#niki writes <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[hellokittywrites]

TEETH

primera parte.

¿se sellará la indescriptible atracción que sentías hacia Park Sunghoon con el pinchazo de un colmillo?

pair: vampire! park sunghoon x f!reader (no hay descripciones específicas de cómo luce físicamente, así que puedes imaginarla como quieras <3)

summary: sólo te diré que está inspirado en la canción teeth de enhypen, vampire academy y hierarchy ;)

warnings of part 1: menciones de mordiscos, sangre y ataques de pánico (si hay alguno más no dudes en decírmelo¡!). also, la academia se llama bram stoker en referencia al escritor de Drácula

words: 5501

segunda parte tercera parte

¿Qué tenía Park Sunghoon que siempre conseguía dejarte sin respiración? Podía ser su característica belleza principesca, casi digna del llanto de una voz poética romántica inglesa que la llamaba desde la desesperación de sólo ver fealdad. Podía ser su caminar, simple ante los ojos de los principales catadores de modelos que deben crear ellas mismas con cada paso la pasarela, pero demasiado elegante como para ser tan simple. O simplemente era el hecho de que era el ex de tu mejor amiga.

Él cortaba tu respiración desde la incertidumbre. Una chispa de interés provocaba que tu mirada quedase atrapada en su belleza, en su caminar, en su identidad. O, la identidad que él debe tener sin ningún juicio último que lo destinase así salvo la existencia de tu mejor amiga, la cual lo hacía en un ex y, por tanto, alguien que jamás debe traspasar las líneas de lo desconocido. Pues no debes saber quién es Park Sunghoon verdaderamente, no debes sentir interés ante él ni definirlo de una manera que no se resuma en tres catadoras palabras: frío, egoísta y narcisista.

Así debía ser Park Sunghoon en tu perspectiva, dentro de tu propio juicio crítico. Una sombra de fealdad y no de la belleza que tus ojos tan inocente e involuntariamente percibieron. Una imagen despectiva, para nada atractiva ya que, ¿por qué querrías a alguien frío, egoísta y narcisista en tu vida?

Pero aquella fijación silenciosa e indeterminada que tu persona padecía sufrir ante el imponente Park Sunghoon no coincidía con los asentimientos de cabeza que siempre le regalabas a Aerin, tu mejor amiga, cada vez que mencionaba a este "ser sin corazón", como ella lo definía. ¿Estaba bien juzgar a una persona sin conocerla? ¿Dejarse llevar por rumores emitidos por una clara e indiscutible subjetividad? No, claro que no lo estaba y tus padres, especialmente tu madre, te lo había inculcado, repitiéndote la misma reflexión cargada de tolerancia millones de veces, demasiadas este último verano, antes de ingresar en la prestigiosa academia Bram Stoker. Lugar en el que conociste a tu nueva y aclamada mejor amiga y lugar dónde tu secreta fijación tan vergonzosa ha nacido con el nombre de Park Sunghoon.

Jamás te habías sentido de esta forma hacia alguien en tu corta vida de veinte años. Era una constante consciencia que, si vuestros ojos se encontraban, se volvía similar al encierre que una historia produce sobre ti, llevándote consigo a lo más profundo de sus páginas, una absorción plácida que en ningún momento te hace considerar tu necesidad de libertad individual. Podía sonar demasiado particular e intenso esta comparación, pero de verdad lo sentías de esa forma: tan irreal. Más razones que hacían que tu curiosidad creciera hasta lo superlativo, quemara hasta tu propio sentido común.

Y es que cuando hacías contacto visual con Park Sunghoon, un indescriptible nacía. Una pregunta sin respuesta, una negación sin argumento. Pero, sobre todo, una atracción con, lo que parecía, una imaginaria justificación. Porque, a ver, sí, eras reservada y observadora. Una Luna que debe sentirse atraída a un Sol y no a otra Luna. En cambio, eso no sucedía así contigo. Sunghoon, otra Luna era el centro de tu capacidad de sentir atracción por alguien. Y no eras muy fanática de los romances entre personas similares, más atraída hacia los polos opuestos.

Esta ferviente situación comenzó a principio de curso, la primera vez que su persona, junto con la de su famoso grupo de amigos, entró en tu campo de visión. Con tu uniforme negro con corbata azul, te sentaste en lo que los alumnos denominaban Comedor -cafetería en tu antiguo instituto- y, jugando con la tirita de un corte en tu pulgar que el libro que te encontrabas leyendo la noche anterior causó, Park Sunghoon apareció. 

No hubo una primera impresión. No hubo una reacción. No pensaste nada. Las acciones del protagonista de la novela que leías hicieron que, ante hombres reales, no hubiese estándar alcanzable. Sí, la belleza de Sunghoon era arrebatadora, digna de ser observada por más de cinco segundos o un minuto, pero no sentiste esa necesidad. Fue como ver una obra de arte que no resonaba contigo, aunque fuese la obra más destacada y más bella de todo un siglo de artistas galardonados. 

No sentiste nada, pero al mirar de nuevo hacia tu mano para seguir observando la tirita, tu piel se encontraba lo más erizada que jamás la habías visto. Una piel de gallina casi enfermiza, con las puntas de las uñas de tus manos temblando. La confusión reinó por completo tu mente, expresándose en un ceño frunciéndose. Te acariciaste la piel cuestionándote su estado, y tus yemas de los dedos casi no la sentían. Te incorporaste un poco en la silla, colocando tus manos en tu regazo, intentando calentarlas un poco, mientras decidías no darle mucha importancia y pensar en otra cosa. Y, a la vez que decidías olvidarte de ello, tus ojos parecieron tener otra opinión distinta a la de tu mente, pues se dirigieron directamente a lo que habían visto antes de centrarse en la tirita. Tus párpados los cubrieron casi buscando detenerlos pero ya era demasiado tarde.

Unos ojos negros, profundos como el carbón, ocultos entre una piel extremadamente pálida, casi sin vida, asomándose entre dos líneas de oscuridad dada por pestañas, unos ojos brillantes ante la luz del comedor pero aun así tremendamente opacos, capturaron todo tu ser, aunque solo deberían haber capturado tu mirada. Ahora sí, la piel de gallina fue sentida. Ahora sí, los rápidos latidos de tu corazón dejaron de ser ignorados por tu cerebro. Ahora sí, tu lengua empezó a quejarse de su sequedad. Ahora sí, habías notado aquel indescriptible.

Desafíamelo con biología o con física, pero sentiste como si Park Sunghoon te hubiera activado, encendido, creado. Por aquella milésima de segundo que aquel contacto visual duró, Park Sunghoon pareció autodenominarse como dueño de tu cuerpo, controlando tus acciones con una simple mirada, manipulándote a su semejanza. Pero esto no era posible y, buscando ignorar la grandiosidad de las nuevas emociones que acababas de descubrir en ti misma, tras ver como él, sin inmutarse, rompía aquella conexión, miraste hacia otro lado.

Lado en el que se encontraba Aerin y el resto es historia.

Ahora que te encontrabas observándola durante largos periodos de tiempo, buscando que no se enterase de las miradas furtivas que le estabas lanzando a Park Sunghoon inconsciente de las mismas y el cual se encontraba bajando las barrocas escaleras de la entrada principal de la Academia, notaste la gran diferencia entre él y Aerin.

—Entiende que, por mucho que ya hayan pasado dos meses desde mi ruptura con el ser desgraciado...— Hizo una mueca con los dientes que los dejó pintados de su llamativo pintalabios rosa. Rápidamente gesticulé el mensaje y, sin vergüenza alguna, pues Sim Aerin nunca sentía vergüenza de ella misma desde el ser desgraciado; y tras una sonrisa que, como siempre, nunca le llegaba realmente a los ojos, continuó. —Lo que equivale a tres meses en el curso y por tanto, el final del semestre, he decidido dar un evento—.

Sonrió triunfalmente. No era la primera vez que Aerin hacía este tipo de "eventos", término con el que realmente definía una fiesta privada dónde lo ilegal se volvía legal por el dinero en la cartera de papá, el director de Bram Stoker, tataranieto del verdadero Bram Stoker. Nunca habías asistido a aquellas fiestas encubiertas porque eran para los alumnos SSR, es decir, los hijos de los principales dirigentes, tanto económica como políticamente, de la alta sociedad del país. Estos alumnos se diferenciaban del resto con una corbata carmesí y, aunque no pareciese real, no había un clasismo encubierto. No existía a diario una gran diferencia entre ellos y el resto de alumnos. De esta forma, que Aerin se hiciese mejor amiga de una de las estudiantes nuevas becadas de tercer año, tú, no le sorprendía a nadie.

Ni siquiera existía un trato especial para con estos alumnos por parte de los profesores. Es como si ellos hubiesen con su personalidad y acciones, hecho olvidar al resto de su verdadera posición social. Gesto que se observa en cómo no existía un grupo de populares diferenciados intocables. Salvo el grupo de Park Sunghoon, alumno obviamente SSR que junto a sus amigos Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon y Niki; se mantenían como el único grupo en todo Barm Stoker conformado por sólo alumnos SSR de distintos cursos.

Aerin y tú érais del mismo curso que Sunoo y, pese a lo anterior mencionado, Sunoo había mantenido plenas conversaciones amigables contigo e incluso él te consideraba una amiga. Pero no del grupo que, desde tu punto de vista, parecía una fraternidad llena de secretos. 

Podía ser que era por malas experiencias del pasado, pero una parte de ti siempre esperaba lo peor de Aerin, o lo peor de Sunoo. Todos ellos compartían esa sonrisa que jamás llegaba a sus ojos, un gesto que, bajo tu juicio, resonaba a una amistad llena de un vacío que jamás se podría cubrir. Aunque también podía ser simples suposiciones, pues Aerin no había sido mas que amable y Sunoo, más de lo mismo.

Cierto era que habías notado una ausencia de envidia o celos de los alumnos de tu rango hacia ellos. Ni una queja, ni ningún mal deseo. Ni una revolución. Es más, parecía que estaban deseosos de tener la atención de los SSR, especialmente de Sunghoon, la cara de la Academia. Un deseo que no compartías y que, siempre que escuchabas conversaciones en el baño de las chicas o tus compañeros de clase te comentaban algo entre as líneas de "ojalá poder estar con ellos", la extrañez era sembrada en tu interior. No te habías acercado primero ni a Aerin ni a Sunoo y no creías que hubieras tenido esa necesidad si ellos no lo hubieran hecho. Y, con respecto a Sunghoon, mientras sus ojos no se encontrasen con los tuyos, escapar era todavía posible.

—¡Qué buena idea!— Dijiste sin saber muy bien qué responder ante la noticia de otro evento al que, por normas establecidas desde un criterio un tanto desconocido para ti, alumnos de tu rango no estaban invitados. Aerin frunció el ceño rápidamente y sentiste un miedo irracional a haber dicho algo equivocado o a que hubiese notado tus miradas furtivas hacia Park Sunghoon. —¿Por qué el desinterés?— Su comentario, como tantos otros que desde su ruptura con Sunghoon te había dirigido, volvió a descuadrarte por un instante. Pero, y similar a lo que siempre sucedía, como si se hubiese acordado de algo tremendamente importante, ignoraba su propio comentario, en este caso una pregunta, para continuar con su monólogo, volviendo a sonreír de esa forma tan... SSR.

Aquel cambio en la actitud de Aerin hacia ti en instantes como éste fue paralelo a su desastrosa ruptura con Sunghoon. Dos semanas tardó Aerin en darse cuenta de que verdaderamente Sunghoon iba en serio en aquella conversación que, sin querer, habías escuchado un sábado lluvioso de noche, volviendo de la biblioteca de la Academia, dirigiéndote a los dormitorios que te correspondían, los de los alumnos no SSR, los azules. Además del lujo, la única diferencia con los otros era que se encontraban en un edificio separado de la Academia, al aire libre.

El libro de Literatura Universal era bastante pesado y ocupaba incómodamente gran parte la circunferencia deforme que tus brazos doblados y unidos realizaban para poder agarrarlo. Tus bailarinas negras sin tacón conseguían no hacer ruido al entrar en contacto con el suelo de baldosa a cada paso, siendo sólo posible escuchar el ruido de la lluvia. Hasta que, justo cuando ibas a girar la esquina para seguir con tu recorrido, la voz de Aerin te hizo pararte en seco justo cuando te ibas a adentrar en el pasillo en el que ella estaba.

—¿Cómo que quieres romper conmigo? ¿Tú sabes con quién estás hablando ahora mismo?— Su voz sonaba con un toque de ferocidad que jamás habías escuchado en ella al sólo conocerla desde hace un mes en este momento. El silencio le respondió. —No sólo asientas con la cabeza, Sunghoon. Eso siempre me ha sacado de quicio— Recordaste cada vez que asentiste como respuesta a una pregunta de Aerin y fue ahí donde empezaste a notar esa sonrisa SSR y, así, el modelo de sonrisa SSR.

Escuchar el nombre del mencionado te cortó la respiración del susto. ¿Por qué del susto? ¿Qué es lo que pasaba? Seguías confundida por cómo te estabas sintiendo mientras tratabas de pegarte a la pared, escondiéndote. Apretaste más el libro contra ti. 

Entonces escuchaste la voz que llamaba al latido de tu corazón a revolucionarse, como si fuese dueña de ellos, de él. Pero no de manera romántica, sino de una forma primitiva, casi depredadora. Sonaba grave, aterciopelada y un poco nasal. A tus oídos, estúpidamente un Beethoven. ¿Cómo era posible que una voz fuese catalogada de esta manera por cómo tu cuerpo se sentía al escucharla? No sabías.

—Cállate. Me tienes harto, Aerin— Frío.

—Nunca quise esto y sólo acepté por mi padre y lo sabes— Egoísta.

—Ah, espera... No me digas... ¿Te has enamorado de mi?— Narcisista.

Podías hasta casi oír la sonrisa ladina burlesca con la que había pronunciado aquellas palabras.

Fue tal y como Aerin en dos semanas te describiría a Park Sunghoon. 

Sus palabras tan duras envueltas en el sonido tentador que su voz era te aterrorizó por completo porque, en vez de cesar todo aquel juego que considerabas individual del observar el efecto que Park Sunghoon tenía sobre ti, no cabía en tu cuerpo la necesidad de volver a jugar. Así, te fuiste de aquel pasillo sin escuchar más.

Dos semanas después te "enteraste" de lo sucedido y, a partir de ese encuentro, notaste el cambio en Aerin y el esquema, además del espejismo, en el que todos los SSR parecían estar dentro.

—Bueno, olvida eso. Lo importante es que, esta vez, estás invitada— Dijo Aerin cambiando de actitud mientras daba saltitos y te abrazaba efímeramente. No te dio tiempo a corresponder el abrazo. —¿Cómo? Pero, ¿eso es posible? ¿No va contra las normas?— Aerin te miró como si tuvieras tres ojos y no dos durante un momento, para después ignorar tu negación. —Todo está permitido y es legal, creo que ya sabes quién soy— Se rio y la mención de su identidad te produjo un escalofrío.

La principal razón por la que existía una aparente igualdad entre los alumnos era porque nadie hablaba de quienes eran en realidad. Todos lo sabían, pero ellos jamás habían forzado ese conocimiento en el resto. ¿La razón? Desconocida. Así, te reíste nerviosamente, haciendo como si no hubieses escuchado sus palabras. Los ojos de Aerin brillaron. Respuesta correcta.

—No acepto un no por respuesta. El impresentable va a estar allí y necesito a mi mejor amiga para que me apoye— Su brazo rodeó tus hombros mientras os girabais para ir a clase, apareciendo Park Sunghoon en tu campo de visión, el cual estaba hablando con Heeseung y Jake cerca de la escalera por la cual le habías visto bajar inicialmente.

Estabas tan centrada en Aerin que pensaste que Park Sunghoon sólo había bajado las escaleras para después desaparecer, pero parece que había estado ahí todo el tiempo tras encontrarse con sus amigos. Fue inevitable no mirarlo mientras se te secaba la garganta y decías un "Claro Aerin" al no poder dejar jamás que ella te pirase mirándole. Aerin casi paró en seco tras darse cuenta de la presencia de Park Sunghoon. Tras titubear un momento, retomó el paso a una gran velocidad que te sorprendió. Así, con tu mente sumergida en la sorpresa, tus ojos aprovecharon para dirigirse hacia él y tu corazón latió con fuerza. Como siempre, Park Sunghoon parecía inmune a hacer contacto visual contigo. Te miraba como si estuviera mirando al vacío, haciendo un contacto similar al que haces al confundirte y sonreírle a una persona que en verdad, estaba mirando a otra parte.

Así habías llegado a la conclusión de que, en verdad, debía de estar siempre mirando en otra dirección. No provocabas en él lo que el provocaba en ti. Además, no sentías que el mismísimo Park Sunghoon mirase en tu dirección las mismas veces que tú le mirabas.

Tu interior quería su atención, la necesitaba de una forma que nunca conseguía dejar de sorprenderte. Pero él seguramente miraba a Aerin, arrepintiéndose estos dos últimos meses de su decisión de abandonarla, de ser ese Park Sunghoon frío, egoísta y narcisista, de no ser él. La conexión tan individual que sentías hacia él te hacía pensar de esta manera, apenas sin conocerlo. Unos dirán idealización, otros dirán una búsqueda de entendimiento de tus propios gustos. Yo digo una satisfacción de los deseos de tu yo más profundo que parecía que sólo él podía brindarte...

Pero él estaba por Aerin. Estabas convencida.

Pero oh, cómo te equivocabas.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

Tras llegar al comedor casi escapando de su ex, Aerin te sentó en uno de los bancos, justo al lado de Sunoo. La miraste con duda, temiendo su reacción ante el encuentro con Park Sunghoon. Pero, para tu sorpresa, y en contradicción con sus apretados puños casi blancos por sus puntiagudas uñas, estableció. —El evento es este sábado, siento que te avisara tan tarde pero me estaba asegurando de que pudieras venir con seguridad y déjame decirte que... qué segura estoy— Pronunció esto último mirando hacia el horizonte, gesto que te descuadró un poco. Miraste a Sunoo, el cual te la devolvió con una sonrisa ladina. —¡Hay que prepararse!— Le sonreíste de vuelta mientras un sentimiento asfixiante se asentaba en tu pecho. Lo llamaste hambre pero y tras comer, el hambre no puede durar... ¿verdad?

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

Park Sunghoon no estaba mirando a Aerin precisamente. Desde que te vio por primera vez, todas sus convicciones de haber estado vivo temblaron -y mira que ha estado vivo por mucho tiempo-, ya que fue observándote (y después de hacerlo) cuando fue totalmente consciente de que no estaba ciego, de que sus ojos observaban una realidad cuyos colores sólo podía conocer a través de ellos, que realmente observar es una acción impersonal en la que el objeto que ha conseguido toda su atención, se vuelve lo más importante para él, aunque sólo sea por un segundo, una milésima, un simple pestañeo.

Cuando Park Sunghoon te observaba, no podía centrarse en nada más. Pero esta esclavitud de su concentración no estaba producida por resultar cautivado ante tu presencia, no. Era porque, por muy irracional que sonase, Park Sunghoon se sentía responsable de cada movimiento que hacías, cada respiración, cada paso. Era totalmente exasperante. Poco a poco, su sanidad se veía intoxicada por ti y, cuando eran tus ojos los responsables de su gran carga, Park Sunghoon quería más de ti. ¿El qué exactamente? No tenía ni la remota idea. O de eso se intentaba convencer.

Tampoco, según él, tuviste ninguna influencia en su decisión de terminar su trato, su engaño con Aerin. Y, tras ahora abandonar el hall con su ex, tampoco sintió las inmensas ganas de que te dieras la vuelta, volviéndole a brindar toda tu atención.

—Parece que Aerin te sigue odiando, Sunghoon— Sim Jake mencionó mientras que, con los brazos cruzados en el pecho, hacía una mueca de cansancio hacia donde Aerin antes se encontraba contigo. Eran primos lejanos y, tantos años juntos (demasiados), habían creado una atmósfera un tanto extraña. Su pelo rubio se movió también, al nunca estar tan controlado por Jake como le gustaría. Esto lo distrajo por un momento y no se fijó en como Sunghoon siguió mirando hacia aquella salida, contemplativo. Gesto que no paso de largo por Lee Heeseung.

—Ah, ya.— Fue simplemente lo que Sunghoon le respondió. A esto, Jake gesticuló con cierta energía.

—¿Esa es tu reacción? ¿No estuvisteis saliendo juntos durante todo el verano?—Sunghoon miró a Jake con cierto aburrimiento.

—Nunca fue seriamente— Jake miró con shock a Heeseung mientras cerraba la boca.

Heeseung, tras mirar un segundo a Sunghoon, hizo contacto con Jake y tras ver su sorpresa, rompió su silencio. —¿Qué? ¿No lo sabías?— Jake negó con la cabeza un poco, todavía sorprendido. Heeseung rio mientras le daba un suave golpe en el brazo. —Eso te pasa por siempre irte a Australia en verano— Jake lo empujó y comenzó a caminar hacia el comedor, negando con la cabeza.

—No es mi culpa que mi familia sea de allí— Refunfuñando, fue seguido por Heeseung. Sunghoon, un tanto sonriente ante las reacciones de su amigo, les siguió también, unos pasos por detrás.

Jake, que iba unos pasos más por delante, se giró y, tras dirigirle una mirada de disculpa, se colocó junto a Sunghoon. —No pasa nada, Jake— Rio este último mientras Heeseung esperaba a que llegasen a su altura, aprovechando para seguir observando la actitud de Sunghoon. —¡Perfecto entonces! Porque me acabo de acordar de la gran noticia. Aerin hará otro de sus eventos este fin de semana—.

Llegaron a la altura de Heeseung y Sunghoon simplemente resopló. —Vamos Sunghoon, el rol de vegetariano no te va muy bien—

Heeseung miró a Jake de soslayo, esperando que no siguese por ese camino. Sunghoon se tensó al momento. —No soy un asesino—.

Su tono frío le recordó a Jake por qué era un tema sensible pero, buscando reconfortar a su amigo, continuó.

—Tranquilo Sunghoon, es sólo pasarlo bien. Nunca ha muerto nadie así que no deberías— Heeseung interrumpió. —Mejor cambiamos de tema, ¿vale?—

Siendo el mayor de los tres, tanto Jake como Sunghoon dejaron de mirarse para asentir y continuar caminando. —Ahora que lo pienso no se si suena tan bien... Aerin va a llevar a su amiga, así que será su protegida— Jake lo mencionó con toda la buena intención del mundo, pero a Sunghoon no le gustó ni un pelo el tono decepcionante que usó Jake ni la mirada compasiva que Heeseung le dirigió.

Una necesidad casi primaria de prohibir a todo aquel que no sea él de mencionarte en los términos a los que Jake se refería perforó sus instintos y casi llegó a hablar para expresar tu súbito estatus como suya. Claro que Sunghoon fue el primero que se paró a sí mismo, extrañado ante sus sentimientos y negando absolutamente una posibilidad de necesitar protegerte o, peor aún, de morderte.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

Llegó el sábado sin anormalidad ninguna. Tampoco era como si estuvieses esperando algún cambio en la monótona vida académica que llevabas, o eso te repetías continuamente. El final del semestre se había dado el día después de que Aerin te invitara a aquel evento y de que te lo anunciara. Así pasaste el miércoles, jueves y viernes sin clases en tu dormitorio sólo compartido por ti y tu soledad. Aunque no sólo estuviste pudriéndote en tu cama con un buen libro, sino que también quedaste con Aerin y Sunoo en una especie de bosques interiores que existían en la Academia.

Un diseño arquitectónico que jamás habías visto, pues toda la academia se encontraba cubierta de patios interiores con la única excepción de la salida a los dormitorios de los alumnos azules.

Acostumbrada a las ventanas y, especialmente, a estar en contacto con el Sol, la estructura de las aulas y de la academia entera en general te resultó al principio un tanto agobiante. Techos infinitos que formaban triángulos afilados apoyados en altas paredes que sólo se encontraban agujereadas por ventanas en lo más alto. Escuchar por primera vez las campanadas de lo que parecía Notre Dame te había sorprendido. Antes de trasladarte, sabías de la apariencia tétrica de la academia, pero cada techo formaba un escondijo perfecto para el mismísimo Fantasma de la Ópera.

Pero nadie más que tú parecía extrañada, así que la normalidad fue sencillamente fácil de alcanzar.

La tela roja que conformaba tu vestido imitaba a tu propia piel al abrazarse con gracia y elegancia a la silueta de tu cuerpo. Sunoo te había convencido para elegir aquel vestido, haciendo hincapié en su gusto exquisito, cualidad que la misma Aerin no compartía pese a ser también una alumna SSR. Ella vestía bien, pero Sunoo más. La mirada indescifrable que Aerin te había regalado tras verte con aquel vestido a la salida de la academia (el evento se celebraba en una de las tantas casas sofisticadas de propiedad del director de la academia, es decir, del padre de Aerin), provocó una cierta inseguridad en tu apariencia. Fue Sunoo que, tras encargarse de tu pelo, asesinó cualquier sentimiento de duda.

—Estás exquisita—Estableció tras hacer contacto visual a través del espejo que el chófer de Aerin siempre traía consigo. Tu ceño se frunció ligeramente ante el uso de aquel adjetivo entre los tantos similares que podría haber usado pero, centrándote en la Luna que se dejaba ver a través del cristal, sonreíste con gratitud.

Aerin con su vestido verde oliva también lucía absolutamente preciosa y, la forma en la que había mencionado a Sunghoon con tono de venganza, entre las líneas de "se arrepentirá de haberme dejado" tras Sunoo alabarla, sonaba más a una auto convicción que una promesa.

No decidiste prestar atención a cómo siguió la conversación porque... Sunghoon. Una adrenalina provocada por un estímulo que no sabías muy bien identificar se había asentado en tu vientre, haciendo casi temblar tus manos. Ahora el hambre era adrenalina.

Tu intuición te avisaba de que hoy no iba a ser como las otras veces, una presa que consigue escapar por la indiferencia de su depredador. Hoy, tu intuición te hacía asesina de tu propio juicio, o eso es el destino que ésta selló. ¿Iba a ser así? No tenias la prueba científica... ni siquiera sabías exactamente por qué te sentías así. Pero, cada vez que Park Sunghoon se hacía camino entre tus otros pensamientos hasta llegar al centro de tu mente consciente, la adrenalina se descontrolaba. Morirías de hambre a este paso.

Aunque tu juicio, todavía vivo, no quiso atender, ya que ¿por qué pasaría algo con Park Sunghoon justo hoy tras tres meses de simple atracción no correspondida?

De nuevo, erraste en el primer momento en el que estableciste que a Park Sunghoon le eras indiferente.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

El trayecto fue corto y simple, lleno de ilusión. No sabías que te esperaba y la cantidad de anécdotas que Aerin y Sunoo te contaban hicieron que tuvieses grandes expectativas. Tenías pensado pasarlo bien, intentando ignorar tus presentimientos, ya sean malos o buenos. Además de que todo iría bien, como muchas veces Aerin y Sunoo habían repetido porque ibas en calidad de su "protegida". Todavía no habías entendido muy bien qué significaba aquel término y las respuestas evasivas de Aerin no te aclaraban nada. Pero como estabas centrada en disfrutar del momento buscando cesar tu personalidad de naturaleza tan responsable que te ahogaba con el constante recordatorio de la existencia de consecuencias que tus actos podían llegar a producir, no insististe más.

Hasta que los viste. Varios pares, casi centenares, brillantes y puntiagudos, escondidos, casi tímidos en las distintas bocas por las que se asomaban. Colmillos.

Entrar en la fiesta que se estaba dando en la piscina no supuso ningún alteridad de tu intención inicial: pasarlo bien porque todo iría bien. Ni rastro de colmillos, nada. Simplemente te extrañaron dos cosas. La primera: ¿cómo una fiesta con tanta gente tenía tan poca iluminación, dependiendo solamente de la luz de la luna para ver? Aerin te habló de un apagón temporal. La segunda: ver la cantidad de parejas que se encontraban besándose en el cuello. Sunoo te dijo que eras demasiado inocente, hecho probablemente cierto.

Nada alarmante, nada alterante. Hasta que, tras estar bailando cinco canciones seguidas con Aerin y Sunoo (realmente te lo estabas pasando en grande), un pin pon con un borracho Jungwon y un descanso en la cocina con Jake y más conocidos; te excusaste para ir al baño.

Llevabas cerca de dos horas en aquella fiesta y sin una gota de alcohol en el estómago (sorprendentemente sólo había vino y Aerin no te lo recomendó al ser de mala calidad, pese a, después y desde la cocina, verla bebiéndolo), pensaste que buscar el baño no iba a suponer un gran reto. Pero te perdiste y caminando por el segundo piso sin rumbo alguno, la suerte preció estar de tu lado cuando lo encontraste.

Todo iba tan bien, tan perfectamente bien que mientras acercabas tu mano al pomo de la puerta entreabierta sonreíste para ti misma, sintiendo que habías juzgado todo demasiado meticulosamente, dándole la razón a tu madre. Hasta que lo escuchaste.

—Muérdeme, por favor— Una voz femenina y un sonido de piel desgarrándose rompieron el silencio de aquel blanco pasillo del segundo piso y, levantando la cabeza, viste a un Heeseung mordiéndole el cuello a una chica que no conocías haciéndolo sangrar.

Tus mofletes se calentaron y te apartaste rápidamente. Los gemidos de ella y los gruñidos de él anularon cualquier sonido que pudiste llegar a hacer mientras te alejabas, buscando volver a la piscina. Buscabas quitarte aquella imagen de la cabeza, aunque la sorpresa era indudable. Sabías que había gente a la que el dolor le producía placer y nunca te habías considerado una de esas hasta que viste aquella sangre corriéndole por su cuello. ¿Por qué tu cuello no paraba de palpitar?

Bajaste la escalera y echando una ojeada al primer piso para distraerte, volviste a encontrarte con la misma posición. En este caso, era Jake con una chica que tampoco conocías. Rápidamente seguiste bajando las escaleras, llegando al porche. Tu corazón latía demasiado fuerte y decidiste pese a lo que Aerin te había dicho, beber el vino servido. Necesitabas alcohol para quitarte aquella sensación.

Así te llevaste el vaso a la boca en la soledad de una desierta cocina. Todos estaban en la piscina bailando o besándose el cuello, pues la cantidad de parejas parecía haberse multiplicado desde el inicio de la fiesta. Verlas así te devolvió el recuerdo de lo que minutos antes habías visto y, ya sin dudas, te llevaste el vaso a la boca.

Un sabor metálico y un tanto caliente hizo contacto con tu lengua. Escupiste al momento. ¿Por qué aquel vino sabía a sangre? Abriste la nevera con la necesidad de quitarte aquel horrible sabor de la boca y las viste.

Más de veinte envases de plástico con etiquetas que ponían nombres de distintos animales en rojo te recibieron tras abrir la nevera. Era sangre de animal. El estómago te dio un vuelco y sentiste arcadas. Rápidamente fuiste al grifo y bebiste agua pese a nunca gustarte beber de él.

Mientras te limpiabas la boca notando que el gloss todavía resistía en tus labios, lo que habías visto anteriormente ya no te pareció una simple coincidencia. Así, con el ceño fruncido y una valentía calculadora, te acercaste a la piscina y observaste tus alrededores,¡. Destellos blancos similares a perlas parecían reflejar la luz de la Luna en aquellas parejas que ya no estaban unidas por un beso. Mirándolo mejor, era un mordisco.

Tu respiración se aceleró casi entrando en un ataque de pánico hasta que viste la figura de Aerin y Sunoo. Sinti��ndote infinitamente aliviada, ibas a empezar a caminar para ir hacia ellos hasta que Sunoo abrió la boca tras acercarse al cuello de Aerin y viste con tus propios ojos como los dientes de Sunoo se transformaban en afilados colmillos que perforaron la piel de Aerin, haciéndola sangrar.

Las caricias de Aerin y sus ojos cerrados por placer fue la señal que necesitaste para darte cuenta de que había un consenso, de que esto era normal, de que esto era lo que pasaba en estos eventos.

Tu mente empezó a dar muchas vueltas, especialmente por el hecho de que no sabías muy bien qué tipo de culto de imitación vampírica se estaba llevando a cabo. Tu respiración se aceleró y entraste de nuevo en la casa, buscando escapar. Subiste la escalera hasta el primer piso sin darte cuenta de que Jake podría seguir allí (tampoco pensaste en ello del estado de shock en el que estabas entrando). Esta vez subiste hasta arriba de todo, no parando en el segundo piso. Necesitabas alejarte de fuese lo que fuese que estaba pasando abajo y, por alguna razón, ir arriba del todo. Necesitar ir arriba del todo.

Rápidamente, llegaste a la cima de las escaleras que consistía en una puerta ligeramente normal para el lujo del resto de la casa. Estaba entreabierta y la brisa nocturna salía de aquella. Justo lo que necesitabas en ese momento, lo que más anhelabas en ese momento estaba detrás de esa puerta. Así, cumpliste esa necesidad abriéndola y penetrándola.

Con las manos en los bolsillos y sus dos mechones de flequillo moviéndose en un dócil aleteo que la brisa nocturna provocaba, la figura esbelta e imponente de Park Sunghoon te recibió y sus profundos y mortales ojos se clavaron en tu persona sin titubeo ni expresión, pero con la intensidad de un contacto anhelado en sueños.

"Él es lo que necesito, mi sueño cumplido"

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

notes 1: la segunda parte está en camino y esta semana estará terminada... no tengo pensado hacer más así que esto sería un one shot de dos partes (?). aunque si se me ocurre algún drabble pues quién sabe juju. espero verte en la segunda parte ilysm <3

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡

notes 2: omg!! el primer fic en español que escribo por aquí... veremos. si te ha gustado puedes dar un like y rebloguear y, si te sientes amable, un comentario me haría super happy. no he visto muchos blogs escribir en español de enhypen e intimida un poco 🙂‍↔️ solo espero que te lo hayas pasado bien leyéndolo como yo escribiéndolo jusjus. i love you <3

[tentacleplains]

i make only the posts the people want to see. on that note,

WOULD THE DOL CHARACTERS SURVIVE IF THEY GOT SAW TRAPPED:

[sohrleas]

Two Birds in the Hand Chapter 6

The first snows arrive, and the Syndicate loop decides to go to the nearby town to get some last minute things before they're snowed in for the winter. They might just come away with more than they bargained for.

[goldenhypen]

; ⎯ GOLDENHYPEN’S DARK BLOOD REQUEST EVENT ?! [CLOSED]

in celebration of enhypen’s new comeback, dark blood, i will be opening drabble requests! here are the rules:

send me an ask with:

one prompt from this list;

an enhypen member of your choice;

any storyline/details/genres you’re eager to read.

reminder that this is a sfw blog, meaning, all works are sfw skdjdj

only one request per ask please!

you can submit multiple requests, just separate them into one req per ask.

please be patient! i’ll try to get all requests out asap but please understand that i do have a life outside of tumblr too :)

i would also suggest reading the general req rules before submitting anything just in case; if i receive a request that breaks any of these, i’ll have to turn it down :(

also to clarify, the drabbles don’t have to do anything with dark blood or the concept or anything (unless you want it to be!) i just thought doing prompt requests again would be fun at a time like this!

and another thing, because these will be drabbles, this means your request will likely not end up being over 1k words.

i don’t have a deadline yet but for now i’ll aim to keep it open for a week or so (keep an eye on my pinned post to see the status of requests). happy requesting! REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED!

[chuuyrr]

idk if its because of my exams (which are still not finished) but im feeling very out of this blog

[chlorinecake]

Omg did you see that @xxsunoosprincess posy. She said she won't write for nikixreader fanfics because he's young and that minors can't request FLUFF FICS for him at all and she will block them if they do like ok So you're not ok writing non expicit stuff for niki niki reader fluff for readers who are in his age group (16-18)( I'm 17) but you're ok writing a niki x Jake fanfic when Jake is a 21 year old man and him and niki probably see each other as brothers ok I see where your standards lie

Yeahhh, I went to go and read the post on her blog just now, but as a fellow writer, I respect the boundaries she’s set in place for her content, even if they may seem odd or silly to others 🥴

Sure, some of her current values might not align with her past actions, but she’s just doing what any good author should do and that’s set personal boundaries … all we should rlly do as consumers tho is either support those rules or leave it at that 🤷‍♀️

[kostium]

i will need to figure out how to place all my characters in bg3 and finish this game properly, but what i know for now is while i played mist as tav, she'd 100% be a tadpoled companion and that's the default bg3 verse.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

anxiety level: imma cry at the thought of finally having 1 hour to myself to just vibe 👯‍♀️

(time to write)

[peninkwrites]

Lines Drawn in Sand & Concrete - Ch 6 of ?

Niki feels like she's in a tea kettle. Wilbur is alive out of reluctant obligation.

[CW: description of injuries, dead bodies, discussion of suicidal thoughts.]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 5

Ch 7

Mafia AU

~ Niki & Wilbur ~

Niki doesn’t like the way things are heading.  She would have thought after Schlatt’s death there would be some peace, instead, she has new reasons to worry.  It’s like she can measure the health of the city by the attendance at the Secret City. She rarely sees any of the Badlanders, Puffy only on rare occasion, and always busy and absentminded.  Even more worrying to her, Tommy and Tubbo don’t come to the Secret City very much anymore, and never together.  Ranboo, already quiet, has gotten quieter.

Niki’s business worries have at least declined.  In Schlatt’s absence, her profits have nearly doubled, or rather, she’s kept the other half of her income she’d been making before.  She doesn’t have to reorder alcohol from Puffy as often, which is another good thing considering Puffy seems to be dealing with her own troubles at present.  In theory, Niki should be doing better than ever.  She’s not.

The bloodiest parts of this mess are probably what should scare her the most, but she isn’t sure.  Bodies are turning up in the streets, and since Tubbo has apparently taken on the mantle of controlling the streets, she’d expected the violence to die down, but it hasn’t.  The Badlanders are more aggressive, territorial and secretive, and Tubbo’s lot––she doesn’t really know what to call them, they’re certainly not Schlatt’s dogs anymore––are too bold, bold in the way a cat puffs up to scare away a bigger animal.  Attendance at the speakeasy has died down in part due to that.  People are nervous to go out at night, because if it’s not the gangs getting into petty scuffles around the block, it’s other dead.  Someone is attacking people deemed undesirable.  Niki’s speakeasy caters to no one but the undesirable.  She doesn’t know what worries her more, the dead bodies, often times faces she recognizes as local common criminals, and those she doesn’t recognize, she can guess also share similar records, or the ones who aren’t murdered. 

It seems there is one person behind this threat, or maybe a group sharing the same mask.  People will ask to spend the night at the Secret City, skittish and bruised.  They’re not hardened criminals––largely because it seems this person doesn’t like to let hardened criminals live––the people that come to her for help, injured but alive, they’re the homeless, they’re fences who work on the street, people like Karl doing something harmless like selling stolen watches, and whoever is out there, lurking like a ghost, thinks that warrants bloody retribution?  This is wrong.  All of it, whatever is happening out there, she feels like she’s trapped in the bottom of a kettle, waiting for the pressure to build and finally boil over.  She’s considered on more than one occasion moving the bakery, finding property deep in Puffy’s territory, Puffy had offered her help more than once, but she can’t bring herself to do it.  This is where she’s always been, it’s where people know to go, and changing that now, it feels unfair.  She won’t abandon any of them.  Tubbo still keeps her bakery safe, actually safe, not in any manner like Schlatt’s so-called protection, and he does so perhaps viciously, but at least for now, there’s no reason for her to move.  Not really.

Trouble does not keep itself neatly contained in the streets away from her and her family, nor is it always something so blunt as violence.  Her little brother doesn’t talk to her.  He doesn’t go out with Tommy and Tubbo.  He just works.  Niki will tell him he doesn’t have to, that she’s fine on her own and he can go see friends, but Ranboo just shrugs and says “they’re busy.  I’d rather just hang out with you right now.”  Niki isn’t used to Ranboo not telling her things, nor Tubbo and Tommy.  She prefers when they had stumbled home after getting into trouble and immediately babbled a confession at her, like her knowing was important somehow, like she could always make things right.  It doesn’t feel that long ago.  Where Tubbo had learned he could tell her when something had gone wrong and there wouldn’t be harsh consequences, where Tommy trusted her enough to not act like a guarded, hunted dog, all bark and no bite, and instead had talked to her like her help wasn’t a threat.  And Ranboo, who did things for himself and not for her for once in his life; he’d run around with his friends and had come home late sometimes and had finally had something to actually apologize to her for. 

Niki doesn’t know why that has slipped away.  Tubbo had acted oddly, cutting off Quackity and arguing in her speakeasy––Niki cannot remember Tubbo ever raising his voice like that, let alone in front of an audience––and he never looks open to conversation when he does still turn up, he just sits quietly in the corner with Jack, the two of them talking in hushed tones and Niki knows they stop talking whenever she walks too close.  It hurts, and worse than hurt, it’s wrong.  Her boys don’t sneak around her unless it’s for shoplifting from a sweet shop or trying to smuggle an injured squirrel into Ranboo’s bedroom.

The nights Tommy still turns up––rarely on the nights Tubbo is there, and never together, and if someone is there, whoever was there first will find some excuse to leave, which is profoundly wrong––if Tommy is there it’s usually to heckle Wilbur.  Tommy seems unchanged, he’s still loud and a bit rude and always ready for a good joke, but Niki knows him better.  There’s the more surface-level changes, he’s a bit scruffier than usual, and there’s this strange duality of him being more quick to refuse her offers of help and more inclined to ask for it.  She’ll ask if he wants to spend the night and he jumps to say no, but that same day he’ll ask her if she has anything leftover from the bakery that she needs to toss.  Always with a joking tone, like he’s just a teenager with a sweet tooth, but Niki knows it’s different now.  She buries the urge to ask him, “are you not eating enough?” because she knows doing so will make Tommy not accept anything. 

There are deeper changes too, ones she has to look more carefully for.  Tommy comes to the Secret City alone.  He will still talk with Ranboo, he’ll talk with her, and oddly enough he’d talk quite a bit with Wilbur, but in the pauses in between his usual rough banter, when he’s stopped taunting Wilbur, he looks tense.  He looks tense like he did before he realized the speakeasy was for people like him.  Tommy views strangers as threats or targets or often both.  He moves through the world like a prey animal and a scavenger, but Niki hasn’t seen that tension cross her doorstep in a long time.  He looks tired too.  Maybe as tired as Tubbo does.

She can’t read Ranboo anymore.  She thinks he might know more about what’s going on than she does, but she’s not sure.  She’s never not sure.  When she asks, Ranboo is always neutral and avoidant in reply, and it’s hard to decide if he looks more worried when she asks about them or if that’s just the persisting, quiet anxiety he’s worn for weeks now.

Niki is good at not prying, to a point.  She’s been perhaps too lenient with Wilbur, who had turned up so mysteriously.  She’d done the basics, told him he should look for a job, that he can’t live on their couch forever, but that doesn’t tell her much.  Wilbur had once been her best friend.  That was a long time ago.  Still, between the two of them, Niki finds it easier to dig a little more at a man she hasn’t seen in years than at her little brother about his friends who might be her little brothers too.

“Morning, Wil,” Niki says.  It’s Monday.  The Bakery closes on Mondays, it gives them time to rest from the weekend rush.  Hence, this is one of the few times she’s still in the apartment when Wilbur stirs.

Wilbur sits up blearily from the couch, curls askew.  “Morning…” He rubs his eyes.

“How are you so tired?” Niki asks.  “You don’t have a job, what is it you stay up late to do?”

Wilbur smiles halfheartedly.  “Find trouble.”  He adds more insistently, “and play for your speakeasy sometimes.”

“Could you work on finding a job before you find trouble?” She teases.  “And play at my speakeasy.  I need you there to keep me company, but maybe a proper job too.”

Wilbur wakes up a bit more in his embarrassment, sheepish.  “Er, yeah.  Probably should do that.”

“Yeah,” Niki says pointedly.

Wilbur gets up, pulling on the same wrinkled white button up he wore yesterday over his undershirt.  “You… didn’t happen to make enough coffee I could have some, perchance?”

She rolls her eyes at him and nods to the pot.

“Ah, you’re a saint,” he mumbles.

There is a brief calm, Wilbur getting himself a cup, and Niki content to lean against the counter and drink hers, thinking.  Wilbur is freshly awake.  He is not a morning person.  Niki knows he is weak and however much he’ll loathe it, it’s the perfect time to push.

“So, we haven’t had much time to talk, Wil.  Feels like you’re always running around doing something, or I’m running around doing something.”

“Oh?” Wilbur says mildly.  “Yeah, yeah guess so,” he sips coffee.

“How’s home?”

Wilbur seems to almost choke, quickly lowering his mug.  “Home?”

“You know, where you came from?  Where you’ve been living?  For the past eight years?” Niki raises her eyebrows at him.

Wilbur almost winces.  “That, uh.  That didn’t really feel like home.”

Niki laughs.  “Okay, you’re very dramatic, do you know that?”  She’s unfazed, continuing on.  She knows some, she knows quite a bit, actually.  Niki can be quiet, but she listens.  There’s something wrong with Phil and Wilbur, and while that’s not new, maybe she’d imagined he’d have grown out of it when he grew up into a proper adult.  “How’s Phil?  How’s…”  She tries to remember other things she’s learned from their brief conversations over the last months and her even briefer amount of contact with Phil over the last eight years.  “How’s your… step-mom?  Do you get along okay?”

“Kristin?” Wilbur seems surprised, as if he hadn’t imagined she was an option for a subject of conversation.  “She’s great. Like, professionally she sort of scares me, but she’s really fun and she makes my dad happy, so.”  He shrugs.  “Can’t hold her choice in business against her, really.”

Niki notes he had skipped over her question about Phil.  “She’s great, but she sort of scares you?  Professionally?”

“She’s, you know,” Wilbur sets down his mug and waves his hands mysteriously, “the Lady Death of Salt Lake City.”

“Oh.”  Niki had not heard that name before, but then again, she already knows more than she wants to about the criminals that can touch her life, let alone keeping up with the ones that don’t.  “So. When you said Phil is more working in the background..?”

“Working for her,” Wilbur nods.  “He’s got a new––well, not really new now––reputation. Angel of Death,” Wilbur says mildly like his father has done something as simple as getting a promotion at the bank.

Niki nods, processing this.  That reputation truly isn’t new to her.  She can’t imagine Wilbur hadn’t heard it before, but Wilbur seems to be under the impression the title came from Kristin.  Phil had chosen the Crowfather as his title, but the City comes up with their own names for their Gods.  It was here that label started.  Phil was a complex man.  He could be, and often had been, ruthless.  He had rules, though.  If he kills someone who still has family to leave behind, he pays for the funeral.  The payments are anonymous, but connections were made regardless.  Phil would murder someone and then lay them to rest, sometimes to the horror of and other times to the relief of their families.  Phil was an Angel of Death long before he found a Death to follow.  Niki continues carefully, nudging the subject.  “Bit of a change from the Crowfather.”

“Not really,” Wilbur says gloomily, and Niki thinks perhaps he did know that title.  “Same business.”  That blasé addition makes her reconsider.  It seems Wilbur is just as unsettled by his father’s work as before.  Niki doesn’t blame him for it.  Of course, she has a bit of a soft spot for Phil.  He’d been good to her and Ranboo.  She’s not so picky as to scorn that even if he’s done things she cannot consider as anything but awful.

Niki continues quickly, before her own line of thinking strays any more grim.  “And is Techno still around?”

“Yeah, as long as Phil is.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” she smiles.  “How is he, then?  Well, how do you think he is?”

Wilbur shrugs.  “They’re the same, Niki.  Alright?  I don’t have anything to tell you, because they’re the same as they always were,” he says coldly.  “You don’t need to bother asking anymore.”

“Wil, I’m asking because I care about them.  You’re really going to be weird about it?” Niki says almost gently, because she knows that way will get Wilbur to actually care.

He wilts.  “Sorry, I’m sorry, Niki,” he presses against his forehead, eyes closed as if warding off a headache.  “You’re right, that was… that was a bit dick-ish of me.”

“Yep.  It was a bit dick-ish,” she laughs.  “I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve missed you, Wil.”

Wilbur, as always, looks surprised.  “Yeah?  What’d you do that for?” He teases.

That gets another laugh out of her and Wilbur looks so proud of himself.  Niki doesn’t know what help this will bring, but knowing a shred more about what’s going on with Wilbur at least feels like progress of some sort.  It doesn’t touch the bigger issues haunting her life or her business, but she wants to know her best friend again, she wants him to be her best friend again.  One day.

“I do have a request for you today, Wilbur.”

Wilbur shifts, sitting up straighter.  “Oh?”

“When you’re out… finding trouble, could you also find a few job applications?  For me?”

Wilbur nods, slouching in his shame.  “I will.  I can for sure do that, Niki.”

“Okay.  I’m going to hold you to that, Wil,” she says warningly, because she knows him, and even with the best of intentions, she knows he’s just as likely to turn up with zero job applications and some grand story about what happened that day instead.

“It was… it was good talking, Niki.  Really,” Wilbur is eager to get out of this conversation.  “Um, I’m gonna… I’m gonna get a start on my day, yeah?”  He smiles awkwardly and side steps past her out of the kitchen.

She smiles.  It’s a little fun to make Wilbur nervous, and quite warranted considering his slacking on his side of their friendship.  “Bye, Wil.”

“Bye!”  The front door shuts, and Niki is once more alone.  She’d let Ranboo sleep in.  She doesn’t have especially high hopes for Wilbur, but somehow he still seems like the problem she has the best understanding of and therefore the best chance of fixing.  Niki sighs, regretting her own line of thought.  She shouldn’t have to fix any of them.

~

Wilbur had told Niki while wandering today he’d grab a few job applications.  Thus far he had not done so.  Wilbur had never had an actual job in his fucking life, and he wasn’t enthused by the thought of starting now.  He hadn’t planned on sticking around long enough to have to pay rent, but here he’s remained.  Thus far he’s just wandered the streets as per usual.  He’d deny it if asked, but right now he’s waiting for Tommy to come barreling into him.  That kid always manages to find him in this city, it’s almost impressive, if not also a bit concerning.  Thus far, the kid hasn’t showed.  Wilbur doesn’t know why that makes him nervous.  Last he saw him, Tommy had complained about the new management at the hotel giving him grief, bad enough his hands were all bloody.  It doesn’t bode well.

Wilbur also wants to go back down into the subway tunnels.  It’s not a logical draw, more it feels like a morbid compulsion, l’appel du vide and all that.  He knows there’s nothing down there for him, except maybe rats and tetanus, but nonetheless.  He’s not scared, but also he sort of doesn’t want to go without Tommy, for no reason in particular.

It’s like Wilbur summons him into being.

“Hello, you stupid swiss cheese of a man!” Tommy appears beside him, making him jump.  “Thrown yourself at any more local mob patrols lately?”

Wilbur has one hand over his racing heart.  “No.  Haven’t found the time,” he says irritably.  “The fuck d’you mean swiss cheese?”

“Oh, ‘cause you were almost full of bullet holes.”  Tommy makes finger guns.

“Right, of course,” Wilbur scoffs. “Where did you even come from?”

“The shadows,” Tommy says with a dramatic whisper.  “Actually, if you don’t mind I’d like it if you joined me in the shadows,” he’s staring at something over Wilbur’s shoulder.

“What?  Why?”

“‘Cause that man––the one across the street obviously looking for me––I currently have his wallet,” Tommy nods at an irritable man wandering in a suit and ducks back into an alley, Wilbur finding himself quick to follow.

“So, still hard at work, I see?” Wilbur says dryly.

“More so than you, I see,” Tommy says mockingly.  “Not an especially productive day, though.  I’m… I’m not tired, but I’m a bit bored of the daily grind, so!” Tommy nods like that settles the matter, excusing some weariness that Wilbur hadn’t even noticed.  Wilbur had noticed that Tommy clearly has some hangups about being seen as weak, so he doesn’t question it.

“Yeah, yeah fair enough.  I told Niki I’d pick up some job applications,” Wilbur says gloomily.

“Ha!  Have fun with that!  Chaining yourself to the Machine, huh?”  Tommy tuts him.  “Poor thing.”

Wilbur glances at Tommy’s hands, which are currently perusing his stolen wallet.  He can see cloth stained a rusted red.  “How’re your… battle wounds, then?”  He nods to them.

Tommy snaps the wallet shut, burying his hands in his pockets.  “Fine, thank you very much.  I heal like, super fast.”

“Really?  Looks like you could use some actual bandages.”

“These are basically the same thing,” Tommy pouts.  “But…” he glances at his hands in his pockets.  “If you’re buying?”

Wilbur is not as broke as he was previously, as he’s gotten at least some tips playing at the Secret City.  He gives some of it to Niki, a feeble approximation of rent, but it’s still something.  It’s definitely not much.  Not enough he should be blowing it on getting some gauze and anti-infectant for some random kid.  Wilbur sighs.

“Come on.  There’s a drugstore around the corner.”

“I know there is.  This is my city.”

“It’s mine too!  I’ve lived here longer than you have.”

“Yeah, but it’s changed since you were here, old man,” Tommy nods wisely.  He stops outside the drugstore.  “I’ll wait here.  I’ve definitely nicked shit from here before and they won’t want to see me.”

“Haven’t you nicked shit from everywhere?”

“Yeah, but here I got caught.”

“Touché,” Wilbur smiles, amused before entering the shop.  He grabs gauze and neomycin before heading up to the counter.  “A pack of Marlboros too.”

The man behind the counter nods, grabbing a pack.  Wilbur glances at the register and what it rings up to.  He stares doubtfully at his own wallet, hesitating over his lineup.  He grabs the neomycin, intending on putting it back, but as he turns he sees movement out of the corner of his eye and glances over to see Tommy pressing against the glass and making faces at him.  Wilbur buries a laugh.

“Actually, scrap the Marlboros.  This is it for me,” he puts the antibiotic back on the counter, only processing his own choice after the fact.  It unsettles him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Nonetheless, he returns to the street.  “Here,” he shoves the gauze and neosporin into his hands.

“Thanks, man!” Tommy sits down right there on the window ledge and begins peeling the scraps of sheets off his cut up hands.

“Wait, you’re not gonna wash them first?” Wilbur reaches out to stop him.

Tommy looks amused, glancing around the street.  “You see a bath anywhere?  Trust me, the river will do way more harm than good.”

“No, that’s not what I–” Wilbur sighs.  “Come on,” he nods toward the store.

Tommy shakes his head.  “No, it’s like I said, they won’t want me in there–”

“Who gives a shit?  I’ll go with you, we’ll go to the bathroom, and I’ll help you dress them,” Wilbur says more insistently.  He’s more surprised when Tommy doesn’t continue to protest, just stands to follow.  Tommy looks surprised as well.

Tommy very deliberately stays behind Wilbur, whistling and scanning the shelves in the most conspicuous way possible, until Wilbur drags him into a vaguely horrifying bathroom.

“Honestly, this feels worse than the street,” Tommy crinkles his nose.

Wilbur gives him a look.  “Wash your hands.”

Tommy rolls his eyes but obliges, wincing all the while.  Wilbur stares disapprovingly at the crusted blood and cracked scabbing of the cut across either hand.  Tommy’s hands are also filthy.  Wilbur is also trying to bottle every screaming warning about infection; he knows Tommy isn’t exactly in a place to take good care of himself.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” Tommy mutters.  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to pick pockets in these conditions?”

“It’s not like I did that, why’re you complaining to me?”

“Because you’re here.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes.  “Fine.”  He shoves a wad of paper towels at him.  “Dry them.”

“I know how to dress a wound, dickhead!  Just ‘cause I’m not rich enough to buy all this fancy shit doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dress a wound,” Tommy snaps.  “And I don’t need your help!” He says when Wilbur reaches toward him.

“Your hands are hurt!  You need hands to dress a wound!  Come on, man, stop being a little bitch and just let me,” Wilbur snaps back.

“Fine!  Fine, go for it!  If you want to play doctor, fine!” Tommy rolls his eyes, muttering, half under his breath, “call me a little bitch… from the king of little bitches…”

Wilbur ruefully does so, pasting antibiotic cream onto the cuts, Tommy flinching and pulling away as it burns.

“Ow!  Careful!” Tommy whines.

“It’s so it doesn’t get infected!” Wilbur snaps.

Tommy grumbles wordlessly before trailing off grumpily.

It’s quiet for a time, for once Tommy without anything snarky to say.  Wilbur gets nervous when the silence continues by the time he starts wrapping one hand in gauze.  He glances up, but Tommy is just watching him work with a solemn frown, wary and unsure, like he’s expecting Wilbur to do some harm.  Wilbur deigns not to think on that too hard, instead he refocuses, finishing wrapping Tommy’s other hand.

“Oooh, look at me, I’m Wilbur I can wrap cuts like an expert, I’m so smart,” Tommy says in a high voice, staring at his wrapped hands with clear satisfaction.

“Is that supposed to be a thank you?” Wilbur says dryly.  “Take this, okay?  Just… Don’t let your hands get so grubby,” Wilbur shoves the rest of the roll of gauze and antibiotics into his hands.

“Right, I got a choice in that, do I?” Tommy scoffs.

“Come on.  This place is fucking rank,” Wilbur heads back out the door.

“My hands still hurt.”

“Tough luck.”  They return outside, Wilbur rummaging in his pockets.  “Actually, I’ve got something else for you.  You still got that torch on you?”

“What?  Yeah, why?” Tommy asks suspiciously.

Wilbur offers Tommy two batteries.  He’d been holding onto them for a few days now, having scrounged them from Niki and Ranboo’s junk drawer.  “Fancy another trip into the tunnels?”

“Oh, I knew there was a catch!  What, you think ‘cause you buy a guy a bandage that he has to follow you around and obey your every whim?!” Tommy scowls, genuinely reproachful.

“What?  No!  No, that’s not why I got you a fucking bandage, are you joking?  If you don’t wanna go, I don’t care, I just thought…” Wilbur doesn’t know what he just thought.  “I dunno.  Might be another adventure.”

“I don’t need more adventure.  I’m fuckin’ made of adventure.  I’ve got oodles of adventure.”

“Okay, then don’t come,” Wilbur shrugs, still walking in the general direction of the maintenance entrance they had fled through before.

Tommy keeps pace.  “Wait, wait but that doesn’t mean I want you to go alone!  You’ll get eaten by rats, remember?”

Wilbur laughs.  “I knew you’d want to come.”

“You knew I’d what?  You knew I’d fucking want to what?”

“Shut up!” Wilbur cackles.  “You’re the most annoying fucking child!”

“And you want me to follow you into some fuckin’ dark-ass tunnels?  Hm?  You’re fucking bonkers.  I’m not about to get serialed by a man talking about come–”

“Get what?  Get cerealed?”

“Yeah!  Yeah, serialed!  As in serial fuckin’ murdered!” Tommy snaps.  He does stop in the alleyway, staring at the old maintenance door they had fled through last time.

“Wait, wait go back, you would get serial murdered?  Doesn’t that imply plural?  How the fuck would you get murdered multiple times?” Wilbur scoffs.

“You don’t know me.  You don’t know my murder history,” Tommy says aloofly.  Tommy puts the batteries in his torch, glancing up at the door on occasion like it might bite him.  “No, no but really, why the fuck do you want to go down there again?”

“Aren’t you curious?  That banging noise, look, it was probably just like… pipes settling or old machinery, but I bet we could… we could find other sneaky entrances over the city or something!” Wilbur says.

Tommy looks unenthused, but nonetheless, he’s put batteries in his torch and looks grimly prepared.  “Fine, fine I will go with you, but after this you’re buying me food, got it?”

“That… that sounds like worse bribery than me just getting you some gauze, what the fuck?” Wilbur gives him look.  “What, am I like, dangling cheese on a string down there for you?”

“Now you’ve just made it weird,” Tommy glowers at him before opening the door.  “Surprised no one else has gone down here if it’s that easy.”

“Um, that lock looks like it’s not busted and normal people obey big danger signs,” Wilbur points out as he enters the stairwell.

“Ah, psh.  Cowards!” Tommy scoffs, striding into the dark behind him before flicking on his torch.  “Oh, this is loads better!  I can actually see shit.”

“Don’t shine it in my eyes!” Wilbur hisses, batting his torch away.

“Don’t put your eyes by my torch!”

Wilbur gives him a look.

“Fine, fine, sorry,” Tommy says reluctantly.  “So, mole-man, what are we doing in the tunnels today?”

“I am…” Wilbur hesitates.  “I’m looking for this one platform.  It’s… for nostalgia reasons.”

“You’re nostalgic for a grubby ass train platform?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, striding ahead along the tracks.  They’ve been out of operation for years, but both of them keep off the actual rails.

“Yeah,” Wilbur tries to think of a reason he can give.  “Just…”

He’s saved from replying by Tommy shouting into the dark.  “HELLO?!”

Echoing back, “HELLO?!”

“HI, TOMMY!” Tommy shouts.

“HI, TOMMY!”

Tommy looks over at Wilbur, grinning.  “This tunnel is very polite.”

“Is it?  Are you and the tunnel making friends?” Wilbur says sarcastically, but he can’t resist a smile.

“SHUT UP, WILBUR!” Tommy shouts.

“SHUT UP, WILBUR!”

“See, we’re in agreement.”

“I’m not the one shouting, why do I need to shut up?”

“You were giving me sass, mister.  Tunnel and I don’t like that disrespect,” Tommy tuts him haughtily.

“And stop going ahead!  You don’t know where we’re going,” Wilbur quickens his pace to catch up.

“Oh, like you do?  Last I checked, you didn’t wander from platform to platform this way back in the olden days,” Tommy points out.

“Yeah, but I still know the direction–” Wilbur goes quiet.  There’s another noise, and it is not an echo.  It’s that same sound of metal banging together they had heard the last time.  It sounds about as close as it had the last time, that is, concerningly close.  Wilbur looks over at Tommy, to find him already staring back with wide, nervous eyes.  They listen.  There is silence for a time, the echo of the banging noise fading off, but then it resumes rapidly, three sharp bangs that echo off.  It stops for a moment, then three more, slow, measured.  Wilbur is quickly starting to doubt is “old machinery” theory from last time.

“It’s down that way, right?” Tommy whispers in the next pause, pointing down the tunnel.  He jumps when there are once more three sharp bangs.

“M-Maybe?” Wilbur says.  “The echo– I’m not sure which way.”

“I think it’s that one,” Tommy nods ahead.

Neither of them move.  The banging has yet to resume.  Knowing the direction doesn’t dictate what they do now.  Neither of them really want to see what it is, or more probable, who it is.  Tommy looks forward, shining his torch straight ahead.  The tunnel goes straight longer than the light reaches, so it shows only more blackness.

“What kind of nutcase goes banging around tunnels?” Tommy mutters.

“I mean, us kinds of nutcases,” Wilbur points out, but still he doesn’t move down the tunnel.  It’s Wilbur’s turn to jump when the banging returns without warning, three sharp clangs of metal, and a pause.

“I wanna check it out,” Tommy says, but he already looks like he regret the thought.

Wilbur waits for the next three slow bangs to fade out to reply.  “Okay.  Okay, fine, but the moment we see anything weird, we bail, alright?”

Three sharp bangs.

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy nods and seems to muster some bravery.  He starts off down the tunnel first, stopping often to look back and make sure Wilbur is close behind him, even as he can see Wilbur’s torch shining ahead alongside his.

The banging continues on like clockwork.  Three sharp knocks, whoever is responsible seems to take a break, and then continues slowly, before trying rapid knocks again.  Always in sets of three.  Wilbur feels like he’s missing something; he’s already deeply uneasy, and then his torch glances off of a shape splayed out across the tracks.  Wilbur fumbles forward, reaching out to stop Tommy, his torch refocusing on it.  It’s definitely a body.  He has a feeling they’re not merely unconscious.  Wilbur can’t see their face, they’re laid out on their stomach, head turned the other way, so all he can see is what looks like a red cloth tied around a head of short, dark hair.  There’s definitely blood, covering the arm visible to them.

Tommy spots what his torch is shining on, and to Wilbur’s shock, starts running forward.

“Oh fuck, no, nononononono, hold on a fucking second, it can’t– no, oh my fucking god, no fucking way, it can’t be, it can’t be– f-fuck–” Tommy babbles frantically, voice high and hoarse, words almost overlapping.  Wilbur lunges forward to stop him when he runs toward the strange corpse in the dark, but Tommy is too quick.  Tommy falls to his knees by the body, and before Wilbur can warn him of the hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea, Tommy touches it, rolling it over onto its side.  Tommy falls back, face buried in his hands, and it takes a moment for Wilbur to process that he’s relieved.

“Fuck… fuck, it’s not him… it’s not him…” Tommy’s knees are tucked up into his chest, rocking slightly, sounding breathless.

“Tommy?” Wilbur says cautiously.  “Are you… are you okay?”  He asks a rather stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Tommy sniffs loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and Wilbur pretends he can’t see Tommy’s cheeks are shiny and damp in the torchlight.  Tommy stares at the corpse again, without any apparent squeamishness at the sight, he still pores over it, like he’s trying to make sure.  “It’s not him,” Tommy croaks, reassuring himself more than informing Wilbur of anything.  Wilbur dares to stare at the body’s face.  The corpse it seems had been blindfolded by a strip of red cloth, but Wilbur can still see the lower half of his face, it’s a man with a patchy beard, a narrow, crooked nose, he seems to be just a few years older than Wilbur.

“Not who?” Wilbur asks gently.

Tommy blinks, and seems to come back to himself in some way, clambering to his feet.  “Nothing,” he’s still staring at the corpse.  “Thought it was… no one.  Just, one of my mates.  An old friend.  I don’t… I don’t see him as much anymore, and he’s… he gets dragged into some shit.  Doesn’t stay out of it like I do, and I always warned him, I always told him…” Tommy trails off, moving on.  “And wears a fuckin’ red headband, and from behind, it…” Tommy nods to the blindfold, trailing off again, his thoughts disconnected.  “A-And the blood on his arm, thought maybe it was… Just from behind and a ways back, not… not the face at all, just…” Tommy shakes his head.  “It’s… it’s not him,” he repeats.

Wilbur still feels almost sick with nerves.  This exchange had happened over the course of a lull in the banging, Wilbur isn’t sure if this pause has lasted longer than the last, but he’s not sure he wants to wait around for it to continue.  “We should go, Tommy.”

“What-?” Tommy glances up at him.  “Yeah,” Tommy takes one step back the direction they had come before pausing.  “What about the… the noise?” Tommy looks both ways, as if inviting it to continue.

“Tommy, that man, he didn’t die from natural causes,” Wilbur says softly.  “And if whoever did that to him is prowling around down here…” Wilbur hesitates.  He doesn’t want to scare the kid.  “I mean, the noise hasn’t gotten any closer.  We’ve gotten closer to it.  Like…” Wilbur looks back toward the stairwell he knows is somewhere in the dark behind them.  “Like they’re trying to draw us deeper in.”  Wilbur looks back at Tommy and sees he’s certainly failed to not scare the kid.

“We… we can’t tell anyone.  We can’t tell anyone about this, about the…” Tommy doesn’t even look at the corpse now, but Wilbur understands.  “Can’t go to the cops, least I can’t.  We… we can’t explain how we were down here a-and–”

“I know, Tommy.  We should go.”  Wilbur doesn’t know why he does it, he doesn’t think, he just does, but he offers Tommy his hand.  Wilbur almost doesn’t realize he’s done it until Tommy accepts.

Tommy’s expression doesn’t indicate confusion on his side of things, but he still seems sort of hazy, so Wilbur just starts walking, guiding them back to the street.  They emerge just as the surviving streetlights kick on, but it’s still far preferable to the dark underground.

“Right, I think… I think we should get out of here,” Wilbur starts walking.  “Don’t… don’t get all defensive if I offer, but d’you want me to walk you back to the hotel?”

“Nah, I’m… I’m good,” Tommy shrugs.

“Don’t do that, man, just… let me do it, alright?  It’ll make me feel better–”

“Not everything is about you, ay?” Tommy scoffs.  “I’m not going to the hotel no more.”

“Are you still having a hard time getting inside?  I thought you figured out a way around the… the stuff,” Wilbur stops when he realizes Tommy isn’t following, instead scuffing his feet and leaning against the wall of the alley.

“No, not just that…” Tommy trails off gloomily.  “The nutter that replaced Jack, y’know the one that put razors on the windows?  Now he’s checking the empty rooms with a fucking golf club.  Thought he was gonna crack my fuckin’ ‘ead open…”

Wilbur steps closer to Tommy, immediately finding himself bottling rage and horror in equal measure.  “He came at you with a golf club?!”

Tommy steps back on impulse, scowling.  “No, he asked if I wanted to go a round and I told him I only did crazy golf- yes he swung at me, dumbass…”

“Holy shit, Tommy, you– Don’t tell me you’re going back there!  I mean, where are you gonna go?”  Wilbur doesn’t know why he feels panicked.

“Obviously not!  That’s what I just said.   I’ll…” Tommy’s feeble excuse of saying he’ll find somewhere else to crash dies with a shiver.  After the night they’ve had, he’s a little more vulnerable.  “Can I… Can I walk to Niki’s with you?  And… And I’ll figure something out on the way there.”

“Yeah, something like sleeping there.”

Tommy frowns, but he doesn’t say no this time.

~

Niki wants to talk to Ranboo.  She doesn’t know what to do with herself on her days off anymore.  Puffy doesn’t have time to go boxing with her anymore, and Eret is busy with the museum and some fancy new investments she’s made so she rarely has time to come over for their usual chats, and if Eret is busy HBomb is busy too, Karl even seems to be busy nowadays.  Ranboo is in the same boat, not that Niki really understands why.  Even if Tubbo has something going on, Tommy is always available.  Niki also has a feeling that Ranboo knows she wants to talk to him, because he’s been finding excuses to go back to his room, before realizing there’s nothing to do in there, coming back out, realizing his sister clearly having some sort of emotion towards him, and finds an excuse again.

“Aren’t you going to help me with dinner?” Niki asks as Ranboo is halfway down the hall back to his room.  He turns on his heels, looking a shred less anxious than someone walking to the gallows and nods.

“Yep!”

“Okay,” Niki can’t help but be amused.  Even if she were actually mad at Ranboo, which isn’t the word she would use for whatever she’s feeling at present, Ranboo is well past the age where she could attempt to ground him, at this point what he’s dreading is her saying she’s disappointed in him.  Which, to be fair, tends to be viewed as a death sentence by all three of them, Ranboo and Tommy and Tubbo.

Ranboo hums to fill the quiet, glancing at her often, and to her surprise, he speaks up first, methodically chopping vegetables so he doesn’t have to look over at her.  “You doin’ okay?”

“What?” She looks over at him, thrown off.  “Yeah.  I think so.  Are you?”

Ranboo doesn’t seem to believe her.  “Yeah!”

Niki doesn’t really believe him either.  Quiet for a bit, neither quite sure of how to proceed.

“How’s Tubbo?  And Tommy?”

“Huh?  Oh, I think…” He falters, "I think okay.”

“Have you not seen them much?”  She already knows the answer.  She asks anyway.

“No,” he sounds amused.  “I mean, I’ve been with you.  When would I have seen them?  I mean, you haven’t seen your friends much.”

“Well, they’re busy with criminal things,” Niki says teasingly.

“Yeah, well, mine too.” Ranboo says, his humor sharper, bitter.

“But even before, you all made time for each other, didn’t you?  Do you know why Tubbo hasn’t come to the Secret City with Tommy at all?  It doesn’t seem like them.”

“I don’t know everything they do, Niki,” Ranboo snaps.

“Ranboo,” Niki can’t help the hint of hurt in her voice.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s… it’s fine,” she sighs.  “You don’t talk to me anymore, Ranboo.  I just… I just want to know what’s happening.”

“Maybe I just don’t have much to say,” Ranboo shrugs.

“Are you… are you guys not friends anymore?”

“No,” Ranboo says quickly.  His face scrunches up, and he doesn’t even look upset really, more so worried.  “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“When else are we going to?!” Niki snaps.  “Sorry.  I’m sorry, Ranboo, I’m just… I don’t want you to lose them.”

“You say that like I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Niki grows emphatic.

“Really?” Ranboo is defensive.  “Did you have a choice when you lost Wilbur?”

Icy silence.  Niki is taken aback, a lump in her throat, because it wasn’t just harsh or startling, coming from Ranboo, saying that to her, it’s almost cruel.  Worse when he continues.

“He left you, Niki, and now you’re… you’re letting him live here…”

“You agreed!”

“I thought it was gonna be for a couple days!  Not a couple months!”

“He left everyone, Ranboo. He didn’t just leave me.”

“I don’t care about everyone!  I care about you.  And he hurt you!  And– And it’s like you’re not even mad at him!” Ranboo’s voice breaks slightly, choked up rage that isn’t just meant for Wilbur.

“It sounds like you are.”

“Because you should be,” he says accusingly.  “A-And it’s not fair that he stopped talking to you, he just… he just moved on.  He didn’t… he didn’t think about it.  Like he didn’t even care.”

“Ranboo…” Niki reaches out to him, he pulls away.  “You know it’s okay if you’re hurting right now, right?”

“This isn’t about me. Not right now, okay?  I know I– I know–” Ranboo cuts himself off, frustrated by his own emotions.  “Let’s– Let’s just pick one, and right now I… I wanna talk about Wilbur, and–”

The front door of their apartment opens.  Wilbur and Tommy enter, and immediately read the tension of whatever they have just interrupted.

“Uh.  Ayup?” Tommy gives the two of them a nod.  “Well, I’ve got you home safe, Wilbur, I ought to be going–” he turns back to the door and Wilbur grabs his sleeve.

“Tommy needs somewhere to stay.”

“Do not–”

“The new hotel manager came at him with a golf club.”

“He what?!” Ranboo is snapped out of his own brooding.

“And I kicked his ass and left!  It’s not a problem,” Tommy whines.

“Yeah, but you can’t go back, and you shouldn’t be just sleeping outside, Tommy,” Wilbur says pointedly.

“I’ve done it before!”

“No,” Niki says sharply.  Tommy stares at her, startled.  “Tommy that is in no way safe.  Not right now, okay?  You’re staying here.”

Tommy quickly realizes he no longer has a choice.  “Right… fine, but just for tonight, alright?”

Niki turns to Wilbur, just as piercing.  “Did you get any job applications?”

If Wilbur could sink into the floor, he would.  “W-Well, I… I meant to, it’s just… some things came up…”

“What?  What things?”

“Sorry, sorry, nothing, it was… it was stupid of me.  Never mind,” Wilbur winces, knowing how useless his excuses are.

Ranboo gives Niki a weighted glance that Wilbur is at a loss to understand, and Niki is resolutely ignoring it.

“Tommy, I’m sorry, but if you’re staying here, you’ve got to take a shower,” Niki nods Tommy down the hall.

“Okay, rude, not my fault that I haven’t been able to use the hotel showers in a… in a little while…” he grumbles, following her.

For a dangerous, brief amount of time, Wilbur and Ranboo are alone.

“What came up?” Ranboo asks.

Wilbur notes the hint of ice in his tone and hesitates.  “It was… it was a cheap excuse, I… I got distracted with Tommy.  That’s all.  No good reason.”

“So… so why’d you say you did?” Ranboo says quietly.

“I don’t… I don’t know.  Felt bad about it, really,” Wilbur shrugs.

“Right,” Ranboo is cool and unfeeling.  “Niki and I were making dinner.  Do you think you could help?”

Wilbur knows it’s not a request.

“Right, right, let me… let me wash my hands,” Wilbur nods, going to the sink.  “What’re you making?”

“Um, baked rutabaga and parmesan chicken?”

“Rutabaga…” Wilbur laughs fondly.  “Right.”

Silence until Niki returns.

“Thanks, Wil,” Niki says, reentering the kitchen.

“Sure!  Sure, it’s the… it’s the least I can do.”

“Yep,” Ranboo agrees quietly.

Niki gives him a warning look, before proceeding as if she hadn’t heard him.  “Ranboo, Tommy is going to borrow some of your clothes.”

“Fine with me,” Ranboo says.

Wilbur looks between the two of them, eyes wide.  He focuses on his assigned task.  A terse half hour passes before Tommy returns, hair still dripping wet, dampening the collar of one of Ranboo’s shirts.  Tommy’s had to roll up the pant legs of his jeans substantially.

Wilbur laughs.  “You look like a wet dog.”

“Do I?” Tommy strides over to him and shakes his head so water flies everywhere, largely into Wilbur’s face.

“Tommy!  Come on, man, not… not in the kitchen,” Ranboo says helplessly.

“Sorry,” Tommy rolls his eyes, before catching sight of Niki and offering with more sincerity, “sorry!”

“Ranboo, can you get your desk chair?  We need one more.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Their tiny dining table is typically only used for two, a third chair is there for a guest, but it’s rare for them to have more than that company in the apartment.  It’s far easier to host in the speakeasy.  Niki has dragged the table out from the wall so a chair can be put on the fourth side.  Wilbur helps set the table and Tommy gathers drinks and despite the lingering tension, it feels almost cozy.  The four of them have settled in, Tommy eating with a disconcerting amount of enthusiasm, but no one at the table has the heart to scold him for it.  Once Tommy has cleared a plate and gone back for seconds, he begins to peer around the table.

“Brrr. Bit chilly in here, eh?  What’s got you all up in a huff?”  Tommy is quite good and prodding the one issue everyone else is still avoiding.

Wilbur doesn’t feel like he knows what’s going on, so he doesn’t speak, Ranboo loathes the thought of being the one to speak up first, especially about confrontation, and Niki neither wants to lie to Tommy nor get into things.  Tommy waits.

“Well I think whatever has gotten you lot in a mood, you should do some soul searching, reevaluate your pri-or-i-tees,” he enunciates every syllable around a mouthful of rutabaga.  “Like, Ranboo, handsome lad like you, what on earth could be troubling that brain of yours?  You’re a baker, you’re a looker, you’re all… like, sensitive and shit, you’re a catch!  Niki, if you’ve got problems, you should just… y’know, kick their asses like you always do.  In what fuckin’ world does Niki Nihachu feel troubled by something she can’t wreck shop over?  You’ve got a badass speakeasy and everything!  You don’t fear no pigs, the state should fear you!”  Tommy nods once like that settles the matter, before refocusing on his plate.  The tension doesn’t break, but it does crack a little.

“No grand input for me?” Wilbur says dryly.

“Nah, I know why you’ve got troubles, and it’s your own fault,” Tommy shrugs.

Ranboo laughs.

“Hey!” Wilbur says, indignant.

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?  Hm?” Tommy gives him a look.

“Yeah, are you, Wil?” Niki smiles.  “I mean, you couldn’t pick up one job application?”

Wilbur is flushing red.  “Look, maybe I… I’m not thrilled at the thought of scrounging together some shitty nine-to-five with a dickhead boss…”

“How do you know what job shit is like?  You’ve never worked a day in your fuckin’ life,” Tommy jeers.

“Have you had a job before, Tommy?” Wilbur says pointedly.

“More than you.”

“I’d say both of you don’t know anything about having a real job,” Ranboo points out.

“And I’d say you don’t know much about having shitty nine-to-five and a dickhead boss,” Niki adds.  “You got lucky too, Ranboo.”

“I mean, maybe I do–”

Niki gasps, dramatically acting offended, throwing her napkin at him.

“Hey!  Hey, I’m kidding,” Ranboo hunches down which does very little to make himself a smaller target.

“I dunno, Ranbus, she’s a tough egg to crack, y’know?  She runs a tight ship.  She hasn’t put up with any nonsense as long as I’ve known her.  She’s been immovable since she was twelve, probably longer,” Wilbur teases.  Niki rolls her eyes at him, poorly masking a laugh.  Wilbur glances back over at Ranboo, startled to find Ranboo staring at him, eyebrows slightly raised, mouth open slightly like he’s unsure of how to say something, to describe whatever unreadable expression he’s currently stabbing into Wilbur’s chest.  “What?” Wilbur shifts uncomfortably.

“You haven’t called me that since I was little.”

“Well, I– I haven’t been here a lot, have I?” Wilbur stammers.

“Yeah.  Guess not.”

Tommy snorts.  “Ranbus?  That’s fucking adorable, aw, little Ranbus!”

“No, nuh uh, you’re not starting with that,” Ranboo breaks his gaze, turning sharply to Tommy.  “Not allowed!  Not for you!”  He says it like he’s trying to get a dog to drop a sock.  “I’d prefer when you call me Ranboob to you calling me that.”

Tommy grins, “aw, good to hear it, Ranboob!  I shall only respect your proper title.”

Ranboo sighs head in his hands as realizes what he’s done.  “Oh no…”

Tommy continues his teasing, and Wilbur plays along, but he’s wrapped up in deeper thoughts right now, so many old aches and pains mingling with new ones, and he doesn’t know where to put it all down.

Dinner finishes in better spirits than it had started, Tommy offering to help clean up after with the same heroics of a soldier offering to dive on a grenade, but nonetheless, he does it.

“Right, then, good night, lads– and Niki,” Tommy settles in on the floor with ease, stealing a pillow from the couch.

“Tommy, you take the couch, man. I’ve had it for ages, I should shake things up and sleep on the floor for a change,” Wilbur offers.

“What’ve you got against floors?  I got nothin’ against ‘em!  Me and floors are old friends!” Is Tommy’s attempt at a defense.

“Mhm, Tommy, where did you sleep last night?” Niki asks pointedly before she goes to her own room.

“On a bench over on 30th until one of the pigs woke me up, why?”

Niki and Wilbur exchange a look.  “Take the couch, Tommy.”

“Tommy can stay with me in my room for the night!” Ranboo says perhaps too excitedly.

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him.  “Look, Ranboob, I did admit, you’re a handsome lad, but me?  I’m shy, I’m not ready for this step in our relationship–”

“Tommy,” Ranboo cuts him off exasperatedly.  “Come on, it’ll be like when we’d have sleepovers and stuff!  It’ll be fun,” Ranboo claps and points to his bedroom door.  “Come on!  Let’s go!”

“What, are we gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about girls?” Tommy rolls his eyes but clambers off the ground to follow.

“I mean, you can talk about girls.  I don’t think I will.”

Niki smiles, fond and relieved.  Ranboo had missed having company.  None of them are acknowledging the hole, the absence once occupied for so many years by Tubbo.  He should be here.  

Even as Tommy is grateful to have a bed, as he’s missed Ranboo’s company just as Ranboo had missed his, he’s trying really hard not to get weak right now.  He refuses to cry over something as ridiculous as the idea of his best friend––his former best friend?––not being in the place he is meant to.  Tubbo has changed.  Tommy knows this, Tommy knows he should be able to let go, because that’s not his best friend anymore, in more ways than one.  At the same time, Tommy knows if Tubbo showed up right now, no matter the state, no matter the blood on his hands, Tommy would only be able to hug him, to bring him back into the fold and say “Where have you been, Bee Boy?  You’re late.  And you missed dinner.”

Instead, he just follows Ranboo, and even as neither of them say it, he can read Ranboo’s silence for the same thought.  They miss him.

~

Wilbur has a difficult time falling asleep.  He’s perturbed by troubling thoughts, thoughts he hadn’t been prepared for.  It’s a peculiar list that’s been growing.  Only looking at today, not even the past months, and it’s enough to make his head spin.  He’d forgone cigarettes to get that scrappy kid some medicine he probably won’t even use.  And when Tommy had run to the body, he hadn’t felt scared like that in a long time.  Probably in as long a time since he called Ranboo Ranbus.

“Fuck…” Wilbur mutters into the dark.  He rolls over and almost screams.  Niki is currently making her way silently across the living room, he sits up sharply.  “Niki?”

“Sh!” She presses a finger to his lips.  She motions for him to follow.  “Come on the roof with me,” she whispers.  In her other hand, she has a bottle.

“The roof-? Right, fine,” Wilbur clambers to his feet.

“Take that blanket too.”

He does so, following her to door in the back of the kitchen, within it is a pantry, and on the opposite wall, a ladder.  He does not ask questions.

Niki unlocks a trapdoor, wincing when it creaks loudly, but as far as they can tell the boys haven’t been woken.

The roof isn’t quiet.  It’s well past midnight, but there’s the wind through the buildings and cars still making their way across the city.  Niki shuts the hatch behind him, gesturing to the roof.

“Put the blanket down.  Over here so we can look out,” she nods to the front of the building.  At this angle to the street, Wilbur can see all the way to the river, to the distant lights of the bridge.  They can’t see a single star in the sky here, but there’s something beautiful about it anyway.

Niki sits on the blanket, patting the spot beside her.  She rips the cork out of the bottle with her teeth, spitting it over the edge of the roof.  She spots Wilbur’s expression out of the corner of her eye and giggles.

“I run a speakeasy, Wilbur,” she says by way of explanation.

“I don’t think most bartenders are comfortable ripping a cork out with their teeth.”

Niki shrugs.  “How would I know?  I can’t exactly meet up with other bartenders in a prohibition state.”  She takes a swig, wincing.

“Touché,” Wilbur sits beside her.  “What’re we drinking tonight?”

“Um,” she takes another swig.  “Gin.”

“Gin?”

She nods.  “It’s popular.  I thought we might as well,” she offers him the bottle.

“Might as well…” Wilbur mutters.  He takes a drink, shuddering.  “That’s… that’s some strong gin, shit.”

“Feels…” Niki mulls it over, “appropriate?”

“What’s the occasion?” Wilbur smiles, still puzzled, but also oddly delighted.  He’s missed this.

“Um, not really an occasion, more like… a goal,” she takes back the bottle, takes a swig, and passes it back, nodding at him.  He obliges and takes another drink.

“Goal?”

“To get you, Wilbur Soot, drunk enough to… to spill your guts to me.”

Wilbur had been halfway through another swig when he chokes.  “Pardon?”

Niki smiles, all mischief.  “To be fair, I am drinking too.”

“Feels like I’ve been brought here under false pretenses.”

“What pretenses?” She laughs.

“Fine.  I dunno,” Wilbur smiles, offering her the bottle.  “Okay, if we’re… if we’re spilling guts, lets do it tit-for-tat, quid pro quo.”

She nods, “wie du mir, so ich dir.”

“Wie du mir, so ich dir,” Wilbur attempts to copy her pronunciation and he can’t tell from her smile if he succeeded or failed.  “So,” Wilbur asks the first thing that comes into his head.  “Is Ranboo… is he mad at me?  He seems… well, about as pissed off as Ranboo can be, if I’m honest.”

Niki nods, like it’s an easy truth.

“He is?”

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause he knows you leaving hurt me.”

“Oh,” Wilbur feels like a weight has just pressed down harder on his shoulders.

Niki nods amicably.  “And now you’re back.  And he thinks you have a lot to prove.”

“Yeah.  I… I think I do,” Wilbur takes another swig.

“Do you have anything to do with the…” Niki gestures vaguely to the streets below.

“The what?” He’s puzzled out of his melancholy.

“The changes.  A lot of little things.  I don’t know,” she shrugs.  “It all sort of started when you turned up, and, sorry, Wil, you…” she almost looks pitying.  “You break things.  Sometimes.”

Wilbur nods, staring out at the patchy trail of streetlights, some lit, some not.  “I break things,” he agrees softly.

“Sometimes,” Niki reminds him pointedly.

He laughs, half under his breath, “sometimes.”

“There’s something wrong, Wil.  Schlatt is dead, and I thought…” Niki frowns.  “I don’t know what I thought.  When I first found out, I was mostly worried about Tubbo, but then I… I thought it was gonna fix things.”

Wilbur once more thinks of his father, and it’s hard to resist the bitterness curdling in his stomach.  “It was bad, then?”  Quiet.  He glances over at Niki, who is looking with the same thoughtfulness out at the city.  Wilbur continues, “Schlatt, I mean.”

She glances at him, clearly measuring up how little he knows.  “It’s like I said, Wil.  You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I have,” Wilbur says like it’s an apology.  It isn’t an apology.

“Drink more.  You’re bigger than me, you need to catch up,” she presses the bottle into his hands.  He obliges.

“I didn’t want to, you know.  To leave you, to leave the city,” Wilbur knows it’s a feeble defense, but it’s all he can think to say.

She still look like she knows something, something she isn’t saying, not directly at least.  “Didn’t you?”

“I…” Wilbur feels very vulnerable.  He can’t imagine Niki knowing, knowing the whole of it, but it’s clear she understands him in a lot of ways.  Which makes sense.  Niki had once been his best friend.  “I don’t know,” is what he settles on.  It’s a safe answer, maybe too safe.

Niki sighs, sitting up, legs folded beneath her.  Wilbur offers her the bottle once more and she pushes it back.  “You first, then me.”

He takes a drink.  She follows.

“You all left, you and Phil and Techno, and… and Phil leaving was hard.  He… he sent money until I asked him to stop.  He called until I… I got too busy to pick up,” she shrugs.  “I don’t know,” she echoes his sentiment, staring down at the roof.  “Techno said goodbye.  A… a pretty good goodbye, I think.  And I was… I was mostly okay for a while.  Schlatt… Schlatt didn’t get involved until I was eighteen.  That’s when I opened the Secret City, ‘cause before I was worried if I got caught while underage it would fall back on Eret’s family, so…”

Wilbur knows it’s far from important, but on impulse he asks her, almost defensive, like a childish teen rivalry has resurfaced.  “Eret?”

“Yeah.  Her family helped look after us.  You… you can’t own a business at sixteen, Wil,” Niki says wryly.  “I mean, we were on our own, really.  Me and Ranboo.  They didn’t really interfere, it just made sure no one was like, trying to take Ranboo away from me or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Wilbur feels almost embarrassed now.  “I… I understand.  Got it.”  He takes another drink.

“You said you were coming back, Wil,” Niki says softly.

“I meant to,” he says hoarsely.  He means it.

“Okay, but when you weren’t anymore, when you didn’t,” she looks over at him, eyes too shiny.  “Why didn’t you call?  Why didn’t you… why didn’t you write?  Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Wilbur feels like that look in her eyes, grief and broken trust and wounds still unhealed, like it might burn him up from the inside.  He can’t bring himself to look away.

“I don’t have any good answers for you.”

“Give me a bad one, then.”

"Fuck, I'm just a mess," Wilbur wipes his eyes.

"Yeah, you are," she says teasingly.  "Give me an answer."

Wilbur swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat, finally tearing his gaze from hers to stare at the way the bottle in his hand gleams in the streetlight.  “It was supposed to be a clean break.”  He gives the wrong excuse, but it’s the only one he has.

Niki feels an ache in her chest grow sharp.  She had expected a bad answer, but that one stings, especially when she knows what festers underneath.  “Clean…” she scoffs.  A pause, Wilbur with nothing to say in his own defense, and Niki thinking.  “I was... I was okay on my own.  Really.  Schlatt wasn't a problem until I opened the Secret City and... and when he first started showing up and taking money and... and then alcohol, I didn't... I didn't know what he was gonna do to us.  I'd never... Phil kept us away from that stuff, you know?  I... I made sure they didn't know about Ranboo," Niki nods once, as if reassuring herself, proud and certain she did right by him.  "They wouldn't fucking touch him, I made sure.  I couldn't stop them from knowing he worked there, but... they didn't know he was my family.  So, that was... a bit safer?  I think?  And... I hate this," she says vehemently.  "I hate that this is the truth, but when I stopped fighting, it got easier.  I gave them the money, my supplies, whatever they asked for.  I only fought back when... when I thought it would actually sink us, and before I got brave enough to do that I had to ask Eret for help sometimes and I hated doing that, because I knew I shouldn't have had to.  Once I gave up, his men stopped coming and threatening to break things, and instead it was just Tubbo.  It felt... it felt easier that way.  I gave up so much of what we earned, and that just became normal," she says that word like it's something vulgar.  "But I did it.  I did it.  I kept everyone safe, everyone.  I looked after them all.  Homeless kids, and Schlatt's kid, and Schlatt's boyfriend, and Schlatt's boyfriend's boyfriend, and Schlatt's doctor, and... and Badlanders and ex-Badlanders, and ex-Empire kids, because... because they were gone.  You were gone.  The Empire left us, and I wasn't gonna let that hurt us.  No way.  Maybe I didn't have Phil's authority or Techno's reputation or... or anything like that.  But I kept them all safe.  All of them," she looks at Wilbur, and he is almost in awe of the fire burning behind her eyes.  Wilbur feels so sure that if Niki wanted to burn this city down, she could and she'd probably have the right to.  The fire drains out of her, and once more she looks so tired.  "The earlier years were the hardest.  The ones where I missed you the most, Wil."  Niki takes a shaky breath.  She looks away.  "When I say Schlatt was bad, I don’t say it because I think you could’ve fixed things.  Maybe if Phil had stuck around, he could’ve made it better, but that’s different.  That’s not you.”  A pause.  Wilbur almost feels like he can’t breathe.  Niki continues, “even with the bad parts of it, really I just wanted you to be there, Wil.  You were– you were supposed to be there,” Niki says it with the certainty of a girl who had been eighteen, and alone, and scared, and trying to defend herself from threats so much bigger than her, and waiting for her brother to get taken away, and all the while wishing she could cry on her best friend’s shoulder.

“I am… I am so sorry, Niki.  I don’t expect forgiveness, I don’t, I just need you to know how sorry I am.”  A strange apology for someone utterly certain his father had dragged him out of this city kicking and screaming, but maybe he’s not talking about that kind of leaving.  Maybe Niki knows that.

Niki does not forgive him.  “I believe you, Wil.”  That counts for something too.

Wilbur has felt something building in his chest for weeks, discontent forever rising as his plans never turn out quite right and he has been unable to do the one thing he came to this city for.  A lot has changed in the past months.  His discontent finally spills over.

“I came here, I came back to the city two months ago,” Wilbur stops, taking a deep breath to stop his lip from trembling.  He quickly wipes his cheek.  He doesn’t look at her.  “I came back here to kill myself.”

Niki doesn’t say a word.  She doesn’t know what she could say, but she isn't really surprised.  She takes his hand.

“N-Not here, here.  I wasn’t… I wasn’t gonna do it in your house,” Wilbur continues to spill over, a rambling defense for something he knows cannot be defended.  “I was… I had a plan, it was… it wasn’t supposed to take this long, but I had to– It had to be– Someone else has to do it,” he says forcefully.  “I wanted it to be Schlatt.  Or Schlatt’s dogs, whatever.  If not him, any gunfire would do.  I tried prodding the Badlands, I tried going down the wrong streets and… and spraying stupid graffiti on claimed territory, and none of it worked.  Closest I got was that stupid fucking car bomb, and all it did was almost kill Tommy…”

Now Niki can think of a reply, not to the matter on the whole, but to this piece of it.  “Why?”  Wilbur glances at her, burden evident at the thought of answering that sort of question, Niki corrects.  “Why… why did it have to be someone else, I mean.”

Wilbur laughs bitterly.  “It was supposed to be for Phil?  I thought… I thought it might be nice for it to mean something, so, I thought if I got myself killed in the crossfire of some petty street violence, maybe…” Wilbur trails off, as if by voicing it aloud he’d realized the childishness of his plots.  “Maybe it would make him want to change.  To do better.  Something like that,” he sighs.

“For Phil,” Niki repeats, processing.

“Yeah,” Wilbur says wearily.

“Don’t… don’t take this the wrong way, Wilbur, but… but once all that didn’t work, why didn’t you… you know, try something else?” Niki asks carefully.

Wilbur had forgotten how direct Niki could be.  “Um, well, lots of… of little reasons, I guess.”

“Little reasons?”

Wilbur huffs, almost annoyed with the idea.  “It was… it was that stupid fucking kid, alright?  It was Tommy.”

Niki smiles, almost amused.  “Tommy?”

“Not… not for lovely sentimental reasons, not at first at least, but he just… he kept showing up.  Every day, I’d be wandering around, debating between the river and a highrise, and there he’d fucking be!  Calling me a layabout and following me and hounding me until I’d decide it was worth trying a few more schemes to see if I could get myself killed that way, and even then!  Even then, he’d find a way to get in the way.  Like, I tried to get out in front of a Badlands patrol, when they were first starting to get all nervous, and this kid latches onto me like a furious fucking koala, and he won’t let me out of the alleyway without him, so I gave up that time.  And shit like that just kept happening,” Wilbur sighs, shaking his head, almost amazed.  “He just… by accident, he just kept me out of it.”

“That sounds like Tommy.”

Wilbur laughs dryly.  “Does it?”  Wilbur broods, once more returning to the thoughts that had been circling his sleepless brain earlier.  “And he’s… he needs help, right?  He obviously needs help, and needs it worse than any of us first thought, apparently, and I…” Wilbur sighs.  “And I can’t.  Okay?”

“You… you don’t think you can help him?  Wil, no one would expect that of you.”

“No, not that, and it’s not a matter of expectation, it’s–” Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls as he feels like Niki and all her love for him is digging a confession out of his chest, but he wants this, he wants to tell her, because he loves her too.  “I can’t kill myself.  Not until… not until he’s better.  ‘Cause I… I almost forgot about Ranbus.”

“You… what do you mean you almost forgot Ranboo?” Now Niki is properly confused.

“Not Ranboo– Ranbus.  I… I said it so effortlessly, I didn’t even think about it, but before tonight, I almost forgot what I called that kid, that I… I was something to him,” Wilbur sighs.

“You still are something to him.”

Wilbur smiles weakly, grateful for her kindness even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.  “Maybe.  I… you’re good to him, Niki.  You were still a kid yourself, and you took care of him.  He’s lucky, and I think he knows how lucky he is, to have you for a big sister, and…” Wilbur trails off, words coming together slowly.  “And Tommy’s not lucky.  In more than one way, because he had no one, and instead of someone like you, Niki, he gets stuck with me instead,” Wilbur laughs.  “So, I can’t kill myself.  Because he needs… he needs someone.  That’s all.”

Niki scoots closer, resting her head on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Wilbur.  For… for a lot of things you’ve had to go through, but I’m really glad you’re here now.  And I’m really glad you’re not going anywhere.”

Wilbur takes a shaky breath, no longer trying to ward off tears or the tremor in his voice.  “Thanks, Niki.”

“Maybe Tommy isn’t as lucky as Ranboo, but he’s still lucky to have you.”

Wilbur nods.  “Thank you.  For a lot of things, but Niki,” Wilbur looks over at her, looking her in the eye for once without fear or guilt or shame.  “Thank you for being my best friend.”

Niki smiles, reaching out to mess up his hair.  “You’re welcome.  Thank you for… for trying to bring my best friend back.”

Wilbur understands.  “I’ll be him again.  I promise.”

Niki gets to her feet, unsteady and offering him a hand off the ground.  “I’ll hold you to that, Wilbur Soot.  Don’t think I won’t.”

Niki doesn’t like the way things are heading.  She would have thought after Schlatt’s death there would be some peace, instead, she has new reasons to worry.  It’s like she can measure the health of the city by the attendance at the Secret City. She rarely sees any of the Badlanders, Puffy only on rare occasion, and always busy and absentminded.  Even more worrying to her, Tommy and Tubbo don’t come to the Secret City very much anymore, and never together.  Ranboo, already quiet, has gotten quieter.

Niki’s business worries have at least declined.  In Schlatt’s absence, her profits have nearly doubled, or rather, she’s kept the other half of her income she’d been making before.  She doesn’t have to reorder alcohol from Puffy as often, which is another good thing considering Puffy seems to be dealing with her own troubles at present.  In theory, Niki should be doing better than ever.  She’s not.

The bloodiest parts of this mess are probably what should scare her the most, but she isn’t sure.  Bodies are turning up in the streets, and since Tubbo has apparently taken on the mantle of controlling the streets, she’d expected the violence to die down, but it hasn’t.  The Badlanders are more aggressive, territorial and secretive, and Tubbo’s lot––she doesn’t really know what to call them, they’re certainly not Schlatt’s dogs anymore––are too bold, bold in the way a cat puffs up to scare away a bigger animal.  Attendance at the speakeasy has died down in part due to that.  People are nervous to go out at night, because if it’s not the gangs getting into petty scuffles around the block, it’s other dead.  Someone is attacking people deemed undesirable.  Niki’s speakeasy caters to no one but the undesirable.  She doesn’t know what worries her more, the dead bodies, often times faces she recognizes as local common criminals, and those she doesn’t recognize, she can guess also share similar records, or the ones who aren’t murdered.  It seems there is one person behind this threat, or maybe a group sharing the same mask.  People will ask to spend the night at the Secret City, skittish and bruised.  They’re not hardened criminals––largely because it seems this person doesn’t like to let hardened criminals live––the people that come to her for help, injured but alive, they’re the homeless, they’re fences who work on the street, people like Karl doing something harmless like selling stolen watches, and whoever is out there, lurking like a ghost, thinks that warrants bloody retribution?  This is wrong.  All of it, whatever is happening out there, she feels like she’s trapped in the bottom of a kettle, waiting for the pressure to build and finally boil over.  She’s considered on more than one occasion moving the bakery, finding property deep in Puffy’s territory, Puffy had offered her help more than once, but she can’t bring herself to do it.  This is where she’s always been, it’s where people know to go, and changing that now, it feels unfair.  She won’t abandon any of them.  Tubbo still keeps her bakery safe, actually safe, not in any manner like Schlatt’s so-called protection, and he does so perhaps viciously, but at least for now, there’s no reason for her to move.  Not really.

Trouble does not keep itself neatly contained in the streets away from her and her family, nor is it always something so blunt as violence.  Her little brother doesn’t talk to her.  He doesn’t go out with Tommy and Tubbo.  He just works.  Niki will tell him he doesn’t have to, that she’s fine on her own and he can go see friends, but Ranboo just shrugs and says “they’re busy.  I’d rather just hang out with you right now.”  Niki isn’t used to Ranboo not telling her things, nor Tubbo and Tommy.  She prefers when they had stumbled home after getting into trouble and immediately babbled a confession at her, like her knowing was important somehow, like she could always make things right.  It doesn’t feel that long ago.  Where Tubbo had learned he could tell her when something had gone wrong and there wouldn’t be harsh consequences, where Tommy trusted her enough to not act like a guarded, hunted dog, all bark and no bite, and instead had talked to her like her help wasn’t a threat.  And Ranboo, who did things for himself and not for her for once in his life; he’d run around with his friends and had come home late sometimes and had finally had something to actually apologize to her for.  Niki doesn’t know why that has slipped away.  Tubbo had acted oddly, cutting off Quackity and arguing in her speakeasy––Niki cannot remember Tubbo ever raising his voice like that, let alone in front of an audience––and he never looks open to conversation when he does still turn up, he just sits quietly in the corner with Jack, the two of them talking in hushed tones and Niki knows they stop talking whenever she walks too close.  It hurts, and worse than hurt, it’s wrong.  Her boys don’t sneak around her unless it’s for shoplifting from a sweet shop or trying to smuggle an injured squirrel into Ranboo’s bedroom.

The nights Tommy still turns up––rarely on the nights Tubbo is there, and never together, and if someone is there, whoever was there first will find some excuse to leave, which is profoundly wrong––if Tommy is there it’s usually to heckle Wilbur.  Tommy seems unchanged, he’s still loud and a bit rude and always ready for a good joke, but Niki knows him better.  There’s the more surface-level changes, he’s a bit scruffier than usual, and there’s this strange duality of him being more quick to refuse her offers of help and more inclined to ask for it.  She’ll ask if he wants to spend the night and he jumps to say no, but that same day he’ll ask her if she has anything leftover from the bakery that she needs to toss.  Always with a joking tone, like he’s just a teenager with a sweet tooth, but Niki knows it’s different now.  She buries the urge to ask him, “are you not eating enough?” because she knows doing so will make Tommy not accept anything.  There are deeper changes too, ones she has to look more carefully for.  Tommy comes to the Secret City alone.  He will still talk with Ranboo, he’ll talk with her, and oddly enough he’d talk quite a bit with Wilbur, but in the pauses in between his usual rough banter, when he’s stopped taunting Wilbur, he looks tense.  He looks tense like he did before he realized the speakeasy was for people like him.  Tommy views strangers as threats or targets or often both.  He moves through the world like a prey animal and a scavenger, but Niki hasn’t seen that tension cross her doorstep in a long time.  He looks tired too.  Maybe as tired as Tubbo does.

She can’t read Ranboo anymore.  She thinks he might know more about what’s going on than she does, but she’s not sure.  She’s never not sure.  When she asks, Ranboo is always neutral and avoidant in reply, and it’s hard to decide if he looks more worried when she asks about them or if that’s just the persisting, quiet anxiety he’s worn for weeks now.

Niki is good at not prying, to a point.  She’s been perhaps too lenient with Wilbur, who had turned up so mysteriously.  She’d done the basics, told him he should look for a job, that he can’t live on their couch forever, but that doesn’t tell her much.  Wilbur had once been her best friend.  That was a long time ago.  Still, between the two of them, Niki finds it easier to dig a little more at a man she hasn’t seen in years than at her little brother about his friends who might be her little brothers too.

“Morning, Wil,” Niki says.  It’s Monday.  The Bakery closes on Mondays, it gives them time to rest from the weekend rush.  Hence, this is one of the few times she’s still in the apartment when Wilbur stirs.

Wilbur sits up blearily from the couch, curls askew.  “Morning…” He rubs his eyes.

“How are you so tired?” Niki asks.  “You don’t have a job, what is it you stay up late to do?”

Wilbur smiles halfheartedly.  “Find trouble.”  He adds more insistently, “and play for your speakeasy sometimes.”

“Could you work on finding a job before you find trouble?” She teases.  “And play at my speakeasy.  I need you there to keep me company, but maybe a proper job too.”

Wilbur wakes up a bit more in his embarrassment, sheepish.  “Er, yeah.  Probably should do that.”

“Yeah,” Niki says pointedly.

Wilbur gets up, pulling on the same wrinkled white button up he wore yesterday over his undershirt.  “You… didn’t happen to make enough coffee I could have some, perchance?”

She rolls her eyes at him and nods to the pot.

“Ah, you’re a saint,” he mumbles.

There is a brief calm, Wilbur getting himself a cup, and Niki content to lean against the counter and drink hers, thinking.  Wilbur is freshly awake.  He is not a morning person.  Niki knows he is weak and however much he’ll loathe it, it’s the perfect time to push.

“So, we haven’t had much time to talk, Wil.  Feels like you’re always running around doing something, or I’m running around doing something.”

“Oh?” Wilbur says mildly.  “Yeah, yeah guess so,” he sips coffee.

“How’s home?”

Wilbur seems to almost choke, quickly lowering his mug.  “Home?”

“You know, where you came from?  Where you’ve been living?  For the past eight years?” Niki raises her eyebrows at him.

Wilbur almost winces.  “That, uh.  That didn’t really feel like home.”

Niki laughs.  “Okay, you’re very dramatic, do you know that?”  She’s unfazed, continuing on.  She knows some, she knows quite a bit, actually.  Niki can be quiet, but she listens.  There’s something wrong with Phil and Wilbur, and while that’s not new, maybe she’d imagined he’d have grown out of it when he grew up into a proper adult.  “How’s Phil?  How’s…”  She tries to remember other things she’s learned from their brief conversations over the last months and her even briefer amount of contact with Phil over the last eight years.  “How’s your… step-mom?  Do you get along okay?”

“Kristin?” Wilbur seems surprised, as if he hadn’t imagined she was an option for a subject of conversation.  “She’s great. Like, professionally she sort of scares me, but she’s really fun and she makes my dad happy, so.”  He shrugs.  “Can’t hold her choice in business against her, really.”

Niki notes he had skipped over her question about Phil.  “She’s great, but she sort of scares you?  Professionally?”

“She’s, you know,” Wilbur sets down his mug and waves his hands mysteriously, “the Lady Death of Salt Lake City.”

“Oh.”  Niki had not heard that name before, but then again, she already knows more than she wants to about the criminals that can touch her life, let alone keeping up with the ones that don’t.  “So. When you said Phil is more working in the background..?”

“Working for her,” Wilbur nods.  “He’s got a new––well, not really new now––reputation. Angel of Death,” Wilbur says mildly like his father has done something as simple as getting a promotion at the bank.

Niki nods, processing this.  That reputation truly isn’t new to her.  She can’t imagine Wilbur hadn’t heard it before, but Wilbur seems to be under the impression the title came from Kristin.  Phil had chosen the Crowfather as his title, but the City comes up with their own names for their Gods.  It was here that label started.  Phil was a complex man.  He could be, and often had been, ruthless.  He had rules, though.  If he kills someone who still has family to leave behind, he pays for the funeral.  The payments are anonymous, but connections were made regardless.  Phil would murder someone and then lay them to rest, sometimes to the horror of and other times to the relief of their families.  Phil was an Angel of Death long before he found a Death to follow.  Niki continues carefully, nudging the subject.  “Bit of a change from the Crowfather.”

“Not really,” Wilbur says gloomily, and Niki thinks perhaps he did know that title.  “Same business.”  That blasé addition makes her reconsider.  It seems Wilbur is just as unsettled by his father’s work as before.  Niki doesn’t blame him for it.  Of course, she has a bit of a soft spot for Phil.  He’d been good to her and Ranboo.  She’s not so picky as to scorn that even if he’s done things she cannot consider as anything but awful.

Niki continues quickly, before her own line of thinking strays any more grim.  “And is Techno still around?”

“Yeah, as long as Phil is.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” she smiles.  “How is he, then?  Well, how do you think he is?”

Wilbur shrugs.  “They’re the same, Niki.  Alright?  I don’t have anything to tell you, because they’re the same as they always were,” he says coldly.  “You don’t need to bother asking anymore.”

“Wil, I’m asking because I care about them.  You’re really going to be weird about it?” Niki says almost gently, because she knows that way will get Wilbur to actually care.

He wilts.  “Sorry, I’m sorry, Niki,” he presses against his forehead, eyes closed as if warding off a headache.  “You’re right, that was… that was a bit dick-ish of me.”

“Yep.  It was a bit dick-ish,” she laughs.  “I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve missed you, Wil.”

Wilbur, as always, looks surprised.  “Yeah?  What’d you do that for?” He teases.

That gets another laugh out of her and Wilbur looks so proud of himself.  Niki doesn’t know what help this will bring, but knowing a shred more about what’s going on with Wilbur at least feels like progress of some sort.  It doesn’t touch the bigger issues haunting her life or her business, but she wants to know her best friend again, she wants him to be her best friend again.  One day.

“I do have a request for you today, Wilbur.”

Wilbur shifts, sitting up straighter.  “Oh?”

“When you’re out… finding trouble, could you also find a few job applications?  For me?”

Wilbur nods, slouching in his shame.  “I will.  I can for sure do that, Niki.”

“Okay.  I’m going to hold you to that, Wil,” she says warningly, because she knows him, and even with the best of intentions, she knows he’s just as likely to turn up with zero job applications and some grand story about what happened that day instead.

“It was… it was good talking, Niki.  Really,” Wilbur is eager to get out of this conversation.  “Um, I’m gonna… I’m gonna get a start on my day, yeah?”  He smiles awkwardly and side steps past her out of the kitchen.

She smiles.  It’s a little fun to make Wilbur nervous, and quite warranted considering his slacking on his side of their friendship.  “Bye, Wil.”

“Bye!”  The front door shuts, and Niki is once more alone.  She’d let Ranboo sleep in.  She doesn’t have especially high hopes for Wilbur, but somehow he still seems like the problem she has the best understanding of and therefore the best chance of fixing.  Niki sighs, regretting her own line of thought.  She shouldn’t have to fix any of them.

~

Wilbur had told Niki while wandering today he’d grab a few job applications.  Thus far he had not done so.  Wilbur had never had an actual job in his fucking life, and he wasn’t enthused by the thought of starting now.  He hadn’t planned on sticking around long enough to have to pay rent, but here he’s remained.  Thus far he’s just wandered the streets as per usual.  He’d deny it if asked, but right now he’s waiting for Tommy to come barreling into him.  That kid always manages to find him in this city, it’s almost impressive, if not also a bit concerning.  Thus far, the kid hasn’t showed.  Wilbur doesn’t know why that makes him nervous.  Last he saw him, Tommy had complained about the new management at the hotel giving him grief, bad enough his hands were all bloody.  It doesn’t bode well.

Wilbur also wants to go back down into the subway tunnels.  It’s not a logical draw, more it feels like a morbid compulsion, l’appel du vide and all that.  He knows there’s nothing down there for him, except maybe rats and tetanus, but nonetheless.  He’s not scared, but also he sort of doesn’t want to go without Tommy, for no reason in particular.

It’s like Wilbur summons him into being.

“Hello, you stupid swiss cheese of a man!” Tommy appears beside him, making him jump.  “Thrown yourself at any more local mob patrols lately?”

Wilbur has one hand over his racing heart.  “No.  Haven’t found the time,” he says irritably.  “The fuck d’you mean swiss cheese?”

“Oh, ‘cause you were almost full of bullet holes.”  Tommy makes finger guns.

“Right, of course,” Wilbur scoffs. “Where did you even come from?”

“The shadows,” Tommy says with a dramatic whisper.  “Actually, if you don’t mind I’d like it if you joined me in the shadows,” he’s staring at something over Wilbur’s shoulder.

“What?  Why?”

“‘Cause that man––the one across the street obviously looking for me––I currently have his wallet,” Tommy nods at an irritable man wandering in a suit and ducks back into an alley, Wilbur finding himself quick to follow.

“So, still hard at work, I see?” Wilbur says dryly.

“More so than you, I see,” Tommy says mockingly.  “Not an especially productive day, though.  I’m… I’m not tired, but I’m a bit bored of the daily grind, so!” Tommy nods like that settles the matter, excusing some weariness that Wilbur hadn’t even noticed.  Wilbur had noticed that Tommy clearly has some hangups about being seen as weak, so he doesn’t question it.

“Yeah, yeah fair enough.  I told Niki I’d pick up some job applications,” Wilbur says gloomily.

“Ha!  Have fun with that!  Chaining yourself to the Machine, huh?”  Tommy tuts him.  “Poor thing.”

Wilbur glances at Tommy’s hands, which are currently perusing his stolen wallet.  He can see cloth stained a rusted red.  “How’re your… battle wounds, then?”  He nods to them.

Tommy snaps the wallet shut, burying his hands in his pockets.  “Fine, thank you very much.  I heal like, super fast.”

“Really?  Looks like you could use some actual bandages.”

“These are basically the same thing,” Tommy pouts.  “But…” he glances at his hands in his pockets.  “If you’re buying?”

Wilbur is not as broke as he was previously, as he’s gotten at least some tips playing at the Secret City.  He gives some of it to Niki, a feeble approximation of rent, but it’s still something.  It’s definitely not much.  Not enough he should be blowing it on getting some gauze and anti-infectant for some random kid.  Wilbur sighs.

“Come on.  There’s a drugstore around the corner.”

“I know there is.  This is my city.”

“It’s mine too!  I’ve lived here longer than you have.”

“Yeah, but it’s changed since you were here, old man,” Tommy nods wisely.  He stops outside the drugstore.  “I’ll wait here.  I’ve definitely nicked shit from here before and they won’t want to see me.”

“Haven’t you nicked shit from everywhere?”

“Yeah, but here I got caught.”

“Touché,” Wilbur smiles, amused before entering the shop.  He grabs gauze and neomycin before heading up to the counter.  “A pack of Marlboros too.”

The man behind the counter nods, grabbing a pack.  Wilbur glances at the register and what it rings up to.  He stares doubtfully at his own wallet, hesitating over his lineup.  He grabs the neomycin, intending on putting it back, but as he turns he sees movement out of the corner of his eye and glances over to see Tommy pressing against the glass and making faces at him.  Wilbur buries a laugh.

“Actually, scrap the Marlboros.  This is it for me,” he puts the antibiotic back on the counter, only processing his own choice after the fact.  It unsettles him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Nonetheless, he returns to the street.  “Here,” he shoves the gauze and neosporin into his hands.

“Thanks, man!” Tommy sits down right there on the window ledge and begins peeling the scraps of sheets off his cut up hands.

“Wait, you’re not gonna wash them first?” Wilbur reaches out to stop him.

Tommy looks amused, glancing around the street.  “You see a bath anywhere?  Trust me, the river will do way more harm than good.”

“No, that’s not what I–” Wilbur sighs.  “Come on,” he nods toward the store.

Tommy shakes his head.  “No, it’s like I said, they won’t want me in there–”

“Who gives a shit?  I’ll go with you, we’ll go to the bathroom, and I’ll help you dress them,” Wilbur says more insistently.  He’s more surprised when Tommy doesn’t continue to protest, just stands to follow.  Tommy looks surprised as well.

Tommy very deliberately stays behind Wilbur, whistling and scanning the shelves in the most conspicuous way possible, until Wilbur drags him into a vaguely horrifying bathroom.

“Honestly, this feels worse than the street,” Tommy crinkles his nose.

Wilbur gives him a look.  “Wash your hands.”

Tommy rolls his eyes but obliges, wincing all the while.  Wilbur stares disapprovingly at the crusted blood and cracked scabbing of the cut across either hand.  Tommy’s hands are also filthy.  Wilbur is also trying to bottle every screaming warning about infection; he knows Tommy isn’t exactly in a place to take good care of himself.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” Tommy mutters.  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to pick pockets in these conditions?”

“It’s not like I did that, why’re you complaining to me?”

“Because you’re here.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes.  “Fine.”  He shoves a wad of paper towels at him.  “Dry them.”

“I know how to dress a wound, dickhead!  Just ‘cause I’m not rich enough to buy all this fancy shit doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dress a wound,” Tommy snaps.  “And I don’t need your help!” He says when Wilbur reaches toward him.

“Your hands are hurt!  You need hands to dress a wound!  Come on, man, stop being a little bitch and just let me,” Wilbur snaps back.

“Fine!  Fine, go for it!  If you want to play doctor, fine!” Tommy rolls his eyes, muttering, half under his breath, “call me a little bitch… from the king of little bitches…”

Wilbur ruefully does so, pasting antibiotic cream onto the cuts, Tommy flinching and pulling away as it burns.

“Ow!  Careful!” Tommy whines.

“It’s so it doesn’t get infected!” Wilbur snaps.

Tommy grumbles wordlessly before trailing off grumpily.

It’s quiet for a time, for once Tommy without anything snarky to say.  Wilbur gets nervous when the silence continues by the time he starts wrapping one hand in gauze.  He glances up, but Tommy is just watching him work with a solemn frown, wary and unsure, like he’s expecting Wilbur to do some harm.  Wilbur deigns not to think on that too hard, instead he refocuses, finishing wrapping Tommy’s other hand.

“Oooh, look at me, I’m Wilbur I can wrap cuts like an expert, I’m so smart,” Tommy says in a high voice, staring at his wrapped hands with clear satisfaction.

“Is that supposed to be a thank you?” Wilbur says dryly.  “Take this, okay?  Just… Don’t let your hands get so grubby,” Wilbur shoves the rest of the roll of gauze and antibiotics into his hands.

“Right, I got a choice in that, do I?” Tommy scoffs.

“Come on.  This place is fucking rank,” Wilbur heads back out the door.

“My hands still hurt.”

“Tough luck.”  They return outside, Wilbur rummaging in his pockets.  “Actually, I’ve got something else for you.  You still got that torch on you?”

“What?  Yeah, why?” Tommy asks suspiciously.

Wilbur offers Tommy two batteries.  He’d been holding onto them for a few days now, having scrounged them from Niki and Ranboo’s junk drawer.  “Fancy another trip into the tunnels?”

“Oh, I knew there was a catch!  What, you think ‘cause you buy a guy a bandage that he has to follow you around and obey your every whim?!” Tommy scowls, genuinely reproachful.

“What?  No!  No, that’s not why I got you a fucking bandage, are you joking?  If you don’t wanna go, I don’t care, I just thought…” Wilbur doesn’t know what he just thought.  “I dunno.  Might be another adventure.”

“I don’t need more adventure.  I’m fuckin’ made of adventure.  I’ve got oodles of adventure.”

“Okay, then don’t come,” Wilbur shrugs, still walking in the general direction of the maintenance entrance they had fled through before.

Tommy keeps pace.  “Wait, wait but that doesn’t mean I want you to go alone!  You’ll get eaten by rats, remember?”

Wilbur laughs.  “I knew you’d want to come.”

“You knew I’d what?  You knew I’d fucking want to what?”

“Shut up!” Wilbur cackles.  “You’re the most annoying fucking child!”

“And you want me to follow you into some fuckin’ dark-ass tunnels?  Hm?  You’re fucking bonkers.  I’m not about to get serialed by a man talking about come–”

“Get what?  Get cerealed?”

“Yeah!  Yeah, serialed!  As in serial fuckin’ murdered!” Tommy snaps.  He does stop in the alleyway, staring at the old maintenance door they had fled through last time.

“Wait, wait go back, you would get serial murdered?  Doesn’t that imply plural?  How the fuck would you get murdered multiple times?” Wilbur scoffs.

“You don’t know me.  You don’t know my murder history,” Tommy says aloofly.  Tommy puts the batteries in his torch, glancing up at the door on occasion like it might bite him.  “No, no but really, why the fuck do you want to go down there again?”

“Aren’t you curious?  That banging noise, look, it was probably just like… pipes settling or old machinery, but I bet we could… we could find other sneaky entrances over the city or something!” Wilbur says.

Tommy looks unenthused, but nonetheless, he’s put batteries in his torch and looks grimly prepared.  “Fine, fine I will go with you, but after this you’re buying me food, got it?”

“That… that sounds like worse bribery than me just getting you some gauze, what the fuck?” Wilbur gives him look.  “What, am I like, dangling cheese on a string down there for you?”

“Now you’ve just made it weird,” Tommy glowers at him before opening the door.  “Surprised no one else has gone down here if it’s that easy.”

“Um, that lock looks like it’s not busted and normal people obey big danger signs,” Wilbur points out as he enters the stairwell.

“Ah, psh.  Cowards!” Tommy scoffs, striding into the dark behind him before flicking on his torch.  “Oh, this is loads better!  I can actually see shit.”

“Don’t shine it in my eyes!” Wilbur hisses, batting his torch away.

“Don’t put your eyes by my torch!”

Wilbur gives him a look.

“Fine, fine, sorry,” Tommy says reluctantly.  “So, mole-man, what are we doing in the tunnels today?”

“I am…” Wilbur hesitates.  “I’m looking for this one platform.  It’s… for nostalgia reasons.”

“You’re nostalgic for a grubby ass train platform?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, striding ahead along the tracks.  They’ve been out of operation for years, but both of them keep off the actual rails.

“Yeah,” Wilbur tries to think of a reason he can give.  “Just…”

He’s saved from replying by Tommy shouting into the dark.  “HELLO?!”

Echoing back, “HELLO?!”

“HI, TOMMY!” Tommy shouts.

“HI, TOMMY!”

Tommy looks over at Wilbur, grinning.  “This tunnel is very polite.”

“Is it?  Are you and the tunnel making friends?” Wilbur says sarcastically, but he can’t resist a smile.

“SHUT UP, WILBUR!” Tommy shouts.

“SHUT UP, WILBUR!”

“See, we’re in agreement.”

“I’m not the one shouting, why do I need to shut up?”

“You were giving me sass, mister.  Tunnel and I don’t like that disrespect,” Tommy tuts him haughtily.

“And stop going ahead!  You don’t know where we’re going,” Wilbur quickens his pace to catch up.

“Oh, like you do?  Last I checked, you didn’t wander from platform to platform this way back in the olden days,” Tommy points out.

“Yeah, but I still know the direction–” Wilbur goes quiet.  There’s another noise, and it is not an echo.  It’s that same sound of metal banging together they had heard the last time.  It sounds about as close as it had the last time, that is, concerningly close.  Wilbur looks over at Tommy, to find him already staring back with wide, nervous eyes.  They listen.  There is silence for a time, the echo of the banging noise fading off, but then it resumes rapidly, three sharp bangs that echo off.  It stops for a moment, then three more, slow, measured.  Wilbur is quickly starting to doubt is “old machinery” theory from last time.

“It’s down that way, right?” Tommy whispers in the next pause, pointing down the tunnel.  He jumps when there are once more three sharp bangs.

“M-Maybe?” Wilbur says.  “The echo– I’m not sure which way.”

“I think it’s that one,” Tommy nods ahead.

Neither of them move.  The banging has yet to resume.  Knowing the direction doesn’t dictate what they do now.  Neither of them really want to see what it is, or more probable, who it is.  Tommy looks forward, shining his torch straight ahead.  The tunnel goes straight longer than the light reaches, so it shows only more blackness.

“What kind of nutcase goes banging around tunnels?” Tommy mutters.

“I mean, us kinds of nutcases,” Wilbur points out, but still he doesn’t move down the tunnel.  It’s Wilbur’s turn to jump when the banging returns without warning, three sharp clangs of metal, and a pause.

“I wanna check it out,” Tommy says, but he already looks like he regret the thought.

Wilbur waits for the next three slow bangs to fade out to reply.  “Okay.  Okay, fine, but the moment we see anything weird, we bail, alright?”

Three sharp bangs.

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy nods and seems to muster some bravery.  He starts off down the tunnel first, stopping often to look back and make sure Wilbur is close behind him, even as he can see Wilbur’s torch shining ahead alongside his.

The banging continues on like clockwork.  Three sharp knocks, whoever is responsible seems to take a break, and then continues slowly, before trying rapid knocks again.  Always in sets of three.  Wilbur feels like he’s missing something; he’s already deeply uneasy, and then his torch glances off of a shape splayed out across the tracks.  Wilbur fumbles forward, reaching out to stop Tommy, his torch refocusing on it.  It’s definitely a body.  He has a feeling they’re not merely unconscious.  Wilbur can’t see their face, they’re laid out on their stomach, head turned the other way, so all he can see is what looks like a red cloth tied around a head of short, dark hair.  There’s definitely blood, covering the arm visible to them.

Tommy spots what his torch is shining on, and to Wilbur’s shock, starts running forward.

“Oh fuck, no, nononononono, hold on a fucking second, it can’t– no, oh my fucking god, no fucking way, it can’t be, it can’t be– f-fuck–” Tommy babbles frantically, voice high and hoarse, words almost overlapping.  Wilbur lunges forward to stop him when he runs toward the strange corpse in the dark, but Tommy is too quick.  Tommy falls to his knees by the body, and before Wilbur can warn him of the hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea, Tommy touches it, rolling it over onto its side.  Tommy falls back, face buried in his hands, and it takes a moment for Wilbur to process that he’s relieved.

“Fuck… fuck, it’s not him… it’s not him…” Tommy’s knees are tucked up into his chest, rocking slightly, sounding breathless.

“Tommy?” Wilbur says cautiously.  “Are you… are you okay?”  He asks a rather stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Tommy sniffs loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and Wilbur pretends he can’t see Tommy’s cheeks are shiny and damp in the torchlight.  Tommy stares at the corpse again, without any apparent squeamishness at the sight, he still pores over it, like he’s trying to make sure.  “It’s not him,” Tommy croaks, reassuring himself more than informing Wilbur of anything.  Wilbur dares to stare at the body’s face.  The corpse it seems had been blindfolded by a strip of red cloth, but Wilbur can still see the lower half of his face, it’s a man with a patchy beard, a narrow, crooked nose, he seems to be just a few years older than Wilbur.

“Not who?” Wilbur asks gently.

Tommy blinks, and seems to come back to himself in some way, clambering to his feet.  “Nothing,” he’s still staring at the corpse.  “Thought it was… no one.  Just, one of my mates.  An old friend.  I don’t… I don’t see him as much anymore, and he’s… he gets dragged into some shit.  Doesn’t stay out of it like I do, and I always warned him, I always told him…” Tommy trails off, moving on.  “And wears a fuckin’ red headband, and from behind, it…” Tommy nods to the blindfold, trailing off again, his thoughts disconnected.  “A-And the blood on his arm, thought maybe it was… Just from behind and a ways back, not… not the face at all, just…” Tommy shakes his head.  “It’s… it’s not him,” he repeats.

Wilbur still feels almost sick with nerves.  This exchange had happened over the course of a lull in the banging, Wilbur isn’t sure if this pause has lasted longer than the last, but he’s not sure he wants to wait around for it to continue.  “We should go, Tommy.”

“What-?” Tommy glances up at him.  “Yeah,” Tommy takes one step back the direction they had come before pausing.  “What about the… the noise?” Tommy looks both ways, as if inviting it to continue.

“Tommy, that man, he didn’t die from natural causes,” Wilbur says softly.  “And if whoever did that to him is prowling around down here…” Wilbur hesitates.  He doesn’t want to scare the kid.  “I mean, the noise hasn’t gotten any closer.  We’ve gotten closer to it.  Like…” Wilbur looks back toward the stairwell he knows is somewhere in the dark behind them.  “Like they’re trying to draw us deeper in.”  Wilbur looks back at Tommy and sees he’s certainly failed to not scare the kid.

“We… we can’t tell anyone.  We can’t tell anyone about this, about the…” Tommy doesn’t even look at the corpse now, but Wilbur understands.  “Can’t go to the cops, least I can’t.  We… we can’t explain how we were down here a-and–”

“I know, Tommy.  We should go.”  Wilbur doesn’t know why he does it, he doesn’t think, he just does, but he offers Tommy his hand.  Wilbur almost doesn’t realize he’s done it until Tommy accepts.

Tommy’s expression doesn’t indicate confusion on his side of things, but he still seems sort of hazy, so Wilbur just starts walking, guiding them back to the street.  They emerge just as the surviving streetlights kick on, but it’s still far preferable to the dark underground.

“Right, I think… I think we should get out of here,” Wilbur starts walking.  “Don’t… don’t get all defensive if I offer, but d’you want me to walk you back to the hotel?”

“Nah, I’m… I’m good,” Tommy shrugs.

“Don’t do that, man, just… let me do it, alright?  It’ll make me feel better–”

“Not everything is about you, ay?” Tommy scoffs.  “I’m not going to the hotel no more.”

“Are you still having a hard time getting inside?  I thought you figured out a way around the… the stuff,” Wilbur stops when he realizes Tommy isn’t following, instead scuffing his feet and leaning against the wall of the alley.

“No, not just that…” Tommy trails off gloomily.  “The nutter that replaced Jack, y’know the one that put razors on the windows?  Now he’s checking the empty rooms with a fucking golf club.  Thought he was gonna crack my fuckin’ ‘ead open…”

Wilbur steps closer to Tommy, immediately finding himself bottling rage and horror in equal measure.  “He came at you with a golf club?!”

Tommy steps back on impulse, scowling.  “No, he asked if I wanted to go a round and I told him I only did crazy golf- yes he swung at me, dumbass…”

“Holy shit, Tommy, you– Don’t tell me you’re going back there!  I mean, where are you gonna go?”  Wilbur doesn’t know why he feels panicked.

“Obviously not!  That’s what I just said.   I’ll…” Tommy’s feeble excuse of saying he’ll find somewhere else to crash dies with a shiver.  After the night they’ve had, he’s a little more vulnerable.  “Can I… Can I walk to Niki’s with you?  And… And I’ll figure something out on the way there.”

“Yeah, something like sleeping there.”

Tommy frowns, but he doesn’t say no this time.

~

Niki wants to talk to Ranboo.  She doesn’t know what to do with herself on her days off anymore.  Puffy doesn’t have time to go boxing with her anymore, and Eret is busy with the museum and some fancy new investments she’s made so she rarely has time to come over for their usual chats, and if Eret is busy HBomb is busy too, Karl even seems to be busy nowadays.  Ranboo is in the same boat, not that Niki really understands why.  Even if Tubbo has something going on, Tommy is always available.  Niki also has a feeling that Ranboo knows she wants to talk to him, because he’s been finding excuses to go back to his room, before realizing there’s nothing to do in there, coming back out, realizing his sister clearly having some sort of emotion towards him, and finds an excuse again.

“Aren’t you going to help me with dinner?” Niki asks as Ranboo is halfway down the hall back to his room.  He turns on his heels, looking a shred less anxious than someone walking to the gallows and nods.

“Yep!”

“Okay,” Niki can’t help but be amused.  Even if she were actually mad at Ranboo, which isn’t the word she would use for whatever she’s feeling at present, Ranboo is well past the age where she could attempt to ground him, at this point what he’s dreading is her saying she’s disappointed in him.  Which, to be fair, tends to be viewed as a death sentence by all three of them, Ranboo and Tommy and Tubbo.

Ranboo hums to fill the quiet, glancing at her often, and to her surprise, he speaks up first, methodically chopping vegetables so he doesn’t have to look over at her.  “You doin’ okay?”

“What?” She looks over at him, thrown off.  “Yeah.  I think so.  Are you?”

Ranboo doesn’t seem to believe her.  “Yeah!”

Niki doesn’t really believe him either.  Quiet for a bit, neither quite sure of how to proceed.

“How’s Tubbo?  And Tommy?”

“Huh?  Oh, I think…” He falters, "I think okay.”

“Have you not seen them much?”  She already knows the answer.  She asks anyway.

“No,” he sounds amused.  “I mean, I’ve been with you.  When would I have seen them?  I mean, you haven’t seen your friends much.”

“Well, they’re busy with criminal things,” Niki says teasingly.

“Yeah, well, mine too.” Ranboo says, his humor sharper, bitter.

“But even before, you all made time for each other, didn’t you?  Do you know why Tubbo hasn’t come to the Secret City with Tommy at all?  It doesn’t seem like them.”

“I don’t know everything they do, Niki,” Ranboo snaps.

“Ranboo,” Niki can’t help the hint of hurt in her voice.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s… it’s fine,” she sighs.  “You don’t talk to me anymore, Ranboo.  I just… I just want to know what’s happening.”

“Maybe I just don’t have much to say,” Ranboo shrugs.

“Are you… are you guys not friends anymore?”

“No,” Ranboo says quickly.  His face scrunches up, and he doesn’t even look upset really, more so worried.  “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“When else are we going to?!” Niki snaps.  “Sorry.  I’m sorry, Ranboo, I’m just… I don’t want you to lose them.”

“You say that like I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Niki grows emphatic.

“Really?” Ranboo is defensive.  “Did you have a choice when you lost Wilbur?”

Icy silence.  Niki is taken aback, a lump in her throat, because it wasn’t just harsh or startling, coming from Ranboo, saying that to her, it’s almost cruel.  Worse when he continues.

“He left you, Niki, and now you’re… you’re letting him live here…”

“You agreed!”

“I thought it was gonna be for a couple days!  Not a couple months!”

“He left everyone, Ranboo. He didn’t just leave me.”

“I don’t care about everyone!  I care about you.  And he hurt you!  And– And it’s like you’re not even mad at him!” Ranboo’s voice breaks slightly, choked up rage that isn’t just meant for Wilbur.

“It sounds like you are.”

“Because you should be,” he says accusingly.  “A-And it’s not fair that he stopped talking to you, he just… he just moved on.  He didn’t… he didn’t think about it.  Like he didn’t even care.”

“Ranboo…” Niki reaches out to him, he pulls away.  “You know it’s okay if you’re hurting right now, right?”

“This isn’t about me. Not right now, okay?  I know I– I know–” Ranboo cuts himself off, frustrated by his own emotions.  “Let’s– Let’s just pick one, and right now I… I wanna talk about Wilbur, and–”

The front door of their apartment opens.  Wilbur and Tommy enter, and immediately read the tension of whatever they have just interrupted.

“Uh.  Ayup?” Tommy gives the two of them a nod.  “Well, I’ve got you home safe, Wilbur, I ought to be going–” he turns back to the door and Wilbur grabs his sleeve.

“Tommy needs somewhere to stay.”

“Do not–”

“The new hotel manager came at him with a golf club.”

“He what?!” Ranboo is snapped out of his own brooding.

“And I kicked his ass and left!  It’s not a problem,” Tommy whines.

“Yeah, but you can’t go back, and you shouldn’t be just sleeping outside, Tommy,” Wilbur says pointedly.

“I’ve done it before!”

“No,” Niki says sharply.  Tommy stares at her, startled.  “Tommy that is in no way safe.  Not right now, okay?  You’re staying here.”

Tommy quickly realizes he no longer has a choice.  “Right… fine, but just for tonight, alright?”

Niki turns to Wilbur, just as piercing.  “Did you get any job applications?”

If Wilbur could sink into the floor, he would.  “W-Well, I… I meant to, it’s just… some things came up…”

“What?  What things?”

“Sorry, sorry, nothing, it was… it was stupid of me.  Never mind,” Wilbur winces, knowing how useless his excuses are.

Ranboo gives Niki a weighted glance that Wilbur is at a loss to understand, and Niki is resolutely ignoring it.

“Tommy, I’m sorry, but if you’re staying here, you’ve got to take a shower,” Niki nods Tommy down the hall.

“Okay, rude, not my fault that I haven’t been able to use the hotel showers in a… in a little while…” he grumbles, following her.

For a dangerous, brief amount of time, Wilbur and Ranboo are alone.

“What came up?” Ranboo asks.

Wilbur notes the hint of ice in his tone and hesitates.  “It was… it was a cheap excuse, I… I got distracted with Tommy.  That’s all.  No good reason.”

“So… so why’d you say you did?” Ranboo says quietly.

“I don’t… I don’t know.  Felt bad about it, really,” Wilbur shrugs.

“Right,” Ranboo is cool and unfeeling.  “Niki and I were making dinner.  Do you think you could help?”

Wilbur knows it’s not a request.

“Right, right, let me… let me wash my hands,” Wilbur nods, going to the sink.  “What’re you making?”

“Um, baked rutabaga and parmesan chicken?”

“Rutabaga…” Wilbur laughs fondly.  “Right.”

Silence until Niki returns.

“Thanks, Wil,” Niki says, reentering the kitchen.

“Sure!  Sure, it’s the… it’s the least I can do.”

“Yep,” Ranboo agrees quietly.

Niki gives him a warning look, before proceeding as if she hadn’t heard him.  “Ranboo, Tommy is going to borrow some of your clothes.”

“Fine with me,” Ranboo says.

Wilbur looks between the two of them, eyes wide.  He focuses on his assigned task.  A terse half hour passes before Tommy returns, hair still dripping wet, dampening the collar of one of Ranboo’s shirts.  Tommy’s had to roll up the pant legs of his jeans substantially.

Wilbur laughs.  “You look like a wet dog.”

“Do I?” Tommy strides over to him and shakes his head so water flies everywhere, largely into Wilbur’s face.

“Tommy!  Come on, man, not… not in the kitchen,” Ranboo says helplessly.

“Sorry,” Tommy rolls his eyes, before catching sight of Niki and offering with more sincerity, “sorry!”

“Ranboo, can you get your desk chair?  We need one more.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Their tiny dining table is typically only used for two, a third chair is there for a guest, but it’s rare for them to have more than that company in the apartment.  It’s far easier to host in the speakeasy.  Niki has dragged the table out from the wall so a chair can be put on the fourth side.  Wilbur helps set the table and Tommy gathers drinks and despite the lingering tension, it feels almost cozy.  The four of them have settled in, Tommy eating with a disconcerting amount of enthusiasm, but no one at the table has the heart to scold him for it.  Once Tommy has cleared a plate and gone back for seconds, he begins to peer around the table.

“Brrr. Bit chilly in here, eh?  What’s got you all up in a huff?”  Tommy is quite good and prodding the one issue everyone else is still avoiding.

Wilbur doesn’t feel like he knows what’s going on, so he doesn’t speak, Ranboo loathes the thought of being the one to speak up first, especially about confrontation, and Niki neither wants to lie to Tommy nor get into things.  Tommy waits.

“Well I think whatever has gotten you lot in a mood, you should do some soul searching, reevaluate your pri-or-i-tees,” he enunciates every syllable around a mouthful of rutabaga.  “Like, Ranboo, handsome lad like you, what on earth could be troubling that brain of yours?  You’re a baker, you’re a looker, you’re all… like, sensitive and shit, you’re a catch!  Niki, if you’ve got problems, you should just… y’know, kick their asses like you always do.  In what fuckin’ world does Niki Nihachu feel troubled by something she can’t wreck shop over?  You’ve got a badass speakeasy and everything!  You don’t fear no pigs, the state should fear you!”  Tommy nods once like that settles the matter, before refocusing on his plate.  The tension doesn’t break, but it does crack a little.

“No grand input for me?” Wilbur says dryly.

“Nah, I know why you’ve got troubles, and it’s your own fault,” Tommy shrugs.

Ranboo laughs.

“Hey!” Wilbur says, indignant.

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?  Hm?” Tommy gives him a look.

“Yeah, are you, Wil?” Niki smiles.  “I mean, you couldn’t pick up one job application?”

Wilbur is flushing red.  “Look, maybe I… I’m not thrilled at the thought of scrounging together some shitty nine-to-five with a dickhead boss…”

“How do you know what job shit is like?  You’ve never worked a day in your fuckin’ life,” Tommy jeers.

“Have you had a job before, Tommy?” Wilbur says pointedly.

“More than you.”

“I’d say both of you don’t know anything about having a real job,” Ranboo points out.

“And I’d say you don’t know much about having shitty nine-to-five and a dickhead boss,” Niki adds.  “You got lucky too, Ranboo.”

“I mean, maybe I do–”

Niki gasps, dramatically acting offended, throwing her napkin at him.

“Hey!  Hey, I’m kidding,” Ranboo hunches down which does very little to make himself a smaller target.

“I dunno, Ranbus, she’s a tough egg to crack, y’know?  She runs a tight ship.  She hasn’t put up with any nonsense as long as I’ve known her.  She’s been immovable since she was twelve, probably longer,” Wilbur teases.  Niki rolls her eyes at him, poorly masking a laugh.  Wilbur glances back over at Ranboo, startled to find Ranboo staring at him, eyebrows slightly raised, mouth open slightly like he’s unsure of how to say something, to describe whatever unreadable expression he’s currently stabbing into Wilbur’s chest.  “What?” Wilbur shifts uncomfortably.

“You haven’t called me that since I was little.”

“Well, I– I haven’t been here a lot, have I?” Wilbur stammers.

“Yeah.  Guess not.”

Tommy snorts.  “Ranbus?  That’s fucking adorable, aw, little Ranbus!”

“No, nuh uh, you’re not starting with that,” Ranboo breaks his gaze, turning sharply to Tommy.  “Not allowed!  Not for you!”  He says it like he’s trying to get a dog to drop a sock.  “I’d prefer when you call me Ranboob to you calling me that.”

Tommy grins, “aw, good to hear it, Ranboob!  I shall only respect your proper title.”

Ranboo sighs head in his hands as realizes what he’s done.  “Oh no…”

Tommy continues his teasing, and Wilbur plays along, but he’s wrapped up in deeper thoughts right now, so many old aches and pains mingling with new ones, and he doesn’t know where to put it all down.

Dinner finishes in better spirits than it had started, Tommy offering to help clean up after with the same heroics of a soldier offering to dive on a grenade, but nonetheless, he does it.

“Right, then, good night, lads– and Niki,” Tommy settles in on the floor with ease, stealing a pillow from the couch.

“Tommy, you take the couch, man. I’ve had it for ages, I should shake things up and sleep on the floor for a change,” Wilbur offers.

“What’ve you got against floors?  I got nothin’ against ‘em!  Me and floors are old friends!” Is Tommy’s attempt at a defense.

“Mhm, Tommy, where did you sleep last night?” Niki asks pointedly before she goes to her own room.

“On a bench over on 30th until one of the pigs woke me up, why?”

Niki and Wilbur exchange a look.  “Take the couch, Tommy.”

“Tommy can stay with me in my room for the night!” Ranboo says perhaps too excitedly.

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him.  “Look, Ranboob, I did admit, you’re a handsome lad, but me?  I’m shy, I’m not ready for this step in our relationship–”

“Tommy,” Ranboo cuts him off exasperatedly.  “Come on, it’ll be like when we’d have sleepovers and stuff!  It’ll be fun,” Ranboo claps and points to his bedroom door.  “Come on!  Let’s go!”

“What, are we gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about girls?” Tommy rolls his eyes but clambers off the ground to follow.

“I mean, you can talk about girls.  I don’t think I will.”

Niki smiles, fond and relieved.  Ranboo had missed having company.  None of them are acknowledging the hole, the absence once occupied for so many years by Tubbo.  He should be here.  

Even as Tommy is grateful to have a bed, as he’s missed Ranboo’s company just as Ranboo had missed his, he’s trying really hard not to get weak right now.  He refuses to cry over something as ridiculous as the idea of his best friend––his former best friend?––not being in the place he is meant to.  Tubbo has changed.  Tommy knows this, Tommy knows he should be able to let go, because that’s not his best friend anymore, in more ways than one.  At the same time, Tommy knows if Tubbo showed up right now, no matter the state, no matter the blood on his hands, Tommy would only be able to hug him, to bring him back into the fold and say “Where have you been, Bee Boy?  You’re late.  And you missed dinner.”

Instead, he just follows Ranboo, and even as neither of them say it, he can read Ranboo’s silence for the same thought.  They miss him.

~

Wilbur has a difficult time falling asleep.  He’s perturbed by troubling thoughts, thoughts he hadn’t been prepared for.  It’s a peculiar list that’s been growing.  Only looking at today, not even the past months, and it’s enough to make his head spin.  He’d forgone cigarettes to get that scrappy kid some medicine he probably won’t even use.  And when Tommy had run to the body, he hadn’t felt scared like that in a long time.  Probably in as long a time since he called Ranboo Ranbus.

“Fuck…” Wilbur mutters into the dark.  He rolls over and almost screams.  Niki is currently making her way silently across the living room, he sits up sharply.  “Niki?”

“Sh!” She presses a finger to his lips.  She motions for him to follow.  “Come on the roof with me,” she whispers.  In her other hand, she has a bottle.

“The roof-? Right, fine,” Wilbur clambers to his feet.

“Take that blanket too.”

He does so, following her to door in the back of the kitchen, within it is a pantry, and on the opposite wall, a ladder.  He does not ask questions.

Niki unlocks a trapdoor, wincing when it creaks loudly, but as far as they can tell the boys haven’t been woken.

The roof isn’t quiet.  It’s well past midnight, but there’s the wind through the buildings and cars still making their way across the city.  Niki shuts the hatch behind him, gesturing to the roof.

“Put the blanket down.  Over here so we can look out,” she nods to the front of the building.  At this angle to the street, Wilbur can see all the way to the river, to the distant lights of the bridge.  They can’t see a single star in the sky here, but there’s something beautiful about it anyway.

Niki sits on the blanket, patting the spot beside her.  She rips the cork out of the bottle with her teeth, spitting it over the edge of the roof.  She spots Wilbur’s expression out of the corner of her eye and giggles.

“I run a speakeasy, Wilbur,” she says by way of explanation.

“I don’t think most bartenders are comfortable ripping a cork out with their teeth.”

Niki shrugs.  “How would I know?  I can’t exactly meet up with other bartenders in a prohibition state.”  She takes a swig, wincing.

“Touché,” Wilbur sits beside her.  “What’re we drinking tonight?”

“Um,” she takes another swig.  “Gin.”

“Gin?”

She nods.  “It’s popular.  I thought we might as well,” she offers him the bottle.

“Might as well…” Wilbur mutters.  He takes a drink, shuddering.  “That’s… that’s some strong gin, shit.”

“Feels…” Niki mulls it over, “appropriate?”

“What’s the occasion?” Wilbur smiles, still puzzled, but also oddly delighted.  He’s missed this.

“Um, not really an occasion, more like… a goal,” she takes back the bottle, takes a swig, and passes it back, nodding at him.  He obliges and takes another drink.

“Goal?”

“To get you, Wilbur Soot, drunk enough to… to spill your guts to me.”

Wilbur had been halfway through another swig when he chokes.  “Pardon?”

Niki smiles, all mischief.  “To be fair, I am drinking too.”

“Feels like I’ve been brought here under false pretenses.”

“What pretenses?” She laughs.

“Fine.  I dunno,” Wilbur smiles, offering her the bottle.  “Okay, if we’re… if we’re spilling guts, lets do it tit-for-tat, quid pro quo.”

She nods, “wie du mir, so ich dir.”

“Wie du mir, so ich dir,” Wilbur attempts to copy her pronunciation and he can’t tell from her smile if he succeeded or failed.  “So,” Wilbur asks the first thing that comes into his head.  “Is Ranboo… is he mad at me?  He seems… well, about as pissed off as Ranboo can be, if I’m honest.”

Niki nods, like it’s an easy truth.

“He is?”

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause he knows you leaving hurt me.”

“Oh,” Wilbur feels like a weight has just pressed down harder on his shoulders.

Niki nods amicably.  “And now you’re back.  And he thinks you have a lot to prove.”

“Yeah.  I… I think I do,” Wilbur takes another swig.

“Do you have anything to do with the…” Niki gestures vaguely to the streets below.

“The what?” He’s puzzled out of his melancholy.

“The changes.  A lot of little things.  I don’t know,” she shrugs.  “It all sort of started when you turned up, and, sorry, Wil, you…” she almost looks pitying.  “You break things.  Sometimes.”

Wilbur nods, staring out at the patchy trail of streetlights, some lit, some not.  “I break things,” he agrees softly.

“Sometimes,” Niki reminds him pointedly.

He laughs, half under his breath, “sometimes.”

“There’s something wrong, Wil.  Schlatt is dead, and I thought…” Niki frowns.  “I don’t know what I thought.  When I first found out, I was mostly worried about Tubbo, but then I… I thought it was gonna fix things.”

Wilbur once more thinks of his father, and it’s hard to resist the bitterness curdling in his stomach.  “It was bad, then?”  Quiet.  He glances over at Niki, who is looking with the same thoughtfulness out at the city.  Wilbur continues, “Schlatt, I mean.”

She glances at him, clearly measuring up how little he knows.  “It’s like I said, Wil.  You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I have,” Wilbur says like it’s an apology.  It isn’t an apology.

“Drink more.  You’re bigger than me, you need to catch up,” she presses the bottle into his hands.  He obliges.

“I didn’t want to, you know.  To leave you, to leave the city,” Wilbur knows it’s a feeble defense, but it’s all he can think to say.

She still look like she knows something, something she isn’t saying, not directly at least.  “Didn’t you?”

“I…” Wilbur feels very vulnerable.  He can’t imagine Niki knowing, knowing the whole of it, but it’s clear she understands him in a lot of ways.  Which makes sense.  Niki had once been his best friend.  “I don’t know,” is what he settles on.  It’s a safe answer, maybe too safe.

Niki sighs, sitting up, legs folded beneath her.  Wilbur offers her the bottle once more and she pushes it back.  “You first, then me.”

He takes a drink.  She follows.

“You all left, you and Phil and Techno, and… and Phil leaving was hard.  He… he sent money until I asked him to stop.  He called until I… I got too busy to pick up,” she shrugs.  “I don’t know,” she echoes his sentiment, staring down at the roof.  “Techno said goodbye.  A… a pretty good goodbye, I think.  And I was… I was mostly okay for a while.  Schlatt… Schlatt didn’t get involved until I was eighteen.  That’s when I opened the Secret City, ‘cause before I was worried if I got caught while underage it would fall back on Eret’s family, so…”

Wilbur knows it’s far from important, but on impulse he asks her, almost defensive, like a childish teen rivalry has resurfaced.  “Eret?”

“Yeah.  Her family helped look after us.  You… you can’t own a business at sixteen, Wil,” Niki says wryly.  “I mean, we were on our own, really.  Me and Ranboo.  They didn’t really interfere, it just made sure no one was like, trying to take Ranboo away from me or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Wilbur feels almost embarrassed now.  “I… I understand.  Got it.”  He takes another drink.

“You said you were coming back, Wil,” Niki says softly.

“I meant to,” he says hoarsely.  He means it.

“Okay, but when you weren’t anymore, when you didn’t,” she looks over at him, eyes too shiny.  “Why didn’t you call?  Why didn’t you… why didn’t you write?  Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Wilbur feels like that look in her eyes, grief and broken trust and wounds still unhealed, like it might burn him up from the inside.  He can’t bring himself to look away.

“I don’t have any good answers for you.”

“Give me a bad one, then.”

"Fuck, I'm just a mess," Wilbur wipes his eyes.

"Yeah, you are," she says teasingly.  "Give me an answer."

Wilbur swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat, finally tearing his gaze from hers to stare at the way the bottle in his hand gleams in the streetlight.  “It was supposed to be a clean break.”  He gives the wrong excuse, but it’s the only one he has.

Niki feels an ache in her chest grow sharp.  She had expected a bad answer, but that one stings, especially when she knows what festers underneath.  “Clean…” she scoffs.  A pause, Wilbur with nothing to say in his own defense, and Niki thinking.  “I was... I was okay on my own.  Really.  Schlatt wasn't a problem until I opened the Secret City and... and when he first started showing up and taking money and... and then alcohol, I didn't... I didn't know what he was gonna do to us.  I'd never... Phil kept us away from that stuff, you know?  I... I made sure they didn't know about Ranboo," Niki nods once, as if reassuring herself, proud and certain she did right by him.  "They wouldn't fucking touch him, I made sure.  I couldn't stop them from knowing he worked there, but... they didn't know he was my family.  So, that was... a bit safer?  I think?  And... I hate this," she says vehemently.  "I hate that this is the truth, but when I stopped fighting, it got easier.  I gave them the money, my supplies, whatever they asked for.  I only fought back when... when I thought it would actually sink us, and before I got brave enough to do that I had to ask Eret for help sometimes and I hated doing that, because I knew I shouldn't have had to.  Once I gave up, his men stopped coming and threatening to break things, and instead it was just Tubbo.  It felt... it felt easier that way.  I gave up so much of what we earned, and that just became normal," she says that word like it's something vulgar.  "But I did it.  I did it.  I kept everyone safe, everyone.  I looked after them all.  Homeless kids, and Schlatt's kid, and Schlatt's boyfriend, and Schlatt's boyfriend's boyfriend, and Schlatt's doctor, and... and Badlanders and ex-Badlanders, and ex-Empire kids, because... because they were gone.  You were gone.  The Empire left us, and I wasn't gonna let that hurt us.  No way.  Maybe I didn't have Phil's authority or Techno's reputation or... or anything like that.  But I kept them all safe.  All of them," she looks at Wilbur, and he is almost in awe of the fire burning behind her eyes.  Wilbur feels so sure that if Niki wanted to burn this city down, she could and she'd probably have the right to.  The fire drains out of her, and once more she looks so tired.  "The earlier years were the hardest.  The ones where I missed you the most, Wil."  Niki takes a shaky breath.  She looks away.  "When I say Schlatt was bad, I don’t say it because I think you could’ve fixed things.  Maybe if Phil had stuck around, he could’ve made it better, but that’s different.  That’s not you.”  A pause.  Wilbur almost feels like he can’t breathe.  Niki continues, “even with the bad parts of it, really I just wanted you to be there, Wil.  You were– you were supposed to be there,” Niki says it with the certainty of a girl who had been eighteen, and alone, and scared, and trying to defend herself from threats so much bigger than her, and waiting for her brother to get taken away, and all the while wishing she could cry on her best friend’s shoulder.

“I am… I am so sorry, Niki.  I don’t expect forgiveness, I don’t, I just need you to know how sorry I am.”  A strange apology for someone utterly certain his father had dragged him out of this city kicking and screaming, but maybe he’s not talking about that kind of leaving.  Maybe Niki knows that.

Niki does not forgive him.  “I believe you, Wil.”  That counts for something too.

Wilbur has felt something building in his chest for weeks, discontent forever rising as his plans never turn out quite right and he has been unable to do the one thing he came to this city for.  A lot has changed in the past months.  His discontent finally spills over.

“I came here, I came back to the city two months ago,” Wilbur stops, taking a deep breath to stop his lip from trembling.  He quickly wipes his cheek.  He doesn’t look at her.  “I came back here to kill myself.”

Niki doesn’t say a word.  She doesn’t know what she could say, but she isn't really surprised.  She takes his hand.

“N-Not here, here.  I wasn’t… I wasn’t gonna do it in your house,” Wilbur continues to spill over, a rambling defense for something he knows cannot be defended.  “I was… I had a plan, it was… it wasn’t supposed to take this long, but I had to– It had to be– Someone else has to do it,” he says forcefully.  “I wanted it to be Schlatt.  Or Schlatt’s dogs, whatever.  If not him, any gunfire would do.  I tried prodding the Badlands, I tried going down the wrong streets and… and spraying stupid graffiti on claimed territory, and none of it worked.  Closest I got was that stupid fucking car bomb, and all it did was almost kill Tommy…”

Now Niki can think of a reply, not to the matter on the whole, but to this piece of it.  “Why?”  Wilbur glances at her, burden evident at the thought of answering that sort of question, Niki corrects.  “Why… why did it have to be someone else, I mean.”

Wilbur laughs bitterly.  “It was supposed to be for Phil?  I thought… I thought it might be nice for it to mean something, so, I thought if I got myself killed in the crossfire of some petty street violence, maybe…” Wilbur trails off, as if by voicing it aloud he’d realized the childishness of his plots.  “Maybe it would make him want to change.  To do better.  Something like that,” he sighs.

“For Phil,” Niki repeats, processing.

“Yeah,” Wilbur says wearily.

“Don’t… don’t take this the wrong way, Wilbur, but… but once all that didn’t work, why didn’t you… you know, try something else?” Niki asks carefully.

Wilbur had forgotten how direct Niki could be.  “Um, well, lots of… of little reasons, I guess.”

“Little reasons?”

Wilbur huffs, almost annoyed with the idea.  “It was… it was that stupid fucking kid, alright?  It was Tommy.”

Niki smiles, almost amused.  “Tommy?”

“Not… not for lovely sentimental reasons, not at first at least, but he just… he kept showing up.  Every day, I’d be wandering around, debating between the river and a highrise, and there he’d fucking be!  Calling me a layabout and following me and hounding me until I’d decide it was worth trying a few more schemes to see if I could get myself killed that way, and even then!  Even then, he’d find a way to get in the way.  Like, I tried to get out in front of a Badlands patrol, when they were first starting to get all nervous, and this kid latches onto me like a furious fucking koala, and he won’t let me out of the alleyway without him, so I gave up that time.  And shit like that just kept happening,” Wilbur sighs, shaking his head, almost amazed.  “He just… by accident, he just kept me out of it.”

“That sounds like Tommy.”

Wilbur laughs dryly.  “Does it?”  Wilbur broods, once more returning to the thoughts that had been circling his sleepless brain earlier.  “And he’s… he needs help, right?  He obviously needs help, and needs it worse than any of us first thought, apparently, and I…” Wilbur sighs.  “And I can’t.  Okay?”

“You… you don’t think you can help him?  Wil, no one would expect that of you.”

“No, not that, and it’s not a matter of expectation, it’s–” Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls as he feels like Niki and all her love for him is digging a confession out of his chest, but he wants this, he wants to tell her, because he loves her too.  “I can’t kill myself.  Not until… not until he’s better.  ‘Cause I… I almost forgot about Ranbus.”

“You… what do you mean you almost forgot Ranboo?” Now Niki is properly confused.

“Not Ranboo– Ranbus.  I… I said it so effortlessly, I didn’t even think about it, but before tonight, I almost forgot what I called that kid, that I… I was something to him,” Wilbur sighs.

“You still are something to him.”

Wilbur smiles weakly, grateful for her kindness even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.  “Maybe.  I… you’re good to him, Niki.  You were still a kid yourself, and you took care of him.  He’s lucky, and I think he knows how lucky he is, to have you for a big sister, and…” Wilbur trails off, words coming together slowly.  “And Tommy’s not lucky.  In more than one way, because he had no one, and instead of someone like you, Niki, he gets stuck with me instead,” Wilbur laughs.  “So, I can’t kill myself.  Because he needs… he needs someone.  That’s all.”

Niki scoots closer, resting her head on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Wilbur.  For… for a lot of things you’ve had to go through, but I’m really glad you’re here now.  And I’m really glad you’re not going anywhere.”

Wilbur takes a shaky breath, no longer trying to ward off tears or the tremor in his voice.  “Thanks, Niki.”

“Maybe Tommy isn’t as lucky as Ranboo, but he’s still lucky to have you.”

Wilbur nods.  “Thank you.  For a lot of things, but Niki,” Wilbur looks over at her, looking her in the eye for once without fear or guilt or shame.  “Thank you for being my best friend.”

Niki smiles, reaching out to mess up his hair.  “You’re welcome.  Thank you for… for trying to bring my best friend back.”

Wilbur understands.  “I’ll be him again.  I promise.”

Niki gets to her feet, unsteady and offering him a hand off the ground.  “I’ll hold you to that, Wilbur Soot.  Don’t think I won’t.”

[karinasbaby]

people really defending with "oh he's dancing in a provocative way"

....are.. are they dancers themselves? i've seen one dancer say that they would do the vogue or tutting no matter if it looks "gay". it's dance, their passion. to that dancer there was no issue in the genre, there might be dancers who might stick to specific styles but it's still dance, something they want to do.

how do those defenders know what someone is thinking like "oh if he didn't wanna be sexualized then he should've danced kid-friendly dances" like?? they're missing the whole point

my dearest anon you’re so so right !! using his dancing & choreography as an excuse to sexualise him knowing well that the members don’t have 100% control over their choreographies is just plain weird. like they’re kpop idols. they’re supposed to dance and sing on stage and you’re using his job and profession as an excuse to sexualise him?? it’s just so disgusting and weird like pls go outside and touch some grass get a life PLEASE 🙏🏼

and literally what do they mean kid friendly dances what the hell 😭 just because he isn’t an adult doesn’t mean he should do “kid-friendly dances” he can dance however he wants. you’re the one that’s sexualising him because of his dancing which is creepy because it’s literal DANCING. just admit it you’re mad weird and creepy and go fix yourself please.

[butchnavi]

you're the one i think to call (how do i feel lucky and appalled at the same time)

[elytrafemme]

🌹

hi hi

-

“Did you feel better?” Ranboo says before he can stop himself. His heart is racing in his chest, up his throat. His hands are tensed around the ice pack. “When you stopped?”

“Not at first,” Niki says, a small, rueful smile across her face. “At first, I felt even worse. I wasn’t God, I wasn’t evil, I wasn’t good. I was just nothing. I was nothing, and everyone hated me, and I thought so many times, maybe this won’t change anything. Maybe I will always be like this.”

There’s a pause for a few seconds, where the room falls into complete and utter silence.

And then Ranboo breaks.

[babieken]

I was expecting so much more from Again My Life considering lee jungi was its main character but it was such a let down...

[chuuyrr]

GUESS WHO'S OFFICIALLY DONE WITH EXAMS AND NO LONGER ON HIATUS !!

[rnjfy]

writer’s block has been defeated! (time to disappear again)

snow ducks — pjs.

in which park jisung loved snow ducks, but he loved you more.

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate! i’m back after almost a year (LOL) to drop this jack frost!jisung au that’s been rotting in my drafts ever since he’d dyed his hair for glimo T_T

warning/s: f!reader x jisung, mild profanity (like one or two), not proofread, fluff & angst if you squint, jisung and reader are CLUELESS, insinuations of a rough past, jisung as jack frost (because this is a warning in and of itself)

jisung couldn’t have imagined getting used to a life where no one knew his name. a life where everyone seemed to walk right through his body even when he was standing directly in front of them, his dark blue jacket hanging loosely on his body—bare feet feeling numb despite the cold concrete beneath them.

alas, he didn’t really have a choice. waking up to the man in the moon telling him that he was special? that’s what thrusted him into his new lifestyle.

“jack frost?” the curious tone of a short brown haired girl tore his attention away from his dwindling thoughts—she was staring cluelessly up at her father, who watched her from the family’s porch.

jisung huffs, a small smirk already pulling at his lips. he’s heard this conversation a thousand times, but he was always curious as to how each parent would spin the story and he in-turn was pleasantly surprised at the amount of different takes each parent would tell their kids.

the man clears his throat before repeating the same old folklore the people of the city had made up about the white haired boy, yet with a new-found twist. “if you stay outside too long, jack frost will come and freeze you up!”

this makes the teenage boy chuckle, his staff hanging freely on his fingertips. sure, he can cause a blizzard with just the touch of them thanks to the man in the moon, but even he wouldn’t do that to a little girl. though, his sharp eyes watches her gasp before she rushes up from her spot in front of their house, the snow beneath her feet crackles as she giggles into her dads arms.

jisung doesn’t know what makes his heart freeze, the lonely feeling he gets from the heartwarming family gesture—or the snowstorm he seems to be brewing over the city of pennsylvania.

—

“you were out again?”

jisung sighs. he didn’t want to be sitting through another one of the tooth fairy’s lectures and with this one being his third of the week, he could probably recite her lecture off the top of his head.

her wings were fluttering rapidly as her cheeks tinted pink with how frustrated she was with him. “you didn’t throw snowballs at a child’s head again did you?”

a laugh almost bubbles from his lips. almost.

“that was one time! and they had fun didn’t they?” the boy grins as he twirls the small snowflakes around in the air above his fingers. he watches as she relaxes a tiny bit, her wings still making the slight fluttering noise he’s learned to drown out. the green fairy sighs, tired from having to say the same thing over and over again to the michievous boy standing in front of her with absolutely no care in the world.

“don’t let north find out, okay? he’ll rip your head right off.” she ends her lecture short with a small murmur, which catches jisung off guard. her bright smile flashes at him before she’s whisked away by one of her many fairies.

being a guardian wasn’t always easy, he was a teenage boy for god’s sake and having to deal with everything a boy his age does on top of having to be a ‘role model’ for millions of kids out in the world—meant finding time for him to just be himself, the teenage jisung park, was a scarce opportunity. he knew the tooth fairy only meant well, they all did, even the easter bunny. but he felt like they didn’t understand. they didn’t know about the grip his past had on him, a past that he isn’t even fully aware about yet. they didn’t know that sometimes all he yearns for are answers to who he really is.

but despite all this, he picks up his staff with his gaze trailing over the hundreds of elves scattered across the north pole.

and the white haired boy is gone—with only a small snowflake left in his place.

—

over the years, jisung’s learned to ignore the ache in his chest that longs to search for the answers to the questions swirling in his head. instead, he enjoys walking in the silence of the night—the glow from sandman’s magic lights his path as he prods at the floor beneath him.

he welcomes the cold, the one thing that has brought him comfort over these last few years. watching the ice create beautiful shapes on the pavement strangely relaxes him as he hums a soft song he doesn’t remember, though his heart seems to recognize the familiar tune.

“great job, sandy.” jisung whispers into the dead of the night, watching proudly as the yellow sand sifts into each house he passes by.

the boy lifts himself into the air with little to no effort. he lets a chuckle slip past his lips as his fingers feel through the sandman’s ‘dream trail’ as he likes to call it. jisung has always admired him, his power to soothe children and provide them with heart warming dreams to keep their sleep from being distrupted.

on nights like this, cold and lonely ones, he misses his home deeply. he knows it sounds ridiculous, to miss a home he doesn’t even remember, but he dreams that he had a family. one that would snuggle under one blanket on nights like this one—one that would wake each other up on christmas day because north or ‘santa’ had decided to pay them a visit.

he’s snapped out of his daydream though when he spots you sitting in front of your house. jisung’s never been one to keep track of time, but judging off the dream trail, he was pretty sure that it was late enough for no one to be out. you seemed to be busying yourself with something in the snow, so he takes this as his sign to drop down from the wires he’d been standing on previously.

“ducks?” he’s confused when he sees enough ducks made of snow sitting in a straight line, all of them nearly identical to each other.

his curious mind pushes him to wander towards your hunched figure, but something in him makes him cautious—almost like approaching you was a mistake.

jisung chooses to ignore the unfamiliar feeling, his feet making no marks in the snow as he squats next to you, his staff standing tall next to both of your figures.

his eyes linger on your face, the top of your head was covered in a black beanie with a pom pom sitting at the top. you were clad in your pajamas and a jacket—an outfit that kind of matched his—your cheeks and nose were both stained pink from the cold, but your eyes shimmered in happiness as you continued to make another duck.

“you kind of look like a ryan to me..?” he’s startled by the warmth in your voice, followed by the soft giggles that left your lips.

he could tell you were his age, something he oddly never encounters. he’s used to seeing toddlers running and playing around in the snow, so the weird feeling of familiarity settles in his chest as you put down the duck-making-contraption to blow some warmth into your hands.

you don’t seem to notice him, not like he expected you to, but it’s when you whisper something into the cold air that has him rooted to his place on the ground.

“i hope you still like ducks, ‘sung. i made too many for you to not like them anymore! happy birthday, wherever you are.”

and you disappear back into your house after picking up your contraption.

—

“how would she even know who i am?! i sure as hell don’t know who she is!” jisung was close to ripping the frosty white hair off his head and his feet were burning the solid floor of the north pole from the amount of pacing he’s been doing since he had gotten there an hour before all the elves had woken up and gotten to work.

north’s jaw ticks as he sighs for what felt like the millionth time that morning. “for the last time, jack, she probably means someone else! it’s not like you’re the only “jisung” in the world.”

the rest of the guardians bob their heads in aggreement, soft murmurs of their own comments all mesh into one—but jisung decides against them all. he felt a physical pull towards you, the shape of your face, the way you spoke and the way your eyes shone in the moonlight… all those things felt so familiar, but he was driving himself crazy as to why it all felt the way it did.

“i’m telling you. she knows who i am!”

he was frustrated. the feeling of familiarity in his chest was addicting and so very comforting. he wanted to know who you were—how you knew him—well, he was so sure that he was the “‘sung” you were talking about.

his heart was racing so loudly that it was pumping in his ears. the questions that were screaming at him made his head spin. it wasn’t like the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t remember his past. this… this was world’s apart from that.

despite it all, jisung’s pacing seems to slow to a stop before his eyes narrow into slits. the silence of a certain green fairy was enough for his mind to swirl with a couple thousand more questions.

his gaze hardens like the ice he’s able to create with his fingertips, “you know something.”

the phrase comes out bitter and demanding. something the younger boy has never used especially around any of the guardians. he watches as the fairy’s eyes dart to everything in the room except him, explanations spilling from her mouth.

“no i don’t! who said i did? was it one of my own? because there’s absolutely noooo way i know anything! nothing! nada! zer—“

the tooth fairy bites her lip as she watches jisung’s grip tighten on the wooden staff.

“park,” north’s voice is low, the warning clear in his tone. he loves jisung like he would love his own son if he had one, but he would not and will not tolerate him hurting any of the other guardians.

not like he could ever do that.

“you’re going to tell me what you know right now.” the frustration is evident in his voice. he was tired of being left in the dark—forced to fend for himself when that’s all he’s been doing for so long. too long.

the fairy fiddles with her fingers, her wings flapping at an even faster rate behind her. “i-i don’t know much. but—i have your teeth. f-from when you were just jisung park.”

the world seems to slow to a stop. jisung’s read about it happening in some books he found in the nooks and crannies of the north pole, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like it did.

he knew what that meant. she had once told him that all the teeth she had collected from each kid held a memory from their lives. the collection of memories all locked in the gold tube he used to gaze at with so much curiosity, the memories unlocked by one touch of his finger.

the silence was suffocating him—and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

“jisung. you have to calm down.”

the worried gaze of the easter bunny somewhat helps him, though his rapid breaths were starting to be difficult on his lungs. hearing how something so crucial to figuring out his past, to figuring out who he is, was kept from him by someone he’s kept so close for the past few years seemed to be crushing him.

“y-you… you had the answers to my questions all this time… and you didn’t… you didn’t tell me?” heartbreak drips from his tone. all those nights he spent trying to shut out the loud thoughts in his head—all of which could’ve been solved if the tooth fairy had just told him what she just did.

“we wanted you to embrace who you are now, jack. you’re a guardian now, it doesn’t matter what happened in the past—“

“that’s not for you to decide!” his rough shout startles everyone in the room, even some of the elves. his eyes sting from the unshed tears he’s determined to keep from rolling down his cheeks.

“it wasn’t your right to take that from me. those are my memories, my past, my life!” jisung’s breathing hard now. the intensity of how painful this secret was overbearing. and the fact that everyone knew? not just the tooth fairy? that’s what hurt him most.

he scoffs, the grip on his staff tightening as he lifts his hood up above his head.

“i can’t believe any of you.” he ignores the way they all scramble after him, pleading for him to calm down—he needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else but in a room full of people who just shattered his already bruised heart.

—

you couldn’t stand the cold. you prefer to be out on a sunny and warm day than to play in the snow while simultaneously freezing to death.

so why were you standing out in the cold?

you wished you could say that you didn’t know. that somehow, the cold just brought you some source of comfort and that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason as to why. but you did know. you know that you’re out here because of a certain boy and how he always loved the snow. how he knew how to handle himself on ice, even when it was freezing and his teeth were chattering.

“y/n? come back inside, dear. it’s freezing!” the voice of your mother pulls you from your everlasting thoughts of the boy you loved, as it almost always did.

you turn to look at her and you see the pity in her eyes. you know she can tell whenever you start to get out of sorts over your best friend who went missing four years ago now. she’s seen the ducks left out, just like you do for every birthday that’s passed without him.

“i’ll be in in a minute, mom.” you smile, a genuine one, soaking in the cold for a little bit more when you hear your front door gently closing after a soft reply from your mom.

you hadn’t known what happened to your best friend, and he never got the justice you felt he deserved. but him disappearing without a trace seemed to scream ‘runaway!’ to the police, so his case was dropped, much to yours and your family’s devastation. you still remember the day you found out he disappeared like it was yesterday.

“where’s this boy at?” your irritated sigh is acxompanied with a white puff from your mouth, the cold atmosphere made your breath visible as your teeth chattered and your fingers trembled.

despite it all, you were there. waiting in front of the fountain of your town like you always do when winter starts.

‘hello! this is jisung, i don’t seem to have heard your call or—shit y/n cut that out! sorry uh… leave your message at the beep, okay bye!’

“damn it.” the frustration was settling in, your eyes gazing at the digital numbers taunting you on your phone. it’s almost been an hour since you were supposed to meet jisung here—either he had forgotten your plans, or he simply liked to torture you because he knew how much you hated the cold—and if it was the latter, you were certain you’d kill him.

your phone rings in your hands and you hurriedly pick up, expecting to hear your best friends deep voice scrambling with apologies.

“jisu—“

“…honey? where are you? mrs. park just called to say that jisung’s gone missing…”

your life hasn’t been the same ever since. you never heard a peep from the boy—and even after a whole year of you texting his number, someone else eventually answered, regretfully telling you that they weren’t jisung, but an older lady named kira.

which was a weird experience, but your parents were glad that you had finally let go of texting your missing best friend. they knew you would take the news the hardest. you were head over heels for this boy, and seeing as how you both were attached at the hip—they were worried for how you’d cope.

and they’ve settled that you making ducks out of snow once a year seems to be the perfect way to cope for you.

“this is stupid,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone in particular. you gaze at the perfectly lined up ducks. eighteen of them.

that’s how old jisung would’ve turned that year.

when your fingers start to feel numb, the cold air seeming to get even colder, you decide that maybe it’s time to head back inside. you glance one more time over at the eighteen ducks sitting neatly at the front of your porch. a small flicker in you hopes that one day, they somehow bring jisung home.

—

he didn’t know what he was doing here. after all that happened in the north pole, he just let the wind take him anywhere. his mind was too busy to figure out where he’d stay before returning back to the north pole when everything was sorted out in his mind and heart.

and that’s how he finds himself standing next to you. his hood is up and his tight grip on his staff causes you to let out a small shiver.

he can tell you’re feeling somber, your eyes weren’t as happy as they were when he first saw you and your gaze seemed to linger at nothing in particular.

he watches as you purse your lips before slowly heading back inside. jisung didn’t know who you were, but being next to you warmed his freezing heart with a sense of familiarity he hasn’t felt in so long.

“eighteen…” his soft mumble is heard by no one, he had counted the ducks you had lined up by your house.

he wonders why you had decided to make that many, but a small smile tugs at his lips when he uses his magic to create a small pile of snow around the ducks, forming a small fence around all of them.

jisung’s torn from his thoughts when he hears soft chatter coming from the inside of your house, his curiosity getting the better of him while he stands to steal a glance from your window.

“hey hon. do you want to pay jisung a visit?” an older man looks directly at you as he fixes his tie, your slightly smaller stature stands in front of him, clad in the same outfit he saw you standing in earlier—minus a set of blue gloves.

the mention of his name has him attempting to hear your conversation better. he strains to hear over his racing heart, but he hears you reply with a hesitant ‘sure’. even from where he’s standing, he can see the fear in your eyes. he doesn’t exactly know why they glisten with unshed tears and he looks away as your family gathers around you in a group hug. he felt like he was intruding an important family moment.

he’s not sure how much time has passed with how he was trying hard not to eavesdrop, but your front door suddenly nudges open, surprising him almost enough to drop his staff.

“you made a little fence?” jisung hears the grin on your mom’s face and he turns to you to find you staring at his little creation around your ducks.

your face is turned down into a frown, your hands clad in the blue gloves you were wearing the first time he saw you that day. “i didn’t.”

this seems to silence your parents as they watch you with curious eyes. you looked conflicted, almost as if you didn’t know whether or not you liked the fact that someone had added to your small creation.

“well… then maybe jack frost did it?”

jisung perks up at the mention of his name, (well his alter ego’s name, you could say) his jaw slacks at the playful tone your father had taken when talking about him. but your eyes immediately roll into the back of your head.

“yeah, whatever.” the last word was mumbled underneath your breath, but he heard it loud and clear. he couldn’t understand why you not believing in him hurt the most, even when he knew you didn’t just by the fact that you couldn’t see him.

he watches dejectedly as your family gets into your car, you taking the back seat while your family sit in the front. your head bobs to music that was probably playing on the radio, and all he could do is stand on your porch as your dad drives you all away.

—

“let me see my memories.” the tone he’s chosen to use wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either.

jisung’s staring straight at the tooth fairy, who was in the middle of sorting out a problem with her baby fairies. she stills and purses her lips, looking at the teenage boy with red-rimmed eyes.

he’s had enough of the lies, tired of the way the rest of the guardians seem to think they can decide what he wants to do with who he is and the past that holds the answers to everything he had questioned the man in the moon ever since he had become jack frost.

“what happened, jisung?” her concern is waved off by the cold boy, the grip on his staff was tightening. “please, toothiana.”

his low whisper gets to her. he never calls her by her name unless things get too difiicult, for either of them. she could hear the pain hidden by his tough front, but she could tell that the boy was having an incredibly hard time.

“you’ve kept this from me for long enough. i’m tired of having to… look towards the moon and get no response every night for something i know is right here with you—!” his voice strains from the pain he’s trying so hard to hide from her.

the fairy sighs—conflicted by the care she holds for him and her duty to protect him. “…okay.”

jisung was fairly surprised by how quickly she agreed to him, but she wasn’t sure if she should even be allowing him to see his memories, strict rules from north was taunting her mind. but, with one more glance at jisung, she knows that she just doesn’t have the heart to keep it from him.

he watches silently as she flutters over to the hidden cases of teeth she had collected over the years, her fingers skimming over thousands of tabs—one shiny case slipping out into her awaiting hands.

“just… we’re here for you, jisung. okay? if you need us…” the fairy gently places the gold tube in his hands before leaving him alone to discover the memories lying in the gold case.

he wasn’t sure about what was preventing him from diving head first into his memories, but his gaze remained trained on the small image on the side of the tube, one that looked like his younger self. the silence he was left with seemed to scream at him to touch the white surface.

‘sung! jisung, where are you?!

he wanted to call out to the voice, tell them that he was right here and that he was doing just fine. he could hear the panic in the unfamiliar voice despite it being muffled and quiet.

being in this moment scared him more than anything ever has—he could have his memories in his hands right now and they were all at the touch of his fingertips. but the idea of it all overwhelmed him, pushing his heart to rage against his chest.

jisung… where did you go?

“i’m right here.” his whisper is heard by no one.

—

“that’s so stupid!” the room is filled with giggles as the boy attempts to flip whipped cream up from the back of his hand and into his mouth.

with a cute frown, “it is not! and it’s so possible.” jisung rolls his eyes, slapping his wrist and missing for the hundredth time.

this only causes the two kids to fall into even more fits of giggles, the whipped cream landing on the young boy’s forehead. he looked incredibly silly, but nothing could have prepared the younger girl for how adorable he looked, despite it all.

“shouldn’t you get going? or do you wanna stay over tonight?” she breaks the comfortable atmosphere with the tough question. the girl knew how sensitive the topic of jisung’s parents were, which is why she attempted to avoid it as much as she could. but it was late, and if he didn’t go home now, he would for sure be in trouble.

his deep sigh is what meets the soft question, and though he tries to hide behind a smile, she knew he was hurting.

“is it okay if i stay over?”

she never asks why, but that’s why jisung’s so lucky to have the girl sitting in front of him. his question is met by a soft nod from her, eliciting his lips to tug into a small smile.

“you’re the best.”

the sliver of a memory soothes one of jisung’s many curiosities. the small gold case he’s holding opened up one of his many lost memories, one that he knows was treasured by his younger self. the sight of the faceless girl haunts his mind as he imagines the memory over and over again. who was she to him?

“damn it,” jisung huffs when he feels frustrated tears sting at his eyes.

he could tell by the one memory he allowed himself to see—that the reason the guardians were hiding this from him, was because of the difficult past he was dealt with. he may not remember any of it, but slowly it was piecing itself together.

—

you hated this day. and with every year that passes, you’d wonder if it would ever get easier, but it never does. seeing your best friend’s name engraved on a tombstone was never an easy sight. it never failed to bring you to tears.

your parents would always carry a new boquet of hyacinths, jisung’s favorite flower according to you. the three of you would arrive at his grave, a different boquet already sitting at the feet of his tombstone.

you had your hands in your pockets and your gaze settled on the floor—so you didn’t notice a certain white haired boy who had settled himself on your porch.

“woah. what the hell?!” your loud voice seems to go ignored by your parents as they head into your house. your heart was racing at the sight of the unknown boy who seemed just as startled as you were.

jisung’s eyes are blown wide as he stares back at you, “y-you can see me…?”

you’re clutching at your jacket as you stare at him, bewildered. what the hell?

“yes i can see you, y-you freak! who the hell are you?!”

he stumbles as he picks up his staff, the hood resting on his head falls as he slowly steps off your porch. “shh, dude. you have to be quiet.”

jisung doesn’t know what he’s doing. he came here to get some piece of mind—and when your car came rolling up your driveway, he wasn’t expecting you to see him.

“you expect me to be quiet when you’re just mmf—!”

both of you are surprised when jisung surges forward and covers your mouth with his hand. you’re stunned at his action, his palm feeling cold as ice against your skin.

“no one else sees me. i don’t know why you do, though. so you have to shut up.” he’s quiet now, his eyes turning to your front door, trying to see if your parents were going to come out at any moment.

“who the hell are you?” your voice is slightly calm now, the boy stands sheepishly in front of you. his silence gives you a moment to look him over, a ridiculous wooden staff is sitting between his fingers—a blue hoodie clads his skinny figure and his feet were bare against the white snow covering your front yard.

“i’m—uh… jack..?” he watches, amused at how you seem to stare at him with disbelief.

“jack?” you whisper, your jaw unclenches as he nods at your question. an easy smile dancing on his lips.

he honestly has no idea what he’s doing. but he does know that he’s enjoying it.

“yeah! jack frost, ever heard of me?” he smiles lazily. it wasn’t everyday that he could introduce himself as the fairytale that he seems to have become over the past for years to anyone.

your frown is instant. jisung watched as your eyes danced across his face, taking in the familiarity of his older, colder features.

he expected anything. maybe a jaw drop. maybe a gasp, maybe even an eyebrow raise with some questioning as to whether or not he was serious.

what he didn’t expect though, was for your eyes to widen before your body crumpled to the ground.

—

the warmth of your bed is the first thing that you register when you wake from the strangest dream.

you’d seen jisung. you were sure of it. his hair was as white as snow, and he stared at you with not one hint of recognition—just mischief and a little disbelief at the idea of you seeing him.

“jack…” your murmur disturbed the silence of your bedroom. sitting up, your blanket fell off your shoulders. you were still in the clothes you wore to jisung’s grave, and the moonlight spilling into your room was the only source of light that illuminated your space.

confusion and sadness wraps itself around your heart as you try and shake the feelings that your dream had welcomed back into your head.

unbeknownst to you, frost begins to form on the corners of your closed window as a certain white haired boy perches himself on your roof—his grip on his wooden staff tightening at your quiet whisper.

he didn’t know who you were—not up until a few days ago, anyway. so why did a flash of recognition cross your eyes before you tumbled to the ground?

was that his confirmation that he was the jisung you were talking about? but how?

the jisung you knew was dead. and he was very much alive. albeit, invisible to everyone, but alive. except he wasn’t invisible to you.

the cold boy’s eyes wandered up to the moon, glaring at it as it seemed to be taunting him from above. how could he possibly have more questions now that he’d watched one memory from his stupid golden tooth capsule?

with one last huff (and a glance towards your now peaceful figure tucked away underneath your blanket), jisung stands—and lets the air take him far away from your house.

—

“jisung! don’t go so fast!”

giggles erupt into the air as jisung grips onto the girl’s arms, leading them both across the frozen water.

his smile was bright enough to light up the darkest of nights, watching as the girl struggles to balance herself on the slipper surface.

“you’re alright.” he murmurs to her, grinning as a splash of pink settles on her cheeks.

the girl shakes her head, her grip on his arms tightening as she feels their speed start to pick up once more. “i swear to God, park jisung, if we fall—“

“don’t worry, darling. i won’t ever let you fall.”

“jack?” the tooth fairy’s tentative voice cracks jisung’s concentration as he shuts the golden capsule shut.

she eyes him, watching as he buries what he felt by what he saw deep beneath his surface. he clears his throat before shoving the capsule into the pocket that rests on the bottom of his sweater.

“what’s up?”

her wings flutter furiously as she flies herself over to him. “are… are you alright?”

and the concern in her voice—pisses him off.

“yeah. never better.” jisung smiles at her, allowing his frustration to coat his words and drip off them.

he watches as she flinches at the harshness of his words, her mouth forming a slight pout, and guilt tugs at his heart. he sighs, trying to shake the frustration from his mind.

“i’m sorry.” he murmurs, turning away from the fairy to reel back his emotions. technically, it wasn’t her fault that the memory of the girl was flawed. so it wasn’t fair to the tooth fairy that he was taking his frustrations out on her.

she smiles slightly, reaching up to fluff his hair.

“i’m sorry too, jack.”

their eyes meet and he feels his resolve cracking just a tiny bit. he had always loved the tooth fairy in a sort of, sisterly kind of way, even when she’d piss him off a lot of the time.

she bites her lip, her wings fluttering as she brings herself back down to her feet.

“…did opening your tooth box help with anything?” she asks hesitantly, unsure of how he’d taken the weight of his past.

jisung swallows. his grip on the golden capsule tightens as he avoids her gaze.

“it… it actually raised a lot more questions.” he sighs, his jaw clenching as the image of the faceless girl forces its way back into his mind.

the tooth fairy frowns, watching him closely. “how so?”

“i haven’t actually fully opened it. i could only let myself see two memories,” she nods, listening intently as jisung runs his hand through his hair.

he bites his lip, a frown making its way onto his face before he continued, “both of which had this girl. we were inseparable, apparently. but in both memories her face is blurred.”

the green fairy sighs. “that does happen to some tooth boxes. either the memories are tampered with time, or they were simply memories that the child wanted to block out. but you did say that you and the girl seemed close? i wonder why younger you had wanted to block those memories out…”

jisung’s eyes fall closed, frustration swirling beneath his chest once more.

he’d taken his tooth box in hopes for answers. and yet here he stands, more and more questions filling his mind—and suffocating his peace.

—

“you’re here.”

your voice came out breathless, though you didn’t mean for it to be. jisung was sitting on your fence, snowflakes flying from his fingertips and his staff at his feet.

his eyes darted to your figure and his lips turned up into a grin. “hello to you too!”

your heart stutters in your chest. so it wasn’t a dream.

jisung grins when he hops off your fence to make his way to you. his staff hanging comfortably from his hands. there was a sense of familiarity that drew him to you, a weird feeling that oddly—reminded him of home.

“you, good lady, happen to be one of the only humans that can see me.” jisung smiles wider when he reaches to stand right in front of you. your neck cranes to look into his eyes, and it satisfies a small part of him that he chooses to ignore.

“good lady?” jisung laughs as you cringe, pushing the hood off his head.

“y’know, like good sir?” you roll your eyes as jisung nods his head to the pile of snow in front of the two of you.

your eyes widen as they finally register the sheer amount of ducks that have been spread across your yard. “what… the?”

jisung laughs and scratches the back of his neck as he watches your reaction carefully.

“i saw you that day. you were making ducks with that contraption of yours—figured it’d be a lot faster if i made them for you.”

you’re still staring at the snow ducks, all in different shapes and sizes, your voice having evaded your throat.

jisung shuffles on his feet, unsure of what to make of your silence. he flicks his fingers at the ducks and watches happily as they come to life.

“this is… this is awesome, jack.”

he stiffens at the name, but smiles nonetheless. you step forward to crouch closer to the ducks, laughing when some of them waddle around you. jisung grins, flicking his wrist to create even more magic with the snow that shoots from his fingertips.

your giggles fill the air as he makes snow glide through the air, before bursting into tiny snowflakes that glitter as the sunshine hits them.

jisung?

the oddly familiar voice distracts the white haired boy, his fingers freezing in the air. you’re still distracted by the snowflakes when jisung feels for the tooth box in his pocket.

‘sung, where’d you go?

“i-i gotta go. i forgot i had some place to be.” he murmurs, tugging the hood of his hoodie back over his head.

your eyes linger on the little ducks all over your feet, “alright. when will i—?”

when you finally tear your eyes away from the snow, the icy boy is nowhere to be found.

—

i… i’m right here.

it was weirdly quiet. jisung felt like he was floating, which was definitely not something he was used to. his eyes were closed, and he couldn’t seem to peel them open.

“park jisung, i swear if you’re hiding just to scare me, i’m going to kill you!”

y/n. where were you? your voice sounded so far away.

it was cold. jisung felt the bite of the freezing winter air, but he didn’t feel the need to care at all.

“‘sung, seriously…” you sounded annoyed. but he was right there.

i’m here!

jisung was convinced that he was trapped in a dream. he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, or to reply to your annoyed cries.

then he heard your phone ring—a heartbroken gasp tumbles past your lips, and hurried footsteps fade farther and farther away from him.

y/n! i’m right here…

“y/n.” jisung gasps, the tooth box slipping from his fingers. the truth slams into him and brings him to his knees.

your last memory of him, was that he’d ditched you. the revelation wraps around his heart as tears push their way past his strong exterior.

for years he had longed to know who he had been before the man in the moon chose him to be a guardian. for years he longed for a family—one that knew him as park jisung and not as jack frost.

and now, the answers to his prayers were right there, within his reach.

“jack?” north’s deep voice brings him out of the haze he was drowning in.

tears were blurring his vision, but he stood, grabbing his staff before wiping them off with his sleeve. “i… i have a family.”

jisung’s soft voice brings a small smile onto north’s face. the rest of the guardians had been just that all their lives, guardians. jack—jisung, had been the only one who was turned into a guardian after a tragedy that had struck his life.

north had hoped to keep him in the dark for as long as possible, though he knew it was never going to end up that way. when jisung was first introduced as a guardian, he had been so clueless—so accepting of his fate as jack frost, that north had felt it’d been best to allow him to learn to love himself as jack frost, even if that meant not knowing who he was as park jisung.

he had, obviously, been wrong.

“go, ji.”

jisung’s sobs (embarrassingly) get louder, surging forward to wrap his arms around north.

“thank you, north.”

—

something told jisung that you weren’t home. even though he passed by, eyeing the car that sat in your driveway.

the cold winter air was leading him some place else. some place closer to the girl that seemed to feel more and more like home.

“i miss you, ‘sung.”

your lonely whisper just manages to reach his ears as he slows to a stop a couple feet away from where you sat.

his eyes wandered past your seated figure, slowly taking in where the wind had taken him.

a frozen over lake. one that he knew quite well.

it was cold. jisung felt the bite of the freezing winter air, but he didn’t feel the need to care at all.

“where’d you go, ‘sung?” your heartbroken whisper echoes through the empty lake once more, and urges jisung to move closer to you.

“i’m right here.”

you’re startled—your head whips towards his figure before you’re up on your feet. you’re frowning at him, but all he can do is smile warmly back at you.

“jack? what are you—“

he moves forward, flicking his wrists to form makeshift ice skates on your feet. jisung has no idea what he’s doing, but he moves swiftly and hurriedly—transferring the two of you onto the frozen lake.

“jack!” your gasp is full of fear, your hands gripping onto his forearms as jisung glides the two of you across the frozen water.

“i’m so sorry it took me this long to remember you. to remember us, y/n.” jisung’s murmur is quiet, the cold winter air suddenly heats as your eyes find his despite the fear of falling.

it takes a second, but the truth hits you just as hard as it had him a couple hours before.

park jisung was in front of you. his brown hair hair was swapped with strands that were white as snow, his eyes were blue instead of their usual dark brown and his feet were bare—but there was no doubting the sweet smile that etched itself onto his lips and the dimples that came with it.

“…’sung?”

your whisper is breathless once more, and the smile that curves jisung’s lips could not be sweeter.

“hi, darling.”

—

[krkiiz]

take a chance with me . luke castellan x reader

you decide to confront luke about your current situationship with him.

luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of Athena , crack , misunderstandings , “what are we” , “i thought we’re already dating” , fluff with slight angst , overthinking , kisses , them being sappy , nicknames

note : can’t stop falling in love with this evil betrayer smh. inspired by niki’s song “take a chance with me” ! (IM SORRY IF THIS IS CRINGE this is my first time writing kiss scenes help 😭😭😭😭)

let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3

“It’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to your cabin, yeah?” The dark haired boy smiled at you.

Gods how you loved that smile of his.

It’s a tradition of yours. Him walking you back to your cabin after your outings. The two of you walk hand in hand as your near the Athena cabin.

You and Luke had been acquainted for quite some time. You both first met when you arrived in camp for the first time.

You were fifteen back then. Time passed by as fast Zeus’ lightning strikes as summers blurred after summers. In a blink of an eye, you guys were both eighteen now. Adults, no longer those carefree teenagers that relied on your counselors.

During those three years of friendship, you and Luke only got closer. It was hard to admit, and after an excruciating time of denial (and constant pestering from your half siblings including Annabeth), you finally surrendered and admitted the growing feelings you harbored for your close friend.

You’re too afraid to confess your feelings as you treasured your friendship with him deeply. You would gush about how sweet he is to Annabeth, rolling yourself on your bed as blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing. Confiding to Annabeth about your recent encounters, eyes lit up rivaling the shine of Apollo himself as he thinks of you.

Poor girl. Annabeth was sick of it.

But this summer, you felt a shift in your dynamic with the curly haired boy. He would eat lunch with you more often, asking you to go on more hangouts, challenged you on more duels, battles. It felt different, closer.

You were not complaining, matter of fact you were quite glad. Maybe your feelings wasn’t just one sided after all.

But as time move forwards, the closer you two get, more couple-ey interaction commends. He would tuck your hand behind your ear as you both converse, intwining your hands when your in the same path, calling you nicknames.

The more your relationship with him progressed, the more it blurred the line between friends and more. At this point, you knew he had feelings for you as well, and he too was well aware of yours.

A bubble of thought soon started clouding your mind. What were you both now? Friends? Close friends? Lovers? You don’t remember Luke asking you to be his girlfriend.

What was the nature this relationship?

You feel his grip on yours loosening as you stopped near the grey building of Cabin 6. “This is it for you, princess.”

Words rolled of his tongue like honey and you felt like a honeybee, drawn to its sweetness.

Friends don’t call each other nicknames.

Luke placed a gentle hand on your cheek, drawing closer has he placed his lips on your temple, as if he was kissing your thoughts away. “What’s got you thinking so hard since we started walking, hm?”

Your cheeks lit up like campfire at his action, he smiled noticing your flushed state.

Cute

You look up to the curly haired boy, his fingers still pressed on your cheek. What are we, Luke?

What if Luke suddenly doesn’t want you anymore because of that question?

Were you too selfish by wanting more?

Was this not enough for you?

No it wasn’t. You want to draw a clear like between friends and more, and Luke and you were shoveling a deep hole in the middle of said line.

What if he fears commitment and disappears?

“Oh no, it’s nothing Luke.” You shook your head away from his grasp, pushing all your thoughts away. “It’s late, I should probably get in.”

But before you can turn away from him, Luke was quick to grab your hand, not letting you go any further. “No, Yn. Something is clearly bothering you. And I don’t want you to go to bed with an unpleasant feeling.”

He squeezed your held hands. “Please, Yn. Is it something I’ve done?”

You were quick to deny him. “It’s not, Luke. I don’t even know it’s just. I don’t know, confusing? I think complicated is the right word.”

The dark haired boy brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing your forearm softly. “It’s okay take your time, darling. I’m listening.”

You sighed seeing him caress your hand gently as he brushed his lips on the skin. “It’s about us, Luke.”

Dark hues make contact with your own. “What about us?”

“What are we Luke? I don’t even know anymore.” You retracted your hand from his grasp, frustration getting a hold on you. “Friends don’t hold hands while they walk, friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads, or hands, or even call each other nicknames.”

You look up to see the confusion written clearly on his face. “What are we, Luke Castellan?” You asked once more.

There was a moment of silent and you dreaded it. Each passing second you can hear the rustling wind, chirps of birds, and the sound of your heart falling into your stomach.

Before he finally broke it. A wholehearted chuckle graced his lips, creasing his eyes.

You scrunched your eyebrows at his reaction. Clearly displeased. Were you some joke to him?

“Luke, this is serious, why are you laughing right now?”

He quickly straightened his composure after hearing your tone. “Ehem, wait sorry. You’re serious? Is this what you’ve been worrying about?”

“Well yeah. What’s so funny about it? Am I just some joke to you?”

“No no! Yn, wait.” He placed both of his hand above your shoulders. Eyes peered at yours before genuinely asking. “Haven’t we been dating for like two months now?”

What? Confusion warps your face.

“Yn, remember? Two months ago when I took you on a picnic by the lake? I asked if you wanted to be together and you agreed to it, remember?” He tried to recall your memory.

Then it snapped.

“Oh, that was a confession? I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” Luke mentally face palmed himself and you sheepishly giggled.

“Okay maybe I was too vague with my words so let’s redo it right now yeah?” You tilted your head at him.

The dark haired boy took both of your hands from your sides, lacing them into his. “Yn L/n, daughter of Athena, one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen, wisest and the most just ever, will you take the pleasure of being my girlfriend?”

You unwind your laced fingers, your hands moving, circling themselves around the nape of his neck as his hands are now placed on the sides your waist, drawing you closer. “Hm will I?” You teased him lightly.

“Please?”

“I guess you got yourself a girlfriend, Castellan.”

You laughed against his chest. And you can feel his ribcage expanding was he laughed along with you.

You tilt your head above, standing on the tips of your toes, as you pulled him even closer than before. Your noses touch at the proximity and you could feel his breath on yours. “Is this why you’ve never kissed me before?” you hear him whisper.

“Well I am doing it right now.” You pull him in, his lips crashing with your own. His grip on your waist tightened as your hands made its way to the softness of his curls. Eyes tightly shut as you both bask in the bliss of ecstasy before pulling apart.

He leaned his forehead against yours. Giving your lip a small peck as he craves for more of you. “I don’t know if this is not obvious yet but I like you, so so much, my Yn.”

You softly giggled. “I like you just as much, my prince.”

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023