I laugh along with him. Thought part of me is truly concerned about him. Hope he's okay, he seems nice. "Anyway, I hope Basil is less intense outside of work than here.”

“Most of the time, yeah. He’s got his softer side, just has trouble showing it.”

“Believe it when I see it. Also,” he hands me a pamphlet, “psychiatry is on the fifth floor. Take the south elevator up and turn to the right. Basil should be at the front desk. Said he had patient files to sort all day.”

“Awesome, thanks.” I take out a cookie and hold it out to him. “Here, you can have this, unless you’re allergic to berries, gluten, or dairy.”

“Nope. I will happily take that.” He plucks it from my hand. “Thanks, man. Tell Basil I say hi, and I still have his pen.”

“Will do, thanks!”

He waves me off with half the cookie already in his mouth. Interesting guy. I may have to come back to talk to him more.

I follow Shepard’s instructions as best I can. Though I get lost trying to find the elevators,  twice. The halls twist and turn and loop back in on themselves. Seriously, who designed this hospital, Willy Wonka? Eventually I finally make it to the elevators and suffer in the sanitizer smelling tube for five floors. The psychiatry floor itself isn’t too bad, just kind of bland. Lots of blank grey walls and inoffensive paintings of scenic nature. And it’s pretty straight forward compared to the first floor. I just have to walk down the hall, turn at the “front desk” sign, and there will be-

I freeze in place. There’s Baz, with some redheaded guy leaning on his desk.

“Come on, Basil, you can’t be serious,” he says in a smooth, beautiful voice. “I’d totally shag Dr. Mayer over Dr. Dehnavi. Mayer has such polished charm.”

“Hm, I prefer a more ruggish look,” Baz replies with a half smile. “And Dehnavi gets that wonderful five o’clock shadow after a day of rounds.”

“True, very true. Not so hot when he’s yelling about oral board prep.”

Baz lets out a laugh, shaking his head. Wisps of black hair fall in his face. He looks at the redhead with a sly smile. “Well, I haven’t gotten to that point yet. But I do get an earful about SSRI dosage levels.”

“Oh lord, you’re giving me baby doctor flashbacks, stop. I’m scared Dr. D is going to be on the other side to yell our asses into submission.” 

They laugh together, and redhead moves closer to Baz, their hands nearly touching. My heart drops to the ground and burrows into the centre of the fucking Earth.

Baz looks at ease, content, and most of all, this guy seems to understand what the hell he’s talking about. Definitely more than I ever have. And he’s super bloody attractive. And he’s there, like I haven’t been. Fuck. Deep down, I thought this was going to happen, but it’s still ripping me apart. Baz has found someone better. I’m just the stupid poor orphaned kid he had a crush on in school. Now he’s gotten those old feelings out of his system and he’s found someone, another doctor no less, who can easily be a better boyfriend. Bloody hell, I’m about to cry. I need to go, right now.

I quietly and quickly get away. Going back through the hospital is a blur. And not just because my eyes are filled with tears and fogging up my glasses. My brain is a jumbled, heartbroken mess that can’t focus on anything. I think Shepard waves at me as I walk past but I can’t bring myself to respond right now. I don’t stop moving until I throw myself into my car, tossing the cookies on the front seat.

Finally, I have to stop. And worse I have to think. So, Baz has found a new guy. Some pretty red haired doctor who makes him laugh with doctor humour and probably doesn’t bail. He’s probably going to break up with me today. I should just break up with him, save him the hassle...

I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white. My cheeks are raw from wiping tears away. I think about losing Baz, losing a chance to make things better, and it's the worst pain I've ever felt. A small part of me thought that maybe Baz was it. That he was the person I could actually, possibly spend the rest of my life with. Maybe it was a stupid thought. I was so stupid.

My head falls forward, forehead pressed against the wheel. And I just cry.

———————————————

I’ve called in sick for a week. I’ve never called in for that long, not once in my teaching career. But I can’t get off my couch, let alone leave my flat. I’ve been laying here for days, surrounded by takeaway wrappers, watching old Dr. Who episodes, cuddling Cherry nonstop. Penny is probably worried about me but I haven’t really been using my phone. I’ve tried to call Baz a few times, but always hang up before it starts dialing. I know I should just rip off the band-aid already. But I’m a coward, I guess. I’ll just lay here, waiting for Baz to call me and finally dump me. Every time I think about it, I still cry a little.

The phone rings and my heart gets so tight I can hardly breathe. Fuck, this is it. I slowly lift it up. But it’s not Baz’s photo I see, or Penny’s. Rather, it’s Agatha’s, grinning with her soft California tan. I press talk right away.

“Hello?” I say

“Oh thank god,” Agatha sighs, “you’re alive. We were all sure you’d been in a horrible accident or something!”

“Um, no, I’m fine, just a little under the weather.”

“Then why haven’t you been answering your fucking texts, you arse?!”

I move the phone away from my ear slightly to avoid hearing loss. “I told you, I’ve been sick. Haven’t felt like responding...”

“Okay, that excuse could work on Baz or even Penny, but I’m not buying it. Cut the crap, Simon, what’s wrong?”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. Well, she’s here, and I’m too tired to make up another lie. “Baz is breaking up with me.”

“What?!” I move the phone again. Agatha is going to make me go partially deaf in one phone call. “That dickhead! I- Wait, what do you mean is?”

“Well, uh...he hasn’t dumped me yet...”

Agatha takes a pause. I can imagine her expression right now. Probably a lot of confusion mixed with disbelief. “Okay, please explain this to me, because I’m so lost.”

I sit up, scratching the back of my neck. “Well, um, Baz and I have been having issues meeting up for the past month. Things kept happening. Baz had this wonderful date planned after three weeks of not seeing each other. But then a kid from my class needed someone to stay with him because his stupid parents wouldn’t show up and we had to wait for someone else. So I cancelled and Baz said he understood but I still felt awful. Then the next day I was going to bring him cookies to say sorry, but when I got there, I saw him chatting with this redhead doctor. And I realised Baz had found someone better. Hoped it wouldn't happen but yeah, he’s going to break up with me. Just waiting for him to call or come over. I’d do it myself but I’m too much of a wimp.”

There’s a long drawn out silence. The only sounds are the California waves on Aggie’s end and Cherry meowing for attention on mine. More than ever, I wish I was a mind reader. I want to know what’s going through her head. It’s probably less muddled than mine.

“Simon,” she says slowly, “I need you to know that I’m only saying this because I love you very, very much. This all comes from a place of caring.”

“Uh...okay?” Now I really need to know what’s in her head. But I think I’m about to find out.

Agatha takes a few deep breaths, and then, well...explodes. “You absolute, goddamn fucking numpty! You’re seriously throwing away objectively the best relationship you’ve ever had because you saw him chit chatting with some redheaded twat!? For Christ’s sake, Simon, this is beyond idiotic and self destructive!”

“Hey I-”

“Shush, Simon!” I shut my mouth. “I get you have some serious self esteem issues, Si, but what happened to acknowledging and dealing with them? You are not a warm body for Baz until he finds someone ‘better.’ He’s been pining after you since bloody Watford and being with you is his dream come true. I know because he’s told me so!”

My cheeks flush a little. “R-Really?”

“Yes, really! He adores you, Si, he thinks you hung the bloody moon. In no world would he just up and dump you!”

“I-I mean, yeah, but like, I’ve been an awful boyfriend lately. I wouldn’t blame him if he did...”

“You really think Basilton Pitch, king of overthinking and future psychiatrist, would dump you without first trying to talk?”

“Um, well, I can see your point.”

“Good. I promise you, Simon, he doesn’t want to break up with you. But if you don’t talk to him soon, it may be too late. So get your arse in gear and get your guy. Or I’ll come from all the way across a continent and an ocean just to smack you upside the head.”

I chuckle softly. Huh, this is the first time that’s happened in awhile. Feels good to laugh. “Okay, will do. Thank you, Ags.”

“You’re very welcome, Si. Please send me an update later so I know you’re okay? And Penny too so she doesn’t blow a gasket.”

“I promise. Talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later, Simon. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The second my phone is off, I jump up. I’m invigorated with new energy, both happy and terrified. I may have just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I’m insecure as fuck. I’ve got to fix it. Before it’s too late.

I pick up all the takeaway containers at lightning speed. They don’t all fit into my trash though (God that’s sad), so I have to get a new trash bag. At least I don’t have a depression nest anymore. That’s a good start. Next step, I run to the shower. I smell fucking ripe. No way I can apologize while smelling like the bottom of a McDonald’s dumpster. Thank every god that I still have some hot water left. I scrub quickly and furiously until I stop feeling so gross.

I jump out and go to my room. Unfortunately, I haven’t done my laundry in a week either. The only things I have are a baggy pair of jeans and one of Baz’s shirts. It’s soft cream with flower buds on it. For all his dark brooding, Baz has a thing for florals. It smells like him, cedar and bergamot with a hint of hospital antiseptic. I put it on.

I’m halfway through the buttons when I hear my door open and close. What the fuck? Who’s here? Who has a key?

“Snow?” Baz’s voice calls out. “Simon, are you here?”

Oh. Oh shit. I dash out of my room, shirt still half open. I even slide on my laminate floor like a cartoon character. Baz is standing in my entryway. And he looks like a total mess. His hair is disheveled, there are huge dark circles under his eyes, and he’s got close to an actual honest to god beard. We just stare at each other way too long. Until I can find my words again.

“Baz,” I stutter. “Hi. W-What are you-”

“Oh thank god.” He runs forward and throws his arms around me in the tightest hug I’ve ever felt. “You’re alive. I thought you were dead or in a coma or-” He pulls back. His eyebrows are all scrunched up. “Is that my shirt?”

My face starts to heat up. “Um, uh, yeah. Didn’t have anything else. I was going to see you. What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

He scoffs, but it’s with a smile. “No, not really, I’ve been worried sick all week. You weren’t answering my texts or Bunce’s. I was scared shitless. I came here because it was my last resort.” He pushes back my hair, rubbing his thumbs along my temple. It’s downright tender. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.” His hands move to my shoulders. “Where did you go?”

“I, uh-” I hang my head. “I-I did something dumb. And I got super sad and I didn’t know what to do. So I was just here a lot...”

His eyes grow wide. “You were here at your apartment? All week?”

“Um, yeah...”

He steps back and blinks. His face is just blank, and honestly it’s more freaky than him panicking. “You’ve been home alone all week, and didn’t tell me?” I nod slowly. That blank face suddenly morphs into unbridled anger. “What the fuck, Snow?! You couldn’t take two seconds to text me back to let me know you’re bloody alive?!”

“I-I didn’t know you texted.”

“Check your phone!”

I scramble over to my couch and scoop up my phone. I haven’t looked at my notifications out of fear. Oh...oh fuck. 53 missed text messages, and 42 are from Baz. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks. I really am the worst.

“Oh god,” I say, voice very strained. “I’m so sorry, Baz, I was just so caught up in my shit, I wasn’t checking my phone-”

“Obviously.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Why did you come to my work?”

My eyes go very wide and my body becomes very stiff. “Wait, you saw me there?”

“No, but Shepard came to talk to me the next day. He asked if my boyfriend was alright because he ran out looking upset. I was surprised he knew who my boyfriend was, and even more so that you were there. So why were you at UCLH and talk to me?”

“Uh, I wanted to talk to you and say sorry for standing you up. B-But when I came, you were um, talking to this guy...” I curl in myself, rubbing my arm. “And I freaked out because I thought after I fucked up the date you’d found someone better and...were going to dump me.”

I look up, and Baz’s jaw is wide open. He drags his hands down his face. “Oh my god, Simon,” he groans, “after all the time we’ve spent together, I can’t believe you still think that low of me.”

“N-No! I don’t!”

“You thought I would dump you after six months together because of a cancelled date? Which you cancelled to help a neglected child?! I’m not a monster, Snow, I’d never do that.”

“Y-Yeah, I know, Baz. It’s just...” I rub the back of my neck. “When I saw you with him, it made all this shit come up and I totally panicked-”

“I understand that, Simon. But it was one conversation with another guy! Why did you ghost me instead of just talking?”

He sounds less angry, more desperate than anything. But it makes me feel even worse. “Because...because I got scared and anxious and I hated seeing it so much...yeah.”

Baz’s mouth is a thin line. “That’s not a real answer, Snow. Why on Earth did you think the worst of me instead of trying to talk?”

“It’s not about you!” I shout desperately. All the words are so muddled up, I can’t get them out. It’s not Baz’s fault, my brain is just being so unhelpful right now. I wasn’t ready for this talk, fuck.

“What does that mean? You stopped talking to me because you thought I was bloody cheating on you! How is this not about me in some capacity?!”

“I didn’t think you were cheating! I just- I thought- I just got so freaked out because I didn’t want to lose you-”

“You weren’t going to lose me!”

“But I thought I was and that scared me so much because I- well, I-”

“Because what, Snow?!”

“Because I love you, you massive arsehole!”

The room goes absolutely, perfectly silent. Baz’s lips have fallen wide open. I inhale sharply. Oh God, did I really just say that out loud? I clap a hand over my mouth and look down, trying to get my breathing under control. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m such an idiot. Baz is going to dump me for sure. Adores me or not, I’ve probably scared him off. My hand falls down.

“I’m so sorry, Baz,” I say softly. “I-I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out-”

“Did you mean it?” I lift my eyes up slightly. I expect Baz to look horrified, angry, maybe even disgusted. But instead he looks...kind of awestruck? His eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them before. I think about lying, but I don’t think he’s upset. And I have a feeling that if I lie he will be. I think I need to stop hiding my feelings from Baz.

“Yeah. I did.”

His lips fall open even more. And I swear, he’s smiling a little. My heart is beating faster. “Seriously? You...you love me?  In love with me?”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down my racing mind. I nod and take a small step forward. Not crowding Baz, but getting closer. “Yeah. I'm in love with you, Baz. I-I know it’s too soon, but I can’t help-”

Baz cuts me off with the most intense, head spinning, world shaking kiss of my life. He presses the small of my back with one hand and grabs my curls with the other. I literally stumble backwards from it. Baz takes the chance to press me against my hallway wall. Like he’s shielding from the world with his own body. He’s kissing me so hard, so passionately, and I can’t help but melt. 

Is this Baz’s way of saying he loves me too? I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t care. This is heavenly to the Nth degree. I’m good at turning off my brain when needed. So that’s exactly what I do.

I push back against Baz with equal force. He groans so deeply it makes me shudder. I grip his face tight, pushing my fingers through his tangled but still soft hair. He drags his tongue along my bottom teeth, slowly and carefully. I nearly melt into a puddle. We’ve never kissed like this before. Even our most intense snogging sections don’t come close. It’s like Baz is trying to touch and grab every part of me but can’t decide which. I don’t mind. He can have it. I’d give him all that I am and more. I’d tie our hearts together, chamber by chamber.

Baz runs his hands down my thigh. I can feel the heat through my trackies. He hooks under one of my knees, pulling it up. I think I get the message. (I hope). I jump, fully prepared to fall flat on my arse, but Baz catches me easily. I wrap my legs around his waist while he holds me up above him. Christ, he’s strong. It’s so hot. And I love this angle, because I can snog the life out of him more easily. This is amazing. But I still want more.

I pull off his mouth (sadly), just enough so I can speak. “Bed?”

Baz just nods and kisses me again. He pulls us off the wall. He barely stumbles as he walks us through my flat. I scramble to unbutton his shirt. I know Baz is really into this because he’s making no fuss about me possibly ruining his clothes. Soon enough, we stumble into my bedroom. Baz quickly kicks the door shut, cutting off the rest of the world, and I don’t mind one bit.

———————————————

Baz and I roll apart solely because we need to breathe. Our chests are heaving. My blankets and sheets are completely tangled around us. I’m more sweaty than the one time I tried to go to a cross fit class. However, this was a way better workout. I’m glad I kept all those supplies in my nightstand.

So, now I know what sex with Baz is like. It’s sweaty, vigorous, a little awkward, and so,  so  incredible. Pretty sure my brains have been thoroughly fucked out. It takes me a few panting moments for me to muster up a singular word.

“Wow,” I say. My voice is really hoarse, but I absolutely don’t mind.

Baz lets out a small laugh. His voice sounds rough too. It’s really hot. “Still very eloquent.”

“Fuck off.” I lightly push his sweaty shoulder. But when I start to pull back, Baz grabs my wrist and tugs me towards him. Before I know it, Baz is kissing me again. It’s soft, slow but so unbelievably hot. I completely melt into his arms. He’s so warm and strong and I could spend an eternity wrapped up in him. No more work or life, just Baz and I in this bed forever. My god that would be a dream come true.

He pulls off to kiss across my cheeks, then down my neck. He already knows the exact spots that drive me insane. (Well, Baz has always been a quick study.) My eyes flutter closed. I’m falling into that haze again, where my head gets foggy and I can only think in “yes” and “please” and  “more.” Part of me wants to sink back into that bliss, but the aching of my out of shape muscles is unfortunately more insistent.

“Baz,” I whisper, “as much as I would like a fourth round, I’d also like to be able to walk tomorrow.”

Baz groans, but relents and rolls onto his back. We settle for just staring at each other. I don’t mind. Baz is always gorgeous but he is a different kind of beautiful right now. His face is all flushed, pupils blown wide, black hair plastered to his damp forehead. And I thought I couldn’t get more attracted to him.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, absolutely.” I cup his face, running a thumb on his cheekbone. “You?”

“I’m bloody fantastic.” He spreads his fingers out on my side, tracing the most delicate patterns that make me shudder. “Can’t believe I was so scared of this.”

My heart beats faster as my eyebrows scrunch up. “Scared? Of what?  Me? I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize, Snow. I wasn’t scared of you, not at all.” He sighs and pulls me a little bit closer. “I just built up sex with you so much in my head that it became overwhelming. I was terrified of fucking it up after wanting it for so long.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it from the start too. Six months of sexual tension really mess with your head.”

He chuckles. I like the way his breath hits my skin. “Simon, love, I first fantasised about sleeping with you when we were 15.”

I was already flushed, but now I’m on fire. It’s a miracle I’m not a pile of ash right now. I flap my mouth open and closed like a fish for too long. Baz just smiles at me like I’m beautiful or something, not a total deer in the headlights.

“R-Really?” I finally get out. “That long?!”

“Mhm. I told you, Snow, I figured out I wanted you in fifth year. Puberty was a bloody nightmare with you right across the room.” We laugh quietly together. But I genuinely feel bad for Baz. I hold the back of his head, running my fingers through his soft hair.

“I’m sorry you went through that, love. Must’ve been awful.”

Baz sighs, putting his hand on mine. “Thank you. At least things worked out in the end." He pecks the tips of my fingers. "I’m glad we finally did this. Real life was far better than any fantasy.”

I kiss the corner of his smile. He giggles, so small and adorable, something I never would’ve thought Baz was capable of until six months ago. I’m so happy. And my heart sinks, thinking about how this was almost over because I was so insecure.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, and Baz’s face becomes much more serious. “I-I’m sorry that I vanished without telling you. That was immature and dumb. And I’m sorry for scaring you. I promise I won’t ever do that again.”

Baz nods slowly, mouth twisting from side to side. He brings our hands between us, holding me tight. “I accept your apology. Just, what happened, love? I’m still not sure what you meant.”

Well, I knew this was coming. Doesn’t make it any easier. I clutch him hard, like I’m scared he’ll go. But if the last hour or two means anything, I don’t think he will. Still, I hold him tight.

“That’s a long story,” I sigh.

Baz presses his lips to the back of my hand. It’s firm and comforting. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

I carefully roll onto my back. Baz goes onto his side, propping his head up with his free arm. We keep our hands together. I really can’t let go of him right now.

“I meant it when I said it wasn’t about you,” I say. “It’s really not. I don’t think you’re a terrible person who would dump or cheat on me. It’s more that...that I was scared and felt worthless. Part of me has always felt worthless, unlovable. Sometimes my brain is like ‘your own parents didn’t want you, why would anyone else?’”

“Simon-”

“You don’t need to tell me it’s not true, Baz, I know. Most of me does, anyway. But sometimes that mean voice gets louder, and it’s been louder lately. Not because of you, not really. It’s because I think you’re incredible and brilliant and that mean voice kept telling me ‘why the hell is he with you? He’s way too good for you. He’ll find someone better.’ And after weeks of missed dates and the whole dinner fiasco, it got worse. Then when I saw you with the other doctor I guess the anxiety just took over. And I just sort of shut down.”

Baz moves closer. “I’m sorry, that’s horrible.”

“Thanks.” I sigh and run a hand through my tangled hair, like I’m trying to pull the stress out of myself. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this. I didn’t want to dump all my shit on you. It’s a lot to deal with and I should deal with it on my own, not pull you in.”

“Simon,” Baz says firmly, holding himself above me, “you can absolutely pull me into your shit. I want to know everything you’re worried and scared about, so I can be there to help if you want. You never have to hide anything because I love every single part of you, no matter how insecure or sad.”

I stare at him for too long. My heartbeat is roaring in my ears. Slowly, a smile stretches out across my face. “You love me?”

Baz’s face pulls together in confusion, and for a moment I’m scared he’s going to take it back, because I’m not worth it. But then I push that fear down because Baz cares about me. He’s shown that again and again. I'm not unworthy of his love.

“Did I not say it?” he says, genuinely surprised and concerned.

“I mean, maybe, but things were a bit...chaotic before.” My eyes flick over to our rumpled clothing strewn across my room. It honestly looks like a tornado somehow hit both a Primark and a Topshop. Baz laughs with a nod.

“Okay, good point. Let me correct that then.” He delicately holds my chin, making sure our eyes meet. Black hair surrounds his face like a dark halo. His deep sea eyes sparkle with his gorgeous smile. Everything about him is absolutely stunning. “I love you, Simon Snow. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, because you are the most kind, most caring, most wonderful man I’ve ever known. You are not a holding place or my second choice. Got that?”

I nod very vigorously. I can’t speak right now, my throat is too filled up with all my emotions for words. I wipe my snot and tears with the back of my hand. Extremely unsexy. God I’m a mess. But Baz still looks at me like I’m the most gorgeous thing in the world, because he loves me, imperfections and all. 

“Don’t cry, love,” Baz chuckles, “it’s okay.”

“Just overwhelmed,” I say, still sniffling, “and happy. I love you too.”

Baz kisses my forehead.  “I know, and I’m very happy as well.” He tucks his head into the crook of my neck. “Not to get all psychiatrist, but these issues of hidden insecurities and fear we both have are going to reoccur if we don’t communicate more.”

I nod, rubbing the arm he has across my chest. “Yeah, I agree.”

“Good.” He rolls slightly, chin placed on my shoulder. “In the name of communication then, I think not seeing each other for weeks on end isn’t good for us. We need to try to meet in person more.”

“Yeah, definitely. I think not seeing you for a while made my anxiety get worse. Thought you would dump me because it was too hard for us to meet up.”

“Honestly,” Baz sighs, “I felt something similar. Not as badly as you, I think, but still not fun. The self deprecating part of me wondered when you would finally get sick of my insane schedule and break up with me. I’m not exactly the easiest person to date. Or the easiest person, period.”

I laugh quietly and tug him closer. "Me neither, love."

Baz smiles all the way to his ears. He kisses me firmly, making my head spin, before pulling me away just as quickly. Our noses stay pressed together. “Suppose we match then, love.”

I throw my arms around his neck. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning. “And you like that?”

“I love it.”

“Me too.” I press against his back, reveling in his warm, smooth skin. “I promise to make more time for you. I want this to work. ”

Baz kisses a mole on my cheek. “So do I. I’m in this for the long haul, Simon.”

“Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

“I would love nothing more.”

I grab Baz’s head and smash our mouths together again. Baz instantly returns it, holding me tight. His body is a warm blanket on top of me, protecting me from anything bad in the world. Yeah, I could spend the rest of my life with Baz. I want that so much. Our snogging gets more intense. And each of us can definitely feel our mutual arousal pressed against our thighs.

Baz pulls off my mouth, but only a little. “What happened to needing to walk tomorrow?”

I shrug with a sly smile. “Eh, who needs walking? You can just carry me everywhere.”

He grins once before kissing me hard. I’m truly a lucky guy. And it’s incredible that Baz thinks the same. I’m living a charmed life.

———————————————

Three months later

“Y’know,” I pant, “you could help.”

Baz looks up from his phone, one eyebrow propped up. “Who carried all your KitchenAid hardware to our new place?”

“Okay, yeah, but that was  down the hall, not up four flights of stairs.” I drop another box of books and breathe heavily.

“That mixer was very heavy.”

“Baz.”

He lets out a very dramatic groan, making a show of hanging his head over the back of Penny’s settee. “Fine. I’ll help.”

I don’t miss the joking glint in his eyes. Arsehole. He just likes making a show of it. He kisses my cheek on the way out. I slap his arse, making him yelp, but his smirk tells me he’s not upset at all.

“Are you two flirting?” Penny calls out from the hall. “I told you, my flat is a flirt free zone!”

“No flirting, Bunce,” Baz says. “Just some light groping on Snow’s part.”

Penny groans so loud I’m pretty sure the whole floor can hear her. She walks in with a box filled with figurines. She glares at me viciously. I throw my hands up in surrender.

“I slapped his arse, didn’t grab it.”

“That’s not much better, Si.” She places the box on the ground and puts her hands on her hips. “Focus more on moving and less on your boyfriend’s arse.”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Pen, I’m sorry.” I wrap her up in a tight hug, and she holds me just as close. She’s been doing that a lot lately. I don’t mind. “Y’know, that offer to fly to Chicago and kick Micah’s arse is still on the table.”

That finally makes her laugh. She shakes her head against my chest. “No, it’s alright. I’m mad but not really vengeful. He tried to break up with me, I just wasn’t listening to him.”

“Still not an excuse to start dating someone else.”

“Yeah, I guess," she sniffles. "Thanks for subletting your flat to me."

I kiss the top of her head. "You're very welcome, Pen. Anything for you."

She holds me tighter. I let her hang on to me. It’s the least I can do.

“After all the fuss you made about me helping,” Baz shouts, “now you’re just standing there, Snow? Really?”

I sigh and look up over Penny’s head. Baz is balancing two large boxes because he likes to show off how strong he is. But he’s being helpful, and his strength is hot, so I don’t mind.

“I am comforting my friend,” I say, tone very high and mighty and mocking.

“Yes, but avoiding work must be a plus.”

“Oh, absolutely. And teasing you.”

Penny laughs and pulls back from me, looking at Baz as he puts down the boxes. “As a psychiatrist, you think it says something that even though you’re together now, you two still bicker like in school?”

Baz tilts his head side to side, stroking his chin like a great scholar. “Probably could say something about regressing to old patterns of behaviour from when we were children. But now after time together, working out our issues, and forming better patterns of behaviour, the bickering is now a show of affection rather than true antagonism. Therefore it has transformed into a healthy relationship feature from a bad one. A rare but possible event.”

Penny blinks at him. I’m trying to hide my blush. Don’t really want Penny to know how hot I find Baz being all smart and shit. Still have no idea what he’s talking about, but now I definitely want to rip his clothes off. Penny would kill me though. Murder would not be sexy.

“God,” she chuckles, “you really are a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah he is!” Shepard stumbles in, a box wobbling precariously on his arms. “Either that or he’s a weirdo who enjoys being in a hospital all the time for some reason.” The box tips over. I run up and catch it just in time. “Oh, whoops, sorry.”

“You break it, you suffer Bunce’s wrath, Shep,” Baz says.

“Damn right you do.” Penny walks past him, leveling a look over her glasses. Shepard gulps and watches her as she goes downstairs. And he follows her to help, looking totally out of it.

A pair of familiar arms wrap around my waist. Baz rests his chin on my shoulder. “In my humble psychiatrist opinion, I think our dear American might have a little crush on Bunce.”

I chuckle, cupping his cheek. “I wouldn’t blame him. Pen is pretty awesome.”

“Oh," he says with a teasing lilt, "should I be worried that she’s living down the hall from us now?”

I scoff and roll my eyes like he does at stupid people on telly. “Should  I be worried about you working with Dr. Lamb?”

Baz makes a very unattractive dry heaving sound. “Never. That backstabbing twat can go eat a bag of rusty screws. Only reason I give him the time of day is because he’s got my supervisor wrapped around his stupid finger.”

“And if you piss him off you’ll lose important psychiatry rounds, yes, yes, I know. He’s still gonna try to flirt with you.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat. But I only want you.” He kisses a mole on my neck, his favourite one. “I love you, Simon.”

I kiss his temple. “I love you too.”

“I love you  so much I’m willing to give up my lovely condo to move into your weird exposed brick hipster building.”

I scoff and turn to him, arms around his slender neck. “Wasn’t it  your idea to move into a bigger place here because it’s closer to both of our workplaces?”

He smiles, kissing the tip of my nose. Bastard. I hated his teasing in school, but he’s right, now it’s out of love. Crazy, stupid, wonderful love. “Since when do you listen to me?”

“You have a good idea every once in a while.”

“How about this one?” He kisses me firmly. When he pulls back a little, my heart is beating rapidly.

“Yeah, I like that one.”

“Good.” We kiss again, soft and slow. Never before have I felt so safe and content kissing someone. Baz can hold me close and make all my worries go away. Part of me still can’t believe I get to have this. A person who adores me completely, including every single weird, flawed, stupid part too. But I have to stop thinking like that. I’m allowed to be happy. I’m allowed to be with someone so incredible. And someone so incredible can absolutely love me back. The work we've both put in to being together shows our mutual care again and again. We deserve to be happy together. It's amazing.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Baz and I pull apart to look at Penny’s glaring face. “We leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re already defiling my apartment?”

“This is still technically Snow’s flat, you know,” Baz says smoothly.

“And you don’t want to know how we’ve already defiled it.” I give the biggest shit eating grin I can.

Penny waves her hands in front of herself. “Nope, nope, I’d rather live in blissful ignorance. Also, Simon," Penny hands me an envelope, "postman came. This is for you. Thought I'd grab it before they accidentally delivered it to me."

I rip it open with ease. Inside is a paper with familiar terrible handwriting. I grin ear to ear. Baz looks over my shoulder. "What is it?"

"It's from Jeremy." I scan down the letter. Luckily I'm adept at deciphering kid writing. "He says he misses me but likes his aunt's place a lot. They garden a lot and he's playing football on a community team.:

"All sound great," Penny says, having moved to the shoulder not occupied by Baz.

"Yeah, definitely. Oh, and he's got a new kitten. And guess what he named him?"

"What?" Penny and Baz say at the same time. It's pretty hilarious but I keep myself from laughing to avoid any glares.

"Snow." I hold up a Polaroid picture of a grinning Jeremy holding a small, fluffy white cat. Both of them can't help but make awing noises.

"Adorable," Baz says. "You did a good job with that kid, Snow."

I kiss his cheek. "Thanks, love."

"I want a cat," Penny sighs. Her nose scrunches up. "Am I going to turn into a crazy cat lady?"

"Hey," I say, "you were the one who told me that was a sexist stereotype. So no, you're going to be a very sane, wonderful, brilliant cat lady." I lean closer, whispering in her ear. "And maybe, once you feel better, you can try talking to a certain American. I think he's got a thing for you."

Penny sticks her tongue out, but before she can respond, Shepard comes stumbling in with a box of china. He places it very carefully. I can see him not so subtly watching Penny out of the corner of his eye. I don't think he wants to piss her off again. “Okay, I think that’s all of it. Wow, a lot of books. Reminds me of my Mom's office back in Omaha.”

"So I remind you of your mum?" Penny asks, arms crossed over her chest. Shepard's eyes go wide. I snort into Baz's shoulder

"No! No, definitely not, I just mean...you're both super smart."

Penny scoffs. "Good answer, American. Now let's get all my books unpacked."

I groan loudly. “Come on, Pen, not today. Why don’t we go to mine and Baz’s flat and we’ll make you dinner?”

“You mean I’ll be making dinner.” Baz raises his eyebrow at me. “You can’t cook, Simon.”

“I’ve been learning!”

He sighs over dramatically. “Very well. You can chop the onions.”

“I’ll take it.” I put my arm on Penny’s shoulders. She leans into me like always. “Come on, let’s eat.”

“Can I come?” Shepard asks, beaming wide. Who could say no to that face?

“Of course! You deserve a reward for all your hard work.”

“Awesome!” He dashes up beside Pen, looking all cute. And I can see Penny smiling, just a little. I’m glad to see her happy.

I put Jeremy's letter in my pocket. It's going right on the fridge the second we get to mine and Baz’s new place. Baz takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together. He smiles, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I feel like I could fly on the power of love alone right now.

God, I truly have an amazing life.

———————————————

Awwww stupidly in love, just how I like it. Tbh I started writing this before Wayward So came out, and after I decided I wanted to deal with their communication issues like in the book but resolve them. I'm not throwing shade, just stating an opinion, plz don't kill me lol. But I do hope you all liked it! I never planned on writing a sequel but sometimes shit works out like that. I do have another idea for a short one shot but don't hold me to that, life is pretty nuts rn and I don't have a lot of free time, hence why this took me so long. Anyway, have a good day/night y'all!