#not only do people not have like regular coffee mugs around despite coffee stations being Around but like

[unproduciblesmackdown]

as a conversation deskpiece winston has a temperature sensitive mug that changes color / design. idk how though ideas come one step at a time around here (also doesn't really matter lol. it'd just be fun & funny)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Practice Makes Perfect.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Commissioned by the lovely @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC/Reader.

TW: Death, Light Gore, Blood, Graphic Injury, Mentions of Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, Slight Sociopathy/Apathy, Implied Anxiety, Obsessive mindsets.

Her smile was familiar.

Or, familiar might’ve been the wrong word for it. Cozy in the way a hotel room was, stiff and sterile, but repetitive and recognizable, too. Reassuring like a disinterested family, soothing like the buzz of a broken streetlamp, relaxing like being so utterly, completely, absolutely lost, there was nothing you could do to possibly make things worse than they already are. It wasn’t off-putting, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. She didn’t feel intimidating, and yet, you still wanted to keep your distance, like a mouse might from a docile housecat. To stay bundled up in your little corner off the coffee shop, your coat pulled over your chest and…

And then she glanced up, and something in your brain short-circuited.

You really should’ve stopped staring earlier.

Instantly, your eyes shot back to the wooden tabletop in front of you, to the mug you’d almost forgotten, steam still rising off the top. She was a barista, after all, she was working, and the last thing she needed was some creep staring her down for the better half of the last thirty minutes, if only because of that uncanny, unidentifiable resemblance to something you couldn’t name. You weren’t a regular, but she felt new, still awkward with the machines and robotic with costumers, but you couldn’t say you were any better. You’d hardly said a word to her, aside from your order, and you didn’t plan to, not if you could help it. You’d never been good at that kind of thing, and you had a feeling your luck wouldn’t improve with someone so…

Someone like her.

Not that you’d been all that lucky with much of anything, lately. Hell, you were only here because you’d missed your train, and the next wouldn’t arrive for another hour, at least. There were more pressing things you could focus on, like the early shift you had tomorrow, how late you were going to get home, the busted lock on the door of your apartment, but it was easier to hate the rigid schedule that hadn’t bent to your will, the sidewalk that’d been just a little too crowded let you squeeze your way through peacefully, the light snowfall that meant you couldn’t wait at the station, regardless of how badly you wanted to bunker down on an uncomfortable, freezing bench and stubbornly glare at the tracks until you found a way to turn-back time and avoid such a trivial problem entirely. It was easier to focus on the barista, how her black hair fell in front of her face as she worked, how your fingers twitched, moving reflexively to push it back. It was an invasive kind of intimacy, the type that was as unearned as it was unwanted. Irrational and irritating, despite your attempts to brush it off.

Downing the rest of your drink, you forced yourself to stand. The station would be better, and fresh air would help to clear your mind, to stop you from paying attention to things that didn’t need attention. You tried to start towards the door, but you hardly made it a full step before something caught the back of your collar, tugging you back into place. There was a brief pause, a second that stretched out just a little too long, but hesitantly, you managed to turn around, only to be met by the smiling face you’d been simultaneously inspecting and avoiding. Only to be met by her, the barista, the girl you’d been all-but leering at, since you walked in.

Reflexively, you moved to apologize, but she was already talking, already forcing another paper cup into your unoccupied hand. “On the house,” She explained, in place of a proper greeting. You didn’t mind. You couldn’t really say you expected one, not from her. “It’s cold out there, and you’re starting to look like you could use it.”

There was a playful lull to her voice, a hint of something that balanced on the line between an insult and a genuine show of sympathy. You could only bow your head, your eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I could, honestly,” You managed, the words coming out meeker than you would’ve liked. If she noticed, it didn’t seem to dampen her mood, her grin only growing broader as you went on. “Thank you…”

“Anya,” She finished, her smile never faltering.

“Call me Anya.”

~

You recognized her eyes, too.

Dark, just teetering on the shade where brown begins to blend with back. You might’ve said she looked distracted, but that wouldn’t be right – if anything, she seemed a little too concentrated. You were better about your staring, this time, but it would’ve been impossible not to look over you shoulder occasionally, not to throw a glance in her direction as you ducked behind a rack of magazines. It was a pathetic effort, really, an unnecessary one. It was a corner store, not her bedroom. You were shopping, not setting up hidden cameras. You’d gotten here before her, and you would’ve left if she hadn’t come in, if you could just put a strange resemblance aside and manage to act like a normal, functional human being. That’s what you should do, really. It’s what anyone else would do, whether or not there was the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant chance she’d see you and think, quietly and to herself, that you were a creep.

But, you weren’t someone else. And you really, really didn’t want her to think you were a creep.

So, hiding behind the magazine rack it was.

Currently, you were staring down a display cooler, trying to blend in with the background or melt into the fluorescent lights. You wanted to make yourself less noticeable, to shrink into your jacket and disappear, but that wasn’t an option – you were sure you already would’ve abused the privilege, if you had it. You just had to wait her out. You just had to—

“Another rough day?”

You just had to die. That was it, you just had to die.

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable, inviting herself into your personal space before you could make the mistake of invading hers, choosing to stand just a little too close, her shoulder nearly touching yours. “Is it that obvious?” You muttered, your voice still low, like you were still trying to hide. A fox, still trying to walk on the leg it’d already chewed off. “I wasn’t really planning on running into anyone, this late.”

You said it like the two of you were friends, like it even made sense that she’d taken time out of her night to talk to you. Instantly, you regretted opening your mouth at all, but Anya only laughed. “I’d offer you another coffee, if I could,” She quipped, nudging you gently, her tone still unbothered, as if she made a hobby of confronting near-strangers. She might’ve, for all you knew. She felt like the kind of person who did. “A little company can’t hurt, though. I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at this kind of thing.” There was a pause, and enviously, you scanned over a dented energy drink. “Lots of training, y’know? People say I have a common face, makes it easier for people to talk to me.”

You allowed yourself a small sigh, a wave of relief washing over you. She must’ve been used to it, the strange stares and that distorted attraction, but you still tried to keep your eyes in front of you, on the sleeve of her silver coat as she reached up, toying with the cooler’s handle. “I don’t really have a lot to say,” You conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just been a tough week. My karma’s been off or something – nothing just seems to go right. Not that anything’s gone that wrong, either.” It was one of the few advantages of living such a small life. If you had the time to worry about whether or not the same girl would recognize you twice, you couldn’t have had much to worry about in the first place. “I’m just… a little stuck, I guess. It’s like I’m treading water, but I still know I’m going to drown, eventually.”

You caught her reflection in the clouded glass, an expression similar to guilt passing across her features and disappearing just a quickly, fading into a small, understanding smile, so unabashedly sympathetic, it almost felt practiced. “Like the universe has a bounty on your head.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“Things can always get worse.” It was a declaration, shameless and unabashedly pessimistic, the kind that forced the tension in your shoulders to dissolve and your nerves to settle in the pit of your stomach, if only out of respect for her confidence alone. “But, no one should have to die alone. If you want to walk me home, we could try to stave it off for another twenty minutes together.”

If it were anyone else, any other stranger, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. You hadn’t been making excuses – it was late, closer to sunrise than sunset, and if your luck was going to get any worse, wondering around the city probably wasn’t the best idea. But, there was something about the way she asked, like she already knew you’d say yes, like she already trusted you enough to know you would. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You didn’t want to break whatever golden, idealistic expectations she’d managed to form, in the handful of days since you’d met.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” You admitted, letting her hook her arm around yours, pulling you closer to her side as you fought to keep your focus on the ground, willing the heat rushing to your cheeks to cool. “If it’ll keep me alive, I mean.”

There was only a smile in response, bright enough to let you overlook that, despite already moving to drag you to the cashier, she didn’t actually have anything to buy.

“I’ll do my best, this time.”

~

You could’ve sworn you’d seen her apartment before, despite knowing you’d never taken a step past the threshold.

Admittedly, you probably should’ve made more of an effort to change that before springing at the first opportunity to move in. Despite her confidence, Anya liked her privacy, and she always seemed to prefer your place over hers, taking every excuse you offered to spend the night or hand out or, on one special occasion, try and fail to surprise you with a romantic dinner. It almost felt unreal, trying to navigate the strange, empty halls, a cardboard box in your arms and your eyes burning, a side-effect of the white walls and the hanging fluorescent lights, complicated metal fixtures she seemed a little too fond of. You’d have to ask her about that, later on. You doubted your vision would last, if the entire apartment was like this.

“Already lost, babe?”

Your heart raced at the sound of Anya’s voice, but not like it used to, not out of pure, nervous tension. This was a nice sensation, a more pleasant sort of unease, leaving your cheeks flushed and your tongue failing as Anya draped herself over your shoulders, her own crate already thrown into whichever black room she decided it belonged in. She’d wanted to help, but with the Spring heat and how much time the two of you had spent cleaning out your last place, neither of you seemed capable of getting much done. “Can you blame me?” You asked, leaning back and melting into her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured my back to your empty, bleached out murder den.” There was a pause, a slight hesitation on your part. “Which is not what happened, right?”

“Oh, no, not until I see how unbearable you are to live with, at least.” You huffed, attempting to shrug her off, but Anya only laughed, her arms dropping to your waist and her cheek coming to rest against your back. “I mean, I should be the scared one, if anything. After what happened to your apartment—”

“It was just bad luck,” You interjected, already embarrassed. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“An entire building burning down is not ‘bad luck’.” She sounded annoyed, but her faux exasperation was half-hearted, at best, a sentiment only backed up by her breathy sigh, all poorly veiled relief and numbed exhaustion. “It’s just a miracle you weren’t home. When you called me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if…”

She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. You were still in a state of shock, honestly, still stuck in the same distant headspace you’d been in when you first saw the smoke rising into the air and the caution tape surrounding your neighborhood and the crowds, and you couldn’t imagine it was any less gruesome for her. “It’s not all bad,” You offered, reaching back, running your fingers through her hair idly. “If you hadn’t wanted to go on a date that day, I might’ve actually been—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. Above you, something creaked, the sound of metal scraping against metal as a fuse fizzled and popped, an electrical static that fell silent just a moment too soon. You barely got a chance to consider moving before you were thrown on the ground, Anya on top of you and a mangled pile of glass and wires scattered across the floor behind her, the invasive light of the hall suddenly dulled into something grey, something absent. It took you a moment to process it all – the cracked floor tiles, the ache forming in the spot where your chest hit the ground, but Anya was quick to recover, a stifled laugh slipping past her lips before she could swallow it back. You might’ve been tempted to do the same, if your tongue hadn’t suddenly felt so heavy.

You might’ve been able to take it as lightly as she did, if the sound hadn’t been so familiar in such an awful, terrifying way.

It was difficult to speak, but you managed, the words coming out faltered and breathless. “I can’t… A-Are you alright?”

“You’re alright,” She mumbled, more to herself than for you.

“I’m fine, as long as you’re alright.”

~

Somehow, you felt like you’d heard her voice before.

Her smile was familiar, as were her eyes and the unnerving emptiness of her apartment, but you felt like you’d heard her voice before, like you’d listened to her, like you’d lied with your head in her lap and you’d heard her, not just something similar, not just an imitation you could convince yourself wasn’t the real thing. It was personal. It was real. It was Anya, even if you knew it couldn’t be. Even if you knew it wasn’t supposed to be.

Even if it had to be, and you were beginning to realize it could never have been anything else.

Anya was trying to be gentle, today. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be gentle if you found her like this, at the bottom of a staircase in a pool of her own blood, bones shattered and ribs cracked and body so twisted, you weren’t sure how she’d even recognized you. Still, there was an exhausted lilt in her voice as she crouched by your side – or, what she must’ve thought was your side, at least. “I knew this would happen.” There was a pause, a spark of agony that flittered across your scalp as she reached down, combing her fingers through your hair lazily. “Took a week longer than last time. Getting you back to my apartment is usually a turning point, but… different rules for different run-throughs, I guess.

“This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen,” She went on, not bothering to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come. “Car accidents are usually bloodier. You’ve gotten gutted a couple times, usually a day or two after we’re supposed to meet, and when you get caught in that fire…” She trailed off, and you tried to take a deep breath, something in your lungs ripping and spilling out, as a result. “I had to pull you out of a train crash, once. A fucking train crash. You hated trains, a few cycles ago.”

Anya let out a huff, something between a sigh and a groan, but if she had more to say, she didn’t bother offering more than a parting kiss to your bruised forehead, forcing out a whimper so cracked and so pitiful, you could hardly bring yourself to acknowledge as human. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

A blocked heel pressed against the crack in the back of your skull, and Anya’s weight shifted with a small, practiced grace.

It hurt, for a moment.

But then, it didn’t.

~

You looked a little different at the start of every cycle.

Anya didn’t mind. You were still you – beautiful, lovable, endearing you, regardless of the color of your jacket or what drink you chose, the day the two of you were predestined to meet. It didn’t matter if you were a little more jittery than you were last time, a little less willing to meet her eyes as she took your order, she could look past that. Whatever gap existed between the two, she could bridge it. Whatever hesitancy dozens of bloody, gory deaths might’ve instilled in you, she could help you overcome it, she could choke it out of you until only admiration was left, the same love she felt for you.

Of course, her goal was your survival, to protect you and get close to you and make sure you shake off whatever awful curse you seem to be under, but Anya found that a relationship was the best way to do that. She’d tried keeping her distance, manipulating individual factors rather than keeping you out of harm’s way directly, but that’d been about as effective as the time she’d locked you in her bedroom and attempted to take a more forceful approach to keeping you safe. She needed to keep a firm hand, not a strangle-hold. She needed to be outgoing, not intrusive.

Part of her was a little worried, albeit not nearly worried enough. She’d been the shy one, the first time the two of you met, stuttering and plain and completely unimportant, and you’d been confident, care-free, a far-cry from the paranoid, anxious shell you’d taken to hiding in, lately. She still loved you, obviously, she doubted she could ever stop loving you, but you were different. She was different, too. Both of you were.

But, Anya couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She smiled as she finished writing, reading over the number written onto your cheap, disposable paper cup, her name underneath it, punctuated by a row of hearts, for good measure. You wouldn’t call, she already knew, but Anya wasn’t feeling as patient as she usually was, she didn’t want to wait as long to skip to the fun part of her little routine. It was the least she could do to experiment. If she got lucky, you’d be desperate enough to ask for her help, after a little prodding. And, if she wasn’t, it’d be fine. She was sure of that. It’d always be fine.

She knew what to do if she made a bad impression, if she said the wrong thing, if she decided she couldn’t trust you with your own safety, anymore. You’d already abandoned her over and over again, died and left Anya to smooth over the damage…

She was sure you wouldn’t mind if she chose to be a little selfish, this time around.

[yuezhong]

Lavender and Jasmine

rengoku kyojuro x g/n reader comfort + modern au 

A/N: this is dedicated to @redgokus event and @wisteriashouse (my two writing senpais for Rengoku writings.) Also tagging @kingtamakimurder​ bc she said she wanted to be tagged in it, and @adoriable​  love you bbys <33

Brief summary: kyojuro comforts you after a tiring day at work

Genres: fluff, comfort

Warnings: none

Word count: 925

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Mondays were your most dreaded days of the week.

You worked in a cozy little coffee shop in the heart of ikebukuro, a little further from your  house which was situated in shibuya. With your position as a barista, it was your duty to be in charge of prepping the beverages, namely caffeinated ones for customers who frequented the small shop.

Mornings and afternoons were the peak hours in your workplace everyday. Patrons trickled in like a constantly flowing stream to make their purchases, college and university students alike went about projects on their laptops, sounds of their fingers pressing on the keys of their respective keyboards and scribbling of their pencils scratching against paper created a pleasant backdrop of white noise. Children who tagged along with their parents clung tightly to their sides; whereas some that were more mischievous scampered around the shop animatedly, their eagerness to explore the place spurred them to forego any warnings given by their poor parents and the employees. 

Still, you love your job. Your co-workers always had your back, your boss is extremely considerate and understanding, your regulars being the sweetest people who enjoyed striking up a conversation with you everytime they dropped by⎯⎯mostly to catch up with you on your daily life and wellbeing. 

And of course, Your loving boyfriend whose presence never failed to dismiss the post-work blues as well as soothe the exhaustion that goes hand-in-hand. To help you take all the tiredness away, to melt the remains of after-work jitters into ashes when you have had to deal with an unpleasant customer, to laden you with all his sweetness and compassion. 

Rengoku Kyojuro. Your lips curl into a fond smile as the image of your lover’s vibrant one that always made your heart race and serotonin levels spike snakes into your train of thought. Boarding the subway with haste, you seated yourself on one of the vacant seats in the express, heels bouncing with anticipation of being greeted by his sunshine grin.

A few more gruelling hours crawl by when the train finally halts at the station of shibuya. Descending the metro while humming along to a random song currently playing on your Spotify playlist, you added a skip to your steps in hopes of speeding up your pace despite the lethargy that was yanking at your ankles and the aches that resonated throughout your entire body. 

Fortunately, the walk back home didn’t last very long. In a mere fifteen minutes, you were met with a familiar door that led to the two-storeyed terrace you shared with your beloved. Fishing for your keys through the various collection of items in your paper brown messenger bag, a silent curse escapes your lips as you fumble with a tube of lip balm to free the ring of the bundle that had somehow gotten stuck below it.

With a few more tugs, you managed to pull the little ring of trouble free successfully. Inserting the key into the lock, you turned it and pushed the door open⎯⎯exhaling a fatigued ‘I’m home’.

“Darling!” Kyojuro beams, making a beeline for you before gathering you into his strong arms, hoisting you up and twirling you around. 

“Kyo!” Squealing, you squeezed his shoulders; a small laugh bubbling out of you as your eyes shuttered into the shapes of crescent moons.

With his goofy grin still plastered on his face, he set you down. 

“How was work today?”

The exasperated sigh that left your lips said it all. Nodding, a flicker of comprehension materializes in his eyes- red irises ringed with gold, eyes that flared with the semblance of flames; though not scorching with intensity, but mellow and warm. 

“Say, why don’t you go ahead and have a cup of tea while I go draw you a bath hm?” Wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders, he hustles you towards the dining table⎯⎯where the mug of piping hot beverage awaits, steam still wafting and emitting a light, floral scent which you recognized instantly.

“Jasmine tea?” 

He nods in affirmation again, then goes on to ramble about how he heard that jasmine tea is good for rejuvenating the spirit after a long day and whatnot⎯⎯until a relieved groan from you draws his attention back.  

“Oh right! The bath!” Sprinting into the bathroom, the sound of running water that hits the tub is heard, followed by rustling as Kyojuro opens a plastic bag and empties its contents, placing them gingerly in the innermost corner of the bathtub. 

Curiosity piqued, you placed the now lukewarm drink back onto the table and padded to where your lover was. Hearing your footsteps, the man turns around to give you a momentary glance before resuming his task.

“What are those?” His line of sight followed your finger and landed on the two bottles of essential oils. 

“Lavender and Vetiver essential oils! I heard both have calming effects and can help relax the body and soul! Hence I went to Kocho-san’s apothecary shop to purchase them!” He chirps.

As you continue to watch him, you couldn’t help but feel the corners of your lips lift up in the slightest. 

“Thank you…” enveloping him into a hug from behind, you whispered, resting your chin on his left shoulder. 

Kyojuro only smiles as his right hand creeps into your hair, ruffling it lovingly. 

The start of your day might have been rough, but it ended on a tuneful note with Kyojuro by your side⎯⎯the evening sun casting its rays onto both of your skins, illuminating you two in an incandescent twinkle.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

if you wish to be tagged in any of my works, do state your username and the character(s) you want to be added to in this post 

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, jealous!vincenzo, Jealousy

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @trynatalktou FOR BEING THE BEST BETA I COULD’VE ASKED FOR. THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HER!

Summary: Time stops, or so it seems. Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

listen to this spotify playlist while reading if you want to suffer

Cha-young doesn’t dream that night; she barely sleeps 5 hours before she finds herself knocking on Vincenzo’s door at 6 am. She can’t help it, being in a room just underneath his, so close after all those years apart. Yet, she doesn’t want to show him mercy. She’s here to torment him, the way his absence had tormented her for years. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe she probably shouldn’t seek him out first, or at all. 

In reality, Cha-young knows damn well that she’s trying to find an excuse to be with him, not that she would ever admit it to anyone. 

So there she is, pounding on his door at 6 in the morning. He stands there, wearing one of his expensive pyjama sets, dark circles sitting under his eyes. She can’t quite tell if she’d woken him up or if he hadn’t slept yet.

“Did you even love me?”, she greets him. Good morning is overrated anyway. 

He sighs, letting her through. “You know that.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore, Vincenzo.”

She stops in her tracks, the world suddenly spinning around her. He’s standing behind her, a mere arm length away. She’s stuck in his gravitational pull, a planet orbiting around its sun. The sharp sensation of her nails digging into her palms is enough to get her moving. She sits on the couch, the same one she’d sat in just a few hours ago. 

“I did. I do.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Love you, I mean.” 

She nibbles on her lower lip, trying (and failing miserably) to ignore his use of the present tense. He loves her, still. She shakes her head. 

“Well, you seemed to be living well without me.”, her expression turns sour. Was it love to hope he’d grieved her loss as much as she had grieved his? 

Vincenzo finally settles in the chair facing her, running a hand through his hair. “There was a point where I wasn’t sure… I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” He winces. “During that time, my only salvation was knowing each day brought me closer to death.” He looks at her, gaze so intense it pierces right through her heart. 

She scoffs, “And I’m the dramatic one, huh?” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and suddenly they’re back where they first started, complicit smiles and knowing looks - them against the world. 

“Coffee?” he asks, eager to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but she relaxes her shoulders, welcoming the lighter turn their conversation is taking. 

“Yes, please.” 

He busies himself with the instant coffee, that same yellow brand he’d gotten hooked up on while they worked together. “So what have you been up to, exactly?” 

“Jipuragi Law Firm just opened a new office in Busan, things are going well. It’s nice, we get to help people who need it. Probably not as exciting as being in a mafia war or whatever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he gives her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her on the couch. There’s a safe distance between them, but there’s no point trying to shush the deafening beat of her heart. “Your father would be proud of you, Cha-young-ah.”

“You think?”, she sips on her coffee. She looks up from her mug, only to find him examining her face. His lips curl in a soft grin, and Cha-young thinks that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she kissed it. 

The loud ringtone startles her out of the daydream, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be annoyed or thankful. She picks up the phone. “Mmh. Okay. See you soon,” she drags out the last word, using the endearing tone she reserved for those closest to her. Mr. Kwon, her assistant, was asking her to eat breakfast with the team. 

“I have to go.”, she tells him, getting up from the couch. 

He takes her mug from her, “I didn’t realise you were here with someone.” 

She hears it loud and clear, in the way he fakes nonchalance and keeps his voice cautious. He’s asking her if she’s with someone and part of her wants to reassure him that No. There is no one else beside you. But then she thinks of the countless times where she’d cried herself to sleep, memories of them echoing into her mind and his absence carving a hole into her heart, and she can’t help herself. He had wounded her fatally and it was her turn to injure him. 

“Mmh.”, she’s not lying, technically. She’s there with someone, with people actually, just not in the way he means. 

Time stops, or so it seems.Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea. 

The empty mug drops to the ground and the spell is broken. Brought back to life, Vincenzo collects the shattered pieces of the cup, and of his heart, too. “Is he a good person?”. Unlike me, he means. 

Cha-young has to remind herself that he deserves this, that this is his fault. “Mmh”, she repeats. “He is.” 

He’s back to the coffee station, his back to her. “I’m happy for you.”, his voice is tight. 

“Thank you.”, she’s almost at the door when she stops. “Maybe...Maybe we could be friends.”

He turns around, finally facing her. The distance between them, from one side of the room to the other, feels insurmountable. 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. Is it possible for them to be anything else other than a tragic ending? 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent for a while. Would it ever be possible for them to be anything other than a tragic ending? 

She finally settles on a simple, “See you around.” An open ending, then. 

She’s cursing herself out the moment she leaves the room. What was she thinking? Cha-young had just lied to Vincenzo about being on holiday with her imaginary boyfriend. No, she corrects herself, she had simply misled him and he should’ve known better. 

She could picture it already; his aggravating smirk, raised eyebrows and insufferable “Oh, is that so?”, after she’d have to inevitably come clean. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive. Vincenzo would figure out her motivations the moment she’d admit to the lie; she wanted to see him jealous, to make him think she was doing better without him, that she was over him. He would see through the façade she had worked hard to maintain. 

Flushing at the thought of the colossal humiliation she would suffer, Cha-young scolds herself. Focus. This was a war that she needed to win. Like a general preparing for battle, she squares her shoulders and summons her most loyal soldier.

“Hey, it’s me. I have a favour to ask. Can you be my boyfriend for the next two weeks?” 

<>

At 37 years old, Kwon Ji-hwan considered himself to be a resilient man with a good head on his shoulders. In the four years he has been working for Ms. Hong, carrying out tasks outside of his job description was far from rare. Those included, but were certainly not limited to: picking her up after she’d drunk too much, infiltrating a yoga class to seduce a corrupt official’s wife, impersonating a law enforcement officer and hijacking an ambulance. In Ms. Hong’s vocabulary, a “favour” almost always meant something illegal. Despite her… methods, Ji-hwan enjoyed working for her greatly. The hours might have been long but the satisfaction of winning against the odds of powerful corporations made up for it. Also, the pay was really good. Still, as used to her antics as he was, he would’ve never expected her to ask something so absurd of him. 

Sitting there, in Ms. Hong’s hotel room (which, by the way, was way nicer than the regular ones she’d gotten for her employees), Ji-hwan cannot believe what he’s hearing. 

“Let me get this right,” he says, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your ex, who you’re obviously still in love with even though it’s been FIVE years—” 

“Yah!” 

“—because you want to make him jealous. Did I miss anything?” 

“That pretty much covers it.”, his boss replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. He looks at her, shaking his head. “So, will you do it?” 

He sighs, “What did this guy do to you for you to be so hung up on him after all this time?” 

He was not expecting the sorrow on her face as she answered, “He was there for me during the worst times of my life. We went through hell and back for each other. And then, one day, he left without saying anything.” 

“Wait, just like that? He didn’t even break up with you?” Ji-hwan raises his eyebrows. 

“Nope”, she accentuates the ‘P’. “He simply wrote ‘Live well.’ on a napkin and I never heard of him again. Until now.”

He scratches the top of his head, “What a fucking jerk.” She laughs, it’s rare to hear Ji-hwan swear. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She’s doing her little victory dance now, shaking her hips in the least graceful way possible. Like every time his boss convinces him to blur the line of what is morally acceptable, Ji-hwan is regretting this already.

“If I said no, you would have threatened to fire me anyway.” 

“You know it.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

MonX Hospital | Changkyun

Pairing: Im Changkyun x reader

Genre: lab technician – hospital au / romance / strangers to lovers

Warnings: medical terms, and the word “blood” is used a lot, considering Changkyun’s profession, illness.

Word count: 4417

Index: Shownu | Wonho | Minhyuk | Kihyun | Hyungwon | Jooheon | Changkyun

Turning around to the next tray of samples to check, Changkyun stopped for a moment after reading the name on the adjoining paperwork. Working at MonX Hospital as a Laboratory Technician meant he could process samples from the same patients at least twice within his working week. It shouldn’t stand out as anything important to him, yet when he saw your name for the eighth time in the past two weeks, Changkyun found himself a little stunned. There were several other technicians in this department who could have processed your blood work but it seemed to always end up in his batches.

“Everything alright?” his co-worker Bora questioned and Changkyun snapped out of his thoughts, however, his brows remained furrowed.

“Yeah, I’m just getting familiar with this patient’s blood samples.”

Bora grinned. “That sometimes happens. I like to think of it as a sense of fate for a technician to see the same person’s samples during their stay. It’s a pleasure to watch as things improve for the patient through their continued testing.”

As Changkyun waited for the results from the automatic analyser to be transferred to the computer he was monitoring, he didn’t hold the same optimism as Bora did. He had been steadily watching the decline in your numbers over the past two weeks. And when the results appeared, his shoulders dropped.

“There’s an abnormality in these results,” he murmured, and Bora swivelled her chair around so she could see the screen. As a technologist, she was more experienced in looking at results such as these. Still, Changkyun could tell the levels to your iron and blood oxygen count were low.

You would no doubt need a transfusion today.

“Just remember that doing these tests are what will help this patient get the right treatment for a quick recovery.”

Changkyun nodded softly. However, your results bothered him for the rest of the morning and he even spent some time staring at a sample under the microscope just to find exactly where the abnormality was. He was invested for some reason and hoped he could find a way to see your numbers improving each second day instead of dropping.

Resigned, he stepped out for a coffee break in the hospital’s public cafeteria, watching as a patient rested her head against a windowpane. She looked far too pale to be away from her room, though she smiled when the sun danced over her skin.

He couldn’t help himself and sat at the table next to her. “Are you here for the sun?”

“After being locked up in this place for two weeks, I’ve finally found a spot where I can get direct sunlight. It’s too nice a weather lately to be cooped up inside so this is my happy medium.”

“I hate to break it to you but you know you can’t absorb vitamin D through a windowpane, right?”

The patient looked at him with a heavy pout which made him regret speaking the fact out loud. “Really? Is it only if I go outside? I’m not allowed out though…”

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I once was stuck inside recovering from a really bad virus and used to sit by the window every day until my father, who is a scientist, told me otherwise.”

Peering at his badge, she nodded. “I guess it’s now a bit of a like father like son moment then. He broke your heart and now you’re breaking mine, Im Changkyun.”

Changkyun cringed and waved a hand in dismissal. “I really didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, I’m teasing you. Are you a doctor?”

“No, I work in the lab.”

“Doing what?”

“Running tests on the samples we receive.”

“Like blood tests?” she asked and Changkyun nodded. She then smiled warmly. “Maybe you’ll have come across mine.”

“Maybe.”

“If you can figure out what’s wrong with me, I’d ask you out on a date, you know.”

Changkyun, having taken a sip from the coffee mug, spluttered it everywhere. “Wh-what?!”

“I’m kidding, of course,” she remarked, looking back outside. “The doctors keep saying that monitoring my blood samples will find the answer to why I’m so sick but all that keeps happening is-”

“Y/N!” a voice called out and Changkyun let go of the mug he was holding, gaping at the patient now being fussed over by a distraught relative, the wheelchair she was sitting in now being wheeled away.

Your wheelchair.

It was you, the person he had been staring at under a microscope all morning long. Well, your blood sample at least. He couldn’t believe that the mystery in the lab had appeared in front of him right now. It was his first time meeting a patient in the flesh like this.

“Wait!” he called out fruitlessly and you turned back, shifting around to grin at him.

“I hope you can find what’s wrong with me, Mr Technician! If you do, I’ll go on a date with you!”

Glancing down at the coffee starting to run off the side of the table and then at your departure, he groaned, reaching out for a stack of napkins to clean up his mess.

Changkyun was hopeful this wouldn’t be the last time he saw you outside of the laboratory.

His daily trips for the rest of the week to the cafeteria didn’t bring you back into his presence. Your samples hadn’t been as regular as before and when you did turn up in his batches on Thursday, he smiled when he saw he had predicted right. Your iron and blood levels had rapidly increased, indicating you had received transfusions of both. You would no doubt be feeling a bit better after receiving the treatment, though he couldn’t be sure since you hadn’t returned to the cafeteria since that day. Had his pointing out about the sun having no effect stopped you? Or was it the relative who acted as if you were too fragile to be around others that had prohibited your return?

It was strange. He had never found himself so interested in another human before like this. You weren’t someone who matched his typical type in women, but Changkyun couldn’t deny you captivated him either.

Was it the added bonus that he had seen what your cells looked like up close? Shuddering with the rather creepy thought, Changkyun tried to forget about you. He knew he couldn’t, though. He was too invested in helping find a reason for your illness, as a professional of course.

“It’s not because of the date offer,” he mumbled to himself, ears growing hot despite his outspoken stance.

Though, he wondered if you actually had meant it since you mentioned it twice.

Another two weeks went by and by that time, your samples were almost back to how they had been before the transfusions. The doctors hadn’t figured out anything, he concluded. And every time he ran the automated analyser or looked at a sample on a slide, Changkyun couldn’t figure what was causing your cells to be abnormal. Even after talking with a pathologist for better understanding, there was little to go on aside from having a type of anaemia. But even the more experienced people couldn’t decide on which type it was.

You were a mystery to everyone.

And strangely, he missed you.

“I know you’ve worked extra today, but reckon you could go pick up some samples for me? Dora fell down a set of stairs an hour ago and is in orthopaedics so can’t collect the samples from wards fifteen and sixteen that we need to test tonight.”

Changkyun nodded at Bora. “I can do that.”

“Good, after you fetch them you can go home.”

“How kind of you to let me go like that,” he cheekily replied and Bora laughed.

“Well, I could make you stay on even longer and-”

“Ten hours is enough!” he chimed, diving to door to the department. “I’ll get the samples and then get out of here.”

“Less talk, more movement, Changkyun!”

He chuckled as he headed to the elevators in the lobby to take up to the floor needed. He thanked the nurse after retrieving the samples from ward sixteen, heading across the foyer to the opposite ward. Whistling softly as he walked to the nurse’s station, Changkyun glanced lazily around the ward, skidding to a stop when he noticed your name on the wall. Blinking rapidly, he went towards the door when a nurse caught his attention.

“Are you here to collect the samples?”

“Uh, yeah,” he distractedly answered, smiling weakly. Tearing his eyes reluctantly from your door, he followed the nurse to her station and waited for the package. Changkyun went to walk off, only retracing his steps back to the nurse. “Is room three allowed visitors?”

“Miss L/N?” she spoke and he nodded. “She has restricted access at the moment due to a family request.”

“Ah, that answers that then,” he murmured and then smiled back at the nurse. Thanking her, he then headed back down the hallway, his feet dragging outside your door. He craned his neck as if that would gain him better access to seeing you again. Your blinds were shut and only a small window in the door allowed him a brief look into your space. Sighing, he began to move again when he spotted you coming back into the wardroom.

You were walking this time, albeit with the help of an IV stand. You grinned. “Well if it isn’t Mr Technician.”

“Changkyun,” he corrected awkwardly and clamped his eyes shut. “I mean, please call me Changkyun.”

“Are we one a first name basis now?” you wondered with an animated smile. “I guess you already know mine. Sorry about the other week. My Aunt is a bit over the top. I’m all the family she has left so me being sick has sent her into a perpetual meltdown.”

“It’s fine, though I did wonder if you went in search of other places around the hospital for vitamin D.”

“Do you know, they’re supplementing it through this bad boy to me,” you mentioned, patting the IV machine. “Along with a multitude of other things.”

“Still no definite answer to what’s going on?” he asked and you gave him a wry smile.

“That would be too easy, now wouldn’t it? Every day they propose something else, and then take it back. I wonder how hard medical school must be if they can’t seem to collectively come up with an answer.”

“I don’t blame you for being frustrated.”

You shrugged and then pointed at him. “What about you? How’re my samples looking?”

“I’m struggling to figure out the abnormally. My whole team has looked at it and have suggested a few things but equally can’t come to a conclusion.”

You giggled. “I feel so exposed. Everyone gets a look at me under a microscope except me.”

“Maybe one day you could too,” Changkyun blurted out without much thought, scrunching his face up in realisation. “Uh, I mean not many people would-”

“Can I? Would I be allowed to?!” you wondered, stepping closer to him with a bright expression. You seemed hopeful and who was he to knock you down for that. Changkyun was nodding before he even realised it.

“Sure. I’ll make sure you can.”

You grinned, patting his arm as you passed him to go towards your room. “Sounds like it’s a date.”

It took a lot of convincing and doing the dirty jobs around the lab for an entire week before Bora agreed to let you look at your own blood sample. Bora gave Changkyun a pointed look. “You’re invested in this case, you know.”

“I know.”

“Did you seek the patient out first or-”

“We met by chance, I swear. I’m not going to go against professional conduct and privacy clauses. Further, if you hadn’t of sent me to go retrieve those samples-”

“Okay, blame me, it’s my fault!” she concluded with a shake of her head, a loose grin spreading out her lips. “You’re lucky I’m a hopeless romantic, Changkyun.”

“Wait, I wasn’t, I’m not…” Flustered with his supervisor’s reaction to his request, he fanned a hand at his face, trying to express that it wasn’t anything like that. Bora didn’t buy it and when Changkyun went to collect you for the scheduled visit, he felt hot under his collar.

Why was his good deed being taken as anything more than that?

However, when he reached your room, he stopped in the doorway, finding you out of your pyjamas and in a floral dress instead. You spun around, carefree.

“What are-- I mean… Woah.”

“Thank you,” you said with a broad smile. “I hoped you’d like it.”

“Why did you get dressed up?” he asked hastily, glancing down at his usual work attire and lab coat.

You giggled. “You look handsome for our date too.”

“Oh, this isn’t a date.”

“Didn’t you offer me to come with you to the lab?”

“Yes, but-”

“And didn’t I agree and say it’s a date?”

He nodded quickly. “You keep joking around with that and-”

“Hospital life is boring, let me enjoy experiences like this, hm?” you pleaded and Changkyun bit at his bottom lip before nodding again, holding out his arm for you to take. You were delighted by his chivalry and swooped in around it, clasping his lower arm gently. And you practically skipped at his side all the way to the lab.

You were gracious during the visit. You complimented his team and made them smile, everyone becoming more comfortable with the idea of a patient in the lab. You asked questions and Bora was in her element answering them for you. You were engrossed by the process of their work and by the time Changkyun took you to the back office where he had set up a microscope for today out of the way from the rest of his team, you were buzzing.

“This is amazing. You do so much here!” you breathed, taking a seat next to him in awe. “I’ll never complain about getting another blood test taken again.”

Changkyun looked at your bruised skin around the underside of an elbow and instinctively reached out to run his fingers over it. “You’ve had so many.”

“Those aren’t even the places they get it from me right now,” you lamented, patting his hand gently all the same. “I’m okay if it means I’m helping you all find whatever it is you can in my samples to help me get better.”

“Speaking of samples, should we look at yours now?” he asked after a visible swallow, reaching forward to the equipment and turning it on. He looked through the ocular lens and fiddled with the machine until he was satisfied with the setup. Changkyun then gestured for you to take a look.

You turned timid as you did so, quietly staring into it.

“This is your most recent sample,” he told you and you didn’t answer. Feeling more confident than you in the situation, Changkyun expertly changed settings of the magnification for you and then took the slide out and replaced it with another. “This is a healthy blood sample. Can you see the difference?”

“Kind of. Can you swap them a couple of times so I can get a better understanding?” you asked quietly and he did that for you, hearing you sigh when you were looking at your own again. “So this is why I’m sick?”

“It indicates you have an abnormal cell structure right now, yeah.”

Lifting your eyes from the lens, you glanced curiously at Changkyun. “Are you allowed to show me the other blood sample like this? I mean, I get seeing mine, but another patient-”

“It’s mine,” he confessed with a short laugh. “So you don’t have to worry about any privacy clause.”

“You drew your own blood just to show me this sample?”

“Well, it made sense to have a second slide. In experiments, we always have a control slide when presenting variables and-”

Your lips cut off his explanation then, pressing softly into his. Before he could truly register that you had kissed him, you pulled away, covering your mouth with a hand.

“I uh, I was touched, that’s all,” you quickly told him, turning away from him to recover. Changkyun cleared his throat noisily and then stood up.

“Is there a reason why you’re not allowed to go outside?”

Frowning at his random question, you nodded. “Too many people are out there.”

“Tomorrow at lunchtime, don’t make plans,” he announced and you eyed him carefully. Changkyun, emboldened with your kiss, smiled warmly at you. “I know where you can get direct sunlight without anyone bothering you.”

Admittedly, it had taken Changkyun all this time to find a place where you could access the sun without technically leaving the hospital grounds or leaning out a window to do so. He hadn’t at first understood why he started searching, ruling it down to his logical side needing to find an answer to the question proposed in his mind. But as he helped you up the final metal stairs to the rooftop, Changkyun knew the reason he had searched for this was because he liked you.

A whole lot.

“Wow,” you breathed at the view when you came to a stop at his side, squinting under the bright midday sun. “It’s beautiful up here.”

“I checked with your doctor and also with some medical studies and its safe for twenty minutes for us to just sit here and soak in the sun,” he said and you grinned, going over to the bench on the rooftop and sat down.

You then removed your cardigan and offered your arms out to the light. “Heavenly.”

“I thought you might like this.”

“I should have kissed you sooner if it would lead to this,” you teased as he sat down beside you. “I also have a regret from yesterday’s visit.”

“You do?”

Nodding, you scooted around and promptly laid your head in his lap, dangling your arms and legs out to the warmth from above. You peeked through an eye at his evident surprise from your move and giggled. “You blocked the sun from that side.”

“Oh, so this is merely strategic?”

“And more comfortable,” you admitted, nestling into his thigh some.

Changkyun smiled. “What was your regret?”

“You’ll think I’m mad.”

“Well, you’re certainly not normal,” he quipped and you whined outlandishly. Chuckling, he found himself brushing your hair away from your face so the sun could reach that too. You stilled, looking up at him.

“I like you.”

“I like you too,” he admitted with a shy smile, your own splitting your lips until you were grinning giddily.

“Would you like me even if I wasn’t sick? I’m sure as a medical professional you probably find what you see under the microscope more fascinating than my actual form but-”

“No, it’s not like that at all,” he cut in, still smoothing your hair back from your face. “I like you. Not your illness, not what I see from my work. I can’t deny that I’m invested in seeing the changes to your tests, but that’s just because I saw them before I met you in person. I was invested before I found you trying to soak in sun through a window.”

“Don’t remind me of that embarrassing moment,” you exclaimed, mortified. Throwing a hand over your face to hide your emotions, Changkyun pried it away and held it instead. Your expression evened out and you started to smile again. “You knew my name before you knew me. And you knew a lot more too, I guess.”

“I’d rather get to know you like this though.”

“Me too.”

You sat up suddenly, almost bashing into Changkyun’s chin in the process. Sheepishly flashing him an apologetic smile, you held up your index finger. “That’s right, the regret!”

“You mean not telling me how you felt yesterday wasn’t the regret?”

“I’m pretty sure when I kissed you, it showed you,” you countered and Changkyun rubbed at his neck with his other hand awkwardly. You then looked at him and grinned. “I wanted to wear that!”

“What?”

“Your lab coat!” you explained, tugging at the sleeve of it. “I was in the lab and I didn’t once put one on!”

“Well, you looked so pretty in your dress, why cover it up?”

“Because! Oh, you won’t understand because playing dress-up as a doctor isn’t fun like it is for everyone else who isn’t in the health sector professionally.”

“I’m not a doctor,” he reminded and you rolled your eyes.

“Still, you get to wear a white coat of importance! Let me try it on now.”

“What about the sun?” he asked and you stood up, bouncing around impatiently, almost pulling it off of him when he shrugged it down his shoulders. Slipping it on, you giggled triumphantly and spun around in it. Of course, it was too big and made your child-like request even more obvious. He laughed heartily then, the magic of the moment making his heart soar further for you.

You were right. For him, the lab coat was simply part of his work attire, nothing more. He saw no joy or importance in wearing it since he did so every workday. However, watching you enjoy it made it feel special.

Until you stumbled in your excitement, reaching for your head as you continued to lose your balance. Changkyun lurched towards you, catching you before the ground did. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Just a little dizzy. I guess I went too far.”

“Let’s get you back to your room and get a nurse check your stats, hm?” he offered and you didn’t argue, leaning into his side as he helped you back down the stairs. Once back in your ward, you slipped off his coat and climbed under the blankets, smiling weakly.

The transformation bothered him. Upstairs you were carefree and empowered. Now back under your stark white sheets, you looked weak and tiny. Changkyun blinked back his emotions.

You smiled sadly. “Looks like reality came back for us. Go do amazing things, Changkyun. You’re the one with the power to do so. I’m back where I belong now too.”

He was determined to find a way to make you better again.

“I’ve got it!”

“You have?!” Bora asked immediately, scooting backwards to his station and taking a look at his findings. She grinned. “You bloody have too.”

“Pathology needs to get onto this right away and then the doctors will act upon it, right?” he asked, hope building within his chest. She nodded once and he sent the files through to the team, marching out of the department and over to pathology to follow up.

It hadn’t been easy, and after being in the hospital for over three months now, Changkyun wished he had been able to source the correct abnormality in your tests faster. However, the main thing was they had a definite answer now. You had an autoimmune disease that had triggered the mysterious illness. And whilst knowing that didn’t mean you would get better and be healthier than before, it did give answers. And answers could lead to the right medication to support your health to improve and to help you live with your condition.

Answers meant discharging once better as well.

You stood in the doorway of the department, grinning brightly at Bora who welcomed you in. Changkyun hadn’t seen you yet, still focused on his work. But he stirred as soon as he heard your voice.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you said, looking around the department until you caught his gaze. You slowly grinned. “I just happened to be discharged today and I need to thank the technician who found the answer for my diagnosis.”

He didn’t care about the rest of his team jeering at him right now, getting up from his seat and approaching you. Of course, you already knew of his findings since your treatment began three weeks ago. However, you attempted to keep a straight face as Changkyun stopped in front of you.

“You see, when I was terribly sick, I ran into a lab technician who I told I’d go on a date with him if he helped me get better. I’m here to collect on that date.”

“I thought you were joking,” he murmured and you grinned.

“Oh no, if anything, I asked for the date because you were handsome, not holding onto any hope that you would actually help find the reason for my illness.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and Changkyun walked you out into the hallway, closing the door and the deafening noise out behind him.

He leaned in closer. “Well, I guess I do deserve a reward for my hard work.”

“When can you leave?”

“I think I have some extra hours up my sleeve that I can use to leave work now.”

“Oh good because I want to go on a very long date with you.”

“How long?”

“How much time can you give me?”

Changkyun’s lips were so close to yours now, he merely hummed and you shivered with delight. “How about as long as you want.”

“I’ll be greedy, you know. I’ll want all of your time.”

“I have to work,” he mentioned sadly and you nodded.

“And I have a lot of therapy to attend.”

“But outside of those hours?” he wondered and you pressed into him, kissing him with demand.

It wasn’t his first or even his second kiss with you. And Changkyun knew it wouldn’t be his last either. However, it was one he knew he’d remember forever, the way you tasted so sweet from pure happiness to be leaving the hospital and with him as well.

Finally, you stepped back just enough to catch your breath and answered. “Outside of work and therapy, I hope you can give me all your time. I don’t want to stop repaying you for the rest of my life.”

“Can I ask a question?” he breathed and you nodded. “Did you really mean it about wanting to date me from the first day you saw me?”

“Now that would be telling.”

“So it was a joke!” he whined and you giggled, stepping up on your toes to kiss him again.

“No, I did think you were handsome. I just didn’t believe I’d get this lucky. A cure and a boyfriend. What more could a girl ask for?”

_________________

Thank you for supporting this series.

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[MONSTA X Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[fandom-necromancer]

Brothers take care of each others

This was prompted by an amazing anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | Character: Elijah Kamski

The ceiling above him was still clad in total darkness, the sky outside the window turning light blue only at the horizon and stars sparkling peacefully. It was an hour that demanded everyone to stay in bed and get a couple hours’ worth of sleep. Yet Gavin laid in his bed and stared up at his ceiling unable to fall asleep ever since the call of ‘Hah, it worked!’ had woken him up ten minutes to four o’clock. Since then he tried to ignore the distant sounds of tools clattering to the floor. One thing was for sure: Sleeping over these noises was far easier than falling asleep to them. he cursed, looking at his alarm that read 4:30 completely indifferent to what that time meant for Gavin. He sighed deeply. There was no use staying under the sheets any longer, he was awake now. Might as well stand up.

Not bothering with any clothes other than the boxer shorts and the loose old T-shirt he had slept with, he opened the door and yawned heartily on his way to the bathroom. ‘Oh, you are awake!’ Gavin’s lids fell in resignation, as he showed his brother the middle finger and continued walking towards the bathroom without even looking at him. Ten minutes later, he had splashed some water in his face and had readied himself for another day. Sort of. He had zero interest in trimming his stubble and trying to hide the dark rings under his eyes was of no use either. At least he felt ready to deal with his brother now.

‘Morning’, he hummed as he entered the living room, stifling yet another yawn. ‘Good morning indeed.’ ‘Says you’, Gavin commented. ‘I didn’t phcking asked to be woken up at four.’ ‘Sorry. Forgot you’re not a morning person.’ ‘Nah, I’m normal, other than you’, he huffed. ‘Okay, I need a coffee now.’ ‘Perfect! Then you can already try out my improvements!’ Gavin stopped in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Improvements?’

‘Yes! I hooked up your coffee machine with the internet! It is now able to import recipes for any kind of coffee you might like and start brewing it – if you have given it the right ingredients of course.’ Gavin looked at Elijah with a face that expressed to equal measures pain and frustration. ‘And what about a regular damn coffee, like I always make it?’ ‘I called that program a “phcking” coffee’, Elijah mocked him, tapping at the display hastily attached to the machine. Gavin watched how his favourite mug filled with his life saving drink and sighed. ‘Oh, the wonders of technology…’ ‘Oh, then you will love what I did to your microwave!’

Gavin groaned, sipping on his coffee instead of commenting. It had only been three days so far and already Elijah had “improved” half of the technology he had in the house. He would have told him to stop, but as long as Elijah was busy tinkering with his stuff, he wouldn’t become bored. And if Gavin remembered one thing from his childhood, then he knew that was about the worst state one could meet his brother in. Even with Elijah no longer being part of Cyberlife, he was still an influential and rather public person. His latest talk about the autonomy of androids had had quiet the impact, especially in the anti-android community, as they had looked up to him as the creator of these “supposedly alive” machines. It shouldn’t have surprised Eli as much as it had that afterwards, people would come to him with their hate. But since someone had broken into his heavily secured house and had killed one of the Chloes without leaving as much as a trace, his home was an active crime-scene and it was either a hotel room or Gavin’s apartment for the man.

Elijah, curious as ever, had of course taken the latter, if not to spy on police investigation, then to spend a few weeks with his brother he hadn’t seen in ages. Not that Gavin really could complain - it was fun having him around. But he was also a usually very private person and Elijah’s constant energy had quickly started getting on his nerves.

‘And? When will you drive to work today?’, Elijah asked. ‘Still time for breakfast?’ Gavin sighed. ‘Yeah, sure. Want some toast? Don’t think I have much-‘ ‘I want to come with you.’ That made even sleep deprived Gavin suddenly attentive. ‘What?’ ‘To your workplace’, Eli explained. ‘I could find out more about the status of the investigation of my home. Also, I could finally see for myself who that certain android is you put an eye on!’ ‘I don’t- Elijah, you can’t just stay at the station. You are a civilian! I will keep you updated.’ ‘I’m also one of the richest men in the world. I doubt anyone would want to stop me.’ ‘I- Elijah, you still can’t-‘ ‘Come on!’, the man just talked over him. ‘It will be fun! I’ll drive us.’ Unable to stop his brother storming out of the flat with the keys, Gavin sighed, downed the rest of his coffee and hastily got dressed. That would be the worst day of his work life for sure.

-

‘So this is where you work. Interesting.’ ‘You’ve been here before’, Gavin grumbled, not really sure if he was more tired or more embarrassed at the moment. ‘Promise me you’ll leave me alone for at least the first hour, okay? I seriously have to get some stuff done.’ ‘Oh, of course!’ But despite his words, Elijah followed him to his desk. Gavin decided to ignore him in favour of starting up his terminal, but Nines had never been the one to hide what he was thinking: ‘Mr. Kamski? What are you doing here?’ ‘Oh, you must be Nines! I’m just accompanying my brother to work. Wanted to take a look at the place he keeps complaining about.’ ‘You can’t be here.’ ‘Well, but I am, am I not?’ ‘That… That really isn’t a valid argument.’ ‘Listen, Nines. How about instead of talking about something you can’t change anyways, you show me around a bit?’ Nines looked at Gavin for help, but it was his partner’s silent pleading him to “yes, please, get him away from me” that let him cave in. ‘Okay, but I can’t show you everything.’

Gavin watched them walk off and praised the blissful silence. He concentrated on the screen in front of him, knowing he had to finish all the important work now before Eli would come back and annoy him further. He loved his brother. But some distance was clearly needed after all these years. He actually managed to answer his mails and find himself back into his case, reviewing evidence and the first lab results that had come in regarding blood analysis and genetic information about the murderer. Then Nines and Elijah came back. Gavin saw him passing Fowler’s glass cube and his heart sunk. But then the door opened.

‘What the hell is Kamski doing here?’, the Captain shouted in the room, effectively silencing any conversations. ‘I wanted to take a look around’, Elijah simply answered. Fowler looked at him as if he had just lost his mind. ‘This is a police station! Not some kind of tourist attraction! You can’t be here.’ Every other person would have long apologised and run for their life with Fowler this angry, but Elijah stood his ground and smiled. ‘And you can’t make my brother work his ass off like a Lieutenant and still pay him Detective money, especially after his recent achievements, yet here we both are.’ In over eighteen years of working in this precinct, Gavin had never seen Fowler speechless. The man stared at Elijah, who smiled at him in all confidence, while most of the officers in the precinct seemed ready to duck behind their tables.

‘Leave’, was all the Captain pressed out. ‘Now.’ ‘Alright, don’t want any trouble.’ Elijah grinned, winked at Nines and made his way over to the door. ‘Gonna pick you up later, bro!’ Gavin didn’t give him any answer as he knit his brows and rubbed his forehead. Too little sleep, too much early morning conversation, too little coffee and now the whole precinct’s attention. Great. He just wanted to get his work done, get home and sleep. And exactly that he was going to do.

Until his break began and Nines approached him. With a sigh of regret, Gavin turned around and waited. ‘Is it true?’ ‘Is what true, tin-can? I had a really shitty day so far and I still can’t read minds.’ Nines shifted his weight on his other leg and continued: ‘Your brother… When I led him through the building, he told me you had a crush on me.’ Thinking about everything that could have happened today, Gavin certainly hadn’t expected that.

‘This asshole! I will phcking kill him, I swear!’ ‘So… It’s not true?’ ‘Hell, of course it’s true!’ Gavin froze. Why had he said that? ‘Oh.’ Gavin looked up at the android, that was smiling to himself, cheeks tinged blue. ‘That’s… nice to hear.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘I mean, I like you a lot, Gavin. To learn it’s mutual is… very nice.’ Gavin sighed deeply, holding his head. ‘I will phcking kill him…’ ‘Are you not happy about this?’ ‘Phck, Nines, I am. I really am. But I’m tired, I have an annoying as phck brother at home that just won’t shut up and I really wanted to ask you out any other way than this.’

‘I understand’, the android nodded. ‘But it’s nice to have it out now, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah it is. Listen, I… Let’s forget this happened for just this day, okay? I will leave early today, speak to my brother about all of this and if I’m not charged with murder tomorrow morning, how about we do this properly? Tomorrow is your free day, right?’

Nines nodded and smirked. ‘Call me if you need to hide the body.’

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee- Ch. 1: The Chance Encounter

Chapter 1: The Chance Encounter Series Masterlist

Cate tied her yellow apron around her waist as she prepared for her first day at the mobile coffee cart. The Empty Mug was a small, family-owned coffee shop located in the midst of a busy Quantico, Virginia. They had decided a new way to increase business would be to take it to the streets, with a coffee cart. The shop was starting to hit its busiest hour of the morning, the pre-work rush. 

“Oh, thank God!” gasped Marta, daughter of the owner of the shop. “You’re just in time!” Marta quickly handed a customer their change and hustled to the backroom where Cate was fixing her name badge on her chest. 

“Couldn’t miss my first day manning the new cart.” Cate smiled at her favorite coworker. The two girls hauled the cart out of the storage closet, which proved to be a feat in itself as it came with a lofty umbrella, the same yellow as their aprons. As they neared the storefront door, a customer on their way in held the door. “Thanks.” Cate pushed out, she couldn’t wait to get the cart outside where she could just wheel it.

Once on the sidewalk, Marta wished Cate goodluck and hurried back into her parent’s coffee shop, to tend to the rest of the customers. Cate shoved the large umbrella into a socket on the top of the cart, and began to set up her station along the busy road.

Despite being surrounded by enormous buildings and skyscrapers, the streets and sidewalks were still quite sunny. Cate wished she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses in her car. She felt like she was squinting at each customer as they gave her their orders. The umbrella did little to help with the sun, but Cate still had it up anyway, she found that the big yellow parasol attracted more customers. 

Cate saw a variety of people along her street. Many people in suits briskly walked by, some stopping for their morning coffee, it was more convenient to stop at the cart than actually inside for some. Most of these people in suits would be simultaneously talking to their bluetooth ear pieces or their cell phones while they ordered from Cate. 

The only people who hadn’t been on the phone while placing their order were young interns grabbing their office’s coffees for the morning. Her most common intern was Brooke, who was punctual with an order of four drinks: a latte, a hot black, an espresso, and a decaf. Upon her arrival at exactly 8:45, Cate had her orders ready in a tray. Brooke smiled a thanks.

“I’d stay and chat, but there’s a new project we’re working on and our graphic design team really needs this.” She gave a company card to pay and plopped a five in Cate’s tip jar. “Catch ya on my break!” And with that, Brooke just about jogged off, taking care not to spill any of the coffees on her way to her building. 

One of Cate’s favorite things to do was memorize her usual customers’ orders. She took pride that she could have a customer’s coffee prepared as she saw them in line. Cate estimated that she knew about twenty different customer’s orders since she started a few months back. Working in The Empty Mug was something that Cate not only enjoyed, but also made great tips from, especially if she put up with some flirting from businessmen. That in itself is partially the reason she memorized orders; to rush the flirtatious businessmen along and keep their interactions short and sweet. 

Cate watched as a short, stout blonde walked up to the cart with her thick, red rimmed, cat-eye glasses. She had a cell phone in hand but was starting to read a large order to Cate. 

“Okay, hi, I have a lot of orders so I hope you’re ready for it!” the blonde started. She took in a big breath, “I need a cappuccino, and macchiato, a latte with dairy free milk, a large hot with extra extra extra sugar, a medium hot regular, an espresso, and a medium hot black.” She exhaled. 

“Coming right up,” Cate smiled. “Do you need those labeled?” Cate grabbed a marker, just in case.

“Oh, yes please,” She smiled graciously. “The cappuccino needs to be PG, the macchiato EP, the latte JJ, the large extra is SR, the regular is AH, the espresso is CT and the black is DR. Thank you very much!” Cate pushed buttons on her register.

“Your total comes to 14.68.” Cate was handed a twenty and the blonde insisted on putting the change into her tip jar. “Thank you, I like your glasses.” Cate smiled.

“Thanks! Bought them on the web.” Cate handed the blonde customer two drink trays and watched as the blonde carried one on top of the other. 

“If you spill those on your way, just come see me and I can make you new ones.” Cate said nervously. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but it was a lot to carry for one person. 

“Noted,” the blonde smiled, and bustled off to whatever job she was off to.

Penelope just about flew out of the elevator and into the bullpen. Emily helped set the top tray of coffees down onto the desk next to the copying machine. 

“They’re all labeled with your initials!” Penelope exclaimed. “From the new coffee cart station, part of The Empty Mug.” Emily was twisting the cups, looking for her initials. 

“CT?” Emily questioned.

“Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope huskily replied, passing it to Derek, who had walked up to retrieve his order. Spencer quickly approached the desk, and plucked the biggest cup from the tray, knowing he had the largest order of the bunch. 

“This coffee might just be the best I’ve had.” Emily said after she took a sip of her macchiato. “We should try to order from here more often.” 

J.J. was walking in and grabbed hers before beelining to Hotchner’s office. Hotch called a meeting to discuss the next case, and just like that the unit sat around the round table drinking their coffees from their new favorite shop. 

It was just about 1:30, a half hour before Cate was meant to close her cart and head back to the shop to finish her shift. She tied her hair up into a ponytail at the back of her head, instead of half up like before. The sun was making it hot standing on the busy street. She moved around to the front of her cart to put away the chalkboard menu sign. She twisted a lid back onto her tip jar and knelt to check her stock of creamers, and sugars and flavors on a shelf. Cate would have to make a note to restock her sugar jar. Between all the typical sugar in a coffee and that large coffee which might as well have been a cup of straight sugar, her typical supply had been depleted.  

“You know the cart was very convenient.” Brooke mentioned to Cate, scaring her in the process. “The line was a lot shorter than going into the shop.” Brooke smiled, leaning her elbows onto the cart. Cate stood up, adjusting her apron and pushing her hair out of her face.

“Well I’m glad to hear that.” Cate was still fussing with the different coffee pots on her cart shelves. 

“Need help bringing this bad boy back to the shop?” Brooke was already grabbing one side of the cart.

“Yes, please!” Cate exhaled. 

Cate came home with almost one hundred dollars in tips, her half of the split tips between her and Marta. She just about ripped her shoes off at the door, letting them thud to the ground as she greeted her small, light orange cat. Changing out of her uniform, and into some leggings and her college sweatshirt, Cate could take a quick nap before cleaning her apartment. 

As soon as Cate had laid down on her couch, her phone chimed, alerting her of a text message. 

Marta: tell me you don’t have plans friday night

Cate sighed before typing her response, I should finish up my lesson plan project, but I have a feeling you want to go out.

Marta: it’s like you can read my mind… let’s go down to the pub and celebrate the new cart :)

Cate’s phone beeped again.

Marta: Pleeeeeeeease??

Cate laughed to herself before typing back, You’re lucky I love you.

Cate stretched as she woke up for another early day working The Empty Mug’s coffee cart. Her little orange cat, Shrimp, stood by her side, watching her intently with his green eyes.

“Let me guess,” Cate pet Shrimp’s head, “Your bowl is empty.” Shrimp mewed up at her, and jumped off the bed and scurried to his food in the kitchen. Cate followed her little cat to the kitchen. “What would I do without my personal, fuzzy alarm?” Shrimp impatiently rubbed his head against Cate’s ankles. Cate grabbed his cat food from her cabinet, and put three scoops into his bowl. 

Cate let Shrimp crunch away as she walked back to her bedroom. She pulled out her usual uniform, which consisted of a white button up, her choice of black or tan pants, and the signature yellow apron. Taking this pile of clothes into the bathroom, Cate ran the hot water to the shower and brushed her teeth. 

After a refreshing shower and changing into her uniform, Cate grabbed her purse and put her shoes on in the makeshift mudroom bench in the hallway of her apartment. Making a quick run to her kitchen to grab an apple from her fruit bowl, she snatched her keys from the counter and was out the door. 

Typically, Cate would take the stairs from her third floor apartment, but decided to take the elevator today. There was something in the air today that made Cate feel unusually on edge. The walk to The Empty Mug went by faster than normal, most likely due to Cate’s quick pace. Upon her entry to the shop, Marta gave Cate her usual smile. 

“Ready for your second day?” Marta said cheerily. No customers had entered the store yet, so Cate and Marta could take their time bringing the cart from the back of the shop. 

“I’ve had a weird feeling this morning.” Cate confessed. “I can’t shake it.” She pushed the cart through the door. 

“Oh,” Marta furrowed her brows. “Want to switch? I’ll take the cart and you can have the shop?” 

“No, no. That’s okay.” Cate sighed. “I got it.” She forced a smile. Suddenly, she remembered, “Shit, I need to refill the sugar before I go out!” Cate ran behind the counter and grabbed an unopened canister to refill the jar once at the location. 

“Alright, well, text me if you need me.” Marta shrugged. The girls successfully got the cart and umbrella out of the front door before any customers managed to come by. 

“Yes, captain!” Cate laughed and made her way down the street to the spot designated for the cart. She set up the umbrella, positioned her chalk menu- not before jotting a coffee pun on it- and knelt to refill her sugar behind the cart.

People jostled by and before she knew it, Cate was in the middle of the morning rush just as she was the day before. As she was behind the countertop of the cart, she heard a man’s voice.

“Are you open yet?” he sounded in a rush. When Cate peeked up from behind the cart, the man was looking at his phone, fingers typing away on some text or email, she guessed. 

“Yes sir,” Cate brushed her hands on the sides of her apron. “What can I get for you?” She smiled, even though the man hadn’t bothered to look up from his phone.

“A large regular, and a danish” he spoke, nose still in his phone. 

“You got it!” Cate said in the most unnaturally cheery voice. She prepped his coffee, and pulled his danish from under a glass cover. “Comes up to 4.18” Cate pushed buttons on her register. The man shoved a five at her and walked away without his change. Cate put it into her tip jar, hoping the rest of her day would be filled with better customers.

Today’s shift was getting better and better. Brooke stopped by earlier with the same promise of stopping by later on her break. Customers had overall been tipping well, Cate’s jar was getting fuller and fuller. The line of customers would deplete as Cate took their orders, but as soon as it dwindled, more people lined up. On the lower end of a swell of customers, Cate had a few new faces. Next up, was a kid in his late teens. His fingers jittered along the counter top as he rested his hands on the cart.

“I’ll have a medium cold brew with an almond swirl. Can I also get a slice of banana bread?” Cate smiled and nodded. When Cate turned her back to make the coffee, the teen made a grab for the tip jar and began running off.

“He’s got your tip jar!” the next woman in line yelled. Cate didn’t know what to do, this had never happened before. Her hands began to shake and she felt tears of frustration build in her eyes. You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought.

There was another man behind the woman who leapt into action and started chasing the thief. Cate watched as they ran through the opposite direction of the current of people on the street. The man in pursuit shouted.

“FBI, stop running!” The thief’s gait faltered. This gave the agent just enough of a stride to grab the thief by the collar of his jacket. “Drop the jar, and I’ll pretend I never saw anything.” the agent ordered. The thief shoved the jar into the agent’s hand and took off running.

Cate swiped her teary eyes with the back of her hand before the agent could approach her cart. She was shaken up and didn’t know what to do or say. 

“I believe this is yours.” the agent handed Cate her glass jar filled with money. He was tall, with long hair. Cate gently took the jar and placed it behind her counter. No amount of money was worth risking that again. 

“Uh, thanks” Cate said shakily. “You really saved my ass, there.” Cate tried to joke. The agent pursed his lips together and went back to his spot in line. The woman before him thankfully had a short and sweet order, allowing Cate to relax her racing heart and thoughts. The agent stepped up next in line. “What can I get for you? It’s on the house.” Cate smiled at him.  “Can I, uh, get a medium hot black but can you put it in a large sized cup so I can put my own sugar in it?” He looked nervous for requesting such an odd order.  “Of course, not a problem” Cate got to work filling a large hot cup about three quarters full. She handed the agent his coffee and also the sugar dispenser. In the same exchange, he passed her a ten dollar bill. “For the wasted order, and a tip.” He smiled nervously at her. Cate placed the ten in her register, and watched as he poured about half of the sugar into his coffee.  “I remember your order.” Cate spoke before she realized she thought out loud. “Pardon?” he looked quizzically at Cate.“Sorry, yesterday someone came by and ordered a large hot with an insane amount of sugar, I just refilled today and you’ve already gone through half of it. You might as well just order a cup of sugar with a side of coffee.” Cate rambled with a smile. “Um,” he paused, lost for words. “Sorry.” he came up with.“It’s fine. It’s meant to be used, right?” Cate felt herself blush. So that’s S.R. she thought to herself.  

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 236-238

November 2-4  Well, it's been a hell of a few days but I have to write the journal entry sometime, I suppose. Monday night I went to bed super early and last night I was exhausted and heartsore, and today I've got a nervous stomachache that just won't quit, but if I'm journaling this year, this is going to be a pretty important inflection point.  Monday was a day where not a lot happened, or not a lot I can remember at this point anyway. I made my butternut squash soup in the evening so I could take it to the precinct in the morning and put myself to bed at 10pm, several hours earlier than normal because I had to wake up at four. I didn't sleep great, but I used the Boring Books for Bedtime podcast to get me to sleep and I was able to get some rest. I also laid out my clothes ahead of time so I wouldn't have to wake my husband up at that hour just so I could get dressed.  Tuesday morning I woke up, showered, dressed and packed up my bag for the precinct, all in less than an hour. I wound up cutting it a little close at the end, so when I got to the car and realized I'd forgotten my piping hot travel mug of pumpkin spice coffee with pumpkin spice creamer, I reluctantly went on without it. There was coffee from a machine at the precinct, but it definitely was not as good. But I did arrive on time, so that was good. There is a lot to do in the hour between 5am and 6am when the polls open. 

My position this election was procedural specialist, which basically meant that whenever a situation cropped up that required a procedure, I was the one who went and did it. This was things like "voter with absentee ballot wants to trade it in for a regular ballot," "voter with absentee ballot does not have their ballot and will have to vote provisionally," "voter is not on the pollbook and is not 100% sure whether they are registered, but wants to vote provisionally just in case they are," "something about voter has changed, usually married name or address, and they need to fill out a new voter registration form while they are voting" and "voter has no ID/ voter wants to give us a hard time about ID and needs to fill out the confirmation of identity form before voting." There's a lot of stuff to remember, and I crammed pretty hard in the days before the election, as well as stuffing my manual with post-it flags for important topics. 

During a busy election, being a procedural specialist could be pretty daunting, even overwhelming. Every unusual voter has to be handled carefully, to give their vote the best possible chance of being counted. Lucky for me, our precinct had very heavy early-voting representation. Out of 2200 registered voters, more than 1300 had voted early in person or gotten absentee ballots in the mail. We only had 398 voters all day long, which is primary-light turnout. It was a little funny because we'd staffed for a contentious and complex presidential election and had nearly double the usual staff load for an election, and all of us sat around almost all day. I wound up with only six provisional votes all day, plus four ID forms, four or five voter registration updates, and three absentee-for-regular ballot switches. Unfortunately situations seemed to crop up everytime I went to the bathroom for awhile in the morning, but I had a lot of downtime.  We did have some extra staff positions that needed filled, so it was good we had some extra people. There was an outside team of four people, keeping an eye out for any trouble, handling curbside voting, and directing people to the correct door for voting or vote dropoff. We had one position for "drop box guard" because every precinct in Virginia was also an authorized drop-off location for absentee ballots on Election Day. The election board was quite concerned about the possibility that somebody might abscond with a whole damn ballot box, even though it's the size of a school-age child, so somebody had to sit next to it all day long despite the fact that we only got three dropoff ballots. And of course there were the sanitizers, people whose job was to follow every voter leaving a station and sanitize that station with disinfectant before the next voter arrived. Other than that, though, we had a lot of extra people and mainly used the day as an opportunity to train the newbies. I spent four hours in the afternoon not even working the pollbook, but watching other people work the pollbook to make sure nobody made any mistakes. It was incredibly boring.  The last hour of the night, after the polls close, is even busier than the first hour of the morning. Everybody really wants to go home, and of course the registrar is chomping at the bit to get the vote totals, but everything has to be done exactly right or we all get in trouble. In Virginia, there are a dozen boxes and envelopes that need to be filled, accounted for, sealed and returned to the office at the end of the night. Each envelope needs specific paperwork, and each paper requires the right signatures. The actual used paper ballots go in their own box, marked on the top, sealed with tape, and then further sealed with three security labels signed by every officer of election. Normally with 12 officials this is not a big deal, but getting 22 names onto those labels this time was an exercise in writing very small. We were in good shape at the end of the night because we'd had no discrepancies and only one incident all day (Laptop 3 crapped out around 3pm, leaving us with two pollbooks for the rest of the day but it didn't matter because turnout was so light that we never had any lines), but it was still a lot of work.  My particular job was to shepherd the provisional ballots and the provisional ballot log and make sure they got where they needed to go. I had to have a second officer of the opposing political party ("Hey, I need a Republican who isn't doing anything!") count the six ballots with me, affirm that there were six ballots on the voting log, and then sign and seal them into their envelope. After that I helped get documents into the correct envelopes and make sure that everything got sealed according to the extremely arcane rules. It was honestly the most exciting and fast paced part of the entire day, and we broke down and packed up the entire precinct in only ninety minutes.  I went home exhausted to watch results, and of course it wasn't what we'd been hoping for. I can't believe so very many people are still totally ready for more of Trump's bullshit and incompetence. It honestly boggles my mind how such a hateful man gets so many otherwise reasonable people to vote for him. Even though I understood in principle the idea of a red mirage with early ballots being counted late, I was heartsick when I went to sleep and despite being exhausted, I slept very poorly.  This morning the news was better, though not great. A close race means litigation, and of course Trump claimed victory overnight despite huge numbers of uncounted ballots. He is human garbage. Our Democratic congresswoman held her seat, and her opponent made a gracious concession speech that was actually eloquent and nice. It's bizarre how quickly something like that becomes an oddity. But most of the mail-in ballots were for Democrats, as predicted, and the outcome is better, though still far from certain. After all these failures of prediction, I'm afraid to believe in anything at this point. But maybe tonight I will at least get some sleep.  Despite everything, life went on today. The kiddo had a day off for teacher workday because it's the end of the first quarter already. Jesus. I cleaned up the kitten room enough that my husband can now use it as the office it actually is supposed to be, so he worked in there today and I got my bedroom back. That was a high point of the day, definitely. I got my period, so that sucked, but at least I could lay in bed for awhile and not be on camera for a bunch of college students. In the morning I drove down and transported a cat to the recovery room for spaying tomorrow, which closed up another TNR site. We're picking away at our list, slow but sure, but it just keeps getting longer. There are  so many cats!  Later in the day, I noted that the kiddo had been using a lot of screen time and we had a discussion about whether he'd done the chores to actually earn those points. He cleaned out the dishwasher and went to clean his bathroom, and I was just about to start dinner when I heard the terrifying dual noises of running water and "MOM! THE TOILET IS FLOODING!" And it sure was, with gusto! I ripped the tank lid off and grabbed the float to stop the water running, and made the guys grab every towel in the house to get water off the floor before we gave the downstairs neighbors a bath. The flood lasted only about 30 seconds, but it put quite a bit of water on the floor. I was able to get the flapper back in place and determine nothing in the tank was actually broken, the flapper had just gotten stuck when the overflow began and it had cascaded from there.   But what had caused the backup? There was no waste in the water, one small blessing, just lots and lots of disintegrating toilet paper bits. The kiddo admitted that he'd had an inspiration while cleaning the toilet. There was a lot of gunk under the rim, he had explained, and he thought that if he could get the water high enough in the bowl, it would wash away the gunk with no need to scrub. So he'd taken a bunch of toilet paper and shoved it in the toilet to block it up, gotten the bowl nice and full, and then immediately realized he'd created a situation he couldn't stop. (He seemed to have been planning to use the plunger to remove the blockage, not realizing quite how much toilet paper he was using.) He was extremely contrite about the whole thing and promised to run future brilliant cleaning ideas past a parent for review. The clog proved highly resistant to plunging, and after an hour I was almost ready to throw in the towel and call maintenance to snake the damn thing. As a last ditch effort, I completely emptied the bowl, then filled it with a bucket of the hottest water I could coax from the bathtub, and used that to plunge. It worked, and the toilet finally flushed. Whew.  And then I had to make supper! I put together a nice meatloaf and preheated the oven, only for smoke to come pouring out of the damn thing. See, yesterday while I was working the polls, my husband cooked something, chili I think, in the oven, and realized that the pot he was using was much too full. He put a pan under it, but apparently the pot was much-much too full, because it overran that and the pan and got all over the oven and set off the smoke alarm. He'd wiped out the oven, but I think he missed the broiler and that's why it smoked right up again. At this point I just sighed and started looking for microwave meatloaf recipes. I did find one, and though it was not as good as oven meatloaf, it was edible, and I was really very done with household tasks for the day.  Now it is getting late and I'm beat, but the nerves won't go away. It is so hard to be in the same position as four years ago, disappointed in your country, terrified to hope for anything, but clinging to the possibility that things will be okay. It hurt so badly before, even worse than now I think, because it was so shocking. I guess it's like the first time your home gets ruined by a flood versus the second time, both times your house is ruined, but the second time at least you weren't surprised that something like this could happen. I wish I knew how to get off this flood plain. On the other hand, my Tumblr post of kittens has really taken off and has over a thousand notes. Apparently I was not the only one in need of high-octane cuteness to give my brain a few seconds of peace and happiness. I'm going to try and get some sleep now, here's hoping for better dreams and better tomorrow. Please, please, please. 

[mush-dooms]

bittersweet

A Romoine Coffee Shop AU  • • •  AO3

My first attempt at anything resembling an actual fic, I do hope you enjoy! and that I haven’t made too many typos. I don’t really proofread lol.

Hermione had been working at the cafe for a few months now. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but when Minerva had asked her to join the staff she couldn’t say no. She had been coming for years, browsing the meticulously sorted shelves with a mug of hot chocolate in hand before settling down at a corner table to start the day’s homework. She knew the menu by heart, and she had the regulars’ orders written on a chart taped to the counter by the espresso machine. 

Hermione tied her apron around her waist, quickly punching in to start her shift. 

“Hi, er, I’m Ronald. I mean, Ron. Ron Weasley.” She nearly lept out of her skin at the lanky redhead standing right behind her. 

“Hermione,” she snapped, annoyed at herself for jumping. “You’ve got a bit of dirt on your nose.” She couldn’t help but notice how blue his eyes were.

“Oh...I’ll just, um, grab my apron then,” Ron’s face turned almost as red as his hair as he shuffled around, wiping at the side of his nose.

That day, the new boy managed to spill milk all over the floor, mess up an espresso (how he managed that, Hermione wasn’t sure), wedge the cash register closed, and burn his hand with hot coffee. He claimed he “got distracted,” which Hermione thought was a load of baloney. What could have possibly distracted him in a coffee shop? What an idiot. He seemed kind though, always trying to make the customers laugh, and that smile--no. No. She was not attracted to idiot dirty-nose boy. She shook her head and returned to scrubbing the counter with new vigor. 

. . .

“That’s NOT what I ordered,” a middle-aged woman with bleached yellow hair glared at Hermione, tapping her foot impatiently. “I asked specifically for an iced coffee, not whatever this cold brew nonsense is,” she scoffed. 

“Cold brew is coffee that was prepared in a cold environment and then we add ice. Iced coffee is hot coffee that has ice added to it,” Hermione’s patience was wearing thin. All morning it been one angry customer after another. “They’re essentially the same thing, but we only carry cold brew.”

“I don’t care what the difference is, I want an iced coffee or I want my money back!” the woman’s face was beginning to go an alarming shade of purple. “The customer service at this place is unreal. Where is your manager, let me speak to the manager RIGHT NOW,” the woman gestured wildly, searching for the mythical manager that would solve all of her problems. 

Hermione put on her best customer service smile. “She’s in the back, I’ll be just a moment.”

“Unbelievable. That’s what happens when you hire people of her kind. Better off staying in their own country if you ask me,” the woman muttered to her husband just loudly enough to ensure Hermione heard. 

She made it as far as the freezer room before collapsing to the ground in heaving sobs. God, why were people like this! It would have been fine if the coffee had been the only problem, but then she had to go and make it personal. She couldn’t help the way she looked, couldn’t hide the cloud of kinky curls on her head or her skin that matched the color of the coffee beans. They took one look and they judged, they hated, and there was nothing she could do. She was utterly powerless.

Hermione heard two soft taps at the door and a freckle-faced boy peered around the corner. “Hey, I heard what happened. You okay?” She stifled a sob in response. “That lady had the attitude of a grizzly bear,” Ron said, sliding onto the floor next to her and passing her a napkin. “And not the cute fluffy ones, more like the ones that rip your face off and leave you for the birds.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Hermione sniffled.

“Sure would be a shame if someone sweetened her dumbass iced coffee with a shit ton of artificial sweeteners known for making you, well, shit yourself,” he turned to look at her and gave her a smug smile. “No pun intended.”

“You could get fired for that, you know.” Sniff

“Yeah well, she deserved it after what she said to you. Fucking racist.”

“You-- sniff-- you heard that?”

“Course I heard that. Nearly took her bloody head off, too, but I had to settle for mild poisoning.”

“You didn’t have to do that, I can handle it.” Sniff.  “It’s not like that was the first time I’ve heard it.” Sniff. “I’m handling it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, handing her another napkin. “And besides, I couldn’t let her just walk out the door.” Ron began tearing the remaining napkin to angry shreds. “Someone had to teach that bitch a lesson.” He hesitated.

“I know it’s not the same by any means, but growing up my family didn’t exactly have a lot of money.” Now out of napkins, Ron picked up a discarded straw and began bending it around his fingers. “And kids are mean, you know? Took one look at my torn jeans and worn hoodie and they may as well have taken me out with the rubbish.” He turned his attention away from the straw. God, his eyes were so blue. “No one deserves to feel less than human, especially not in the way that bitch wanted. So yeah, I did have to do that.”

He slowly got up from the freezer floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m going back out there before I freeze my ass off. You just had to pick the bloody freezer.” Hermione cracked a tiny smile and wiped the last of the tears from her face. Maybe this Ron guy wasn’t so bad after all.

. . .

The line of customers waiting at the pickup station was quickly approaching critical levels. She hadn’t worked with the new guy since the day of the freezer, and it was Ron’s first day working the drink station instead of the register. It was not going well. Poor guy couldn’t tell a latte from a cappuccino. 

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh FUCK!” Hermione heard a loud crunch and whipped around to find a wide-eyed Ron frantically trying to stop the flow of ice cubes spilling from the dispenser. His jammed his hands underneath the mouth of the machine and ice filled them almost instantly. “Shishitshitshitshit!” he muttered as he dumped the handfuls of collected ice on the floor in favor of violently pumping the machine lever. A small icy mountain was beginning to form around his feet.

“Uh, I’ll be right back,” Hermione hoped the elderly man in the middle of ordering his breakfast wasn’t a yeller. “It’ll be just a second.” She hurried over to where Ron was now watching helplessly as ice continued to pour from the machine. 

“Sometimes it just--” she pushed the lever up into the machine wiggled it around. “--slips out of place.” Hermione heard a soft click as the lever fell back into place. A few stray cubes plinked onto the ice mountain.”Should be good now.” Ron’s ears had gone very pink. “It happened to me on my first day, too. All cool.” Hermione kicked herself silently. “All cool.” Idiot.

“You should probably go get that,” he uttered sheepishly, wiping his sopping hands on his apron. He nodded towards the counter where the old man still waited. Ron’s face still matched nicely with his hair.

Later as Hermione headed to hang her apron in the breakroom, she found Ron about to clock out. “Hey, I realize I didn’t thank you earlier. You’re a real lifesaver,” Ron said, the tips of his ears going pink again. “Thought for sure that guy was gonna let me have it if he didn’t get his frappa-mocha-shit me-chino in the next twelve seconds.”

“No problem. I wasn’t gonna let you drown in ice cubes, would have been far too much work to clean up.”

He snorted and headed towards the door. “Good to know I mean so much to you.”

. . . 

They talked more often after that, about uni and life back home and bad impressions of rude customers. Minerva told them they “bickered like an old couple,” but talking to him was just so...easy. It felt right. They understood each other, somehow, despite being so different. She learned he was in his second year, still undecided, but he knew he wanted to work with people and maybe start his own shop. He had a large family (six siblings!), and his mother apparently made the best blueberry muffins in the world. She told him about wanting to go to medical school (“No wonder you’ve always got your nose in a book.”) and how she didn’t speak to her family much but she hopes that they’re doing okay.

Ron was completely obsessed with football. He watched every match with his phone snuck out on the counter. Before Ron, the most Hermione knew about football was that you had to kick the ball in the goal. She still didn’t care for the sport, but Ron looked so happy when he talked about it. When he asked her what on earth she does if she doesn’t care for sports, she told him about her favorite books. He didn’t seem very interested, but a few days later she saw him putting Pride and Prejudice back into his backpack. She couldn’t help but smile.

. . .

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Hermione nearly dropped the mug she was placing in the cupboard. “It reminds me of when I first met my wife,” Minerva continued rubbing down the counter, and if she noticed Hermione’s reaction she hid it well. “People like that don’t come along very often.” Minerva finished tidying and headed towards the kitchen, “Don’t let him slip away.”

. . .

“Try this one, will ya?” Ron handed Hermione a steaming mug of something topped with an ungodly amount of whipped cream and drank from his own, equally whipped-creamed mug.

Hermione took a sip and swore she could feel entire grains of sugar on her teeth. “Do you always insist on mutilating your coffee like this?”

“Listen, that bean-y shit tastes like burnt soil,” he said, whipped cream perched on the tip of his nose. “If I wanted to eat dirt I’d lick Professor Snape’s hair.”

Hermione snorted. The cafe had been exceptionally slow today-- only a handful of regulars came in-- which usually would have prompted her to pull out her laptop and reorganize her lecture notes. She had tried, actually. Ron shot her with the sink spray nozzle as soon as he saw her try to escape. Asshole. 

“Try mine then, and if you think it tastes like burnt soil I’ll buy you lunch.” She inhaled the scent of the mug next to her, breathing in the warm smell of cinnamon and cloves and coffee beans. “Here.”

“See, now I definitely won’t like it because I know you’ll buy me lunch,” he said, taking the mug from her. He sniffed and his nose scrunched up. “What’d you put in here, my mum’s scented candle collection?”

“Shut up and drink it.”

He took a sip. His face gave away nothing. “Well? What do you think?”

Ron shrugged. “All in all, could be worse, though it is missing a little something.”

She gave him a look. “And what could that possibly be, Ronald?” Hermione had hardly finished speaking and when Ron emptied half a can of whipped cream on top of his mug. 

“Perfect. Now, what was that you said about lunch?”

“Ron, I am not buying you lunch after you just admitted that you would skew your reply given the incentive of free food.”

“Okay, so you’re a liar and a terrible barista. I see.”

“Am not! You just have the taste buds of a four-year-old and the morals of a snake!”

“Hey! Don’t come for my taste buds! You’ve gone too far with that one!”

Ron whipped around and grabbed a full can of whipped cream. Before Hermione had time to react, he aimed it straight at her face and pushed the trigger. 

“RONALD! HOW DARE YOU!” Whipped cream slopped down her face into her gaping mouth, flooding it with sickening sweetness.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit, this was a mistake wasn’t it,” Ron backed away slowly, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

Hermione turned, her eyes lowered. Damn that boy. Now concerned, Ron lowered his weapon and moved toward her. “You good, ‘Mione? I was just playing, I didn’t mean any--”

“YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR THAT ONE, RONALD!” Hermione whirled, grabbing another can of cream and dousing Ron’s chest. 

“FUCK!” Ron laughed and jumped backwards to avoid the stream, only managing to cover his arms in the sugar. “Damn it, I should have known, did Ginny teach me nothing?” He retaliated with a squirt to her legs that missed and plopped to the floor.

Hermione was laughing now, all pretense of hurt gone as she hit him squarely in the face with a fat glob of cream. She squealed and dodged as he covered her hair in sugary clouds. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” Hermione lunged towards him and her feet slipped from beneath her. Ron’s hand shot out and grasped her arm to steady her, and suddenly she found their faces mere inches apart. Whipped cream covered his nose and jawline, a few stray puffs standing out against his red hair. His deep blue eyes met hers and he held her gaze, his other arm reaching around her waist. She could count the freckles on his cheekbones. They reminded her of tiny stars. Time slowed down as his lips met hers, the taste of whipped cream and coffee melting onto her tongue. They slowly pulled apart, Ron’s arm still around her waist, unable to hide his smile. She looked into his deep blue eyes,

“What was that you said about lunch?

[scaryscarecrows]

Who Protects the Protector?

Cherry can smell a rookie a mile away. Their sense of self-importance, of, ‘I’ll be the one to bring law and order to Gotham!’ is practically a cheap cologne.

This one is no exception. And he’s not local, she can tell. It’s the swagger. Newbies put it on to try and seem bigger, not worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. (They’re always worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. Every damn time.)

She and Mia are standing on the corner, debating on whether or not to go for Korean or Greek. Korean’s closer, but they had that last time. And then their quiet conversation is interrupted by this asshole with his aviators sticking out of his pocket and his hat painstakingly adjusted to look cocky-but-not-too-cocky. No playful flirting, then. He’ll take it seriously and haul them to the station, like a dick.

“Officer.”

“Ladies.” He glances at her boobs. They’re nice boobs. It took her twenty minutes to get them into position earlier. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives him that special judgmental look she reserves for dummies, just so he doesn’t go thinking he can manhandle the merch without paying. “Watcha want, hon.”

He looks a little taken aback, but he recovers fast enough and says, all gung-ho, “The Red Hood.”

One, either his superiors hate him or he’s just that stupid. Two, fuck this guy. Red got himself stabbed last week chasing after a serial killer that’s been running wild for a month. He got the guy, but still.

“Why?” She twists over and he steps back juuuust fast enough to look nervous. He should be. The girls working the other side of town carry tasers. Painful, but not as painful as the switchblades they carry down here. You won’t lose treasured pieces of anatomy to a taser. “Are you going to send reliable officers to patrol down here after you arrest him?”

“I—”

They never do. They don’t come for hostage situations, homicides, none of it. Batman does, sometimes, but half the time he’s busy with the Freak of the Week. He’s not around, not really. Red’s always here, if you look hard enough, if you really need him.

If you scream loud enough, he’ll come.

“You’re just pissy that someone had to take over your damn job,” she snaps. “And that you and your buddies ain’t gettin’ to skim a little off the top anymore.”

“Look, lady, he’s wanted in connection to several murders—”

“So was the guy in two-fourteen Palm Plaza.” She points at the apartment building in question. “People called and called and called about that one, sugar-lamb, and nobody came. Tell him, Mia.”

“Yeah, officer.” Mia bats her lashes at him, but she may as well be trying to kill the guy with her eyes. “He was gonna cut me up in his bathtub, ‘til he got yanked out the window.”

“That’s not—”

“I would have been number four.”

“I’m only asking nicely one more time—”

“Number. Four.” There’s an awkward silence. “Not that you care.”

“I--”

“Go fuck yourself,” Cherry says, grabbing Mia’s elbow in one hand and preparing to draw her switchblade with the other. “We don’t know shit, ‘cept for that the boys in blue don’t give a rat’s ass about coming down here. And if you harass me again, I’ll be making a report.”

“This isn’t harassment, lady, but it’s about to be—”

That’s it. That is it.

She drops Mia’s elbow, turns around, and invades the guy’s space boobs-first. He steps back and ends up with his back against the crosswalk button.

“Red’s done more for us in eight months than you jackasses have managed in decades,” she snarls. “And now that you can stick a toe out of your car without being chopped up and sent back to the station in a box, you want to haul him in and take all the credit. Lemme tell you something, kid, I’ve had to pay for the privilege of keeping my teeth with my body until very recently. Filing a report won’t get me anything, and we both know it. So get back in your car, drive away, and don’t come back.”

He stutters and reddens and for a minute, she thinks he might hit her. But he doesn’t, just squeezes out from between her and the button, and walks away. She turns back to Mia once she’s sure he’s gone and says, “Greek?”

* * *

Abdoul prides himself on his poker face. He’s lived here his whole life, and it’s a valuable life skill.

He’s faced down mobsters before. He knows the type. They come rolling into his coffee shop like they own the place, terrorizing the other customers and making a mess. But these ones are looking for the man currently bleeding out on the floor behind the counter.

Abdoul’s not even sure Red’s conscious. He’d staggered in under his own power, blood leaking through his fingers, and they’d run to help him back here. And then he’d gone down with a low groan and hadn’t moved again, even when Lina pressed a handful of kitchen towels against the wound near his hip. Not two minutes later, these monkeys had stormed the place, screamed for everybody to stay where they were, and started demanding information.

“I’m tellin’ ya, old man, he came in here.”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

The police aren’t coming. The panic button under the counter has been here for years, and it hasn’t worked yet. The shotgun under the counter, on the other hand, works just fine. And if these idiots don’t turn around and walk away, he’s going to pull it out.

“Listen, old-timer—”

It takes everything he’s got not to look down when Lina tugs at a towel that’s caught under his shoe. He does shift his weight though, just a bit. Enough for her to pull it free.

“Get out of my establishment.” He narrows his eyes at the gun pointed at him. “You are mistaken. If you lost an injured man, that’s on you for being too slow and too stupid to keep up. Try the roof, he might have gone up there.”

“There’s no blood, boss,” one of them, nearer to the door, whispers. Damn straight. One of his regulars, Dexter Murphy, a nurse practitioner, had accidentally knocked over the mop bucket Lina had been using when the men had started shouting. Any blood on the tile has long been hit with the small flood of soapy water.

The leader moves his head side to side, like a hunting dog, and finally sighs.

“If I find out you were lyin’ to me, I’ll be back.”

“Maybe you’ll buy something next time.”

The man snarls but stalks out, barking orders to the others. Once they’re gone, Abdoul sighs and crouches down to see what he can do. Red, as it turns out, is conscious; his head lolls towards them and he says, voice weak despite the modulator his helmet must have, “C’n I get whatever th’ pastry of th’ day is?”

“Red,” Abdoul says gently, “you come back in here when you’re not bleeding, and you can have whatever you want.”

“Lemme see.” Dexter’s suddenly there, too, batting Lina’s hands away. “Okay, Red…yeah, that’s not really that bad, man, just stay still for me, okay? Okay…”

* * *

Whoever this new guy is, he’s good.

And by good, Alex means they’re fucked. Okay, so she maybe should have waited for backup before climbing in the window. There was a little boy up there, man, she had to try and get him. So that’s on her. But it takes skill to catch a Bat, and smarts to keep one from breaking out and ruining your life.

But this guy, whoever he is, has done it. Her hands are cuffed (her own cuffs!), the little boy is literally like seven, and the Red Hood is…

He’s…

They’ve been calling this guy the Butterfly Collector. And right now, he’s living up to his name; Hood’s been attached the floor courtesy of what looks like a giant railroad spike through his torso. Probably custom, like the others have been. He’s still alive, still conscious, even, but every too-deep breath makes him whimper and he’s clearly trying desperately not to move so much as an inch.

“Hey.” The helmet turns carefully towards her. “You. Okay?”

She said it when she came here and she says it now; vigilantes are a special sort of stupid. She makes her way to him anyway, wishes the bastard would have at least cuffed her hands in front of her, and says, “Yeah. Backup’ll be here soon.”

“Mm. F’you s-s-s-seeeeeee.” He gulps hard like he’s swallowing something. Blood, maybe. “A chance ta get Tommy outta here. Go.”

“You got it.”

“C’mere, kiddo.” The kid-Tommy-moves closer. He looks terrified and blotchy and puffy, like he’s been crying. She can’t blame him. He gets as close to Hood as he probably dares, though, and tilts his head. “This’s. Officer Clemmens.”

“Alex,” she supplies. The little boy glances at her but doesn’t say anything.

“She’s gonna get you outta here, ‘kay?” Maybe. Hopefully. “T-Tommy’s. Mute. S-s-so—”

“Okay, Hood. Maybe shut up now, okay?”

“Mm…”

The door opens and she’s on her feet, shepherding Tommy as far away from the Butterfly Collector as possible. The man doesn’t even look at them. He’s looking at Hood, who’s still trying to regulate his breathing and to stay still.

“How long does it take you to die?” He stalks forward and drops down, hands pressing Hood’s shoulders down until he yelps. “You’ve been—”

It may not be fighting fair, but neither is cuffing a girl’s hands behind her back, and Mama didn’t raise no weak bitch. Alex takes her shot and brings her foot up between the bastard’s legs, straight into his balls. The noise he makes would be funny…okay, yeah, it’s kinda funny. Petty vengeance and all.

It’s not funny when he gets up, still sort of hunched over. She kicks him again, this time in the stomach, and he staggers a few feet away.

“Get the hell out of here, asshole.”

He pulls a gun-her gun, that dick-and this is it, this is how she dies-

-where’d he go.

Seriously, where’d he go.

Tommy pulls on her pants and when she turns around, she recognizes the sign he makes. Every cop knows that sign, just like every cop knows pretty much every translation of the word it’s for.

Batman.

About time.

She shrieks when he’s suddenly behind her, unlocking the cuffs before teleporting to Hood’s side. There’s sirens a few blocks away.

Wait. They don’t get along, do they.

“I’ll kick you, too, if you try anything,” she warns. The Bat doesn’t even pretend to care. Hood makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Th-thought you’d. ‘Rest me.”

Just for that, she’s tempted.

“Shut up and don’t die, Hood.”

He doesn’t answer. She ushers Tommy away so he can’t see what Batman’s doing to him. And by the time backup arrives, they’re both gone. How? Who knows. But she worries, a little teeny tiny bit, that Hood’s dead. He doesn’t appear after that for a good month and a half.

Maybe it’s bad, but when a serial rapist turns up tied to a stoplight, intestines looped around the pole, she feels a little relief. Not a lot, because damn that’s brutal and really, really illegal, but a bit.

It’s Gotham, after all.

THE END

[serenlyss]

Linger

Rating: T (psychological trauma, heavy topics, vomit) Pairings: Terumob Summary:  Shigeo knows that something about him has changed, and not in a good way. He knows when his fingers start to itch, when he's sweating in a cold room, when he sometimes loses the ability to breathe right. He just can't figure out why, or how to fix it. After a week, he finally decides to ask for help. Crossposted to AO3: Linger

This ended up being really long but,, oh well. This is based wholly off the line in the anime where Mogami says the experience will be forever etched in his heart, an exploration of what kind of aftermath that kind of event could have on someone if it was the main focus of the story. I also just really wanted to write some considerate/caring Teru bc he's one of my favorite characters and I love him. Hope you enjoy! This was beta read by @thedeadgodlives, thanks a bunch for your help!

Shigeo’s pencil scratches against the lined paper of his notebook, working out a difficult math problem his teacher had assigned to him the previous school day. His head is leaning on his open hand, fingers digging into his hair and pressing against his scalp as though it will help him think easier. He hums to himself, pausing as he reaches a point in the problem where he can no longer remember the steps to solving it.

He’s never been good at math, but even after years of struggling the nervousness and fear of failure never gets any better. He rolls his pencil between his fingers restlessly, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he fights to remember his teacher’s instructions. It’s no use, he laments after a moment. He’ll have to search his textbook later for the directions. He hopes his teacher doesn’t call on him in class; he’d surely make a fool of himself in front of his classmates.

The fingers holding his pencil tingle, and he pauses in his fiddling. The sensation is familiar to him now, but he still can’t figure out where it’s coming from or why it’s happening. The tingle grows into an incessant itch until he can no longer ignore it. He sets down his pencil, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to make the itch go away, but it isn’t working. It never has, not since he first started experiencing the itching a week ago. He scratches at his fingers with the nail on his thumb, frowning at his itchy fingers disapprovingly.

Shaking his head, Shigeo returns to his homework, but his focus has been broken. The itch in his hand multiplies and spreads to his other hand, which twitches against his scalp in response. He straightens up in his seat, pressing both hands palm-down on his desk. The sensation lingers in his fingertips, but no matter how he scratches them, the itch doesn’t go away. It’s distracting and annoying, and it’s keeping him from doing his work.

With a disgruntled huff of breath, he pushes himself to his feet and slips out of his tidy bedroom, heading for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He runs the tap hot and lets his hands hover beneath the stream of water, washing away the sickening sensation that clings to them. He leaves them there until the heat of the water becomes too much for him to handle, hissing out a pained breath as he feels his skin scald. He quickly jerks them back, turning the water off and drying his hands on the bathroom towel. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror. He’s paler than usual, he notices, and there’s sweat beading on his brow despite the comfortable temperature of his house. He scrubs it away with the towel, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. When had his heart started beating so quickly? He swallows down the lump in his throat, carefully folding and replacing the towel as though it had never been touched at all.

He’s not sure what’s wrong with him, exactly, but he recognizes that it probably isn’t supposed to be happening. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, because then his thoughts start to race to places where he can’t control them, places where he’s still trapped in Mogami’s mindscape, fighting for his life in a completely different way than he’s grown accustomed to.

But he isn’t there anymore. He’s home, he’s safe, it’s over.

He repeats the thoughts in his head like a mantra. You’re home, you’re safe, it’s over. The tingling in his fingers is gone, and his heartbeat goes back to it’s regular speed. He feels like he could probably fall asleep now despite the fact that it’s the middle of the day. He still has homework to finish, though, so he returns to his desk and slips back into his chair.

As he attempts the math problem once more, he wonders if his classmates are struggling with the concepts as much as he is. His tongue feels dry. If he keeps making a fool of himself in class, they’ll keep pushing him around, calling him stupid and useless and spilling things on him. They might even try to hurt him, if they’re feeling particularly cruel that day, and he has no way of defending himself without his-

He lets out a gasp, shaking his head. His classmates had never done such things to him. They mostly ignore him, or at best, tolerate his presence. Sure, they laugh when he’s unable to answer the teacher’s question, but they’ve never done anything outright cruel to him, at least not to his face.

His head hurts. He scrubs at his face with both hands, groaning softly. His head feels foggy and his mind is racing, trying to reconcile two polarizing images of the same group of people he’s known since he was in grade school. It isn’t the first time he’s confused himself with conflicting memories, and every time it never fails to give him a splitting headache. He needs painkillers, and something to distract him from his unsettling thoughts.

His hand moves to pick up his phone as if on instinct, and before he knows it he’s opening up his text app in search of someone to reach out to. He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. Hesitating. Reigen always gives good advice in times like these, but he’ll pry in deeper than Shigeo is willing to divulge. Ritsu, maybe? No, he’s still at school at this time, talking with the student council. He’s not sure Ritsu would be very good at taking his mind off of things, anyway.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s holding, Shigeo punches in Hanazawa Teruki’s contact. Yes, Teru would know what to do to take his mind off of things. He sends a quick, simple message: “Hello, Hanazawa. Are you busy?”

He keeps his messages brief and polite, refraining from using phrases that may come across as too friendly or overbearing. Teru’s never been one to take the professional route, though, and his reply comes a minute later.

“Hey, Kageyama! :D Ah, you could say so. I’m working on some homework for a class. Why, did you need something?”

A small smile comes to Shigeo’s face. Teru’s friendly tone is easy to respond to, and the emojis he always includes are an easy way for Shigeo to deduce how he’s feeling. Not to mention, they’re quite cute. “Ah, sorry to bother you, then. I was just wondering if you had time to hang out, but if you’re busy, then I understand,” he types in response, curt and apologetic.

“Don’t apologize! I should really take a break anyway,” Reads Teru’s text. “I’d love to hang out, actually! :) If you have some homework, why don’t we work on it together? You can come over to my place and keep me company.”

Shigeo’s gaze flicks to his half-filled notebook page. “Are you good at math?” he asks.

Teru’s reply is immediate. “I do well enough. I can help you with it if you like, as long as you help me with my japanese in return.”

Shigeo’s fairly confident that he can at least help a little bit when it comes to Japanese, so he agrees quickly to the arrangement and tells Teru that he’ll be over shortly. He packs up his school supplies and changes out of his uniform, trading his black slacks and jacket for a tee-shirt and jeans. He leaves his room and heads downstairs to walk over to the train station, bidding his mother goodbye with a promise to stay safe on his way.

The trip is quick and easy, nothing eventful getting in his way as he turns toward Teru’s apartment from the station. He’s only been there a handful of times, including the few hours he’s spent resting there after Ritsu was kidnapped by Claw, but he’s memorized the stop he needs to exit from and the route he takes to arrive at Teru’s front door.

Teru’s quick to answer when Shigeo knocks softly, greeting him with a smile and a wave. “Hi, Kageyama. Come on in and have a seat,” he says, stepping aside and holding the door open for Shigeo to move past him.

“Thanks for having me,” he says politely, slipping off his shoes and leaving them by the door like he always does when he comes over. He makes his way over to Teru’s living room, where his friend has already taken up shop to work on his own homework. There’s a textbook open on the coffee table beside his workbook, and an empty mug with the last dregs of a sweet-smelling tea in it. Shigeo sits down on the couch while Teru steeps another batch of the tea, a common routine for the two of them when they study together. He pulls his notebook out of his backpack and sets it up beside Teru’s, fetching a pencil from a side pocket to write with.

Teru joins him shortly after, a steaming cup in each hand, and sets one in front of Shigeo.

“Ah, thank you,” Shigeo murmurs, taking a tentative sip of the hot drink.

Teru flashes him a smile and plops down next to him, leaving just a few inches of space between them for their arms to move. Teru has always been the kind of person who likes to casually touch his friends, as far as Shigeo can tell, quick to guide him with a hand on his back or a congratulatory squeeze of his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch when their arms brush or their hands touch accidentally, and he’s quick to loop an arm around his shoulders or lean against him when he’s feeling tired. Shigeo doesn’t mind the constant contact, and Teru seems appreciative of his receptiveness, so when he lays an arm across the back of the couch behind Shigeo’s shoulders, he doesn’t react or draw attention to it. Instead he focuses on his math work, determined to solve the problem he’s stuck on.

Teru’s quick to jump in and help him, praising him for what he’s done correctly and gently pointing out his mistakes. Teru isn’t at all like his teachers or classmates, Shigeo realizes as he listens to Teru’s instructions. He moves at a pace Shigeo can easily keep up with and doesn’t berate him for not understanding right away, and he’s endlessly grateful for his friend’s innate understanding of him.

“Thank you, Hanazawa, this all makes much more sense now,” Shigeo says once they’ve gone through a few problems together. He turns to smile at Teru, setting down his pencil and letting his hands fall to his sides.

Teru’s face goes slightly pink, but the pleased smile on his face shows his gratitude at Shigeo’s words. “Anytime, Kageyama. There’s no better way to learn than by teaching someone else. At least, that’s what my math teacher always says,” he replies, reaching up with one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

His hair is getting longer again, Shigeo notices. He hums, thoughtful, and reaches out with a hand to brush aside a strand that’s fallen into Teru’s eyes. His fingers graze Teru’s temple as he does, feeling an annoying little zap at the miniscule contact. It’s not enough to make him flinch, but it’s noticeable nonetheless.

Teru doesn’t move away from his touch, but the blush on his cheeks darkens some, and he glances away in an almost embarrassed fashion. “Ah, it’s getting a bit long, isn’t it? I cut it short after our fight, but I’ve been growing it out since then. I kinda miss wearing it long,” he says, rambling a bit, but Shigeo doesn’t mind. Teru’s always been more of a talker than he is.

“It looks nice,” Shigeo compliments, letting his hand fall back to the couch again. He turns his attention back toward his homework, nearly finished now, as Teru falls quiet.

The other boy doesn’t respond, going back to his own work, but a moment later Shigeo feels bold fingers brush against the hand that rests between them, cautiously slotting themselves between his own.

The touch burns like fire almost immediately, seeping into his skin with jolts of white-hot electricity that stab up his arm and make his mind scream, Don’t touch me!

He rips his hand away with a pained gasp, holding it against his chest. The searing heat continues to spread, making his arms quiver against his control and causing his stomach to turn. He feels queasy and hot as the burn spreads to his head and he breaks into a sweat.

“I-I’m sorry,” Teru stammers, quickly retracting his hand. Shigeo’s head jerks to look at him. He looks incredibly guilty and a little mortified, actively leaning out of Shigeo’s space when he normally would lean in. “I just thought - I mean, it seemed like - ugh, what did I do?” He tears his gaze away, clasping his hands together as if to punish them for wandering.

Shigeo opens his mouth to reassure his friend that it’s alright, it’s not his fault, that there’s something wrong with himself that had caused a misunderstanding, but the words die in his throat. His tongue feels thick and dry, his throat thinner and hoarser with each passing second. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

He stands up in a hurry and makes a beeline for Teru’s bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him as he struggles to take a meaningful breath. His fingers burn terribly, the sensation making his stomach roll. He gags on his own choppy gasps, bracing his hands on the marble countertop around the sink and leaning over it in case he really does throw up. He feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, and his lungs burn, as though there’s no oxygen in the air to replenish them. His face is pale and he’s begun sweating profusely, his forehead damp and cold to the touch. With a start he realizes that he’s crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling into the sink. His knees wobble, and his stomach does another nauseating flip. He barely manages to fall to his knees in front of the toilet before he’s heaving up the contents of that day’s breakfast and lunch into it.

There’s a knock at the door. “Kageyama? Are you alright?” Teru asks from behind the door, voice thick with concern.

Shigeo’s voice continues to evade him, stomach heaving once more, but there’s nothing left to throw up. He gags, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m coming in,” Teru warns. Shigeo hasn’t locked the door behind him, and it swings open with urgency. In a second Teru is at his side, a steady hand on his back. “Kageyama! You look terrible, what happened?” he frets, reaching across Shigeo’s back to tear a strip of toilet paper from the roll. He holds it out to him.

Shigeo draws in a shuddering breath, his shaky hands grasping the toilet’s rim so tightly his knuckles have gone white. After a moment he detaches one hand from it and takes the wad of paper from Teru’s outstretched hand, opening his eyes. His vision is fuzzy, black spots dancing at his periphery. Am I going to faint? he wonders with a flash of fear. He manages to wipe the edges of his mouth with the toilet paper, but his breath tastes like bile and his head feels like it’s going to burst. “Teru, I-I think I’m really sick,” he manages to choke out, voice shaky to the point of unintelligibility and thick with misery.

Teru takes the paper from Shigeo’s hand and drops it in the toilet, flushing away the evidence. Then he grasps him firmly by both shoulders and turns him so they’re facing each other. “You’re not sick, you’re panicking,” he says, reaching up with one hand to push Shigeo’s sweat-slicked bangs out of his face. His eyes flicker back and forth across Shigeo’s face, brows furrowed in unhidden concern. “You’re hyperventilating,” he realizes worriedly, biting his lower lip. “Try breathing with me, okay? In, and out…” Odd. Shigeo doesn’t feel like he’s breathing at all.

Teru holds his gaze as he repeats himself, over and over, and Shigeo fights to match his tempo. Teru’s thumb presses against the front of his shoulder and rubs small circles just beneath his collarbone, offering some sort of stimulation to distract him from his racing thoughts. Shigeo clasps his hands over his knees and digs his fingers in, the sensation keeping his vision from fuzzing out entirely.

He isn’t sure how long the two of them sit on the cold tile floor for, Teru murmuring words of reassurance to Shigeo as he fights to control his rapid breathing, but eventually the dark spots fade and the throbbing in his head goes down enough to let him think again. His face is slick from sweat, but his hands have stopped burning, a faint tingle all that remains.

Teru stands up and releases his hold on Shigeo, wetting a rag with cold water from the tap above them. Shigeo’s breathing stalls for a split second at the loss of contact before starting back up again, unsure what to do until Teru kneels in front of him again and presses the cold cloth to his face. The sting of it shocks Shigeo to his senses, his hands twitching involuntarily. “Cold,” he gasps.

Teru chuckles, using the wet rag to mop away the sweat that clings to Shigeo’s forehead. “It’ll make you feel better,” he assures, holding the cloth against the back of his neck.

Shigeo lets out a breathy sigh as the rag cools his overheated face and neck and makes him feel overall a little less sticky and gross. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“It’s no problem. I, uh, know what it feels like,” Teru admits with a smile, and it’s so soft and sincere and caring that Shigeo almost does a double-take. “Still, you gave me a scare. What happened?”

Shigeo glances down, focusing on the fading coldness on the back of his neck. He doesn’t answer, but not because he doesn’t want to tell Teru what’s been going on. He simply doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words.

Thankfully, Teru seems to pick up on his thoughts. “Well, there’s no need to force yourself,” he says, removing the rag from Shigeo’s neck and setting it on the bathroom counter. He pushes himself to his feet. “Do you want to use my shower? It always helps me to feel better when I’m feeling overwhelmed, plus it’s good for thinking. I’ll lend you something clean to wear, too, so you don’t have to stay in those sweaty clothes.” He extends a hand out for Shigeo to take, then his smile falters and he appears to think better of it. He swallows visibly, curling his arm up toward his chest as a form of recoil. Shigeo doesn’t blame him, after the way he’d reacted to the last time they’d touched hands.

Shigeo tears his gaze away from Teru’s hand and looks down at himself as Teru mentions his clothes, flinching at his bedraggled appearance. There’s sweat stains in the pits of his white tee-shirt and, horrifyingly, a few spots of vomit that hadn’t quite hit the mark. He bites back what he wants to say, an instinctive reassurance that he’s fine and doesn’t need to be taken care of anymore, and instead just nods his head. “That sounds like a good idea,” he sighs.

“Great. I’ll grab you a change of clothes, then, and a fresh towel,” Teru says, pretending his little misstep hadn’t occurred at all. “You can use my shampoo and stuff if you want, I doubt you’ll use as much as I always do.” He laughs at his own words, turning to the door, but it comes across nervous. “Be right back,” he adds as an afterthought, pulling the door half-shut behind him to offer some semblance of privacy.

Shigeo takes a deep breath and hauls himself to his feet, using the edge of the counter as leverage. He still feels a bit shaky on his feet, but as least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to keel over and pass out anymore. He runs the tap water cold, scrubbing his hands briefly with Teru’s citrusy soap, and feels the last remnants of the burning sensation disappear as the water washes them away. He lets out a breath of relief at the return to semi-normalcy, though he’s still pale and a little uncertain on his feet. He splashes some of the cold water on his face for good measure before turning off the tap.

Teru returns, silently pushing open the bathroom door, as Mob is drying his face. He has a fluffy gray towel draped over his arm, along with the promised change of clothes. “These should fit you, I hope,” he says, setting them in a neat pile atop the kitchen counter. Then he holds the towel out to Shigeo. “Here, you can use this. Just hang it up on the hook once you’re finished so it can dry.” He nods his head toward the hook that protrudes from the inside of the bathroom door.

Shigeo manages a small smile, accepting the towel from Teru’s outstretched hand. “Of course. Thanks again, Hanazawa,” he says. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”

“Don’t worry about things like that. We’re friends, so there’s no need to keep track of favors,” Teru assures with a wave of his hand. He steps out of the bathroom to give Shigeo some space. “I’m going to work on some more homework while you shower, so just come find me when you’re done, okay?”

Shigeo nods in agreement and Teru closes the door behind him with a parting smile, leaving Shigeo alone with the shower.

He takes advantage of Teru’s offer to use his shampoo, scrubbing the salty sweat from his hair and filling the misty air with the scent of Teru’s fruity hair products. He pushes his bangs away with his fingers and cranes his neck back, letting the warm water pelt his face and return color to his cheeks. He takes deep breaths, letting his thoughts wander. He obviously owes Teru an explanation for his unexpected outburst, but he still isn’t entirely sure what had caused it. He glances down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. Ever since his encounter with Mogami, he hasn’t been able to touch anyone else without feeling like he’s been scorched by an open flame. His hands had it the worst, he’d determined. That’s not even counting the times he’s found himself staring at the throats of his classmates, his mind flashing back to the student he’d nearly asphyxiated in Mogami’s monochromatic world.

Taking a breath, Shigeo lifts a hand and lightly covers his own throat. He can distinctly remember the feeling of Teru’s fingers digging into his flesh, squeezing until no air could pass in or out. His touch had left no bruises at the time, Shigeo’s body hyper-durable as a result of his psychic powers, but the memory is still there. He’d long forgiven Teru for their fight, to the point where he hardly thought back on the event anymore, at least before Mogami. Since then the thought has come up more and more often, as he recalls his imaginary classmate’s terrified eyes and gasping breaths. Did I sound like that, when Teru attacked me? he wonders, frowning.

Teru… he’d have to apologize properly for the way he’d reacted. In truth, he’d kind of wanted to hold his hand. He’d been curious about it for a while now, actually, since the two of them had infiltrated and subsequently escaped the Claw 7th division headquarters and Teru had proven himself to be a loyal and dependable friend. He caught himself staring, sometimes, at Teru’s face, at his back, his hands, a quiet curiosity he wasn’t bold enough to act on, but that was always there. What would Teru do if he decided to hug him, or reach for his hand? Would he even be able to without feeling the fire burning him?

He turns off the water after several minutes of simply standing under the hot spray, toweling himself off. He slips into Teru’s lent clothes, a soft pink sweater and comfortable gray sweats, chuckling softly. Even now, Teru was trying his best to take care of him. He appreciates his friend’s experience and comforting presence, but he knows he has a hard conversation ahead of him. He uses the towel to soak up the extra water from his hair until it’s damp instead of dripping, then hangs it up on the hook behind the door to dry. Then he cracks open the bathroom door and slips outside, leaving it open to ventilate the mist.

When he pads, barefoot, out of the bathroom, he spots Teru sitting back on the couch, staring at his open notebook. He’s not holding a pencil, though, and his leg bounces restlessly. He looks up as Shigeo exits. “Ah, you’re finished. Do you feel better now?” he asks with that familiar soft smile.

Shigeo swallows and nods, already feeling his nervousness bubbling up as he crosses the room to take his seat beside Teru once again. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for troubling you,” he replies.

Teru shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault. You had a panic attack, and a pretty bad one at that. Those things are out of our control.”

Shigeo clasps his hands together. “So, you get them, too?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes.” Teru looks down at his empty tea mug. “I’ve learned how to cope with them, to an extent. Have you had one before?”

Shigeo hums, then nods, remembering how he’d felt the burning in his fingers just that afternoon. At the time he hadn’t been able to place what was wrong, but it fit in hindsight, now that Teru had explained it to him. “Never as bad as that, but sometimes my hands get really hot and shaky, and I get pale and sweaty, and it’s hard to breath for a while. When that happens, I always wash my hands with hot water and it goes away. This time was… the worst one, so far,” he admits. “I’m sorry I reacted so badly to you touching me.”

Teru chokes on a nervous chuckle, which turns into a brief cough. He clears his throat into his hand. “Ah, I shouldn’t have done that without permission. It was just an urge, I suppose. You obviously didn’t like it though, so I won’t do it again, I promise,” he says, but he can’t stop the hints of disappointment that come through as he speaks.

Shigeo shakes his head quickly. “No, I didn’t dislike it,” he assures. “I normally don’t mind when you touch me, I even like it most of the time. I just haven’t really… been myself lately, I suppose.” He unclasps his fingers and stares down at his open palms, frowning. “When you touched my hand, it felt like it was burning. Other times, when I’ve felt panicked, my hands will start itching until I can’t take it anymore. Like when a mosquito bites you, but far worse. It’s only my hands, too. When Master grabs my shoulder or something like that, it doesn’t have the same effect.”

Teru looks concerned to hear this, but there’s some relief in his face too, that Shigeo hasn’t completely rejected his touch. “When did this start happening?” he asks.

“It’s been about a week,” Shigeo admits softly. He fiddles with the soft edge of  his borrowed sweater to give his hands something to do. “Ever since I defeated Mogami Keiji.”

Teru’s eyes widen at the name; Shigeo’s told him about Mogami’s psychic powers and the world he’d lived in for six months, but at the time he’d played it off as something that was over, finished. As it would appear, it isn’t over at all. “Did something happen in there that’s making you panic? A bad experience, or something he said to you?” His voice is edging on protective, Shigeo realizes, and the thought is oddly comforting. What isn’t comforting, however, is the realization that he’ll have to describe what he’d done.

He falls quiet for several seconds, but Teru is patient, and doesn’t push him for answers before he’s ready. Shigeo is grateful. Teru is trustworthy, he knows, and he’s sure that he won’t think any less of him for something that technically never really happened, but that doesn’t keep the doubts from coming. Shigeo can feel his headache resurfacing as he struggles to tell himself that, yeah, it wasn’t something he’d actually done with his own two hands. His body had been in Reigen and Dimple’s care at the time, but in the moment it had felt very real. “I think I almost killed someone, in Mogami’s dream land,” he confesses, the words heavy on his tongue. “They were bullying me, telling me I was stupid and worthless and terrible. I just felt so angry.” He pauses to take a breath, trying not to ramble, but the words don’t stop coming. “I know it wasn’t a real place, and I was being influenced by an evil spirit, but those are still choices that I made, I think. Sometimes my memories from that world bleed out into this one and I catch myself being scared of my classmates, wondering when they’re going to beat me up next or what horrible things they’re saying when I’m not around. To be honest, I-I can’t tell my real memories apart from the ones Mogami created for me. My heart knows what’s real, but my head gets all fuzzy and my memories get all jumbled up and then I get a really bad headache and nothing gets solved at all.”

As if on cue, Shigeo feels his head throb painfully, and he stifles a pained noise, wincing.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough time,” Teru says, but there’s an uncertainty to his voice that says he really has no idea what Shigeo’s talking about. He stands up and moves into the kitchen, rifling around in one of the cabinets. Shigeo doesn’t blame him for not understanding. He doubts many others have had an experience like he has, and if they had, they likely hadn’t lived through it.

“I had thought it was over,” he sighs, pausing as his head gives another painful throb. “It’s been a week, Hanazawa. I feel like it should be in the past now.” He leans his forehead into one hand, the other falling limp on his lap, palm skyward.

Teru returns, pressing a bottle into Shigeo’s free hand. He’s careful not to let their skin touch, which Shigeo is simultaneously grateful and disappointed about. He doesn’t want Teru to distance himself over something that shouldn’t even be happening, but, well, he wasn’t left with much of a choice. Teru sets a cup of water on the table in front of him and says, “Take two.”

Shigeo blinks, glancing at the label on the bottle. Painkillers. Relieved, he untwists the bottle’s cap and shakes two bright red pills out of it, setting it aside and picking up the cup. He downs both pills with one swig of water. “Thank you, I think I needed that,” he sighs.

Teru hums to show he’s heard, but he’s deep in thought. “I’m no therapist, Kageyama, but I think what you experienced classifies as trauma, maybe even PTSD,” he says after a moment of quiet. “It’s obviously had a prolonged effect on your body, and your mind. That kind of thing can cause panic attacks like the one you had. To be honest, I’m not sure there's much I can do to help you with that.”

Shigeo sighs, slumping over in his seat. “I don’t know where else to go,” he says softly. “I know there’s something wrong with me, and that I should probably see a doctor, or-or a therapist, but what am I supposed to tell them that won’t make me sound like I’ve gone insane?” He pauses, takes a moment to breath before things get out of control again. “I think, if I can create a divide between what’s real and what happened in my dream, some of these symptoms will go away, but I don’t know how to do that by myself.”

Teru leans back in his seat, worrying his lip between his teeth for a moment. Then he blinks, eyes bright, and sits straight up again. “Why don’t we make a game out of it?” he suggests. “Tell me something that happened, it doesn’t matter where the memory comes from. I’ll tell you if it’s real or not.” He grins at the idea, looking quite pleased with it.

Shigeo blinks. Could that really work? “What about the things I never told you about?” he asks. He and Teru talk often, whether it’s in person or via text, but there’s no way Teru will be able to dissect all his jumbled memories.

“Well, I’ll just have to admit defeat at that point, then,” Teru replies with a shrug, “but I think it’s worth a shot, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

Shigeo hums, mulling it over. It couldn’t hurt, as far as he can imagine. “Okay, let’s try it,” he agrees. He combs through his recent memories, searching for something he knows is true. “Um… I tried to run for student council once, but when it was time for me to speak, I didn’t say anything,” he begins.

“That’s true,” Teru says immediately. “That was when Emi asked you out.”

Shigeo smiles; it kind of feels like a quiz show. “Alright. I once exorcised a group of over fifteen bikers and their gang boss.”

“True,” Teru repeats. “You exorcised a huge evil spirit there too, right?”

Shigeo nods, chuckling softly. “It was big, but it wasn’t very strong,” he confirms. “Okay, next one, then… Sometimes, my classmates like to hit me for fun.”

Teru’s smile falters at this, obviously put off a bit by the morbid tone, but plays along for the sake of the game. “No, that’s false. Your classmates mostly don’t pay attention to you at all.”

Shigeo lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says. Logically, he’d always known the difference between Mogami’s harsh reality and his own privileged life, but something within him felt validated that someone else could also make the distinction. “Why don’t you do one, Hanazawa?”

“Me?” Teru echoes in surprise. “Hmm, I guess I can try to trick you with a lie.” He taps his chin with one finger, searching for something to say. “When I was a kid, I used to look for coins on the school playground and collect them in a little jar.”

Shigeo’s face splits into a smile. “Ah, I remember you talking about that. It’s true,” he says. “Okay, my turn. When my brother sees me in trouble, he sometimes avoids getting involved to protect himself.”

Teru shakes his head. “No way, Ritsu is way too protective of you to ever do that,” he says. “False.” He fixes Shigeo with his dark blue gaze, growing more confident in his answers. “I broke off my connection to Blake Vinegar’s gang after you beat me in a fight,” he says, leaning forward in his seat.

Shigeo nods. “It was one of the first things you did.”

Teru’s eyebrows raise and he sports a devious grin. “Oh? Who says I’m not still controlling them from the shadows?” he challenges.

Shigeo doesn’t answer, but after a moment they both devolve into fits of uncontrollable giggling. It’s good to know that they can joke about those days without feeling like it’s bringing up bad memories. Rather, the incident merely marks the start of their friendship. “I can’t imagine you doing things like that now,” he says. “You’ve changed a lot, Hanazawa.”

Teru’s laughter turns more self-conscious at Shigeo’s compliment, but he’s clearly pleased to be told so. “Yeah? I’m glad. You’ve changed quite a bit yourself, Kageyama. In a good way,” he replies, and the pink flush is back.

Shigeo finds himself staring at it, somewhat distracted. “True or false,” he begins, voice softening. “You and I are friends in both worlds.”

Teru blinks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “but we’re definitely friends in this one, so that’s what’s important.”

Shigeo nods, accepting this. He shifts a touch closer to Teru, fiddling with the fingers on one of his hands. His leg and Teru’s are nearly touching. “You and I broke into the Claw 7th Division headquarters after Ritsu was kidnapped.”

“That’s true,” Teru replies, glancing at Shigeo curiously. He’s noticed the way Shigeo is inching closer, as though he has a purpose behind wanting to be so close.

He reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles against the side of Teru’s hand experimentally, catching the hitch in Teru’s breathing when they make contact. Unpleasant sparks poke at his skin where it touches Teru’s, and he draws back quickly, thoughtful. Teru has his eyes fixed on him, concerned but curious.  He continues, “Sometimes I come to your school to walk you to my apartment for our study sessions.”

Shigeo nods. His reaches out again, this time touching with the pads of his fingers. He lets the touch linger, and Teru doesn’t move, frozen in place. Shigeo draws a sharp breath, wincing. Electric shocks sting his fingertips, but the heat is bearable for a few seconds before he feels like he needs to retreat. When he finally does, he says, “That’s true.”

“Yeah, it is,” Teru agrees, breathless. Shigeo stares at his fingers, eyebrows furrowed, and catches Teru turn over his hand in his periphery, his palm facing toward the ceiling. “Once, I even went back to your house, and we did homework in your room instead. Your mom wouldn’t leave us alone, and kept asking if we wanted snacks.”

Shigeo cracks a smile at this, and when his hand ventures out this time, he presses his palm against Teru’s and just lets them rest on top of each other. He tenses, hot needles poking into the surface of his palm. He curls his fingers around Teru’s hand and squeezes it, willing the sensation to disappear. I control my own life, he reminds himself firmly, and doesn’t let go despite the occasional stab of discomfort in his palm. He feels the heat spread upward, sweat beading at his hairline, but he doesn’t feel like he’s panicking, so he doesn’t let go.

Teru shifts his grip, emboldened, and slots their fingers together.

Shigeo stumbles over his breath, eyes widening. The motion feels like two strips of sandpaper rubbing together, chafing him. Teru jolts, moving to disconnect their hands, but Shigeo stops him before he can go through with it, squeezing his hand tightly to prevent him from moving too far away.

He flinches as the burning sensation begins, crawling from his fingertips up his arm. “It hurts,” he grunts through clenched teeth, but he maintains his grip on Teru’s hand despite the way Teru moves once more to break the contact. He looks up and meets Teru’s dark blue gaze. “Wait, just a bit longer.”

Teru stares at him, fear and uncertainty in his gaze, but doesn’t force him to let go, just squeezes his hand back in an attempt to reassure him that all will be well. “I stole you away from a date so you could break up your little brother’s fight after he discovered his psychic powers,” he says, watching Shigeo carefully.

The boy chuckles under his breath, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He’s thankful that Teru can still find ways to lighten the mood, even though he’s clearly just as distraught as Shigeo is. “It wasn’t a date, I’ve told you that before,” he insists, calming some.

Eventually, thankfully, the burning sensation reaches a peak and then begins to wane. Shigeo feels the heat in his face go down with his timed breathing, and he relaxes the iron grip he’d been holding Teru’s hand with. He doesn’t let go, though, feeling the itchy tingles and occasional stabs of discomfort lingering. “Are you okay?” Teru asks, worried.

Shigeo nods, giving his hand a little squeeze and smiling at the little noise of surprise Teru makes. He coughs into his hand, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. “How do you feel?” he says after a moment.

Shigeo’s eyelids droop, but he continues to cradle Teru’s hand in his; his skin is soft and the way he holds his hand is endearingly gentle. “Itchy, but otherwise okay. I think it’s going away, for now,” he says, rubbing his thumb experimentally against Teru’s. Without warning, he drops his head to Teru’s shoulder, sighing out sofly, “Your hand is warm.”

Teru jumps slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxes into Shigeo’s touch the way he always does. “Good warm or bad warm?” he asks lamely, all his usual flirtatiousness and bravado and confidence blown out the window by one unpredictable Shigeo.

“Good warm,” Shigeo murmurs. “My head feels a bit clearer, too. I think the game worked, at least a little.” It hasn’t cleared up all his misgivings, and there are still plenty of jumbled memories in his head, but he’s starting to see the distinctions that separated the real world from the fabricated one, now that someone else has been able to reaffirm them. He bites back a yawn, humming sleepily. “That made me tired. I was already kind of drowsy from before I came over,” he says. The painkillers are starting to kick in, thankfully, dulling the pounding in his head and, interestingly, banishing the lingering itchiness from his hands.

Teru peers down at him through dark blue eyes. “Wow, you do look tired. Will you be alright getting home by yourself? Your house is pretty far away from here,” he points out. “Maybe you should just stay here for the night. It’s dangerous to fall asleep on the train, and I’d hate for you to end up lost.”

Shigeo hums noncommittally, drawing a chuckle from Teru’s lips. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Don’t fall asleep yet, though, you need to tell your parents that you’re staying over. You don’t want to worry them, after all.”

Reluctantly, Shigeo sits up and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll give mom a call. Thanks for letting me stay, you’re probably right about falling asleep on the train. Honestly, I don’t know if I can keep my eyes open much longer.”

“I’ll make space in my room,” Teru says, standing up. He hesitates for a moment before untangling his fingers from Shigeo’s, then turns away before he can see his expression. “Er, be right back,” he adds, moving across the living room and disappearing into his bedroom.

Shigeo feels a flash of disappointment at the loss of contact. He likes holding hands with Teru, and he hopes his friend won’t be hesitant about touching him now. He doesn’t want to lose that contact. Shaking his head, he calls up his mother and tells her that he’ll be back the next morning. Thankfully, it’s a weekend, which means he doesn’t have to worry about waking up extra early to go home for his uniform, and his mother sounds almost excited to hear that he’s staying with a friend. Well, she’s always liked Teru. “Thanks, mom. Love you too, bye,” he says, and ends the call as Teru reemerges from his room.

“Okay, I know you’re tired,” Teru says, making his way over to where a small television is set up in the corner of the living room, “but hear me out. This is a sleepover now, which means we have to watch a movie.” He’s carrying a bunched-up, thick blanket in one arm, which he tosses onto the couch beside Shigeo. “If you’re up for it, of course. It’s an action movie.”

Well, Shigeo thinks, amused, I can’t say no to an action movie. It was his favorite genre, after all, so he nods in agreement. “Mmhmm, that’s okay. I might fall asleep during it, though,” he warns, if only so Teru doesn’t get offended.

Teru just smiles at him, popping the disk into his DVD player and turning on the television. “No problem,” he replies, moving back to the couch and taking his seat beside his friend. He takes the blanket and drapes it over both of them.

They sit close together as the intro to the movie begins, but Shigeo is quick to notice that Teru consciously avoids bumping into him by accident. He’s trying to be considerate, he knows, but it’s still a little frustrating that Teru was changing his typical behavior over concern. It’s nice of him to want to stay within Shigeo’s comfort zone, but it’s not what Shigeo wants him to do. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, Shigeo reaches over and takes Teru’s hand once more, linking their fingers together over top of the blanket. He scoots closer to make the action more comfortable, too, letting his side press against Teru’s so their linked hands lay atop his lap. He glances at Teru, searching for signs of discomfort, and instead finds Teru fighting an obviously pleased grin.

Smiling softly, he returns his attention to the movie. His hand feels normal, to his relief, and he’s fairly sure the painkillers Teru lent him are partly to thank for that. Even if it’s temporary, he basks in the feeling of Teru’s soft skin against his own, the way he idly rubs circles into his skin with his thumb. Despite the action happening on the tv screen, Shigeo finds his eyelids drooping within the first hour, lulled by the long day he’d had and Teru’s fond touch.

“Can I lay on you?” Shigeo asks, stifling a yawn behind his free hand as he turns to look at his… friend? He blinks, mind blanking. All of a sudden friend doesn’t feel like the right word. The thought knocks him so off-guard that he nearly misses Teru’s nod, a subtle action of consent.

“I don’t mind.”

Shigeo nods back, removing his hand from Teru’s light grasp and shifting away from him to make room. Teru looks confused about why he’s putting distance between them, but then Shigeo lowers himself down onto the couch and lays his head down on Teru’s lap.

It takes Teru a moment to relax into this new position, but he’s never been one to shy away from an affectionate touch. He moves one arm to the side of the couch and lets it rest there, his other hand hovering, unsure where to let it fall. After a moment, however, it finds a place at the back of Shigeo’s head, threading into his hair. His touch is calculated, experimental. Shigeo can tell he doesn’t want to go too far. “Is this okay?” Teru asks him in a soft voice, his fingers traveling down and brushing Shigeo’s bangs away from his forehead.

“Yes,” Shigeo replies, voice thick with weariness. He lets out a soft hum as Teru’s fingers grow more confident, drawing through his bangs and brushing over the skin of his scalp in feather-light touches. He closes his eyes, the movie forgotten. Part of him doesn’t want to sleep yet, wants to watch more of the movie, but Teru makes the decision for him. He removes his hand from Shigeo’s hair, and a moment later he feels the blanket being tucked around his shoulders and neck so it covers him completely. Then the hand returns to his hair, rhythmically brushing it away from his face as soft fingers trace his hairline and tickle the back of his neck.

In the soft, fuzzy space between wakefulness and sleep, he feels Teru bend over him and brush his lips over his temple, feather-soft and loving. They leave a warmth behind them, bringing a faint smile to Shigeo’s face as Teru’s soft caresses lull him into a quick and comfortable sleep.

[slothgiirl]

FOREVER ISN’T FOR EVERYONE (IS FOREVER FOR YOU?) part 2

Lucy and I are up before the sun. I've called a cab and manage to grab a banana from the complementary breakfast. Most of the team's still asleep.

 "Fucking techies," Ben mutters, rubbing at his eyes from behind his sunnies, "get to sleep while I do all the work.” He'd stayed out with the rest of the band all night. Who knows they'd gotten back in. And now we had actual work to do. 

"Just you," Lucy replies archly.

"You two weren't out until three in the morning. At least I got a nice shag out of the whole thing."

"TMI Ben!" It's too early for this. But the whole city is too beautiful too miss. New Zealand. I have too at least make it to the beach once during these few days we have here before heading to Auckland. Maybe even make it to hobbit town. 

"It's true. I hate dealing with the business side. I just signed on to party and travel."  

"Where did you guys even go?”

"A bunch of bars. Got some late night eats." He shrugs, looking way too relaxed in jeans and a t shirt. But maybe I was the one out of place in slacks and a silk cami. I just couldn't get my head around doing business in jeans. "You should've come with us Ellie. We missed you last night."

"I prefer not feeling like shit two days in a row actually."

Lucy snorts, "oh you're perfect. You'll do great out here with us."

There's complimentary coffee and I make sure to pour as much creamer as I can into the cup. Ben and the venue manager talk, go over some last minute papers. He passes them to me and I read them and nod, passing them back. They're the same as I have in my files. 

Ben signs off and then they're joking and bantering and I want to stab my eye out. Lucy's gone to go over the press list and signing off on the state of backstage. It's not a huge venue. Nothing like the O2 back home. But the size does give everyone a better look at the stage, probably without selling a kidney for it. 

We're done, having taken longer than we planned. We have to race back to meet up with band to do press. Fuck. Our taxi gets caught up in traffic. 

"How's there even enough cars for there to be traffic," Lucy complains. She doesn't trust the band to speak without her there to do damage control. 

"Fuck it. We're just meeting them at the radio station. Then we can head to hotel and do the rest of the day's press in there." He sends a text. "Can you send a taxi for them Ellie?"

"Got it." At some point I've got to get lunch. A banana and coffee isn't enough to hold me over. 

We barely make it in time and I run off to get them all breakfast while they do their radio interview for the morning. Without specifics I'm left with a bit of time to wander about and find someplace to eat. 

The air feels fresher. Everything has a rose colored cast from it's newness to me. Even I feel lighter without the weight of being known here. Like I could change and be the person I wanted to away from home. In this new place. 

There's a restaurant a street over and the coziness amid the skyscrapers catch my eye. It's homey and welcoming and it smells amazing. I order a couple of their breakfast specials and lunch sandwiches, taking one for myself as the kitchen preps the rest. 

"Large family," the waitress asks. 

I shake my head, "for work actually. I went to school for years to be a glorified assistant." It's funny. I did. But this job, it felt right, even now. 

"That's what my son keeps telling me." 

The foods great. I sip at some tea and wait to be called back. Content to use to wifi. After we get back to the hotel, where some of the crew are setting up for the press, and with the help of the first interviewers of the day, I'll finally have some free time. 

Go walk about the beach. Oriental bay is supposed to be beautiful. And close by. 

Ben texts me and I met up with them at the curb, carrying a large bag of takeout, "It's good," I promise. 

"You ate without us," Miles accuses, all boyish naughtiness, clad in a wife beater and trackies. 

"Down old boy," Lucy says, slapping his chest. Nick laughs, taking a box eagerly as Ben hails us a cab, of which there are plenty in this part of the city. 

"Do we really have press all day," Jaime groans. 

"Bet you didn't think of that when you wanted more people to hear you play," Ben notes with a mouthful of sandwich. 

Miles shimmies, features twisted in delightful amusement, "fame's half the reason I joined a band. Who doesn't want to be a fmaous rockstar. Sex. Drugs, and rock n roll baby."

"You look more like the fifth Beatle than Mick Jagger," I note as we pile into a cab. His hair's certainly Beatlesque. He's also got the boyish charm down, however rakish. 

"Oi!"

Lucy and Ben shepherd the boys to another interview, with promises of partying and beaches later on our last full day before the concert here. 

I wave them off and head up to our room to change out of slacks. I'd been right, I'd been overdressed. And the heat only made it worse. 

By the time I change into some shorts, I feel to tired to go out and sigh see, figuring tonight I'll actually go out with the rest of the crew. It'd be more fun that way. Instead of alone. 

Instead I head down to the lobby with a bag and book and head out to wander the area at least. There's some fast food, the names I know, Mcdonalds and Domino's, and some obvious tourist traps that I go into. 

My family and roommates will at least want a mug. For the first time, I use my own card to buy some souvenirs, opting for keychains to save space. I wander into some of the regular shops to kill time. 

All the stores nearby have a striking similarity to the ones back home. But the architecture's all different. 

My phone is soon full of pictures of streets and buildings and me wearing a New Zealand hat, before I give in and get Mcdonalds, heading back to the hotel, ready to curl up in the beautiful lobby with the book I've lugged all the way from home. 

The air conditioning is a gift. The couch by the indoor fountain perfect and I try to focus on reading Anna Karenina. It's been nagging me since uni. But I've never managed to get through it. 

So many beautiful quotes out there and I can't ever finish a book. 

I almost drop my book as Lucy startles me, taking a seat next to me. "Want to grab lunch by the beach? I mean dinner really but either way?"

"And the boys?"She rolls her watery eyes, the color of fog bound sky, "up to change before having margaritas by the pool. I think they're going out bar hopping again later if you're up for it."

I shrug, "let's see how we feel after wandering about." It's a long walk, but how else will we get to see everything. 

Lucy makes me take a pictures of her against various backdrops. "Make sure you get that building!" She poses. "Wait, over here!" She fixes her hair, back and out of her eyes, "Wait! I think I closed my eyes in that one."

I laugh, willingly taking photo after photo and waiting for her to check them, swiping and zooming in to make sure she likes how it came out. 

"Thank you so much Ellie!"

"It's really no problem."As we get to the beach we duck into the first place that smells good and has a line. 

"First rule of traveling," Lucy grins. "Follow your nose."

It's not half bad. Fish and chips. The fish claiming to be fresh from the day's catch. A perfect dinner. 

Lucy tells me about her last job. "A smaller band, mostly big in europe. I think breaking out into the world's the hardest part. So many bands flounder in the states and unfortunately it's a huge market setter."

"Did you always want to do this kind of PR?" 

"No. But who could refuse traveling! Especially compared to a desk job."

We each pay for our food and head down to the water. The water too inviting to refuse, both of us wading in. 

"It's warm," we both squeal, use to the icy waters of England. 

"It's probably easier to deal with them though."

Lucy's eyebrows rise as she snorts, "you'd be surprised at how crazy things in the boardroom can get!"

We go in past our knees. Yelping as the waves splash, breaking against us. "My underwears soaked," I admit, blushing fiercely. The wet feeling making me want to go running into the water or for a change of clothes.  

"Didn't you say we were just dipping our feet in?"

We laugh. 

The groupchat goes off and we glance at each other, before heading back out of the water. We read over the texts with the sun setting on the water. "This place is paradise," I tell her. Its warm and by the beach and so green. 

"Oh and we've barely even started. Ben told me you didn't even have a passport?" 

I blush. "Yes. I'd only ever been up as far as Scotland." It had been the first and only time I had met my mother's parents. Her family. And despite how it ended, it was a lovely time in the highlands. 

Lucy laughs, scrolling through the messages. "Ben and the rest are heading out to drink up on Cuba street. 'cept for Miles and Alex. They want to go catch some film at a quaint little theater."

"What movie?" 

"The Red Shoes. There'll be food and drinks there too." We trudge through the sand and peddles and reach the sidewalk. This time we hail a cab. 

"How's Cuba street," I ask. She's travelled before. Probably been here with a different band. A different crew. Older than me, lines around her eyes. 

"I mean it's cool," she offers, "but mostly pubs and-it's very much Camden town than Shoreditch."

"A movie sounds nice after all the walking. Maybe along with a nice glass of wine."

"I'll tell Miles we'll be over then," she says, looking up with a smile. It's great to have her here, to get along with her so easily. I'd been nervous before, never having made friends easily in school. Just my dorm mates and whoever I ended up sitting near in class. 

"And I'll tell the cab where to."

Miles and Alex are waiting for us outside when we pull up. Even illuminated by dim streetlights, it's easy too see how pretty Alex is, his face now sans aviators and with a good night's sleep.  

Large and expressive caramel eyes, a softness to his sharp jaw, and a well formed mouth. It helped that he was a good mood, joking with Miles.

"-and I said fuck that mate and drained the whole thing. Burned to bloody hell and back though!"

"Just can't beat an englishman!"

Lucy rolls her eyes, "boys will be boys."

"Ah my dear sweet Lucy who pelts me with candy as I mouth off! Reminds me of me history teacher," Miles winks exaggeratedly. "This is me mate Alex ," he clasps him on the shoulder, pulling him into his embrace, "Alex. This is Lucy and Ellie who I know you already met but."

"Speaking of which," I note, aware of the sand still stuck to my legs and the drying hem of my shorts, "you owe me a drink."

"Oi! What a woman! Hell El, gotta at least wait until we sit down or you might be what we call the local old dog who spends all his days in the back booths of pubs." His voice is all over the place as he twirls an imaginary mustache and it's a combination of it all and him being him that has us all laughing at his antics.

We order chips and a bottle of wine, "to keep it classy," Miles winks, and take our seats in the tiny theater. 

Alex takes the seat between me and Miles, attention dominated by the other man. All the better for me to sneak glances off and it's stupid but I already feel my heart speed up at the sight of him like I'm a teenager all over again. 

"Any if you seen this movie before," Lucy asks conversationally.

" 've not but then again i'm not the most cultured," Miles does a very bad accent as he continues, "je ne sais quoi."

"The french give us films and Serge Gainsbourg and this is how you pay them back," Alex teases, smacking Miles lightly in the arm. I chuckle at that, watching Miles go all mock affronted and tease Alex right back. 

"Is it anything like that old fairy tale?" I can vaguely recall something about cursed red shoes, but the twelve dancing princesses was the story I asked for night after night to my mums despair. 

Alex nods, with a delighted smile on his lips, "loosely. It's great. I think you'll like a lot."

The lights dim and the screen flickers on. I sit back and watch, glass of wine in hand feeling like I'm finally living that life that doesn't really exist, the moments that come straight of of films like this one.

Alex is right. I do like the film.

Its beautiful and I'm not bored at any point. I can here Miles making quite snide comments and am not surprised. 

"It was good," Lucy remarks after as we head out, "very black swan."

"Wouldn't black swan be like this film since it came out before?" I utter. 

"She's got you there Lucy darling," Miles snipes. "Who's up for some drinks! The rest of the boys are still out and about and I've got a bloody mary calling my name." 

He glances at Alex for a second before erupting into laughter that has Alex smiling as well. Must be an inside joke of there's. 

"Are you two coming," Alex asks, meeting my gaze. 

I shake my head. If I wake up early enough tomorrow I could probably squeeze in a trip to hobbit town and back before I had to run anywhere. 

I tell him as much. "Mums a huge Tolkien nerd, so I kind of have to."

Alex nods in understanding, "I've never cared for Tolkien. 've always preferred science fiction. Going way back to good ol Mary."

It take me a second for it to click. Mary Shelley. As in Frankenstein. "Never read it."

"You should. It's a great little book."

Miles snorts, "just watch the movie with the willy wonka fella!"

Alex rolls his eyes fondly. 

We hail a cab and part ways. 

Lucy boldly proclaiming she intends to get a good nights sleep and still look "banging in my fourties."

"Ya that old Lucy darling," Miles snorts, unable to help himself.

"Don'tcha know never to ask a lady her age Kane," Lucy calls out as the cab pulls away and I'm giggling, carefree. No one here knows me. I feel unabashed, making a scene and taking cabs about town. 

"So that Alex is right fit," Lucy states with a knowing smile as she plays the spice girls loudly in our room, handing me more wine. I blush and think I must've drunk way more than I though I did. He is! And I don't know what to do with that. 

So I shrug and reply, "I guess," to her very unconvinced face. With ease, a down another glass of wine, shamelessly crying out spice girls lyrics. 

I might as well be thirteen again. 

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Squirm

Case: 0140912

Name: Timothy Hodge Subject: His sexual encounter with one Harriet Lee and her subsequent death Date: December 9th, 2014 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I don't know what happened. I mean, I’m sure she’s dead, but I don't...

Let me start from the beginning. I work as a designer. Mainly freelance, with a few more regular gigs with companies who like my work. I also have, well, had the luxury of a flat I’d managed to get set up so I could do most of my work there. This meant when I have a big job I spend quite a lot of time not leaving my home. Not the most stable of employment but I got quite good at balancing it so that after a big project I left myself a few days, or maybe even a week, before I had to get started on the next one. I find it’s important that I use this time to unwind and blow off a bit of steam, as when I’ve got work I often end up missing out on the regular weekend. Drinking and clubbing are my relaxation methods of choice, usually down Camden or Old Street, and while I’ll admit I’m not above the occasional party drug I swear that I was stone cold sober when this all took place.

That night in particular, it was about three weeks ago now, I’d just finished a big job for one of my more demanding clients and I wanted to get a bit wrecked. Unfortunately none of my friends were free to join me – not surprising as it was a Thursday in the middle of November – so it didn’t feel worth heading all the way into the city. Luckily I live in Brixton, which means I have a few decent options almost on my doorstep, and I happened to know that the Dogstar ran a pretty decent club night on Thursdays. I decided to go along and enjoy myself.

I did enjoy myself in the end. Despite the crowds and the music, I wasn’t feeling quite as wild as I expected but I drank a bit and danced plenty. Ok, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I said earlier but I certainly wouldn't have called myself drunk. Now, I wasn’t particularly looking to get laid that night, but I know I’m not an unattractive guy and I live local, so I’m always alert, shall we say, for any possibility of finding myself a partner. It was closing in on midnight when I saw her. She was skinny and had that student look which could have put her age anywhere between nineteen and twenty-eight. Her hair was long, dyed a deep henna red, and she wore torn tights and too much eyeliner. Exactly the sort of girl I go for.

She was lurking on the dance floor and I wasted no time trying to catch her eye. It was harder than I’d guessed, though, as her attention seemed to be mainly focused on the doors. At first I thought she was waiting for someone but, the more I watched her the more I saw the nervousness in her eyes, maybe even fear? It was at that point she noticed me, and our eyes just locked, you know? She came over and we began to dance together. She was excellent, far better than me, and moved in a smooth, rolling sort of rhythm that made the word “writhe” leap suddenly to my mind. 

I offered her a drink but she refused, gesturing instead for water, which I happily got. I couldn’t really hear her over the music but you don’t go to these nights for conversation. Besides, I heard her loud and clear when she leaned over and asked me if I wanted her. I said yes. Looking back it was stupid, of course it was, but she was beautiful and there was something in the way she moved that really got me. She smiled when I said yes, and for a moment it looked less like a smile of anticipation and more like a smile of relief.

Outside the Dogstar it was much quieter and we had a chance to talk. She told me her name was Harriet and she was very pleased to hear I lived locally, as it was a cold night. She held my arm tightly as we walked back towards my street. At first I thought this was for warmth as she didn’t have a coat and I doubted the light jacket she was wearing had much insulation. When I looked at her, though, I saw she was looking around the same way she’d been watching the door earlier. Her nervousness was even more obvious now and she was peering intently down every street we passed. I asked her if anything was wrong, and tried to tell her that I lived in a nice neighbourhood, she was perfectly safe, that sort of thing. She nodded and agreed but still seemed jumpy.

When we were about half way, she started scratching her arms. At first I thought she was just rubbing them for warmth, but after a few seconds it became clear that she was scratching them quite hard, leaving obvious red marks where her fingernails dug in. I was starting to suspect something was wrong and asked Harriet if there was anything the matter, anything I should know. She just insisted we head back to my place as quickly as possible. I agreed since I figured that whatever the problem was, we could deal with it easier in my flat than on the cold streets at midnight.

By the time we reached my building, she was staring over her shoulder in near panic. I followed her gaze but couldn’t see anything, so quickly opened the front door and let her in. She seemed to relax a bit once we were both in the relatively warm corridor with the door shut firmly behind us. My flat was on the third floor and even though, as I said, I don’t live in a bad area, I did have an extra deadlock on my door. Harriet visibly relaxed when she saw it, and more so when it was closed. The skittish glances and scratching her arms stopped almost immediately. I offered her a coffee or tea to warm up. She just asked for a glass of water, said she was feeling a bit unwell. We sat down and, once I’d fetched her water and fixed myself a coffee, we talked for a while. My instincts had been right – she was a student, studying art. She hadn’t been in London long, she said, was originally from Salisbury and had been finding it... difficult recently. When she left that pause, I saw in her eyes hints of that panic I’d seen on the street.

I asked her to tell me what was wrong, said something was clearly bothering her and I’d like to help. She got very quiet for a few moments and then nodded. She told me she’d been mugged the night before last, although the way she said the word “mugged” made it sound like she wasn’t sure. I just nodded and let her continue talking. She lived up in Archway, on a street named Elthorne Road, and had been walking home around midnight when she saw a woman lying face down on the pavement. This woman wore a long red dress and Harriet said she could see it shifting in the orange glow of the streetlamps, as though something was moving underneath it. Harriet was close to her house, which she shared with several other students, so she said she was maybe less careful than she should have been and had approached, calling out and asking if the woman needed help. There was no response but all movement stopped and the red dress went very still. Suddenly, far quicker than Harriet could have expected the woman leapt to her feet and sprinted directly towards her, seizing her by the shoulders and pushing her back against a nearby wall. It happened so fast the Harriet said she had never really gotten a good look at the woman beyond her dress, a head of long, matted black hair and wide, staring eyes. The woman growled something at her but Harriet couldn’t make it out. She tried to ask what the mugger wanted, but as she did she felt a sudden pain in her stomach, as though she’d been stabbed, which is exactly what she thought had happened. She told me that she had fallen to the ground and lost consciousness almost immediately.

When she awoke, the woman in the red dress was gone. Harriet had expected to find herself lying in a pool of blood from her stomach wound but could instead find no trace of any injury anywhere, except for some scraped knees where she had fallen to the floor. She had staggered home and tried to sleep it off. Since then, she said she’d been seeing that woman everywhere she went. She felt like she was being followed all the time and couldn’t stay in her own home, as whenever she did it was like this weight was dragging her down. Her skin became so itchy as to be nearly unbearable. Harriet had apparently tried to go to the police, but said as she approached the station she was overcome with such a powerful nausea that she threw up on the pavement. She had tried the hospital but they just told her there was nothing obvious and to make an appointment with her doctor. She had been spending the last three days just wandering in cafés and bars and clubs, anywhere there were enough people that she felt safe. She just didn’t know what to do.

By now point Harriet was crying and I felt like a complete asshole for having brought the issue up. I mumbled some apologies. I don’t know what I said; I was just trying to make her feel better. Not sure what I expected to happen but I certainly didn’t expect her to kiss me at that moment. I know, I know, she was vulnerable and I feel like an a... But I swear I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I asked her again and again if she was sure, but she just kept nodding and dragged me to the bedroom. I mean, we had sex. There’s not much more to say about that, really. The important thing is what happened afterwards. 

As we were lying there in bed, exhausted, I rested my head against her shoulder. I was about to say something or other, but before I could, I felt something move. It’s hard to describe exactly but it wasn’t her shoulder that moved, it was something inside it, under the skin. It squirmed ever so slightly against my cheek. I shot up in bed, but the only indication that she’d noticed anything amiss was that she reached over and absentmindedly scratched where I’d been lying. I started to relax, lie down again; maybe I’d just imagined it. But at that moment she doubled over and groaned in sudden pain. Her eyes went wide and she clutched her stomach tightly. I tried to see what was wrong, asked if I could help, but she just pushed me away. I had no idea what to do, so I ran out and towards the bathroom. My mind was going completely blank and I couldn’t remember whether I had any painkillers or indigestion medicine. Or should I be calling an ambulance? I wasn’t sure, and I ended up rooting through my medicine cabinet, looking for... I don’t know; anything that might have helped. I could still hear Harriet moaning in agony from the bedroom, and had just made up my mind to call for an ambulance, when I heard something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

It’s hard to really describe the sound that came from the bedroom. The closest I could come would be to say it sounded like... an egg being dropped onto a stone floor; a sort of wet, cracking thump. Then silence. Harriet was no longer making any noise at all. I slowly, very slowly, walked back towards the bedroom. The door was open, but I hadn’t turned the light on, so there was little to be seen inside except darkness. I could have turned on the light in the hall, I suppose, but something inside made me think that I didn’t want a good look inside that room. I stopped at the threshold. The only illumination at all came from a thin sliver of light coming in through the gap in the curtains from a streetlamp outside.

You’ll have to excuse me. What I saw is difficult to put down on paper, but it’s the only way to explain why I had to do it. Why setting my flat alight and standing naked in the winter streets until the fire brigade arrived was far better than spending another second in that place. And yes, I admit here I set the fire myself. Show it to the police for all I care, I just need someone to understand.

The room was unrecognisable when I returned. There was a shape on the bed, where Harriet had laid, but it wasn’t her anymore. I could barely make out anything even remotely human in the pile of pitted and warped flesh that now remained. The bed itself was slick and shiny with a dark fluid that dripped off the hanging sheets and onto the floor. But what truly repulsed me, what made me flee as I did, was what moved and squirmed on all of it. They covered every surface: the floor, the bed, what used to be Harriet, even the ceiling. A thick, moving carpet of pale, writhing worms.

The flat burned for a very long time.

Archivist Notes:

This story is concerning. Not because of Mr Hodge’s experience, although I’m sure it was very upsetting. If it was true, of course. In fact, the police report that Sasha was able to acquire throws doubt on much of his story. While Mr. Hodges’ flat did indeed catch fire on November 20th of last year, there was apparently no evidence of arson and no human remains found inside, despite the fact that the fire was brought under control long before any significant damage was done to the structure of the building. They did find some charred organic matter in the bedroom but it was tested and apparently wasn’t human, though the report doesn’t list whether its source was ever determined.

I will say it does link up with the reported disappearance one Harriet Lee, a student at Roehampton who was reported missing shortly after this statement was originally given. She seems to match the description given here. Still, that’s not really what concerns me either, though obviously it’s a tragic loss of life, etcetera, etcetera.

No, what I find quite alarming is that if Mr Hodge’s recollection of Harriet’s tale is correct and she was attacked by a woman in a red dress in Archway, then that matches the description and last known location of Jane Prentiss. I can’t find any evidence that my predecessor took follow-up action on this statement, so I’ve taken the step of reporting Mr Hodge’s to the ECDC. We were unable to locate him to request a follow-up interview and if he has had intercourse with one of Prentiss’ victims, then they’ll need to deal with him sooner rather than later. I just hope it’s not too late already.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 6 Squirm)

[pendragonfics]

Three

Paring: Jim Hopper/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is a teacher, visiting Santa Claus, Christmas fluff, The Grinch. 

Summary: You, a teacher at Hawkins Elementary, need a Santa Claus to come read to the kids. Chief Hopper steps in.

Word Count: 2,027

Current Date: 2017-12-23

It didn't hurt that you already knew the guy, and on the odd occasion when you passed on the street, he'd say hey, _________, rather than just a nod, or tip of his hat. Well, everyone knew Chief Jim Hopper, he was the chief, and everyone loved him. But what did hurt was the fact that he was the only guy you could turn to for this kind of help. Being a single woman living in Hawkins didn’t mean you had a wide choice anyway, and besides, it was only for five hours, and the other officers at the station could handle their own for that long. His secretary already signed him up for it as soon as you asked, and now, you're nervous. All because the other man who was going to play the part for your class came down with the flu.

And you needed it, because your class of first graders were still in their believing phase, and this time of year you didn't want to answer to thirty sets of parents upset their kid didn't get to meet him.

You barely looked at Chief Hopper when he came to your end of the staff room; all you did was hand him the bundle of clothes, and point him in the direction of where to change. You made sure that the other teachers kept the kids away from the area as to not suspect a thing. It had to be airtight.

“Are you in the suit yet?” You ask, knocking on the bathroom stall. You stand in the restroom, arms crossed. It’s the male staff toilet, and like the children’s toilets, it has its fair share of tile graffiti, and smells faintly of sock sweat. You remind yourself that it’s all for the kids. Sucking up your pride, you knock once more. “Does it fit?”

The stall door opens. Chief Hopper does fit in the suit, which is good, considering you didn't have a backup plan otherwise. The pants are a little tight around his legs, and the red coat is loose around the midsection. He wears the same boots he came in wearing, big and black.

“It's...red.” He says, looking in the bathroom mirror, and then back to you. He notices a bag where a bundle of fake facial hair and padding is, and adds, wiping a hand over his chin, “isn't this scruff enough for the kids?”

You shake your head. “They're six years old, Chief…it’s just how he looks.” You fish in the bag, grabbing the padding. It's from the Hawkins Community Theatre props, used for the annual nativity play to make the actress for Mary look the part. You move to the Chief, and pulling up Santa shirt, tie it on. “How's that?”

He looks a little like Santa.

He harrumphs. “What did Flo get me into?” He complains, but instead of taking the outfit off, throwing down his hat and going back to police work, he sighs, and starts to apply the fake beard to his face. “…so, _________,” he starts to say, one part of the beard falling as he spoke, “What happened to the regular guy who does this?”

You shake your head. “He came down with the flu.” He makes a noise, and before the next part to the fake beard droops off, you still it, catching it before it can fall. “Here, let me. When I was a kid, I used to watch the mall Santa’s getting ready in the parking lot.” You roll a little more adhesive to the facial hair, and press lightly against his cheek to stick it on. “Thanks again for coming, Chief, I don’t know what I would have done…” you sigh, and rubbing your nose with the back of your wrist, you add, “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He makes a noise. “Miracle my ass,” he mutters. You start to work on the other side of the beard, and by the time it’s stuck on, he’s shoved the white wig on, and the hat too. “There.”

Now he looks like Santa.

“Okay, great,” you beam, dusting your hands off on your skirt, “So, you wait in the library, and I’ll bring my kids in, and together we will read them the book. Don’t break character, don’t do anything that Santa Claus wouldn’t do.” You tell him. “Okay, so, the library is down the hall…”

---

By the time your class are in the library, Jim Hopper is already finding the suit to be hot. A little itchy. He isn’t sure how many other people have worn the outfit, and doesn’t want to know. But what he does know, upon seeing your class of twenty-something six-year-old children, is that he is nervous. He has thirteen-year-old Elle at home, and was a parent beforehand, so he isn’t afraid of the kids. Maybe it’s the costume. He looks like a fat man twice his age, and yet, as awkward as he feels, the kids look to him in awe.

“Grade one, I have a special guest for you,” you tell your class, setting them onto the floor. “Santa Claus is here to read with me the story today. Everyone, say hello to Santa!” you say.

A mismatched chorus of go-ood mo-orning san-ta claa-us is vocalised, and every bit the part, Jim waved to the kids. “Good morning, girls and boys!”

You take a book from the shelf, and seat yourself beside him. “The story Santa and I are going to read to you if How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr Seuss. I need you to listen well, because it’s very special that Santa could come all the way from the North Pole so close to Christmas to read with us today.” She iterates, looking to him.

“Thank you for having me, first grade!” he says, every bit the part he’d imagine Santa Claus to sound like. “Now, let’s begin the story!”

“Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot,” you began to read, holding the book as so the class could see the pictures, “But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville did not!” Your voice went up and down with the rhymes, the poetry of the writing, and he listened intently just like the kids on the mat. “The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.”

Jim really doesn’t like Christmas. If Flo hadn’t said it was for _________’s class, he’d never have come. As a kid, he’d never really liked Santa Claus. Maybe it was because the kids down the street got a bike from Santa, when all he got a new pair of sneakers for school. He’d never read the book, so he listens on, curious to hear about the creature called the Grinch who is set on taking away the festivities from the Whos of Who-ville.

The rest of the half hour goes fast. He reads some parts of the book out, making sure to keep his voice just like Santa Claus, and when Mildred wet her pants, and began to cry, he took over reading for _________ and let her sort it out. When they come back, he gives all the kids a small candy cane, and listens as _________ reads the last part of the book.

“‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!” you read to the class. At that, one child blinks, and another smiles at him. Then Jim realises it’s his turn to read, and you add, “Santa?”

He nods, and keeps reading, and turning to the last page, he says… “and he, he himself, The Grinch carved the roast beast.”

---

The fact that Chief Hopper left his hat behind at Hawkins Elementary isn’t the only reason you’re swinging by to the station after all your students have gone home. Maybe the reason that you were so stressed about the whole ordeal and having to ask the Chief wasn’t because you were being a pedantic teacher wanting to continue a tradition you’d held since taking post at your job. You weren’t sure, but nonetheless, come four thirty, and your classroom is tidy for tomorrow, and you’re walking in to the Hawkins police station with his hat in hand.

When you enter, Florence is on the phone, and waves you through. Callahan is talking to Mr. Saunders, a farmer, and Powell has an open police file on his desk, and a map. You don’t say a word to them, and sneak past to where you know the Chief’s office is.

Knocking on the door, you poke your head in.

He sits behind his desk, a smouldering cigarette jabbed into the dish by his typewriter. The open window pushes the curtains toward you in the doorway, reaching for you, almost. His eyebrows go from furrowed from a frown to releasing the lines on his forehead, accompanied by a smile.

“Found it in the staff room.” You hold it out to him, going to sit in the chair opposite.

He takes the hat, and places it on the desk before him, on top of a file you can’t read. “Thanks, _________,” he says, “You didn’t have to come all the way –,”

You shrug. “I live nearby, it’s not a problem.” You brush off. “The kids were really glad you came in today. I was talking to Eleanor Gillespie, when she came to pick up Debbie, and she said her daughter really enjoyed it.” You tell him. “Thanks for doing me a solid, Chief.”

He smiles at that. “Please, call me Jim,” he insists. “And it was nothing, really. Just helping out the local community.”

You nod. “Okay, thank you, Jim,” you say, going to stand, “Sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a lot of marking to get done before the holidays…” you gather yourself, but before you can get to the door, you turn, and say, “Thanks once again, for helping out. Happy holidays.”

The walk out is as illustrious as the one in. Powell has moved the map he was looking at onto the pin board, where he’s taped string between points to look like a spider’s web. Callahan still talks to Mr. Saunders. Florence has hung up on the phone, and carries two mugs of coffee, despite the late hour in the afternoon.

“Merry Christmas, dear,” she says to you. You nod, and continue to your car, a second-hand 1970 Camaro with a ding on the passenger door.

But just as you get to the parking lot, you hear a bang, and turn around. Running out the door is Chief Jim Hopper, his face looking red after removing the fake beard, and the impromptu exercise. You sway where you stand, unsure what is going on. He comes to you, and says,

“I know you’re probably busy, or have plans, but…if you’re free tonight, Elle and I are watching It’s A Wonderful Life and eating frozen waffles,” he blurts out in between breathes, “I mean, as a way to say thank you for everything –,”

You frown. “I didn’t –,”

He wipes a hand over his face. “I’m a jerk at the best of times, I know, just…” He looks to the concrete under his black boots, and then to you. “I just want to do something nice for you.”

You cross your arms. “Is this movie and waffles a date, or…?”

His face, if possible, turns even redder. “I – uh, um, not if you –,”

You chuckle, “I’ll be around at six.” At this moment, you feel a wash of bravery come over you, and in broad daylight, in the middle of the Hawkins police station carpark, you peck him on the cheap. “See you then, Jim.”

As your back is turned to unlock your car, you can’t see the look Jim Hopper has on his face. Elle would say it looks like he needs the toilet. His ex-wife would say he was having a heart attack. But no, none of those things were happening to him. Because right then, Jim Hopper, felt his heart grow three sizes. Just like The Grinch.

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee Ch.1- The Coffee Cart

A/N: This is a repost of chapter one! I had some last minute ideas for changes. Chapter 2- The First Encounter is coming soon! :) 

Chapter One: The Coffee Cart

Cate tied her yellow apron around her waist as she prepared for her first day at the mobile coffee cart. The Empty Mug was a small, family-owned coffee shop located in the midst of a busy Quantico, Virginia. They had decided a new way to increase business would be to take it to the streets, with a coffee cart. The shop was starting to hit its busiest hour of the morning, the pre-work rush. 

“Oh, thank God!” gasped Marta, daughter of the owner of the shop. “You’re just in time!” Marta quickly handed a customer their change and hustled to the backroom where Cate was fixing her name badge on her chest. 

“Couldn’t miss my first day manning the new cart.” Cate smiled at her favorite coworker. The two girls hauled the cart out of the storage closet, which proved to be a feat in itself as it came with a lofty umbrella, the same yellow as their aprons. As they neared the storefront door, a customer on their way in held the door. “Thanks.” Cate pushed out, she couldn’t wait to get the cart outside where she could just wheel it.

Once on the sidewalk, Marta wished Cate good luck and hurried back into her parent’s coffee shop, to tend to the rest of the customers. Cate shoved the large umbrella into a socket on the top of the cart, and began to set up her station along the busy road.

Despite being surrounded by enormous buildings and skyscrapers, the streets and sidewalks were still quite sunny. Cate wished she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses in her car. She felt like she was squinting at each customer as they gave her their orders. The umbrella did little to help with the sun, but Cate still had it up anyway, she found that the big yellow parasol attracted more customers. 

Cate saw a variety of people along her street. Many people in suits briskly walked by, some stopping for their morning coffee, it was more convenient to stop at the cart than actually inside for some. Most of these people in suits would be simultaneously talking to their bluetooth ear pieces or their cell phones while they ordered from Cate. 

The only people who hadn’t been on the phone while placing their order were young interns grabbing their office’s coffees for the morning. Her most common intern was Brooke, who was punctual with an order of four drinks: a latte, a hot black, an espresso, and a decaf. Upon her arrival at exactly 8:45, Cate had her orders ready in a tray. Brooke smiled a thanks.

“I’d stay and chat, but there’s a new project we’re working on and our graphic design team really needs this.” She gave a company card to pay and plopped a five in Cate’s tip jar. “Catch ya on my break!” And with that, Brooke just about jogged off, taking care not to spill any of the coffees on her way to her building. 

One of Cate’s favorite things to do was memorize her usual customers’ orders. She took pride that she could have a customer’s coffee prepared as she saw them in line. Cate estimated that she knew about twenty different customer’s orders since she started a few months back. Working in The Empty Mug was something that Cate not only enjoyed, but also made great tips from, especially if she put up with some flirting from businessmen. That in itself is partially the reason she memorized orders; to rush the flirtatious businessmen along and keep their interactions short and sweet. 

Cate watched as a short, stout blonde walked up to the cart with her thick, red rimmed, cat-eye glasses. She had a cell phone in hand but was starting to read a large order to Cate. 

“Okay, hi, I have a lot of orders so I hope you’re ready for it!” the blonde started. She took in a big breath, “I need a cappuccino, and macchiato, a latte with dairy free milk, a large hot with extra extra extra sugar, a medium hot regular, an espresso, and a medium hot black.” She exhaled. 

“Coming right up,” Cate smiled. “Do you need those labeled?” Cate grabbed a marker, just in case.

“Oh, yes please,” She smiled graciously. “The cappuccino needs to be PG, the macchiato EP, the latte JJ, the large extra is SR, the regular is AH, the espresso is CT and the black is DR. Thank you very much!” Cate pushed buttons on her register.

“Your total comes to 14.68.” Cate was handed a twenty and the blonde insisted on putting the change into her tip jar. “Thank you, I like your glasses.” Cate smiled.

“Thanks! Bought them on the web.” Cate handed the blonde customer two drink trays and watched as the blonde carried one on top of the other. 

“If you spill those on your way, just come see me and I can make you new ones.” Cate said nervously. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but it was a lot to carry for one person. 

“Noted,” the blonde smiled, and bustled off to whatever job she was off to.

Penelope just about flew out of the elevator and into the bullpen. Emily helped set the top tray of coffees down onto the desk next to the copying machine. 

“They’re all labeled with your initials!” Penelope exclaimed. “From the new coffee cart station, part of The Empty Mug.” Emily was twisting the cups, looking for her initials. 

“CT?” Emily questioned.

“Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope huskily replied, passing it to Derek, who had walked up to retrieve his order. Spencer quickly approached the desk, and plucked the biggest cup from the tray, knowing he had the largest order of the bunch. 

“This coffee might just be the best I’ve had.” Emily said after she took a sip of her macchiato. “We should try to order from here more often.” 

J.J. was walking in and grabbed hers before beelining to Hotchner’s office. Hotch called a meeting to discuss the next case, and just like that the unit sat around the round table drinking their coffees from their new favorite shop. 

It was just about 1:30, a half hour before Cate was meant to close her cart and head back to the shop to finish her shift. She tied her hair up into a ponytail at the back of her head, instead of half up like before. The sun was making it hot standing on the busy street. She moved around to the front of her cart to put away the chalkboard menu sign. She twisted a lid back onto her tip jar and knelt to check her stock of creamers, and sugars and flavors on a shelf. Cate would have to make a note to restock her sugar jar. Between all the typical sugar in a coffee and that large coffee which might as well have been a cup of straight sugar, her typical supply had been depleted.  

“You know the cart was very convenient.” Brooke mentioned to Cate, scaring her in the process. “The line was a lot shorter than going into the shop.” Brooke smiled, leaning her elbows onto the cart. Cate stood up, adjusting her apron and pushing her hair out of her face.

“Well I’m glad to hear that.” Cate was still fussing with the different coffee pots on her cart shelves. 

“Need help bringing this bad boy back to the shop?” Brooke was already grabbing one side of the cart.

“Yes, please!” Cate exhaled. 

Cate came home with almost one hundred dollars in tips, her half of the split tips between her and Marta. She just about ripped her shoes off at the door, letting them thud to the ground as she greeted her small, light orange cat. Changing out of her uniform, and into some leggings and her college sweatshirt, Cate could take a quick nap before cleaning her apartment. 

As soon as Cate had laid down on her couch, her phone chimed, alerting her of a text message. 

Marta: tell me you don’t have plans tomorrow night

Cate sighed before typing her response, I should finish up my lesson plan project, but I have a feeling you want to go out.

Marta: it’s like you can read my mind… let’s go down to the pub and celebrate the new cart :)

Cate’s phone beeped again.

Marta: Pleeeeeeeease??

Cate laughed to herself before typing back, You’re lucky I love you.

[mintyvan]

31 - love will tear us apart

request Bondy asks the reader to visit him on tour. 

note I am sorry it took me forever to post this but I hope you enjoy it!

______________

“Can’t believe you paid for in-flight wifi to send me that meme.”

“I know,” you said, laughing, as you embraced him, hoping your plane hair and wrinkled clothes weren’t phasing him too much. You were itching to get to your hotel room. The leggings and t-shirt you’d worn on the plane were sticking to you, and you were desperate for a shower. He could tell you weren’t keen on being touched after being cramped in the cabin for a few dreary hours.

“Your haircut looks amazing.” You pulled back from the hug a little and surveyed how he’d changed. He was tired, but his eyes were still bright and warm. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his beard was starting to get unruly. You smiled as his cheeks went a slight shade of pink.

“Thanks,” he replied bashfully. He wasn’t used to outward praise.

“It’s been too long, John,” you told him, leaving his arms. He smiled back at you, eyes crinkling while replying, “It really has.”

The taxi ride to the hotel he’d arranged a room for you in was a blissful game of catch-up. How you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, how he’s been, what he’s been doing. It was nice to just talk in person. The calls and texts between you and your childhood best friend had been less frequent lately, and you had both regretted it.

“Pick anywhere in the world and we’ll make it work,” he had said to you over the phone one night. And so, a trip to Japan to see Bondy perform at the Fuji Rock Festival was born.

“Is this where I’m staying?” you asked, plopping your luggage down in the little foyer of the hotel room. It was modern, but with obvious Japanese influences, because, well, you were in Japan. The far wall was paned in glass leading out to a balcony with wicker chairs. Traditional paper room separators divided the room into habitual spaces for cooking, sleeping, and lounging. “I love it. So quaint. You can definitely tell we’re not in Newcastle anymore. There are two beds in here! Wait…. and….. your stuff too?” Your eyebrows raised at him.

“I couldn’t tell management you were coming, they said earlier that they wouldn’t pay for any rooms other than the regular band and crew’s. So I asked for a room with two beds because now, I’m a daft cunt who sleeps in one bed the first night and another the next.” He winked.

“Gotcha,” you laughed, putting your duffel on the bed. You sorted through your clothes and readied an outfit for the day. “Where we goin’?”

“Firstly, I was thinking lunch out in Tokyo. You’re probably starving from the plane ride. We can even hit the shops if you like.”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “I’m also dying to get my hands on some Japanese makeup.” You took out your makeup bag and rifled through the cosmetics you brought. A bright red lipstick would go perfectly with the long black and white striped dress you’d brought. You stepped up to the mirror and let your lips fall into an O-shape to apply it.

“Well isn’t that a shade of ‘I’m getting fucked tonight’ red.”

“Bondy!” you slapped his arm hard. In a mock-country accent, you rebutted: “That’s no way to talk to a lady like me! All my suitors are going to hear you and take back their marriage proposals.”

“As if they’re all standing right outside the door,” he scoffed with a laugh, and fixed his hair under his hat in the mirror.

A knock sounded at the door shortly after.

“No fucking way!” you yelled, both of you looking into each other’s bewildered eyes. He pointed and laughed at you with your lipstick still only half on, and then giggled and practically ran to the door.

“Hello boys,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at them as they filed into the room. You quickly rubbed your lips together so you wouldn’t look like a Hex girl with one lip not matching the other.

“Ahh! Hi! Hello!” You greeted each member of the band, and Larry, with a big hug in succession.

“She’s gotten cuter since the last time we seen her,” Van joked.

Bondy rolled his eyes with a smile before continuing the conversation he’d started with you before they arrived. “I know a really good record store not far from here. The festival doesn’t start until tomorrow so we have a whole night to ourselves.”

“Alright, hope you guys have fun today. Let’s go boys,” Bob ushered everyone out of your room as quickly as they’d come.

“Sweet.” You walked around through the rest of the room, surveying everything one more time before leaving to make sure you had what you needed, and then walked into the bathroom. “No fuckin’ way! What’s this toilet do?” you called to Bondy, who was still in the great room. You noticed the white bowl had knobs on the sides and pressure sensors on the seats. You fiddled with one knob, and it sent a stream of water onto your dress as you squealed, half surprised, half in delight.

He laughed from in the other room, and muttered, “I fuckin’ love Japan.”

****

Lunch was hot, filling and delicious, so you were both ready to head out to the shops with full bellies and hearts from catching up. Bondy walked with a little spring in his step, and you were happy to see he’d found his bliss in this country. The first time he’d traveled to Japan when he was a member of Detroit Social Club, he’d called you from his hotel room the first night --- “I promise I’ll pay for this phone call on both our ends, I know it’s going to be expensive but I don’t fuckin’ care” --- and spoke to you for two hours afterward, racking up more than three hundred pounds in the time it took him to tell you how mesmerized he was by the country. The neon lights in a language he didn’t know how to read, the people bustling by with a million stories, the wine culture, the food…. He was utterly fascinated.

Still, today, he was enthralled.

“I want to take you to this music shop near Shinjuku Station, it’s incredible. They’ve got all those obscure records we used to have to kill for back home. They’re just sitting on shelves here out in the open. Lezzgo!” he grabbed your hand and held it steady as he pulled you along. You wanted to tell him that in Japanese culture holding hands in public was a really really big deal, but also, it didn’t matter because he wouldn’t care about that significance or do anything contrary to what he wanted to do anyways.

The sky was overcast and looked as if it were going to pour soon. You both hurriedly made your ways down side streets, Bondy navigating with a mental map. The buzz of excitement flowed through your veins.

You entered the dimly lit shop just behind him; he had to duck under the low doorway.

“Watch your head,” he called behind him. He never let his hand fall away from yours. You stepped up carefully.

The shop was full of records, from top to bottom. Vinyl covers and CD jewel cases were pasted to the ceiling, and were up and down the walls as well. A sign hung in the corner by the register, and in big black letters and characters it said “EVERYTHING FOR SALE.”

“Have a look at this,” Bondy said into a pile of records after nodding once to the man behind the counter. The man stepped aside to look through a bin, and set a vinyl to play on one of the shop’s players.

“Oasis,” you laughed in amusement as Wonderwall played over the speakers.

“They always do that,” Bondy smiled, showing all his teeth. “Told ya.”

You with your big bag of records in hand, all paid for and basically hand-picked by Johnny Bond himself --- “I’m not going to invite you on a trip across the world and expect you to pay for your own souvenirs,” he’d said with a blush on his face as he paid --- padded out to the darkening street. Bondy guided you back to the subway, but this time he walked more relaxed now that he didn’t have anywhere to be. His hat received funny looks from passersby.

Once again at the station, you both hopped on a train headed back to the hotel. The festival was tomorrow and you knew he needed a good night’s sleep to perform well, so you both silently opted for a night in.

“It’s almost dinner time, John,” you told him, laying your head on his shoulder. The air was stale in that compact space, and you were exhausted. “I’ve no idea how we can spend so much time in there together and not get tired of each other or the scenery.”

He chuckled, and it was a small chuckle meant only for you to hear. He’d always had a special laugh reserved just for you, and it made you feel a little special stuffed among the people in the train car alongside you. His scarf looked warm and soft, and you let your nose rub it a little before you realized people were staring at how close you were to him. Definitely a different culture here.

“Sleeeeeeepy,” you whispered in his ear, and let your eyes close, head resting on his lapel. The jet lag was taking a toll, finally. The imminent excitement of seeing your best friend after months of being apart had finally worn off, and you were content on the train. Sandwiched between someone you’d never met and someone you’d known since you could remember.

The walk back to the hotel was a bleary one; not only was it misting coldly, but you were half asleep. You weren’t happy about having to move off of him to exit the train, and he smiled at how groggy you were. You didn’t tell him, but the cat nap you’d taken on his shoulder was one of the best bouts of sleep you’d had in months.

“Can we get a coffee or somethin’?” you asked him in a small voice. His arm was around you, trying to keep you warm as he guided you back to the hotel. His navigation skills despite a lack of GPS were incredible.

“How about some tea?”

“Yes. Please. God. I need something warm.”

After stopping at a tea shop, and with a hot brew in hand, your morale had improved greatly. The sleepiness was gone, for now.

“Where do you want to go for dinner tonight?” he asked you, hands wrapped around his mug of tea. He looked like a little boy again, shivering every so often every time the door to the cafe opened.

“I figured you’d want to eat room service at the hotel since you’ve got an early riser tomorrow morning.”

“That would be ideal, but you’re here on holiday.”

“So? Doesn’t mean we have to be fancy or anythin’. It’s just you and me.”

“I guess.” He breathed in the steam from his tea, and took a long sip. “Want to go out after the festival?”

“Don’t you want to drink and party?” you questioned. He sat there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Maybe we can go somewhere the day after. Can you stay an extra night?”

“Uh… yeah, I think I could work it out… well, except my plane ticket, but I guess I could get a new one?” You asked him, and he still looked at you with hopeful eyes. “Why’re you so keen on this, John?”

Just then, his phone rang. Van’s name popped up on the screen. Bondy took the opportunity to dodge your question.

“Hello?”

“Oi mate, we’re gonna do a big feast in the hotel with a roast, maybe. Or some pies. Or even some fancy ice cream. Wanna join? Where are you?” his voice crackled through the receiver to your ears. Van always spoke loudly on the phone. You could hear every word.

“I’m out with Y/N, close to the hotel now.”

“How’s ya sweetheart?” Bondy cleared his throat as Van asked the question. You smiled. Van was always a dear.

“She’s well. A little cold, but we’re working on it.”

“Good. Come on then! We’re orderin’ soon.” He hung up. You laughed.

“Well? The boy said come, so let’s go,” you exclaimed, standing up with renewed energy.

****

Mouths stuffed full of garlic bread, Larry and Bondy attempted to recite their ABCs backwards. Bread crumbs were falling all over the table as they tried not to laugh.

“That’s absolutely disgusting,” Bob declared, taking a big gulp of water.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything,” you quipped. “You’d be surprised at the stuff this one has been able to pull off over the years. When he was a wee lad ---”

“I know what story you’re gonna tell. You better not go there,” Bondy interrupted, mouth clear of bread now.

“And what would you do if I did?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

Benji’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. “What could he possibly have done that warrants this much attention?”

“Well, ---” you began, but you only got as far as the L’s before Bondy pounced and leapt into your lap. He started tickling you, and you squealed as his hands were digging into your sides and arms and legs. You couldn’t control the laughter, and you cackled loudly as everyone watched, laughing too. Your arms and legs flailed in your chair, but his weight kept you from moving out from under him.

“Stop!” you breathily screamed between inhalations, “Stop! I… Oh my god I can’t breathe,” you laughed into his face. He finally stopped, and rested on your lap. His weight was heavy, and the backs of your legs pressed hard into the wood of the chair you were sitting in. His face was mere inches from yours.

“You done now?” you asked him, moving the hair out of your face that had fallen in the attack.

“Only if you swear not to say anything.”

“You got it, boss.”

He made his way back to his chair as if nothing had happened, and Bob snorted. The conversation resumed normally.

Benji pulled a bottle of Tito’s out of his luggage, and everyone guffawed with wide eyes at how he’d managed to smuggle an entire handle across the Japanese border. Bob rolled his eyes. “We’ve got a show tomorrow, Benj.”

Within an hour, everyone was smashed.

“Royal flush!” Larry cried. “First one in my life!!” He raised the playing cards above his head and let them fall across him in a shower as he collected the petty cash on the table. Bondy mumbled something about a wanker from his spot where he’d spaced out on Van’s bed, and Larry shot him drunk dagger eyes.

“I can’t believe I just lost to Larry with this hand,” Bob giggled. Benji looked over at his cards and sniggered.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ good hand as well,” you laughed.

“And Y/N!” Van yelled half-unintelligibly, flinging his hands in the air, letting all the cards fall to the ground while almost knocking over a shot glass.

“Y/N….” Bondy’s drunken slur rang out from the bed. “She’s an angel…... and I want her to drown in my cum.”

The boys all stared, stunned, looking back and forth from Bondy to you, no one saying a word. Eyes rimmed red were bright with surprise, Larry’s cheeks were puffing out red from holding in laughter.

“My god,” Bob whispered, breaking the silence. Van giggled.

“Oh, I’m desensitized to his drunken comments by now. Known the lad for forever it seems like,” you said, laughing off the uncomfortable feeling their glances were giving you.

Larry decided it was time for everyone to sober up after that raucous comment. After chugging a few glasses of water each and taking an aspirin, all of you felt you’d be sort of fine in the morning.

Slowly, after everyone finished their food and trickled out of the rooms, it was you and Bondy’s bedtime and you walked down the hall back to your own room, only slightly tipsy now. The hardwood floors creaked in the silence that descended upon the both of you.

When you reached the door, he stopped and turned to you before inserting the key.

“Today was good,” he pointed out. He seemed completely sobered up by now.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “I’m exhausted. I’m glad we did this though. The lads are still a right laugh.”

“Me too.”

He took a step forward and leaned in delicately, kissing your lips gently. It was soft, and only for a moment. He smiled, and opened the door, walking inside the room you shared. You stood there rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

Then, Van came around the corner with an empty ice bucket.

“What you doin’ standin’ out here pale as a ghost?”

You pulled him aside and ducked your head to speak quietly to him. “Dude, what’s gotten into John? He just kissed me on the lips. Like a fuckin’ weirdo. All gentle and shit.”

Van turned to look at you squarely. “Whad’you mean?”

“He… kissed me. At the door. Before we walked in the room.”

“And you’re mad about that?”

“Uh....No…. just… confused?” Van’s eyes widened at your comment. He knew something you didn’t.

“Y/N… why’d you come out here?”

“To catch up! He’s my best friend and I missed him!” you whisper yelled in the hall. Frustration was seeping into your pores due to your confusion. Van noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder. He sighed heavily.

“Y/N, I don’t know if I should be the one tellin’ you this, but… Bond’s dead in love with you.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“He won’t ever stop talkin’ about you after you call. He thinks of buying things for you when we shop around. Always asks us, ‘will she like this,’ an’ that. Wants to get a house somewhere.”

“Stop.” Your voice broke.

“I thought you felt the same way, we all did. When you came all the way out here, we thought, it’s settled then. Let’s pick the baby names.”

“Van, shut the fuck up,” you cried, tears threatening to roll down your face. There was too much to process. It filled your lungs with horror. A whole lifetime of loving him as a friend and it wasn’t reciprocated in the way you thought it was. The double beds, the record store gifts, the hand holding, the late night phone calls --- all of it, so he could woo you. Not because he genuinely cared. Your friendship, ruined. You turned away from Van, walking back to your room you unfortunately shared with Bondy the whole time you were here.

“Where you going?!” he shouted after you.

“To bed,” you said dejectedly, leaving Van and his empty ice bucket to their own devices in the hall.

As if he’d already known your reaction, Bondy had set up the paper separators between your beds so you didn’t have to see him. You toed into the bathroom and started the shower.

Under the hot stream, you cried hard for everything you thought you’d known. How much of his friendship was real? Or just trying to get in your pants? How long had he felt this way? Why hadn’t he said anything? Were the brash comments really jokes, as you’d interpreted them?

The questions pelted your mind as frequently as the water drops landed on your back, easing your sore muscles but not your mind. You shut the water off, having accomplished next to nothing other than magnifying the pain you felt at having a facade for a friendship, and pulled your pajamas on. Disheartened, you padded over to the bed and fell into its soft sheets, willing yourself not to think about the sound of his soft breathing just a few feet away.

****

The room was empty when you stirred half past noon. You checked your phone. Only one text from Larry. “If you decide to come, we’ve got a train ticket and a festival bracelet for you. Xxx.” Van had relayed the news, then.

The heartache of last night steadily grew back into your heart as you brushed your hair. You were upset not only for yourself, but for him. You knew him inside and out, and he the same to you. You knew he’d be devastated. He’d probably never forgive you for standing outside the door, dumbstruck, and then going straight to bed instead of telling him how you felt straight away. But what were you supposed to do?

When you scrolled through Tumblr that night, after spending the whole day lamenting your loss by watching high school coming-of-age movies and ordering expensive ice cream pints, you pulled up the #catfishandthebottlemen tag.

A myriad of photos and messages regarding the festival show they’d played popped up. “Is he okay? He looks ill?” was one person’s response to a photo of Bondy looking sickly playing the guitar. Loads of people were concerned about him, and rightfully so; he looked awful. His hair wasn’t fixed, he had a five-o-clock shadow, his eyes were droopier than usual and he looked as if he were in pain. His facial expressions betrayed his usual debonair act. You found fan videos of a few of the songs. During Fallout, he looked as if he were crying.

You curled up on the bed, wrapped yourself in the soft duvet, and did the same.

****

By nightfall, you’d moved the paper separators to behind the bed, and cleared the room. You sat on his bed, waiting.

The jingle of keys in the lock made your heart seize up.

He opened the door slowly, and threw his keys into the bowl in the foyer. He removed his coat, and hung it on a hook.

“John,” you whispered. He turned to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and he looked worse than the photos you’d seen this evening. Bedraggled, he walked over to you and took your outstretched hand. He sat down next to you, and the bed dipped with his weight. He sat facing the dinner table and the wall, where he could only see you in periphery.

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t muster more than a whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“Y/N….” he began, shaking his head a little. “I’ve loved you since we were in school.” The blow hit hard, but it was expected. You’d spent all day remembering little things he’d done for you, like bringing you flowers he’d picked from the side of the country road up to his house or dancing with you in your kitchen. He was the only boy your parents ever let in the house.

“I just thought after all this time, if you wanted me, you’d come, and that would be it.”

“I thought it was just a friends’ trip…”

“I know. Van filled me in earlier.”

Silence. You could almost hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest.

“I thought I was clear,” he started again. He still stared straight ahead, studying the legs of the table.

“I didn’t realize….”

“Do you love me?” he interrupted, turning to face you now.

“I… John, I’ve always loved you, like as a ---”

“Do you love me like I love you?” he interrupted again.

“I…”

“I’m begging you, Y/N.”

“John, I just…”

“Please.”

You thought it over. You’d been friends since the nursery. You went through school together, always at each other’s sides. There was never a moment where you’d ever doubted his trust in you, his companionship, his friendship. When you crashed your bike, he was there picking gravel out of your knee. When you had your first boyfriend, Bondy threatened to beat his ass if you ever got hurt. When you got your first car, he was the one you drove to so you could pick him up and show it off. When you lost your dad, he let you cry on his shoulder, and he shared your grief. When you rented your first apartment, he called all his friends and worked them to death moving your furniture so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The undying love was underfoot, drawing you two together, always.

“Y/N, do you love me like i love you?” he repeated, breaking the silence one last time.

“I can try.”