#oh this is so fucking sick though i checked the little. uh. love meter thing

[solplease]

OH WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖      

Chapter 42 - Message Memory.

-----Andy's point of view----

Andy: I was sitting alone in the darkness, it was a cold crisp night, a few days after the news about the mate bond I now will share with Evan. Things had been weird the whole day. Evan had been very relieved after the news of the bond, well all of us had. But at the same time he had also grown more nervous. Nervous of what news Akin and the clan will find when they start digging around to try to figure more on the matter. The past two hours he had gotten really drunk, and started crying a lot, it had just gotten too much for me, seeing him like that, so Congo and Daniel had offered me to keep an eye on him, and try to sober him up a bit, if I were to go take a small walk. Getting some air. Clearing my head. So here I was, about 100 meters above our house, looking down at it. I loved this little look out post above us, and often went up here for a smoke when I needed a little time for myself. It was a nice opportunity to be alone, without really being alone. If that makes sense. Without the commitment so to speak. From here I could look through the windows, and easily see people move around inside the living room and parts of the kitchen was also visible. I could see people move around, but they couldn't see me here in the darkness. Kinda a little spy-like, I chuckled cheekily at the thought, then returned to scrolling my old messages in my phone. I had been doing this the past 10-15 minutes. Reading old messages between me and Evan from back when we started having something together. It was nice and warming, looking back at how it all started. Like this one message:

January 7, 2015. Andy: Are you still awake?

Evan: Yes?

Andy: I want you but like just laying in bed… cuddling… naked skin against naked skin being close till we doze off

Evan: I'll be over in a minute.

Andy: See you.

I remember how I used to want to be with him as much as possible, afraid he might just disappear any second. Like he would somehow wake up and see what he was doing and then… poof…. turn into dust particles and blow away in the breeze. Well, I still wanna be with him all the time. But for different reasons now. I smiled softly as my eyes returned to the screen

January 9, 2015. Andy: Evan…. I want you… I want you so bad… fuck

Evan: I don't know what to say…

Andy: You don't have to say anything… if it happens, it happens…

Evan: well, for starters we need to shove some food down our throats, and then we need Daniel off our hands… and maybe tonight cuddling would be better?

Andy: Yeah… you might be right. I will take care of Daniel, I have a plan, just roll with it when you get down.. okay?

Evan: Okay. Still plan to kiss you though.

Andy: Yes, please… I miss your lips!

Evan: I miss yours too.

Andy: Damn! Foods here!

Evan: Ill be down in a minute or two…

Andy: Okay will be hard not to kiss you…

I easily remember how hard it was to keep hiding. Especially after we moved into the new house! Evan lived next door with Daniel at that point, but he came over almost every night anyway. Well, when he had the guts at least. He was still somewhat trying to deny things, not fully having the courage to commit to them. So there were always a lot of sneaking around. Which in some ways could be hot and exiting too. But most of all, I just wanted to be near him. I just wanted him to let his guards down.

January 11, 2015. Evan: Hey… I apologize for earlier… don't wanna call and ruin more of your day… I just wanted to apologize for interfering with your couples weekend. Sorry. Hope you both are having a good time.

Andy: Hey, please don't apologize. We are both okay with it. Really don't worry about it, it happens for the best ;) How are you feeling?

Evan: Thank you. Uh, I don't feel so good. Very sick in my stomach, it seems.

Andy: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that :/ still hungover or is it something else?

Evan: Gas I guess, mainly. Gives me a lot of trouble since it doesn't seem to want to get out…

Andy: :/ sucks for sure! Is there anything I can do for you?

Evan: Nah. It will pass eventually. Just sucks to be alone when feeling "sick". You didn't post any pictures today? You know, in those folders you always post in?

Andy: Yes, I can imagine all too well. Wanna come over? And no, I didn't… spent my whole day with Congo :)

Evan: I don't wanna intrude. I hope you two had fun?

Andy: I can barely walk! :P I'll throw some pics together for you, but then I'll go to bed. Congo is already sleeping. He has work early in the morning… at freaking 7!!!! He has to get up at 6!!!! >:(

Evan: You don't have to. You are too sweet. Go to bed. Get some rest :)

Andy: Nah… gotta eat a bit anyway, I'm hungry…

Evan: Okay, thanks :)

I remember how he loved the pictures I used to post in my random folders, well I still do that. But back then I used to post a lot more Yaoi than I do now. He rarely admitted that that was one of the main reasons he was looking forwards to new pics almost every night. Well that, and the fact that maybe he could get to know more about my likes, and that way feel closer to me. It was very transparent, but I shut up about it and enjoyed it in silence. After all I didn't want to scare him off.

January 18, 2015.

Evan: I miss you.

Andy: Then come over silly :P

Evan: No. I just wanted to tell you. I think you and Congo deserve some alone time.

Andy: Congo is on and off the phone for the past 4 hours, trying to salvage what he left at work yesterday, when he hurried home to me. He assures me things are going to be fine, there's just a lot of mess to clean up. Sigh. I was thinking to watch a movie and cuddle…. wanna join?

Evan: No, I'm tired, I think I'll just go to bed for the night. But thank you for the offer. I don't wanna intrude. you need time alone…

Andy: Please? Its the perfect weather for cuddling. I'll even throw in some hot chocolate and marshmallows? Or how about an Irish coffee or 2? Think about it… Daniel will come back tomorrow evening, and then its back to stalking us… and we wont be able to spend as much time together. You will have to stay more around him again, take care of him and so on… and Congo and I will go on vacation soon…. for a week or two….

Evan: Thank you. But I think its better I stay here. Tell Congo I said hi, and that he should be in bed with you instead of hanging on the phone. I'll stop by tomorrow around noon… maybe we can have late breakfast together, or do something, go somewhere… we will see. Good night Andy, sweet dreams :*

I both loved and hated how insecure he was back then. Let's face it, it was damn cute. But also painful that I couldn't be with the man I loved. I missed him so much all the time, and was so afraid he would change his mind any minute. So I just wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, before it would all be over again. It was hard. Very hard. But it was also hard for him.

January 25, 2015. Evan: Andy, can we talk?

Andy: Yes? You want me to come downstairs?

Evan: No, please stay up there… I might lose my nerves…

Andy: Okay? Getting a bit worried now…

Evan: No, please don't… its nothing to worry about

Andy: Okay, but I still fear the worst… You aren't breaking up with me? Are you? Fuck! I'm totally tearing up right now! I mean I didn't think it would last, but I had hoped it would last longer than this I mean… I really like you fuck! I mean, I love you, you know that right? And this time with you have just been so amazing I really didn't want it to end yet and god, I'm so stupid., asking if you are breaking up with me when we aren't even a couple Fuck! I'm sorry Go on Ill shut up I'm sorry I'm freaking out a bit I just really enjoy our time together I hope you know that you have become more than just my best friend

Evan: Andy

Andy: Yes? Please don't!

Evan: Will you please try to breathe, and try to relax?

Andy: Okay… Fuck!

Evan: Relax… take a deep breath… you put all of these unnecessary thoughts in your mind Just try to relax and breathe please

Andy: I'm sorry

Evan: Its okay. But please listen to me when I say there's nothing to worry about, okay?

Andy: Okay

Evan: Now please listen to this as well…. I like you too and you have also become more than my best friend I can't say I'm okay with things…. you know… I'm still pretty lost in all of this…. But as long as you are with me in this, I feel I don't know… I feel not so lost I feel we have become a lot closer since Christmas, and it means a lot to me… you mean a lot to more… more than I would like to admit I'm sorry I want us to hide this thing between us…. I just need time to figure it out… I'm scared…. And I'm sorry that kinda gets taken out on you when you have to hide with me… but I think/hope you understand why I do it I'm not ashamed of you, not at all… I don't think there's any shameful in being gay or doing gay things… I can't explain better… I just hope you understand at least half of what I try to say At this point I don't really know what to do when I'm not around you… I kinda end up just sitting and starring at whatever my eyes falls upon… mostly thinking of you… I see whole new sides of you… or maybe new angles of things I already knew? Sometimes I even catch myself smiling just thinking about you… I have never felt like this towards a man before… and only few times towards women… I had a really great time with you tonight, and I apologize I acted the way I did when we ran into Gaby and George at the cemetery. It was just unexpected and very sudden, and I didn't know where to put myself in it all… I apologize I left you like that. I hope you understand it wasn't about you, but about my own insecurities. I will try to do better next time, although I beg to whatever force is at play that next time wont happen any day soon, cause I just simply don't have the nerves for it. But at least I will try to do better around Gaby and George, now that they know the secret anyway. Just for tonight I need to hide a bit extra and try to restore my pride… ego… whatever it is… Just know that it's not you… it's me… and I know that's such a kliche thing to say, but it's the honest truth… I didn't mean to hurt you, and I'm sorry I did…. I never meant to hurt you with any of this… I just sometimes get really scared… and then I just don't know what to do or how to act or even what to think about it all… I guess it was like that for you as well… although I still don't think I'm gay…and so far Gaby agrees but I do admit there are some feelings there… and you mean more to me than ever before just know, that no matter what happens, I don't ever mean to hurt you… I only wanna bring you happiness and love cause that's what you deserve honestly and you make me happy too Are you there?

Andy: Yes

Evan: Okay. I was starting to worry you had left after I freaked you out… sorry about that

Andy: No, I was listening.

Evan: Okay, thank you.

Andy: Are you done?

Evan: Uh… yeah… I guess I am? Did I talk too much or say something wrong?

Andy: No, and no…

Evan: Okay, you just seem a bit distant? Is there something wrong with what I said, or something wrong in general? Andy? Now you are kinda freaking ME out Are you okay?

Andy: Yes

Evan: will you then please talk to me?

Andy: Yes :)

Evan: What are you thinking?

Andy: I was thinking why you haven't asked me to come kiss you yet?

Evan: Andy, will you please come down and kiss me?

Andy: I thought you would never ask :P

It was the very first time he really opened up towards me and the possibility of having something with me. Of course I was ecstatic! But I had to keep my cool not to overwhelm him in any way. Some days I was good at keeping my cool. Other days…. not so much.

January 26, 2015. Andy: I'm sorry if I caused you trouble. I'm once again terrified this will all end. I love you man. More than you know. I don't want it to end, please. I know I probably shouldn't say this…. but… I'm in love with you… Like, really in love with you. And I know I have Congo and all, and you know I love him more than anything. He is my soul… my mate…. my husband… and I don't wanna replace him with anyone in the whole universe, not even A… But… maybe if you can find it in your heart… maybe you could give this a chance? I mean…. not like a relationship or… you know… I know that's too much to even dream off…. but, maybe you could just find it in your heart to stick around a little longer? Just be me and you, a little longer? If you can? I don't mind hiding…. if that's what you need. Its okay. We can be a secret, And we don't have to be around people that can walk in on us. We can just meet at a motel or something. I don't know. Whatever you need to feel safe in this all. I'm just so sad and terrified of losing what we have had. I love you. I'm in love with you. A lot. I'm sorry.

It was past midnight, and he never answered. I guess he was sleeping. But he never answered when he woke up either. So later in the evening when I woke up, my nerves got the best of me, and I decided to write again. Hoping I wouldn't have scared him off already. After all it was the first time I had admitted being in love with him.

January 26, early evening. Andy: What are you doing?

Evan: Finishing up a phone call with my manager….

Andy: Oh… am I interrupting?

Evan: No. Go on?

Andy: I miss you

Evan: I miss you too

Andy: I want you

Evan: Yeah?

Andy: Yeah.

Evan: I want you too

Andy: :3 fuck!

Evan: What do you want then?

Andy: Fuck!!! I wanna get on my knees in front of you, unzip your pants, while you are sitting on your couch, buried in that phone conversation, and slowly start licking your dick…

Evan: You make me hard!

Andy: I really need you inside me right now! I'm so fucking horny! That new profile picture of yours!!!!!

Evan: Andy, you were the one who posted the picture… It's your own fault

Andy: Yeah, but you didn't have to put it as your profile picture!

Evan: I know but I like to tease you

Andy: :3 DAMN!

Evan: Tell me what else you want…

Andy: Fuck!!! I wanna take you deep into my throat… feel you big and hard as my saliva runs down your shaft

Evan: Keep going

Andy: Are we seriously doing this?

Evan: Yes Keep going…

Andy: God!!!! I wanna suck you like you have never been sucked before. Grab you by your hips and pull you closer to me so you can reach further down, making me gag…

Evan: yes…

Andy: I wanna hear you moan and say my name as I pull back out and twirl my tongue around your head

Evan: go on……

Andy: FUCK!!!! I need to cum!!!! I wanna look you in your beautiful eyes, as I pull you even closer and gently let a finger caress your hole

Evan: …….

Andy: Gliding you inside my mouth again, swallowing you whole… feeling you pulsate in me as you are ready to cum….

Evan: ………….

Andy: So I slowly let just the tip of my finger glide inside you as I pull off your pants and bite your inner thighs

Evan: Go get a shower in the small bathroom downstairs! I'll be there in a minute!!

Andy: FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!

It was the first time we had phone sex… or sexting as it seems to be called these days. And I was majorly relieved to find out my little declaration of love hadn't scared him off. Quite the opposite as he fucked my brains out in that shower when he arrived less than a minute later. It was long time before I entered him the first time, but at least the messages gave me the idea he was not hostile towards maybe trying it out one day. And it drove me mad! February 7, 2015. Evan: I want you.

Andy: I just really wanna kiss you right now. Can I kiss you?

Evan: Not here.

Andy: Can we go outside a bit?

Evan: People will notice. I'm sorrry I can't that doesn't mean I don't want to

Andy: I know…. this is just hard…. I would really love to lean over and kiss you right now… or touch you at least…. just grab your hand and caress it

Evan: I would really love that…. I miss touching you… it's so hard being so close to you, but not able to touch you… that's why I drank so much

Andy: fuck! please go outside with me! I can't stand this any longer!!!!

Evan: Please Andy…. I'm not ready I'm scared

Andy: I'm sorry. I forget sometimes. I understand, and I wont pressure you. I'm sorry.

Evan: Its okay. Thank you. I know it's hard for you too. Jut please don't doubt that I want to. I love you.

Andy: I love you too. Please don't drink more.

Evan: Okay.

I worried about him. The family dinner had taken hard on him. I think he was nervous about my parents maybe figuring out about us, and Daniel of course. He had been on to us since before we left the ranch, and always tried his very best to spy on us. Of course it was bound to put a pressure on poor Evan, so he had been a little too eager with the red wine.

February 12, 2015. Evan: I'm sorry I haven't stopped by yet… I'm freaking out big time right now

Andy: Why???

Evan: Daniel found out about us… I mean we had a joint and some beers I got really high Uh I went to bed, thought I would sleep so tomorrow could come faster and I could get to see you and then he came in to my bed, you know, like always wanting to just talk and talk and talk and I just looked at him and felt so guilty lying to him has just alienated us He asked why I wasnt at your place an I told him about the couples date day he asked if I was jealous I told him no he said I looked jealous apparently I blushed so he asked if I had feelings for you… I almost said no… but it just made me feel even more guilty, so I just nodded He flew up from the bed, 'holy shit!!!' and so on He asked if we had kissed more than that one time, and I said yes… he asked if we had had sex… and I just couldn't handle sticking him another lie so I told him yes he asked if you had fucked me or only the other way around I answered that as well We had a long talk about it, and he seems understanding as to why I wanna keep it a secret I have told him if he wants to talk with someone about it, he can talk to Congo, Gaby or George, but beside that no one else, not even me or you I told him I don't wanna hear about it until I'm ready, and that I don't want him putting pressure on it by talking to you So far he seems fully understanding and actually very gentle with the information. But you know him so naturally now when the weed is wearing off, my brain starts freaking fuck so I don't know if it would be wiser to wait over here till the morning and have another talk with him? I mean, he is sleeping… who can he tell when he is sleeping? But what if he wakes up? I'm just really scared now Are you there?

Andy: Yes

Evan: I'm sorry, I know you don't need this, you have enough to battle already…

Andy: But I need you…

Evan: I need you too :) Still there?

Andy: Yes…

Evan: are you mad at me? you don't speak?

Andy: No, of course I'm not…. I'm proud of you. I think you did the right thing and it's a huge step I think that's the main reason you are freaking out Daniel has changed a lot, and he hasn't said more since Congo had that convo with him… let's try to have a little faith in him besides, he knows if he causes me trouble on purpose, the Andy amusement park closes ;) that should be enough to keep him at bay

Evan: I wouldn't mind if it were to close anyway…

Andy: What? Are you jealous of Daniel?

Evan: A bit?

Andy: Fuck! :3 that's hot! And totally unnecessary! Fuck :3 Anyway, sorry I was quiet, I was just thinking about what you told

Evan: okay

Andy: Evan for fuck sake… just come over please

Evan: Okay. I'll brush my teeth and be over in a few

Andy: And you are really gonna show up this time? Not change your mind like last?

Evan: Yes, I promise.

Andy: Thank you :* See you soon :*

Evan: See you soon :* Andy?

Andy: Yeah?

Evan: I love you <3

Andy: I love you too <3

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I was so madly in love, and it seemed Evan was definitely falling for me too. I ached for him. To be closer. And when he wasn't around, I ended up missing him so much, it was almost torture.

February 20, 2015. yet another awkward family dinner

Andy: Are you okay? You're blushing… well you look flushed….

Evan: I have a massive boner!

Andy: WHAT?! :3 fuck yeah!!!! I want it so bad! Please let's go down stairs and fuck our brains out!!1 I'm so horny I'm gonna explode!!!!

Evan: Andy… you aren't helping me! We aren't supposed to… and even if we could I can't stand up!

Andy: fuck! :3 I wanna get on my knees and disappear under the table :3

Evan: Don't!!

Andy: how did you end up this horny anyway?

Evan: *inserts a picture I posted on Facebook* And this…. *inserts another picture from Facebook*

Andy: Fuck!!! :3 :3 :3

Evan: yeah and this… I don't know why but it's kinda like I keep seeing the brown haired dude as me *another Yaoi picture*

Andy: :3 mmmm yeah you have some similarities :3 wait… does that mean you right now are getting horny, watching yourself getting fucked? :3 O.o o.O

Evan: I guess so?

Andy: Fuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!

Evan: Andy…. I gotta have you!

Andy: !!!!!!!!!!!!!

I moaned softly as I read the last part. Fuck!! I was hard as stone!! Since the memories of the graveyard fun we had back in the early winter of this year, my boner had been growing, and this last part!!! Nnngh!! As I looked up from my phone, and down on the living room windows, I saw him, sitting in his boxers in front of the fire place with a book in his left hand, and a cup of something steaming hot in his right hand. I HAD to have him! So I got up fast, ran all the way down to our home, burst through the door, man he was surprised, spilling some of his hot drink on the couch as my quick burst through the door startled him. And as I reached him, already unbuckling my pants, he moaned softly, and invited me with a cheeky smile. Quickly placing his drink on the coffee table, and allowing me to pull of his boxers. After 5 minutes of licking, stroking and biting, I entered him with a satisfied moan. We had come long since then. We were creating a bond. A mate bond.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

silver, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Who said humans were animals of wisdom? For Yoongi, they’re animals of regret. Does that justify him cheating on his girlfriend with her/you? Absolutely not.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, car sex, fingering, m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU; angst; cheating; don’t do this to your significant other, please; Yoongi’s POV

--

Bad decisions are born from frustration and resentment.

None of it was supposed to happen. His life was fine, perfect in some people’s eyes. He was dating the girl his parents had introduced him to because it made them happy. She was polite, had a good background, and a nice smile. There wasn’t anything wrong with her.

Except he felt miserable.

Min Yoongi felt suffocated, uninterested, and annoyed at their lack of chemistry. His girl was pretty, the conventional kind of prettiness that couldn’t be denied. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he just didn’t understand beauty or something. Maybe he was being selfish for wanting more. At the start, it was alright. It was a fun little game, figuring someone out. But instead of a maze, he was on a seesaw, trying to determine if this up and down was as simple was it seemed. It sucked. And now Yoongi wanted to get off, but it seemed too difficult. Too difficult to disappoint his parents, her parents, and her aspirations of him being a good little husband.

He wanted to throw up thinking about it.

And then, she was there.

Dark lipstick and a playful smile. Black eyeshadow, eyes like a panther. Silver rings that glimmered in the flashing club lights.  Silver chain necklaces tangled in a mess around her neck, framing that slightly rounder face instead of the conformist v-line everyone was starving themselves for. Black oversized hoodie that hung on her smaller frame, paired with that short, short black dress paired with chunky black ankle boots. Thighs that he wanted to sink his teeth into and mold with his hands.

That night, Yoongi had sat there with his beer, fixated on this new presence and wishing for the first time that he was single as fuck. He didn’t know if it was because he was so unhappy in his current relationship or if it was because he liked the way she looked. It didn’t matter. He burned with jealousy as she chatted with the bartender, silver rings flashing as she moved her hands animatedly to her story. At home, Yoongi had a good little girl waiting for him with her vanilla tastes and it made him sick to his stomach.

The worst part was, other than being boring as fuck, his girl was fine.

He watched as she leaned on her hand, grinning as the bartender poured her another shot. The grin of someone who did not give a fuck what anyone thought of her actions. Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that face.

His phone buzzed and he wanted to throw it across the club. Instead, he pulled it from his pocket with a neutral expression and checked his messages. His girlfriend asking if he was alright or if he needed to be picked up. He responded that he was fine and that he would call a taxi home to be safe. Told her he loved her and realized he didn’t even mean it.

He must be the awful one.

When he looked up, she was gone. Good. Maybe she had finally left to give him and his mind some peace.

Jeon Jungkook was looking around, blinking confusedly. The youngest in their group, Yoongi always thought he looked the cutest when he was bewildered. Yoongi raised his eyebrow.

“Something wrong, bro?”

Jungkook frowned. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Ah, yes. Kim Taehyung. The one Yoongi thought was the most trouble even though he was a year older than Jungkook. Maybe it was because they had different viewpoints and they often clashed in opinion, Yoongi finding him too childish and simple in mentality in comparison to his. But eventually they learned to get along – a different viewpoint is not necessarily a wrong one. Yoongi learned that being childish once in while might actually lighten his outlook on life.

Alright, to be honest he realized he was a bit of a pessimistic jackass.

In any case, it was with that question that shit started to go downhill. Because the next thing Yoongi knew, Taehyung’s boyish, boxy smile came back with a grin and dark lipstick smeared down his chin. Next time he was with his friends, she showed up again, elbow resting on Taehyung’s shoulder, looking cool and comfortable in her black leather jacket and tiny as fuck black T-shirt dress.

Yoongi hated it.

She wore too many silver accessories that flashed in the light and made her stand out. Her makeup was too dark and haunted him in his dreams. She would sit next to Taehyung like his pet panther, complimenting his dark hair and sharp jawline with her wildness. It was torture, because Yoongi knew that he had a pretty little thing with a cute little voice waiting for him at home. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was this dangerous-looking woman who climbed into Taehyung’s lap and straddled him right in front of them, unashamed and unapologetic. Her fingers tangled in Taehyung’s hair and Taehyung’s large hand planted firmly on her ass as they had a casual conversation with Park Jimin like nothing weird was happening. Jimin had an open mind about it all – for him, as long as his best friend was happy, he didn’t see the problem. Also, she liked to press her tits against Taehyung’s chest and Jimin was a pervert.

Okay, yes, Yoongi knew he was jealous as fuck.

When Taehyung and her parted ways after a few months, he thought he was free. He thought he could forget about it all. He and his girlfriend were happy. They didn’t have sex anymore, but that happened sometimes. It was normal to settle down a bit after the honeymoon phase – if their few times of starfish sex could be considered a honeymoon phase.

He knew he was being overly mean, but he honestly didn’t give a shit at this point.

It wasn’t until he was having dinner with one of his close friends, Jung Hoseok, that he thought about her again. Hoseok was smiling, handing him some grilled meat, and chatting away. He liked talking to Hoseok. Hoseok made everything more light-hearted and fun. Hoseok was going on about something, but when Yoongi looked up, he saw her. All the way at the front of the restaurant, standing there with a leather jacket and tight black jeans. She was handing an elderly woman in a dirty apron a thick stack of papers and smiling. Tiny white crop top, lips painted dark red and eyes smoked with black. But the elderly owner was smiling, nodding as she pointed to the papers and spoke about them. The silver rings and silver chains flashed in the fluorescent lights.

Hoseok noticed his change in demeanor and turned around.

“Oh, that’s that woman Taehyung was seeing not too long ago,” Hoseok noted, tilting his head. “Taehyungie said she’s some kind of accountant for small businesses, but I didn’t know she did it for this place! Shall we go say hi?”

“No.”

Hoseok turned around, staring at him. “Huh?”

Yoongi looked down, staring at his bowl of rice. “She seems busy. Let her be.”

“Oh... Okay.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He wanted to smash it. Instead, he pulled it out of his pants and stared at it. His girlfriend, asking him to come home and not stay out too late. He frowned at it.

Hoseok prodded him and smiled. “Ah, sorry, have I kept you out too late? You better go home – I’ll pay today.”

Yoongi shook his head, pulling out his wallet. “No, no, I’ll pay. Least I could do,” he said. He pulled out some bills and stood up. “Stay and finish eating. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Hey, hyung,” Hoseok called as Yoongi began to walk away. Yoongi turned to look back at him, seeing his friend’s heart-shaped smile and calming brown eyes.

“You should do what makes you happy, okay? Don’t get too caught up in who you think you should be.”

“Ah… right.”

He left the restaurant, out into the night. The cheer of the bustling street, filled with happy couples and laughing friends. The happy noise taunted him. Yoongi zipped his parka, shoving his phone deep in his pocket. He could smell the delicious scent of meat and rice from the restaurant behind him, mixing with the faint scent of cigarettes and car exhaust.

He looked up and she was there. Standing a little to the side, speaking with an older guy who was eyeing her tits. She shook her head, moving deftly away from his outstretched hand. Her fingers curled into a fist, silver rings flashing.

“Hey.”

Her head whipped around, eyes widening as she recognized him.

“I thought we were leaving? Come on.”

Yoongi grabbed her hand and pulled her along, burying them in the crowd. Her silver rings cut into his hand, but he held it tight, as if he was afraid that she would run away. After a few meters, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

“Oi, you didn’t have to do that,” she said sternly, frowning.

Yoongi shrugged. “I was just trying to save you the assault charges.”

She sighed and raised her hands, as if she was admitting her guilt. “Eh… alright then. Thanks, I guess.”

It was awkward. They never really talked when she was dating Taehyung, mostly because he knew he couldn’t control his mind when he was around her. She was polite to him, but there was definite distance between them.

“Hey, uh… can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, running the tip of her tongue over her painted lips. Fuck.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Me?” She pointed to herself and laughed, shaking her head. “Nah, I don’t want to be in a relationship. Just casual sex for me.” She pointed to him. “But aren’t you with someone? I recall Taehyungie telling me you had a cute little girlfriend.”

“We broke up.”

He said it without thinking. His face was neutral. She pursed her lips, watching him carefully.

“Hmm, I see,” she finally said.

He told himself to do it. He wanted it. He wanted it right now.

“Want to come with me for a bit?”

-

That’s how they ended up in the back of Yoongi’s car, her ring-covered hand grabbing the back of his head, pulling his lips to hers. She smelled like dark cherries, sugary and heavy. He felt her hot breath on his lips, her tongue darting out and licking him like a snake.

“What do you want? Your dick sucked? My pussy on your face? Me bouncing on your dick or on all fours?” she whispered, biting his lower lip and tugging on it lightly.

Fuck. All of it and there wasn’t enough time or space. “Don’t tempt me or I’ll rip your clothes off,” he growled.

She chuckled slyly, crashing her lips to his. Her lips were slippery, lipstick smearing against his lips as he kissed her, sucking on her tongue. She moaned into his mouth, so hot and sweet that his cock strained in his pants. She pulled back, lipstick down to her chin. One look in the rearview mirror and he knew he looked the same.

“Damn, Yoongi, you look sexy as fuck,” she breathed, grinning at him.

He felt his cheeks grow hot at the compliment. He hoped the dim streetlights of the parking lot didn’t give him away. She unzipped his parka, pulling his black shirt up his chest. He raised an eyebrow. She smirked, running her nails over his skin, giving him goosebumps. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey, if you’re going to look, let me look too.”

She raised her hands and grinned. “Sure.”

She shrugged off her leather jacket, letting it fall. Pulled down the straps of her tiny white crop top, letting her breasts spill out from the top. His eyes widened seeing her hard nipples right in front of his face. Tinted windows or not, it was still a semi-public area.

It made him even harder, if that was possible.

He reached up and rubbed his thumb against one, breath hitching at the hardness. She raised an eyebrow.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a vanilla boy,” she taunted, rolling her eyes.

His eyes narrowed and he pinched them roughly, making her squeal.

“What was that?” He let his voice drop several octaves, pinching them again.

She winced, but didn’t back down. “Best you can do?”

He gripped her nipples tightly and pulled up, earning him a pained moan. “Who do you think you’re testing?” he drawled, feeling her grind against his lap, too much fabric between them.

“That’s better,” she growled back, cocking her chin defiantly.

He grabbed her breasts and dug his nails into them, rubbing his palms against her nipples. They were deliciously soft, the skin smooth against his callouses. He could feel the cool metal of her silver necklines against his fingertips.

“Take off your jeans.”

She struggled to get out of them, pulling her jeans and panties off together. His heart skipped a beat as he witnessed the string of her juices snap against her thigh, glistening in the low light. The scent of her sex filled the small car, intoxicating him.

“Already wet for me, huh?”

She smirked. “What can I say? I have a weakness for assertiveness.”

He let go of her tits, tracing his fingers on her thighs. The thighs he dreamt about, the thighs he jacked off to when he was alone in the shower, the thighs he watched enviously clamp around Taehyung’s waist right in front of his face. They practically fucked when they were in public and it made him jealous and angry seeing their obvious lust for one another.

He sunk his fingers into those juicy thighs, sucking in a breath in satisfaction. Fuck, they were so fucking soft, so full and sexy in his hands.

“Spread those lips for me,” he breathed, eyes fixated on her pussy.

She leaned back a little, tongue in cheek. His eyes widened as he realized she had a tattoo on the right side of her inner thigh. A laughing cartoonish skull. God, what lucky fuck had done that? She reached down with her ringed fingers and forced her pussy open with two of them, wet, shiny, and quivering, the pink bud swollen with need. His arousal so strong that he would remember it for nights on end.

He reached out and pulled her to him by the waist, sliding his fingers up her inner thigh. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, nipples brushing against his skin. He squeezed the flesh next to her pussy, feeling her juices drip down the back of his hand. She sucked in a breath in anticipation. He turned his hand, brushing a fingertip against her wetness.

“Such a fucking tease,” she hissed, grabbing the back of his head and tangling her fingers in his hair.

He grinned devilishly. “So needy. Tell me what you want.”

Her lips brushed against his, eyes boring into his, burning with desire.

“Finger me with those delicious hands of yours.”

She kissed him, roughly, and he plunged his fingers into her wetness, almost moaning into her mouth as he felt her walls clench around him. He ground his knuckle against her clit as he worked her, turning her into a ruined mess above him. He was sure her juices were dripping onto his pants, covering him with her scent.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”

He didn’t care if she came or not, just kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, hard and fast. Her necklaces clattered against each other, clinking in rhythm of his thrusts. Each moan was his adrenaline, fingering her so hard she was bouncing in his lap, probably making his car rock with the motion.

He didn’t even care if someone knew. In fact, he wanted someone to know.

Her rings dug into his skin as she gripped onto his shirt, shuddering as she came all over his hand, so slick and wet that he slipped out by accident. He readjusted, but she grabbed his hand, pulling it up.

“You trying to put us in jail?” she snickered, backing up a little.

“If I can still fuck you in jail, does it matter?” he countered, licking his fingers. Oh, God. Sweet with a hint of sour, so fucking delicious that he wanted to drink it out of her right now.

She pushed him up, unbuttoning his pants as she did so. She yanked them down, his bare ass sticking to the leather of his seats. That kind of thing would really annoy him if it wasn’t for her bending down. The metal of her rings felt cool against his cock. She opened her mouth, tongue out and ass up. The image burned into his mind.

Fuck his girlfriend, he should have taken her home so they could have fucked on his bed.

She took him in her hot mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. Down, down. Lips pressed against the base of his cock. He could feel the lipstick leaving an imprint on his skin. Messy and erotic, exactly what he wanted. He pressed his head against the window, groaning as she began to bob her head up and down, awkwardly positioned in the car. The head of his cock hit the back of her throat and he moaned, feeling the muscles grip the head tightly before backing up again. The head scraped against the roof of her mouth, making his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. Was getting head ever this good? Were lips really this soft, mouths really this tight? Her hands were gripping his hips, rings pinching his skin a little, but he didn’t care. The hint of pain heightened his senses, mixing with the pleasure.

He felt her pause and he looked down, seeing her mouth open just a little. He felt her tongue press against the base of his balls, teasing them and coating them in saliva.

“F-fuck me…” he hissed, breath hitching as she started up again, faster, tighter. He gripped the seat, not wanting to grab her head and ruin her pace. Her tongue pressed against the bottom of the head and he groaned, feeling the familiar tension at the base of his stomach.

“S-shit, I’m going to–”

He didn’t get to grit out any more words, because they turned into a dragged-out moan as he shot into her throat. She swallowed, holding to him tightly. He could hear each gulp loud and clear, punctuating his damnation. She licked him slowly, softly. He gasped at the sensitivity, squeezing his eyes shut as she milked out every last drop.

His dick slid out of her mouth with a wet plop, limply falling between his legs. Dark lipstick down to her chin, smokey eyes devilishly looking up at him. At that moment, Yoongi knew.

She was who he wanted.

-

Yoongi sat in the driver’s seat, wiping his mouth with a spare tissue. He was a sticky mess underneath his clothes. He didn’t really want to think about what he had just done. He could still smell her, her taste still coated on his tongue.

He sighed. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, turning it back on. He waited patiently, sitting in the darkness. He had offered to drop her off wherever she liked, but she just laughed and said she would be fine.

“I’m worried about the poor fool who tries to pick you up,” he had said with a smirk.

She was halfway out of his car, turning back and smiling.

“No promises.”

He touched the scrap of paper on the dashboard. He should throw it away. He felt the vibration of his phone, loading up all the messages and missed calls. He didn’t have to look. He knew who it was. After a long moment, Yoongi unlocked his phone and swiped all the notifications away.

And then he saved a new contact.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

[caffeinatedbraincell]

I’m back on my bullshit with more TOG fluff, have fun :)

Read on AO3

Joe stumbled into the kitchen, soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He looked around frantically before making a beeline toward the countertop. He lunged for the notebook lying there.

Behind him, Nicky yelped. “Yusuf!”

Joe turned around to find his husband carrying a package of flour in his arms, which he’d apparently been retrieving from the pantry while Joe barged into his workspace.

“Hmm?” Joe said distractedly, already starting to feel the lines slipping. Damnit, why did the perfect words for his poems always only occur to him in the shower? Meter, alliteration, emotion… he’d had it all at the tip of his tongue moments ago. He just needed to write it down before he-

“Hayati, you better have a good reason for standing dripping wet and half-naked in my kitchen. There’s soapy water everywhere! You’ve made such a mess, Joe, and I just mopped…”

Nicky’s lamentations continued, and Joe tried desperately to listen while mentally reciting what was left of the lines he’d composed in the shower.

“Joe?” Nicky’s fingers snapped impatiently in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

The last vestiges of his beautifully crafted words evaporated from his brain, and Joe sighed, shoulders slumping forward. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I’ll clean it up.”

He turned to grab a spare dish towel from the cabinet, shivering slightly as a wayward breeze hit his damp skin. Before he could take two steps, Joe felt a gentle hand around his wrist.

Nicky maneuvered the flour package onto the table and leveled him with a mortifyingly discerning look. “What happened, love?”

Joe remained silent, unsure of how to go about explaining the absurdity of his current presence in the kitchen. The whole endeavor seemed rather stupid in retrospect. And it wasn’t like he had a line or two of breathtaking poetry to show for it, either.

Nicky’s eyes widened a little at his hesitation. “Are you alright, Joe? Are you hurt?” He ran his hands fretfully up and down Joe’s arms and chest, feeling for traces of an injury. Joe’s eyes snapped up guiltily, and he took hold of Nicky’s wrists and brought them to his lips.

“I am alright, amore. I mean it. Not at all hurt. Please do not worry.”

“You’re trembling. Go dry off and wear something warm, I’ll take care of the floor. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

Minutes later, Joe emerged from their room in one of Nicky’s large, fleece-lined hoodies. He found Nicky in the kitchen, wringing out a towel into the sink. As soon as he saw Joe, Nicky walked over and pressed a warm mug of hot cocoa into his hands.

“Let’s sit on the couch?”

Joe nodded, following his husband to the living room and curling up next to him on the cushions. A small blaze was starting to catch in the fireplace. Outside, rain poured with a vengeance. Nicky had closed the window but left the curtains open. Joe smiled to himself. He had never met anyone who loved the rain as much as his Nicoló.

“Drink, hayati. We can’t have you catching a cold. See, I even added those tiny marshmallows you like.”

Joe took a large sip from the cup, sighing softly as the chocolate-covered notes of nutmeg and cinnamon floated over his tongue. He nuzzled closer to Nicky, feeling a little overcome with warmth and love.

Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe and pulled him closer. “So, are you going to tell me what prompted you to run out here mid-shower in the cold of winter?”

“I thought of the right words,” Joe mumbled into Nicky’s holiday-green jumper.

“Hmm?”

“For a poem I was writing. I’ve been struggling for days with a particular section and it suddenly came to me while showering. I wanted to write it down before I forgot.”

A comfortable silence blanketed them for several minutes. Joe took another sip of his drink, savoring it gratefully.

“You didn’t, though.”

“What?” Joe asked.

“You didn’t write anything down. You came into the kitchen, but you never even opened your notebook.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot the words. They never stay for long.”

“Was it because I yelled at you?”

“No! No, amore, that was well-deserved. And you didn’t yell at me, you just…emphatically expressed your displeasure at having to mop again. Which is fair, honestly.”

Nicky chuckled, and Joe felt his heart fill with warmth all over again. He set the empty cocoa mug aside and tenderly pressed his lips to Nicky’s.

The next morning, Joe found a whole set of brand-new children’s bath crayons in the shower, stacked neatly next to their soaps and shampoos.

___

The crayons turned out to be a life-changing convenience. This became clear just three weeks after they arrived, when Joe found himself in a position to send a completed manuscript of his current poetry book to his publisher ahead of the deadline.

“This has literally never happened before,” he told Nicky in awe. “I’m always late, if anything. You are a genius, my love, thank you so much for the pre-Christmas present.”

Nicky all but preened. “Had you told me earlier, I would have gotten the crayons for you ages ago.”

“Ah,” Joe replied a little bashfully, “I didn’t actually know such a thing existed until you got them.”

It was when Joe returned from a brief meeting with his publisher the following day that he and Nicky had their first actual fight in several months. It started, like most of their fights, with empty stomachs and a grocery trip oversight.

“Joe, there’s no fresh garlic in this bag!”

“There was none at the store. Use the minced garlic in the fridge.”

“What?!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “It’s the same thing, Nicky. Better, in fact, since it’s saving you the trouble of having to chop it yourself.”

“Have you ever heard of making roasted garlic cloves using minced garlic?”

“I have not,” Joe conceded. “We should make something else.”

Nicky knew he was being impractical. Obviously, there was nothing Joe could have done if they were out of stock at the store. But Nicky had been planning this dish for days, and had already promised Nile he would send her some as part of his ongoing campaign to refute her claim that “any form of garlic except garlic bread is gross.”

There was no way Joe could have known about that, either, but Nicky was in no mood to admit any such thing.

“Joe, you had one job! I gave you a grocery list!”

Joe turned from where he was stocking the refrigerator, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do about the store being out of garlic.”

“I don’t know, maybe check another store? Was that the only grocery store in this city?”

“Nicky, I think you should go to your room.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just…you’re hungry. And you’re clearly not prepared to cook without fresh garlic. So let me do the cooking, and you, uh, do something else. Outside of the kitchen.”

“Are you kicking me out of my kitchen?”

“Our kitchen, madre de dio, Nicky! I’m trying to help you!”

“Maybe you could help me by actually getting the stuff I asked you to get from the store!”

“You know what, if you need whole garlic so urgently, get it yourself. It’s dark and below freezing outside. There is no way I’m wandering from store to store at this hour to fulfill this baseless whim of yours.”

That, Nicky knew, was a completely justified response to his unreasonable anger. But it hurt nevertheless.

“Fine,” he whispered, grabbing his coat and storming out the front door before Joe could see the tears prickling in his eyes.

Joe stared at the door, astonished. Part of him wanted desperately to follow Nicky outside. Of course he could check a couple more stores. If Nicky genuinely wished for something, Joe would go to the ends of the Earth, scour Heaven and Hell, to get it for him. No amount of ego was worth knowing his beloved was out there, hungry and alone, in the frigid wind.

But Joe was also well aware that he wasn’t at fault here. And Nicky, his Nicky, rarely reacted like this to their disagreements; perhaps he just needed some time for himself. It wouldn’t be right for Joe to impose his company when his husband clearly didn’t want it.

Joe sighed in frustration. A hot shower would clear his head, he hoped, heading for their bedroom.

Twenty minutes after he had stormed out, Nicky was coming around to the realization that this had been a profoundly stupid idea. Moments after leaving the house, he had realized that he’d left the car keys behind. Foolishly, he’d boarded a bus for downtown, too irked to return home. Now, with the bus routes closed for the night and taxis staying off the road as snow clouds threatened the city, Nicky quietly admitted to himself that he was stranded.

The first weak snowflakes began to fall. Then the wind picked up, blowing several icy droplets into his face. Nicky shivered. Fuck this, he thought, pulling out his phone. His pride wasn’t worth causing Joe to worry, and it definitely wasn’t worth getting sick from the cold and creating loads of extra work for his husband. He was going to call Joe, apologize profusely, and beg him to come pick him up.

At their home, Joe let the steaming water soak through to his tired bones as he scrawled passionately on the shower walls. He was a little hurt and, if he was being honest, more than a little worried. But for once Nicky wasn’t here for him to talk to, so he threw his words at the wall in brightly colored crayon instead.

He almost didn’t hear his cell phone ring. Contorting his upper body out of the shower, he wiped his hands on his towel and reached around for the phone in his pants’ pocket. The called ID flashed his husband’s name. Joe picked up without hesitation.

“Hello?”

“Joe, I fucked up. I’m s- so sorry. I should never- never have spoken to you like that, h- hayati. Please- please forgive me.”

Over the line, Joe could hear Nicky’s teeth chattering as he struggled to get the words out. Joe shut the water off and clambered out of the shower.

“Nicky, what happened? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m f- fine. It’s just cold.”

“Come home. Please.”

“Yeah, that’s- that’s the problem. I took the bus here. The c- car keys…”

Joe had put the phone on speaker and was already getting dressed. He shouldered into a coat and seized a large throw from their bed, striding into the living room.

“I’m coming. Where are you?”

“Uh, Mira Mesa Transit Station. S- sorry, kind of far.”

“Nowhere in the universe is too far.”

“Joe-”

“Just sit tight, I’m on my way.”

Joe drove like a madman. Luckily, no one else was insane enough to be out in this imminent blizzard, so at least the roads were clear. In just under ten minutes, he reached the station.

A figure sat huddled under the overhang. Joe barely managed to stop the car before jumping out.

“Nicoló!”

Nicky struggled to his feet. “Joe, grazie a dio-”

“Shhh, amore mio, I’ve got you,” Joe soothed, pulling a shivering Nicky towards the car and bundling him into the passenger’s seat. Once he'd climbed in himself, Joe turned up the heater and divested Nicky of his too-thin, snow-soaked windbreaker. “Wear this,” he coaxed, whipping his own dry jacket off and wrapping it around Nicky’s shoulders.

“No, hayati-”

“Shh, love, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Joe wrapped the throw over the jacket, dusting the snow from Nicky's collar and tucking the blanket in. The whole way back, he drove with one hand on the wheel, intertwining the other with Nicky’s and rubbing his knuckles to warm him up.

“Shower,” Joe decided as soon as they stepped into their home. “You’re so cold, my heart. Go stand under warm water until you can feel your toes and fingers again. I’m going to make us some hot soup, okay?” Joe leaned forward and kissed Nicky’s nose gently.

Nicky nodded, too cold and tired to insist on helping. He had an inkling sense that Joe might still be irritated with him, after all. It would not be undeserved.

He made his way to their bedroom, draping Joe’s jacket over a bedpost and discarding his own clothes as he stepped into shower. Exhaling deeply, he turned his back to the stream of hot water- and froze.

A red bath crayon lay fallen on the floor, clearly left behind in haste. Joe must have been showering when I called, Nicky thought with a pang of guilt. But what had caught his attention was the shower wall in front of him. There, written in his beloved husband’s flowy cursive, was a poem.

If I could only read your heart When your lips cannot translate I wouldn’t let it break, my love Yet if it does Take mine An eternity alone I’ll wait.

The warm water poured down Nicky’s back, relaxing his aching muscles even as tears sprung into his eyes at Joe’s tender, longing words. Nicky stared and stared until the steam blurred the writing beyond perception.

A knock at the bathroom door snapped him out of his reverie.

“Nicky? Are you alright? Almost done?”

Nicky cleared his throat. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He shut off the water and dried off. He found the bedroom empty, and slipped into the pajamas and fluffy sweatshirt that Joe must have laid out for him earlier. Dry and warm and very cozy, Nicky felt his eyes well up again at the care Joe put into something as minor as picking out some clothes.

Even during their worst fights, Nicky never doubted their love for each other; their hearts had been one far too long for any such lingering uncertainties. But it never ceased to amaze him how quickly Joe forgave. How despite taking Nicky’s hurtful words to heart, Joe went above and beyond to make sure he didn’t suffer.

He took a deep breath to regain his composure, and walked out. But the moment he entered the kitchen, the fragrance of creamy red pepper tomato bisque reached his nose, and he very nearly broke down in tears again. His favorite soup. It was a recipe he and Joe had perfected together through the years. Watching Joe quietly ladle it into two bowls, Nicky felt something clench in his chest.

“Hayati.”

Joe spun around. “Nicky! Are you feeling better, my heart?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. Are you, uh…” Joe’s eyes flickered to the floor. “Are you still angry with me about the garlic thing?”

Nicky crossed the distance between them in two strides and threw himself into his husband’s arms. Joe stumbled back, a little startled, but quickly pulled Nicky close and buried his face in Nicky’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Nicky.”

“No. No, Yusuf, please. You did nothing wrong. It is I who should beg your forgiveness, having treated you as I did. You've shown me nothing but kindness, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Joe shook his head in protest, nuzzling his nose into Nicky’s neck.

“I saw what you wrote in the shower,” he continued. Joe stilled in his arms. “I- I don’t know if you meant for me to see, but…”

“I forgot to erase it. But everything I write is for you, Nicolò. It’s yours.”

“It was beautiful. Beautiful, and heartbreaking. Forgive me, my all. Forgive me for raising my voice at you, for making you feel alone. Forgive me for walking away insteading of talking to you. And forgive me for dragging you out into that storm at this hour to come searching for me, it was beyond cruel to make you drive so far-”

Joe pulled back, eyes round with tears, and gently pressed his palm to Nicky’s lips.

“Stop it. Please. Don’t apologize for calling me when you needed me. Where would I rather be than at your side? I meant it, earlier. Nowhere in the universe is too far.”

Nicky held Joe’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm. A tear slipped down Joe’s cheek as he swallowed a sob. Nicky wrapped a hand behind his neck and rubbed soothing circles into the tense muscles there. After a few minutes, Joe's breathing evened out, and he lifted his eyes to gaze at Nicky with unguarded adoration. It would be so easy to just let this go, Nicky thought. But the knowledge that he had hurt Joe stood like a wall of glass between them, and Nicky felt it would drive him mad.

“Joe, I- I need to hear you say it. If you forgive me, that is. I don’t know, tonight has just been a lot. Please, hayati, I-”

“You are forgiven. You are always forgiven.”

Nicky exhaled, feeling the glass wall shatter. He kissed Joe’s temple softly. “Thank you, my love.”

Joe tilted his head slowly, dragging his lips up Nicky’s jaw until he could capture his mouth in a melting kiss. Nicky responded with ardent devotion, backing Joe up against the refrigerator and holding him there as they kissed again and again. It was only when he grew light-headed from lack of oxygen that Nicky pulled back. Still, Joe whimpered at the loss of warmth, reaching out for his husband.

“Nicky…”

“Joe, you have no idea how much I want to stand here kissing you all night. But you’ve prepared this wonderful dinner. I’d hate for it to get cold.”

Joe laughed, a joyous thing that swept Nicky off his feet just like it had the very first time he'd heard it.

“Alright, let’s eat. But after dinner we’ll cuddle on the couch under the heated blanket and I’ll hold you to your promise.”

Nicky smiled fondly, unable to help leaning in and placing one more kiss at the corner of his beloved’s lips. “Please do.”

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 22

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Monday

When Malcolm woke the next morning, it was essentially perfect.  Bright sunlight streamed in through the window strong enough to penetrate gaps in the drawn bed curtains, birds chirped outside, and Rose Tyler was sprawled across him, sound asleep.

Not bothering to stop a beaming smile he just relaxed back into the pillows, wrapping one arm around Rose’s back while the other folded behind his head.  He didn’t have to check the clock to know it was early, too early to try to get up.  If he did the staff would drop what they were doing to attend to him, and he hated the thought of pulling them from their routine more than necessary.  It was a fact of life in a house like this that certain things had to be done before the family was up, and he didn’t want to disrupt that.

Besides, he was busy acting as a pillow for Rose.

The birdsong outside combined with her soft breathing into a soothing melody, and before he knew it, his eyes were once again slipping shut, sleep reclaiming him.

No matter; he was on his honeymoon.

A lie-in sounded perfect.

-

He woke from his dozing by Rose tensing suddenly against him, and his eyes flew open to find her staring up at him.

“I think someone’s in here,” she breathed, and he relaxed to know it wasn’t their position that bothered her.

“It’s probably the maid, opening the drapes, lighting the fire and bringing us tea,” he replied in kind, conscious that the girl could probably hear them; the curtains weren’t particularly thick.  “She’ll leave in a minute.”

Sure enough, several quiet moments later, the door shut firmly, louder than necessary; on a normal morning it would’ve been near silent, and he knew she’d done that to let them know she was gone without disturbing them.

“She’s gone,” he said in a normal tone.  “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

Rose yawned, burrowing deeper into his embrace to his delight.  “S’okay.  Good to know, though.  Does she come in at the same time every day?”

“Nine o’clock unless told otherwise,” he confirmed.

“Mhmm, okay.  We’ll have to keep that in mind- don’t want her catching us… in the middle of anything.”  She glanced up at him with a coy little smirk, and he had to swallow twice to even attempt a reply.

“Uh huh.”  Smooth, he cursed himself, tongue-tied; his imagination was running rampant, and at any moment she could shift and feel-

Her small grunt of surprise as she did just that had his cheeks flaming, and he stared up at the ceiling in mortification.

“Um…”

She wriggled around next to him, a weight a moment later on his shoulder telling him she hadn’t run away, had instead moved slightly closer.  “You said we were meeting Jack for breakfast,” she murmured.  “How much time do we have?”

Eyes widening he glanced down at her, surprised to find a barely-banked fire burning in her gaze, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Guh.”

Her expression cleared, a smile growing, and she reached up, patting his cheek.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break you.  Maybe tomorrow morning.”  Sitting up, she bent down and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth; not quite a proper kiss, but far more than a friendly peck.  “D’you mind if I use the loo first?”

And she was gone, padding across the room, leaving him in a befuddled state.

“Okay.”

It was going to be a deliciously unbearable day.

-

They went down to breakfast once again hand in hand, and more than once Rose had to use that connection to keep Malcolm from walking into a wall or door frame.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her, a big, dopey grin permanently etched on his often-severe face.  She wasn’t entirely sure what had him in such a good mood; the previous night was a bit hazy starting mid-dessert, though some things were clear- how he’d cared for her while she was sick, how safe and comfortable he made her feel.  She vaguely remembered being in the library, and a serious conversation, but the details were gone.  She considered telling him that, asking what they had discussed, but was slightly embarrassed about all of it.

Entering the dining room she found serving plates on warmers covered in all the fixings of a full-English- eggs and bangers, beans, blood pudding, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, toast…  The spread covered half the table, smelling and looking incredible, and her stomach rumbled in response.

“Hungry?” Malcolm teased, releasing her hand in favor of putting his own at the small of her back, guiding her forward.  “Dig in.”

“Alright.”  Picking up a warm plate she took a little bit of most things, waiting until Malcolm had filled his own before going towards the other end of the table, where three place settings were arranged.  He took the head of the table and she settled on his right-hand side, and was just taking her first bite when the door opened again and Jack burst in, larger than life.

“Good morning honeymooners!” he boomed, efficiently fixing his own plate before joining them.  “How was your first night in Scotland?” he asked Rose with a wink and a smirk, making Malcolm groan.

“Jack-”

“Absolutely brilliant,” she interrupted, taking a sip of her orange juice and finding that it was, in fact, a mimosa, barely able to refrain from coughing in surprise.  “Bloody hell, is everyone trying to get me drunk?”

Malcolm laughed.  “Sorry, I think they’re just trying to impress you.  Want regular juice?”

She pursed her lips, considering.  “No, it’s fine- I just wasn’t expecting it on a Monday morning.  But, we are on holiday, aren’t we?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack smirked from across from her, “it would take a lot of drinking for someone of your new status to be considered an alcoholic, and even more to raise any eyebrows.  No one’s judging.”

“I highly doubt that, but appreciate the support,” she said dryly.  “Now, where are you taking us on this tour this morning?”

-

“I don’t know about this,” Rose whispered to Malcolm, biting her lower lip in worry.  They were standing a few hundred meters from the back of the house at the stables, a beautiful chestnut horse in front of her, waiting for her to mount it.  “I’ve never been on a horse before.”  A horse groom was holding the beast steady and still, hopefully out of hearing distance.

“You’ll be alright,” Malcolm soothed.  “I promise- Tardis is the sweetest horse in the world, perfect for you.  Just, try to be confident and it’ll be fine.  She’ll sense your fear.”

“That… doesn’t really help.”  Sighing, Rose rolled her shoulders back and nodded.  “Okay, let’s do this.”

“That’s my girl.”

He guided her to the steps, helping her up and onto the horse and making sure she got settled, occasionally pausing to talk to the horse and pat it.  He was clear and concise, and by the end of his impromptu lecture, she was feeling somewhat better about the idea.  “You know, there are easier ways to kill me for my inheritance,” she joked weakly, as he moved across to his own horse and swung himself up easily.  “This seems like a lot of effort.”

Her husband just laughed, the bastard, and trotted his horse over to hers.  “Sit up straight, keep hold of the reins, and stay centered,” he instructed.  “You’ll be brilliant.”  Reaching over he smacked the horse’s rump, and she lurched forward.

“Oh fuck you,” she gasped, holding tightly to the reins, certain she was about to fall to her death as they rushed down the lane at what felt like an unreasonable speed.  “Fuck you, fuck you, fuckfuckfuck- hey!  I’m doing it!”

“That’s it!” he cheered, and she didn’t dare look back, letting the horse go where it liked; a moment later Malcolm appeared out of the corner of her eye, pulling abreast of her.  “Here we go.”

Jack was just ahead, waiting for them at a crossroads, and watched them approach with a grin.  “Ready?”

His eyes widened as she continued on past him, and she called back, “How do I stop this thing?”

Their laughter was utterly unhelpful, and she swore that as soon as she was off the horse, she would kill them both- if she didn’t die first herself.

-

She slid off the horse in an entirely undignified way right into Malcolm’s waiting arms, clinging to him as her legs trembled, fighting to keep her upright.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured in her ear, effortlessly holding her up.  “You did it!  I’m so proud of you.”

Rose just whimpered in response, resting her forehead against his sternum, panting for breath.  It had been terrifying and exhilarating, and while she could see the appeal, she’d rather keep both feet on the ground.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”  He leaned back to see her face, concern etched across his.  “Rose.”

“Please don’t make me do that again,” she whispered, pleading, cutting a nervous glance towards Jack, who was several feet away on the other side of the road with his and Malcolm’s horses, tying the reins to a tree.  “I can’t- please, Malcolm.”

“Okay.”  He didn’t hesitate, nodding.  “No problem.  Let’s have lunch for now, then we can figure out how to get back.”

She nodded in agreement, finally feeling stable enough to let go of him and stand on her own.  “Thank you.”

Malcolm kissed her forehead.  “Of course.”  Taking the reins from her he secured them to a tree as Jack had done, and led her out onto the riverbank towards where his cousin was setting out a picnic blanket.  It was a spectacular spot, with a view of the water and the farmland on the other side, secluded and peaceful.

“So, what did you think of the property?” Jack asked as they approached, looking up from where he unpacked the picnic basket.  “Rose?”

“It’s beautiful,” she enthused, dropping onto the ground and wincing.  “God, my arse is sore.”

“Don’t,” Malcolm cut in when Jack opened his mouth.  “Just- don’t.”

Rose snorted.  “Everything looks well-cared for.  I don’t know much about property management, but from an aesthetic view, it’s incredible.”

“I agree.  You seem to be doing an excellent job, Jack, thank you.  I have one or two concerns- ideas, really- but we can discuss them once we return to the house.  The most important question, though, is- what’s for lunch?”

Jack grinned.  “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

-

They spent a good two hours sitting on the blanket under partially cloudy skies, trading stories and food containers, getting to know each other.  Rose was thrilled to hear about Malcolm in his younger years, but was thankful that Jack avoided the topic of Missy.  Jack’s own stories were barely believable, full of adventures and travel and sexual exploits that had her in near hysterics.

It was so enjoyable that by the time they packed up she’d almost forgotten any troubles, though they came rushing back as soon as they started towards the road and horses.

Rose stopped dead, tugging Malcolm to a halt, waiting until Jack had gotten some distance between them to whisper, “How are we getting back?”

His mouth tightened as he considered her.  “Is it riding by yourself that’s the problem, or horses in general?” he asked carefully.  “I can have Jack take Tardis back on her own and you can ride with me, or we can have him go back himself and come back for us in the Land Rover.  Or I suppose we could walk, but it’s a good five miles.”

She looked from him to the horses to the sky, weighing her options.  “Riding with you might be okay,” she hedged, “at least, I’m willing to try it.  Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Malcolm agreed immediately.  “We’ll start back, and you just let me know if we need to stop.  Let me just go tell Jack.”

“Okay.”

Wrapping her arms around herself she let him get a headstart, following a minute later.  By the time she arrived it had all been arranged, Jack on his horse holding the reins to Malcolm’s, Malcolm on hers- without the saddle, which she spotted a moment later with Jack.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked, looking up at him, worried.

“Yes.  I mean, it’s not the best idea, but for us, it’s fine.  Like I said, she’s as peaceful as they come.”

“But… there’s no saddle.”

“That’s easier for her, and more comfortable for us.  I promise, it’s okay- just take my hand, and I’ll pull you up.”

It took several tries, but eventually she was seated in front of him, pressed solidly against him.  He had one arm around her waist, anchoring her, the other held the reins.  “Now, it’ll take longer to get back,” Malcolm said, leaning forward slightly to talk into her ear, “but we’ll be going slow.  Even if something happens it’ll be minor.  Okay?”

“I trust you.”  Moving slowly and carefully she half-turned to meet his eye.  “I trust you.  Just… let’s go.”

“Okay.”  And then they started moving, and after several hundred meters, she started to relax back against him.

Though she hadn’t been thrilled at first at the idea it would take a while to return, and her thighs were absolutely killing her when she finally slid off back at the stable, it had been wonderful to spend so long pressed against Malcolm, his chest to her back, breathing together.  In some ways it had felt more intimate than when they’d gone to bed together two nights before, made her feel so much closer to him.

She wanted more of that closeness, but with more privacy and less clothing.

She couldn’t wait to go to bed that night.

[whumphoarder]

Grand Entrance

Prompt/Summary: "Would you ever write something in which Peter gets carsick with Tony taking care of him?"

Or, in which Tony and Peter attend a science expo just north of the border and Peter vomits his way into Canada.

Word count: 1,869

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort

A/N: Shout outs to @sallyidss for beta reading and being ever so helpfully Canadian, and to @xxx-cat-xxx for all your edits and ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be in a room with Søren Thygesen,” Peter says in awe. He’s scrolling through the conference workshop list on Tony’s Starkpad. “Do you think since you’re a speaker too, we can get backstage and meet him? Will he sign my textbook?”

Tony scoffs as he shifts gears on the Audi to overtake a slow-moving semi truck. Peter grins—he loves the rush of the 532 horsepower V10 engine lurching forward. “You have to be the only teenager in this country excited to see a three-hour lecture by an eighty-two-year-old Danish astrophysicist,” Tony remarks.

“A world-renowned Danish astrophysicist,” Peter corrects, looking up from the tablet. “Plus, he’s like the god of clean energy!” At Tony’s raised eyebrows, he quickly throws in, “Well, besides you, of course.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry kid, I’m not feeling threatened by your Scandinavian grandfather.”

“He’s just so awesome,” Peter gushes. “If anyone is going to figure out how to get humans on Mars, it’s Thygesen.” He lets out a long sigh. “I really want to go to the Q&A panel on Saturday, but I don’t know what questions I would even ask.”

“You know you don’t actually have to ask a question to go to a panel, right?” Tony points out for the second time that day. “You can just sit and listen.”

“I know,” Peter groans, “but I don’t wanna waste what might be my only opportunity to ever speak to him.”

Tony snorts. “That’s a good point—he is eighty-two. Probably doesn’t have a lot of science expos left in him.”

Peter whips his head around to throw his mentor a horrified look. “Mr. Stark!” he gasps.

“I’m just saying ...” Tony chuckles. “Toronto isn’t exactly a stone’s throw from Denmark.”

“He can’t die,” Peter says firmly. “He’s Søren Thygesen.”

“What is he, the new Chuck Norris?”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who?”

“Never mind. God, you’re young...” his mentor mutters. Tony shifts over to the right lane to take the next exit. “Alright, alright, what about asking him something related to his biosphere project?” he suggests. “Or the new Mars Land Rover design, now that Oppy’s kicked the bucket?”

Peter sticks his lip out in a pout. “Too soon, Mr. Stark...” he complains.

X

After a brief stop for gas, they pull back onto the highway and Peter spends the next half hour pouring over the tablet, looking up every article he can find related to Thygesen’s Mars exploration research. Most of the journals are written in abstract, theoretical language, but Peter has always been a good reader and he can usually get the gist. Whenever he comes across a term or concept he’s unfamiliar with, he reads the paragraph aloud and Tony helps him work out the meaning.

Peter just forgot one little fact.

He can’t fucking read in the car.

The nausea doesn’t come all at once. It creeps up on Peter—slowly, gradually—until he has no choice but to pay attention. By the time he realizes he’s not feeling well, his stomach is already churning inside of him and a headache is pounding in his temples, leaving him feeling as though his forehead has been stretched too tightly around his skull.

He abandons the Starkpad, shifting his gaze to look out the window and doing his best to take deep, even breaths. Tony flips his blinker on and speeds up to pass another truck. The lurch of the engine is the same, but this time Peter’s expression is more of a grimace.

“Um… Mr. Stark?” he mumbles. “Are we almost there?”

“About ten more miles to the border, and then another eighty or so to the conference center,” Tony replies. “Don’t worry, you’ll see your elderly man crush soon enough.”

“Oh.” Peter swallows hard in an effort to push the queasiness back down. “Like, how many minutes is that?”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, kid,” Tony retorts.

Peter groans and rolls his eyes, then immediately regrets it as his stomach rolls as well. He quickly locks his gaze back on the horizon. Between carefully measured breaths, he mutters, “I was just wondering if we’re going to stop soon.”

Tony frowns at him. “I asked you twice if you needed the bathroom at the gas station, and you said no. It’s been less than an hour and now you need to go?”

Peter feels his cheeks flush slightly. “Never mind, I’m fine,” he mutters. “Just wanted to stretch my legs, but I can wait.”

“Damn right,” Tony scoffs. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he fishes around on the car’s floor with the other for an empty plastic Gatorade bottle and tosses it onto Peter’s lap. “If you have to pee, use this. I’m not stopping because you suddenly remembered you have a bladder.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Peter huffs. He shoves the empty bottle back in the cup holder before twisting in his seat to press his cheek to the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

X

Fifteen minutes later, Peter is no longer fine.

“Got your passport ready?” Tony checks as the car rolls to a stop behind a silver SUV.

Peter nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. That’s not entirely accurate—the passport is actually in the front pocket of his backpack, which is currently sitting on the floor beside his feet—but he doesn’t feel quite up to bending down to get it at the moment. Beads of cold sweat are dripping down the back of his neck and it’s all Peter can do to keep his stomach in place as they inch their way towards the border crossing.

“I’m thinking we’ll stop for dinner somewhere around the Falls,” Tony goes on. “Have you ever had poutine?”

Peter chances opening his mouth just long enough to breathe out a quick, “Um, don’t think so.”

Tony hums as he follows the SUV forward another couple meters before braking again. “Gotta admit, I was skeptical the first time Rhodey made me try it, but it’s not nearly as gross as it looks. You’d think it would be soggy, what with the gravy soaking into the fries and the cheese curds sort of half melting, but—”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Peter cuts his mentor off. Saliva’s been pooling in his mouth for the past five minutes, but it’s definitely not from the prospect of eating traditional Canadian food. He swallows hard and breathes carefully through his mouth.

A red minivan ahead of them clears the security checkpoint and each vehicle in their lane rolls another car’s length forward.

“Butter tart isn’t bad either,” Tony remarks, braking again. “And Montreal bagels put New York ones to shame. But if you breathe a word of that to anyone, I’ll deny it.”

With a small grunt of acknowledgment, Peter squeezes his eyes closed, silently praying the man will just shut up.

The border patrol officer waves the next car through.

“Alright, passport time,” Tony announces while the SUV ahead of them moves into the inspection zone. He holds one hand out expectantly over the kid’s lap. “Hit me.”

“It’s in my backpack,” Peter mumbles without making a move for it. His ears are ringing and he’s actually dizzy now. For a brief moment, he wonders if it’s possible to pass out from motion sickness. If only he could be so lucky.

Tony frowns, retrieving his own passport from behind the sun visor. “Well, hurry up. We’re next.”

“Right, right…” Carefully—ever so carefully—Peter bends forward to unzip the backpack. He fishes out the passport, but just as he starts to sit back up, the SUV drives off and the border patrol agent waves Tony forward.

Peter’s stomach lurches along with the car’s movement and he burps, tasting the pickles and ketchup from the hamburger he’d had for lunch. Bile is rising in the back of his throat and instantly Peter knows he has mere seconds to prevent a tragedy. His eyes dart around desperately for a cup, a plastic bag, a tissue box, anything. But there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In pure desperation, he does the only thing he can think of to save Tony’s custom leather interior.

The moment the Audi rolls to a stop at the checkpoint, Peter yanks the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth and pukes all down the inside.

At the sound of the kid’s gag, Tony whips his head around. “Jesus, kid!” he swears in surprise.

Standing just outside, the border patrol agent—a gangly red-haired kid who looks to be fresh out of high school—is staring wide-eyed at the gasping teenager in the passenger seat.

Tony blinks at Peter, his expression morphing as the initial shock is replaced with concern. “Are... Are you okay?”

Peter gives a small nod and blushes, trying not to move any more than necessary. Inside his hoodie, hot, gross vomit is running all down his front, soaking through his t-shirt. “Yeah, sorry,” he rasps out. “Just… got kinda carsick.”

Tony blinks again. With barely concealed disgust, he reaches over and starts trying to wiggle the passport out from the kid’s grip, but the officer intervenes.

“Uh, it’s fine. You can just pull on through,” the redhead instructs, still staring at Peter as he waves the car forward. “There’s, uh, there’s a rest stop not too far from here.”

Peter flashes the other boy a grateful thumbs up as he pulls the sweatshirt back up over his face and heaves again.

X

When Peter emerges from the rest stop bathroom, he’s wearing a completely new set of clothes and carrying a knotted plastic Pharmasave bag containing his vomit-soaked hoodie and jeans. In the other hand, he’s clutching the remaining quarter of a package of baby wipes.

Tony is standing in the parking lot beside the car, his arms crossed casually over his chest and a mildly amused look on his face. “Feeling better now?”

Peter gives a half-hearted shrug and deposits the bag and baby wipes in the backseat. Tony passes him the bottle of PC lemon-lime soda he just purchased from the vending machine.

“I’ll rephrase,” Tony tries again. “Feeling better enough to get back in the car? We’re about seventy minutes out from the hotel.”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

Peter hesitates, opening the soda to take a cautious sip. He’s feeling less sick now that he’s on solid ground and his stomach is blissfully empty, but the thought of getting back in the car still makes him queasy. “Um, maybe in another five minutes?” he mumbles. “If that’s alright…?”

“Sure,” Tony agrees easily. “We can go take a walk by the Falls or something. Maybe pick you up some Dramamine.” His brow furrows in thought. “Although that might knock you out, and your buddy is giving the keynote tonight.”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter assures. “Just need a few minutes.”

Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Yeah, can’t risk missing Thygesen. Even if you just vomited your way into Canada.”

In spite of everything, Peter grins. “May always said I liked a grand entrance.”

Click here for chapter 2!

A/N: Additional shoutout to @awesomesockes for for helping to invent the exceedingly awesome character of Søren Thygesen, for whom we now hold so many dumb irrelevant headcanons (such as that he holds the Guinness world record for the longest nose hair and can play the didgeridoo).

Fic Masterlist

[iwanttowriteyou]

All I Wanted; C.H. 20

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10**, part 11*, part 12*, part 13, part 14, part 15**, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19

“He is such a fucking prick. I – I feel so foolish. I kept defending him. I kept taking blow after blow for him. I honestly believed he at least had a bit of genuine interest in me. Boy, was I wrong.” I laugh humourlessly, tears slipping from my eyes as I squeeze them closed. I’ve kept them inside until I stood in front of his apartment.

Eventually, Harry and I ended up here. In his flat. And somehow, I needed to be around him. I felt safe. He is quiet, letting me be. Tears are slowly but steadily pouring from my eyes, my gaze cast upon the ceiling. He is sitting near my legs, gently rubbing them, trying to calm me, soothe me. But it’s not helping the slightest bit.

“Are you alright?” He speaks, his voice seems to have a slight tremor. He takes his stare off of his television and glances over at me, just as I lift my head off of his sofa. “What do you think?” I bite at him, but can’t help but let a hopeless laugh follow immediately. I feel his hands squeeze the skin of my knee before patting it.

“It’ll be alright, in the end, you know.” “Ah, I do. But right now it fucking sucks and it hurts and I want him to stop breathing.” I wipe my tears from my face, my make-up probably stained beyond belief. I press myself in an upright position, tucking my legs underneath my bum. “Come here.” He smiles, opening his arms for a hug and another sob leaving my lips as I fall into them.

“You know your phone keeps vibrating. Maybe your mate is worried about you.” Harry reaches over and holds my lit up phone in my direction, my fingers reluctantly curling around the rectangle.

Are you alright? Luke said you felt sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Xx

One from Meredith. I type my reply, apologizing for my rapid departure and telling her I’ll get back to her in the morning. The other ones make my stomach churn.

Y/n! Where are you? You aren’t home!

Babe, please, answer me

When are you coming home?

God damn it Y/n, at least let me know you’re safe!

I scoff loudly as I throw my phone to the side, Harry shifting underneath our embrace. “What did he say?” I groan and pick up my phone again, dropping it in his lap. His eyes scan over the messages scattered along my screen before he sighs. “Maybe you should let him know you’re safe.”

“Why? Why should I? It’s not like he took my feelings into account. I need to do shit.” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest as I move away from Harry. He simply laughs heartily, his hand resting on his stomach. “Well, sadness is replaced by anger.” “Ah, you know me – that shit goes rapidly.” I laugh, shaking my head. “How about a glass of wine?”

************************

“You know, I sort of forgot your drinking skills. Although I think you’ve slacked a bit.” Harry laughs as he empties the bottle into my mug – yes, we drank our wine from a mug. Because that is at least ten times more classy that way – but brings it to his lips to get the last droplets out.

“Oh puh-lease. I’d still win this drinking game if I wanted to.” I chuckle, setting my now empty mug on his tattered coffee table. I’m fascinated by the scratches that coat the surface, most of them made by my heels being slung across the room – ending in him breaking those lovely decorative vases his mum put on that coffee table. “Ah, yeah. I see that.” Harry laughs as he sets the bottle beside my glass, slowly inching closer towards me.

“But uh – what are you going to do about this little problem that has seem to surfaced?” Harry questions me again – something he knows I loathe but seems to keep doing anyway. “Do I need to do anything? Yeah maybe stay the fuck away from the bar, that seems like a solid plan.” I laugh boisterously, my hands rubbing over my stomach.

“You need to talk to him. Otherwise this’ll be haunting you for forever, I know you.” Harry throws his arm over my shoulder, hauling me into his solid chest. This feels familiar, something I’ve missed, but at the same time it feels completely wrong. “Stop reading my mind, Haz. I know I should talk to him, but I don’t want to. I think that what I wanted was something I would never receive anyway, it was going to be something that was going to crash and burn as fast as it has bloomed. I reckon I did this to myself.”

“But isn’t it better to put it at rest so your mind can be at ease, at least?” I know he’s raising an eyebrow at me, even though I can’t see him do so. I know he’s right, finishing this off properly would help me cope, to say it like that. I felt like I was being a stupid ass bitch, because as Calum said – we weren’t together. Well not officially at least, perhaps my mind and heart had raced a bit too far and I sort of felt like – like we were. I don’t know. “Since when are you such a philosopher?” I mumble, resting my head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat calmingly thump against my jaw. I should go talk to Calum, even if it were the last time. But not tonight. Tonight I want to forget. She was fucking right all along. Oh how I can hear Meredith tsk in my head along with the fervently I told you so. I almost groan out loud but am pulled out of my trance by Harry. “Since we finished two bottles of wine under an hour, Y/n.” Harry speaks so softly, his voice barely a whisper, when I feel his fingertips brush against my jaw.

He slowly turns my head and before I have time to properly respond, I feel his soft lips press against mine. My eyes flutter none the less, this soft kiss being so familiar. It feels awkward and wrong on so many levels and when I lightly push against Harry’s chest, my own aches as I see the hurt flash for a split second.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now – with all that’s going on. Sorry.” I mumble, distancing myself from Harry who immediately starts to nod his head. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. It just felt – well right, like before and – “ he starts stammering, his hands roughly rubbing over his face.

“I understand. Maybe I should just – like leave.” I raise to my feet, sliding into my boots as Harry flies up from his spot on the sofa. “Y/n, you don’t have to – I – I was just being a total dick, you don’t have to leave.”

“I know I don’t, but I should. I’ll text you later, thanks for being my rock.” I lean up and press my lips against Harry’s scruffy cheek, squeezing his biceps once, hoping he’d get it that I don’t blame him for anything – I would’ve probably done the same thing if I wasn’t in my current situation.

************************

Like a paranoid I-don’t-know-what I drove past my house two times to make sure Calum wasn’t parked anywhere near before I drove onto my own driveway. I know I might be childish, but even if I knew a talk was inevitable, I wasn’t planning on doing it when I could still feel my blood boiling – although it could also be the wine coursing through my veins.

I start laughing rather loudly as I gather my personal items from the backseat of my car. “Don’t drink and drive, I tell everyone.” I hiccup, shaking my head at my own irresponsible behaviour. Harry keeps spooking through my head and I feel horrible about even ending up at his place – it felt like I was cheating. Harry thinking it’d be a good idea to kiss me only worsening this – I don’t know – guilt I was experiencing.

Calum may have been a dick and not completely aware of our status, but I thought differently about it and I somehow did the same as he did to me – although he doesn’t know, and isn’t going to ever anyway. I slam my door roughly, almost doing a three hundred and sixty-degree spin and I squeal as loud as my voice allows me to when I spot a shadow behind me.

I’m panting, my nails almost digging into the paintwork of my car as I stare at Calum two meters from me, my heart throbbing in my throat. “WHAT THE FUCK CALUM!” It’s the first that pops to mind and the first that flies past my lips as I try not to vomit.

“Where were you?” Calum steps closer and I’m quick to dodge to the left and make half a circle around him, trying to walk towards my front door without this ending in a discussion on the middle of the street – at two am in the morning, even. “Excuse me? Like you have any business in where I spend my time.” I seethe, seeing him making my emotions bubble up as if it had happened mere second ago. Him being here wasn’t good for him or me. “Y/n, don’t be like this. Let me explain.” Calum takes another step in my direction, holding his hand out towards me – but I don’t know what he desires of me. I have nothing left to give him. “I’m not letting you do anything, Calum. Tonight, don’t expect anything from me. Please disappear off of my driveway before I phone the police. This is trespassing.” I point my car keys towards his feet, raising my eyebrows and barely keeping my stupid ass grin in check. It felt good to be at least a little bit mean and get this anger off of my chest. I see Calum’s features contort into one of pure shock before horror and pain follows but I keep my face as stoic as possible. “Y/n, babe.. I didn’t mean to – I mean – Please listen to me.” Calum is rapid, but I saw him coming. Within a jiff, I’ve taken quite a few steps back and the distance has remained the same. I sigh deeply, knowing I might not get rid of him as easily as I wanted to – Calum had always had the reputation of being quite persistent. “I am serious Calum. Please leave me alone. I need some time to get my thoughts in check.” I close my eyes, feeling them watering up again as my mind sobers up – even if it’s just a tiny bit. “Promise me we’ll talk later.” Calum mumbles, and it sends another jab straight to my heart. How dare me ask something like that of me – I hadn’t even decided if I wanted to see him ever again, and here he is expecting me to let it slide like it were nothing and that we could be over this in a day or two. 

I shake my head as I turn away from him, starting slowly towards my door. I knew he had given up on his persistence to talk this out today, but I can’t help but jab once more towards him before I let this horrible night come to a closing. “I can’t promise you anything, seeing as how you can’t even keep honesty between mates.”

If you have any hatred towards anyone after this, or anything that’s about to come, I understand. I have it too, lol. Let me know what you think babes :)

[theother5l]

Another love story

I sit up on my bed and look around my room, momentarily having forgotten where I was, but then it all comes rushing back. The phone call, the hospital, the “sorrys”, my mother's name carved into a grey stone surrounded by earth.

Kate Pendleton

1970-2017

Daughter, mother and sister.

Those six words don't do her justice. I force myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom. I examine my tired blue eyes and pale freckled nose in the mirror while I tie my wavy black hair up with an elastic. Since I am legally an adult, I won’t be deemed “orphan” by the authorities if I decide I want to leave, but I’m not ready to do anything just yet. So I don’t.

For the next few weeks, I float around the empty bungalow that my mother loved so much. Even when she was too sick to be out of bed, she would still sit in her old rocking chair in the living room and sing to the birds out the window. People come by to tell me that they’re sorry and what a wonderful woman my mother was. They hug me and give me food, none of which I eat. Then after a bit, I suddenly don’t want to be here any more, and I don’t really have to. My aunt Linda is taking care of the hospital papers and payments, and I don’t exactly have any friends here, so I pack. My clothes, a tent and the card that holds the money I inherited from my mother. A few books as well.

I pull on a jumper as I leave, because it’s Ireland and it’s always bloody freezing, even in june. As I step out the front door I hear my name being called.

“Orla. Orla!”

I swivel around to see a girl from my science class running and waving frantically in my direction. She runs up to me, panting, and embraces me quite roughly.

“Orla,” she says, pulling back but keeping a firm hold on my shoulders, “I’m so sorry to hear about your mum, I want you to know that I’m here if you need anything.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I think I’m good for now.” I’m still a little shocked by the hug, I barely know this girl, Aideen I think, and she never seemed too affectionate.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, having noticed my bag.

“Well, yeah,” I respond hesitantly, “I just don’t know where yet.”

Aideen turns around abruptly and rushes in the direction of her house and yells at me to give her five minutes.

I stay where I am, mostly because I want to see what’s going to happen, but also, I spent three weeks on my own and I’m a bit desperate for company.

She returns exactly four minutes and thirty seven seconds later looking flustered and holding a duffel bag half the size of her.

“Well, let’s go then.”

We walk for about a kilometer before Aideen stops talking. She talks about how sorry she is and how much she admires me for being able to keep it together. She talks about her favorite books and movies. She asks me about my dad and I tell her he died when I was young. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look at me like I’m a kicked puppy, instead she asks me if I want to listen to some music. I say sure and she pulls out her phone and presses play. All the songs are beautiful. We trudge another eight kilometers before the playlist ends, and by then it’s starting to get dark.

We pitch our tent on an open piece of land roughly fifty meters from the road and collapse inside, the rocks digging into our backs.

“So,” Aideen says, “what’s the plan of attack?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” I reply, “I figure we’ll head south and then turn back when we reach the sea.”

“I’m not going back to that shit-hole.” she says quickly.

I ask why.

“My dad. He drinks and hits me. I never want to see him again.” Her bottom lip quivers “Never.”

“What about your mum?”

She takes a shaky breath, “Died when I was ten.”

A tear rolls down her cheek and I pull her to me, stroking her curly hair.

We fall asleep like that, limbs entwined and her face buried in my chest. It’s nice.

I wake up the next morning to the sound of Aideens soft snoring and birds singing. The light that filters through the tent bounces off her soft brown skin and she looks quite beautiful. Caught up in a sudden burst of courage, I lean forward and press my lips to her cheek, then pull back quickly when she stirs.

I rip a piece of paper out of a book and write note;

Addy-

Went to get food. Stay put!

I saw a convenience store on the way here, about three kilometers back, so I hike along the side of the highway for forty minutes until I reach the rundown building and go inside.

I walk around the store gathering as much as I can carry because I don’t know when we’ll reach the next food source. Bread, soda, crackers, vegetables, milk, crisps, water, chocolate, fruit, everything.

I dump it all on the counter along with a few T-shirts I got from a stand in the back.

“Ninety three, seventy five,” the woman behind the counter says flatly. She has a ring through her lower lip and her straight, black hair is dyed purple at the ends.

I dig through my wallet and come up with my card, pay, then swing the bags over my shoulder and stagger outside.

It takes me an hour to get back to the tent this time and when I do reach it, it’s all I can do not to flop down outside. These bags must weigh fifty pounds! I haul them inside and find Aideen has cleared a space for us to eat.

“Sorry I took so long,” I say, still panting. I guess I haven’t really gotten too much physical exertion lately.

“No problem,” Aideen replies “I’m hungry though.”

I lobb an orange at her and she catches it, giggling. I can’t help grinning at the sight of her laughter, and I wonder why I feel so light and happy when I’m around her, even though I hardly know anything about her. Whatever, I think, I’ll deal with that later.

We gorge ourselves on the food and only stop when we’re reminded that we’re going to have to save some. Even then, we split one more bag of crisps and then lie back with our hands over our stomachs.

“What time is it?” She asks, and I check my watch.

“Almost eleven,” I answer. “We should get going I guess.”

We pack up the food and the tent and keep walking. It’s hot today, not at all like yesterday, and we’re sweating through our shirts before first twenty minutes have passed. Twelve kilometers in, just as the sun is beginning to set, we come across a lake and Aideen instantly strips down to her underwear and jumps in. I follow her lead, abandoning our things, and shriek when she splashes me. After an hour of swimming and laughing in the cool water, we rest on the bank in our T-shirts. I see Aideen shift beside me and then I feel her fingers twine together with mine, light at first, but then firmly, as if she doesn’t want to let go. My stomach does a flip as I squeeze her hand back.

We set up the tent next to the lake, because neither of us feels like walking any further, and fall asleep cuddled together in my sleeping bag.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I hear when I open my eyes the next day “I made us breakfast!”

Aideen places a slice of peach on my nose and I snort in amusement.

“It’s raining so we should get moving a bit earlier today, so as not to get caught in it.”

“Alright then, let’s get headed.” I say.

We only have one raincoat (mine) so I give it to Aideen and we pack up our stuff. It’s still hot out so we’re both wearing shorts when we start walking, but that proves to be a bad decision when we come across a field of plants.

“Fucking nettles,” I say, staring out at the sea of green. Around the field is a thick wood, too easy to get lost in, so our only option is to wade through the stinging leaves.

“Okay,” I say, turning my back to face Aideen and crouching down, “get on then.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I’m not going to have the only person who’s made me smile in almost a month, have her legs assaulted by nettles. Get. On.”

This seems to surprise her a bit because she climbs onto my back, hoisting our bags onto hers, and we start the excruciating trek across the field. The pain is so much more severe than what I had expected and little red welts begin to form all over my shins making tears well up in my eyes. I try to stifle my groans of pain so I don’t make Aideen feel bad but by the time we get across I’m practically screaming in agony. I have scarcely enough energy in me to pitch the tent and when my fumbling hands finally fit the last pole through, I collapse inside while Aideen gets dock leaves to put on the stings.

She comes in carrying an armful of the stuff and gently rubs it against my legs. The relief is immediate.

“Thank you,” she says, “but I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

“It’s fine Addy. We would both have had to do it if I hadn’t carried you, and then we’d be in the exact same position as we are now, except double the stings.”

“Still,” she says “thanks.”

And then she leans down and kisses me.

* * *

If my stomach was jumpy before, It’s now doing a full on tumble routine. I close my eyes and she cups my face with her hands. Her lips are soft and taste slightly minty as she moves them against mine. I’ve kissed a few girls before Addy, but this is the only time I’ve felt a sort of need, the only time I’ve felt as if I might fall apart if she lets go of me. I wrap my arms around her small waist closing what little space remained between us and we stay there, wrapped up in each others arms, never wanting to leave our tiny tent, our little space where nobody can hurt us.

But eventually we do have to, leave that is, and we pack up our tent and our food and head south. Days go by, then weeks, we walk, we laugh, we kiss, and every minute, I find myself falling further and further in love with this girl. The way her eyes crinkle at the sides when she smiles, the way her hand fits perfectly inside mine, and her willingness to open up to me.

One day, we’re strolling down the middle of the highway and Aideen is chatting away as usual. I like just listening to her voice, so I don’t say anything unless she asks a question.

I’m so absorbed by her and the scenery and just how happy I am, that I don’t hear the thing that ends my happiness until I can’t undo it.

The horn blares and I feel hands shove me into the ditch at the side of the road. The car barrels into her frail body and I hear myself scream. Then the car stops but it’s too late, too late, too late. The driver flies out of the car but my world is too blurred by tears to see what they look like. And then I’m screaming again. Screaming for them to get away, get away, get away. And they do. They step back and I think they’re calling 999 but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. All I care about is Aideen. She cannot die. I cannot let that happen. I hold her and she’s bleeding but I can’t tell where the wound is and I’m searching, searching, searching and then she touches my arm.

“Stop, Orla,” she croaks, “There’s no point.”

And I know she’s right. I know that she will die today, but I don’t let go, can’t let go.

“I love you, Addy.” I say, “I love you so much.”

And then she’s gone