#oops this one got long

[lgbtlunaverse]

This page from the adventurer's bible makes me want to cry

Like basically any neurodivergent dungeon meshi fan, I see a lot of myself in the Touden siblings. But I was blindsided by just how much I suddenly related to Falin in this little comic from the adventure bible's complete version.

It's about the Touden siblings' differing relationships with their parents, and why Laios still holds their treatment of Falin against them, while Falin herself doesn't.

We know that Falin was isolated and ostraziced by their village after she saved Laios from a ghost, displaying her uncanny affinity for magic. Her parents, instead of defending her, sent her away, which angered Laios so much he ran way himself before Falin even left for magic school, hoping to make a living so he and Falin could live together alone.

He tells Marcile this, but when she goes to Falin, she says she sees things differently. Her father sent her to magic school to protect her form the rest of the village without having to cause a conflict. He didn't explain that, and we actually see her burst into tears when he says it.

But, well... Laios was gone for a year before Falin went to magic school, and everyone else in the village avoided her. The understanding Falin has with her parents to me looks like one borne out of necessity, she literally didn't have anyone else to talk to.

And this is where we get to the page that made me want to cry

Like I said, I relate to the Toudens because I'm neurodivergent myself. that feeling of suddenly realizing you're disliked, but not knowing what you did wrong or what you should have done instead? Yeah... that's one I recognize.

When I was around 9 years old, the same age Falin is in this comic, a bunch of kids in my class decided to make a "game" where you lost if you touched me. It was basically the 'cheese-touch' from diary of a wimpy kid, except I always had it and couldn't pass it along. They'd pretend I was poisonous or disgusting and run away from me screaming or gagging. The point was to make fun of me. But my autistic little 9 year old ass thought "Oh I get it! It's tag but I'm always it!" So I... played along. Running at a boy and having him fall on the ground screaming in fake pain because you tapped him is, in isolation, pretty funny.

It wasn't until months into the "game" that I realized it was meant to be meanspirited. That the reason I was the one who was always 'it' wasn't an arbritrary rule but the whole point. Because I was weird and gross. I wasn't in on the joke, I was the punchline.

Falin may have come to understand her parents' intentions, but she didn't always. The adventure bible actually tells us that she at first didn't even notice that the rest of their village disliked her. She clearly knows now, but she had to be told. So when her mom tried to exorcise her, she just saw it as an activity she got to do with a mother she usually didn't get to spend much time with because of her poor health. It's only Laios who notices something is wrong.

(Sidenote, Laios being hyper-aware of people's poor attitudes towards Falin but completely blindsided when he's in the same spot, like with Toshiro, is also very relatable as an eldest sibling)

It probably also took Falin months, until after her brother had left and she had no one but her parents, to realize why her mother had been doing all those things.

And I know they're not the same. Even misguidedly, Falin's mom was trying to help her, not make fun of her like those boys in my class. (Though, as a queer person who also cares a lot about the queercoding in Falin's storyline, a parent trying to 'exorcise' their child of a fundamental part of them the parent thinks is evil or corruptive? yeah... that's not perfectly wholesome)

But do you know what I did, when I finally figured out the game was always meant to make fun of me?

To me, it looked like I had a choice.

See, those boys eventually figured out I didn't understand that they were being mean to me. I'd laugh every time I managed to catch one of them, I was visibly having fun. And while it no doubt only made me more of a weirdo in their eyes, they never informed me that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. That the point was for me to feel hurt.

So now that I did know, I had a choice. I could either get upset, and let the insult land as it was supposed to. That wouldn't stop them, because making fun of me was the original goal. Or I could ignore it and go on as usual. They had already accepted that I didn't get it, and they weren't gona stop me from having fun, so why should I?

And the thing is that I had... one friend, in that whole class. One person who actually liked talking to me and hanging out with me. I was lonely. And the 'game' provided me with another social interaction, mean-spirited as it was, that I desperately needed. And it was so delightfully simple. Navigating actual friendships as a kid with autism and adhd was so fucking complicated, and I'd never know when I might break an inivisble rule. But I knew the rules to the game perfectly!

Sometimes, if I was chasing one of them, the others would trap him and hold him down so I could tap him. In those moments it actually did kind of feel like I was playing with them, rather than against them. And it didn't change much, they didnt start actually liking me. But they were willing to roll with the fact that I wasn't upset, and I took advantage of that because I needed to.

So you can look at Falin seeing the best in her parents as her being naïve, but I look at this page and I see myself, at first unable to differentiate between playing and being made fun of. And then later, when I did see the difference, deciding not to get mad about it because that'd mean losing that social interaction, and I couldn't afford to.

Like I said, Falin probably first realized this in the year she spent with her brother gone, and everyone else avoiding her like the plague. If she refused to talk to her parents, like Laios did, she'd have no one left.

I see a lot of people relating to the fight between Laios and Toshiro. that frustration when you realize someone you thougth was your friend actually hates you, and they never said anything, never gave you a chance to fix it because you had no idea that you were even doing something wrong! And I can see that, too. But sometimes, when people don't fully hate you, it feels better to go along with the pretending. Because adressing it won't fix it. Because the problem isn't a specific behaviour, it's you. And if they're willing to tolerate you, despite the fact that it's you, then you'll take it. Because other people do hate you, so this is the best you'll get.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Barbatos and 23?

Barbatos + 23 | "Cellar Door" - Spiritbox

cw: mentions of Lesson 16/MC death

"Have you ever seen your own dead body before?"

If you had been aiming to catch Barbatos off-guard for once, you may have just succeeded. The demon nearly chokes on his tea, causing him to mutter an "excuse me" before clearing his throat as he regains his composure.

He pats his lips with a napkin, looking at you with both curiosity and understanding. "I assume there is something weighing on your mind?"

"Mm." You find yourself gazing out the large castle window, the moonlight bathing the Devildom foliage. Despite all the time that has passed, there are nights you find yourself there again, staring at your own mangled body at the bottom of the stairs. How, for a moment, two of you existed in one space — one just resurrected, the other at death's door. "…So, have you?"

"…I have." Barbatos leans back in his seat, gaze still fixed on you. "More than once. The benefit of being able to see through space and time, I suppose."

"Right. I guess you get used to it. Or maybe it didn't jar you much in the first place." There is hint of resentment in your voice, a tightness in your chest as you turn back to meet those dark eyes of his. Maybe bringing this up was a bad idea. Why did you think the demon with control over space-time could ever feel the same way as you?

"I wouldn't say that." Barbatos taps a finger on the table, a sign that he was trying to form his words carefully. "I wasn't always the calm and reassured demon you see before you. I used to be quite an arrogant fool, in fact. I have made mistakes, grave ones."

You remember him speaking before of atonement, a past he was determined to rectify.

With some apprehension, he slowly reaches his hand out to cover your own. His voice is soft as he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I thought I was over it." The words leave your lips before you can even think, as if Barbatos' simple question unlocked something deep within your soul, breaking bindings that had long buried despair. "But I'm not. After all of this time, I still think about it. I went to the past, I was killed, I was … I was brought back to life only to see another version of myself, to see me … bleeding and mangled and dead." Your voice wavers, but you're determined to hold on. Fingers curls into your palm, nails digging into flesh. "And you … you said you just. Changed the timeline. Collapsed it, made it that this was the real one, that I was the one and only me. But am I? Or," a shaky breath, "… did I just slip into another version of myself? Did a part of me really die back then?" Your voice strains. "I have so many questions, and I'm afraid to know the answers to any of them!"

Barbatos is quiet at first, though his hand still covers yours. His expression is unreadable and distant, and you again wonder if he can understand at all. What was one death to a timeless being?

"My first encounter with death, of my own death…is something I will never forget." He squeezes your hand gently, meeting your gaze. "I … won't speak in detail of it, but it was harrowing. The first time I truly came face-to-face with consequences for my own actions." He shakes his head with a somber chuckle. "Would you believe that I still didn't learn my lesson? Yet, despite all the deaths of self I have either seen through visions or came to encounter personally thereafter, it is the one I remember most vividly."

Barbatos moves now to be next to you, taking both of your hands in his. "My dear, I apologize for the role I played in all of this, and I'm not sure if I can provide all the answers you seek. But I can tell you that you are not alone. Time and space are tricky things, and what you went through is something that would break most. But here you are, still standing strong. " His features soften. "And, there is one thing I know for certain. One answer I can provide."

"What?" You hate how your voice cracks, but you lean in closer to Barbatos' warmth.

"There will always be parts of ourselves that die and are reborn. Such is the nature of the universe." He squeezes your hands again. "But you are very much you. You are meant to be here, and that will never change."

[yayasvalveplay]

https://www.tumblr.com/yayasvalveplay/772324490186211328/the-miners-in-transformers-one-probably-arent?source=share

I can only think of whoever they encounter first on the surface whether that be Alpha Trion or the High Guard just laying into the rest of the group on how could they bring a carrying mech up here? Don't they know how dangerous it is?

The miners including the one who's sparked up: What. What are you talking about?

The hit of suprise parenthood to both D-16 and Orion when they were following the exact script of sire and carrier subconsciously: increased sex drive so sparkling has plenty of transfluid to grow big and strong, wanting to stick together even more than they already were, and Orion was even feeling queasy in the mornings.

Imagine having to explain to someone who's 9 months pregnant and showing that their stomach isn't just doing that for funzies, there's a baby in there.

I imagine that Optimus got thrown into sub level 50 when he was 4 months pregnant. And he and the rest of the gang survived on the surface for about 5 months.

They learned the trains were carrying energon, thanks to theirs flipping over, crashing. (D-16 curling around Orion protectively) only giving them a single box, that the 3 (Orion tried, but D-16 snapped at him that he couldn't and that he was injured. He wasnt.) carried

They spent their time walking, trying to outrun the Quintizons and the elite guards. Along the way and night cycles Dee and Orion would end up fragging, quietly as the other slept. Dee getting a 'kink' of keeping his transfluid inside Orion, and Orion always obliged.

Keeping his modesty pannel closed once they were done, saying in the morning theyd drain it, but when it came time. Nothing came out, so they just kept doing it. And soon Orions belly was getting bigger, they had to slow down, taking constant breaks, or Dee just carrying him.

And they were doing so well until.

"Hey this one isn't going into stasis lock."

"What are you doing? What have you done with them!?"

"Wouh. Calm down. We arnt going to harm ya. We just need you lot unconscious. Can't have you finding our secret- your carrying."

" I'm what?"

And this is where they find the high guard. Seekers are immediately on Orion, checking him over, doting on him, getting him a soft place to sit next to Starscream (because really that's the only place this small bot won't get stepped on) who is just looking him over worriedly.

Getting everyone else activated Starscream starts railing on them on how they've been treating their carrier. Malurished(as they had to ration, and even as Orion took more because he was getting hungrier.) And starving. At least the Sires been keeping up with the transfluid donations, but still that gives them no excuse to take this carrier out of the safety of Iacon. They have been lucky, supper fragging lucky to have been found by them and not Sentinels gang.

And it's here they learn about how crappy Sentinel is. "That can't be true."

"Want to see for yourself little one." Cue Ravage spying on them, and the feed coming back to Soundwave who gives them all the feed back.(since this is still early, not even close to the story happening. There is no fear of miners getting overworked. Yet. But it's enough to have Dee raging and wanting to fight. He still gets his fight with Starscream, but it's not violent since no t-cog.

The others learn what it I'd meant to be a high guardsmen. As Orion is supper close to emergency, they don't want to leave the safety of the High guards, so they become scouts. They also learn what sex/safe sex and pregnancy is.

When emergency day comes. Orion has the help of high guard medics. The birthing is rough but soon, there is a little protoform, wailing, cold to the new world, and when placed on Orions chassis, he holds his baby close and just cries. He's been carried in his forge for 9 months making him suffer. And he decided to look exactly like his sire.

But it truely is a happy day for everyone,, mostly.

"Hey. We got a problem."

"What kind?"

"Airachnia kind, seen very close."

"Get these mechs to the emergancy base.

Where is that. Uhh supper close to where the primes were killed.

And hell wouldn't you know. Alpha Trion is still alive. And are those bots without their T-cogs. That will not do.

Starscream? Why are you crying? Oh yes, of course big old hug. Oh and Is that a sparkling. He hasn't seen them in. How long has he been in stasis?

Alpha Trion joins the party.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game

[ejga-ostja]

six of bunny hare rabbits

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría v Caruso: Day 3, Pt. 1

This was it. The final day. If today's lineup of testimonial witnesses and evidence didn't help, then what would? It would be over for a certain team.

Antonio adjusted his black tie with blue stripes. He would never pick out a suit like this, but Yoltic insisted on it. "You two have to match. It's psychology stuff! It will help," he claimed when Antonio went to pick up his clothes at The Beehive. Yoltic doesn't do this with Antonio's other clients, but okay....

"Please state your name and occupation for the record," Antonio asked.

"Carlo Mancini. Long-time chef. Food entrepreneur," the man briefly stated.

That name held weight for the former Diced Junior competitors. Lewis, who was in attendance with Rubiya and Alex, felt the ginger hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They all looked like intimidated middle schoolers again in the presence of the harsh critic.

"How do you know Ms. Alegría?"

"I judged her on Diced Junior about nine years ago."

"And what was your impression of her as a young chef?"

"Immature," he responded matter-of-factly.

The people in the courtroom gasped. They thought he was on her side! What?!

"But," Carlo continued, "she was only a child. A talented one. She has a great career for someone her age, certainly not immature."

Ohhhhh.... okay, let him cook.

"Would you say her dishes had a recognizable style, even back then?"

"Yes. She's big on tomatoes for some odd reason, but that is only one of her signatures."

"Based on your expertise, does Ms. Alegría's work show originality?"

Carlo was already getting bored, but he wanted to help. If he had to explain things simply for these people to understand, so be it.

"If one competes on Diced Junior, they must be original. They are given mystery ingredients and brainstorm on the spot. Perhaps on other shows, the contestants are given a heads-up prior to filming, but not on Diced Junior. It's a rigorous show that holds it chefs to much higher standards."

"Thank you, Mr. Mancini. No further questions."

Isabela was next. "Mr. Mancini, do you believe that someone being selected for Diced Junior proves they can be a good student at Santoro?" she asked.

"Not necessarily."

"But how can you be so sure that Ms. Alegría's skills were refined enough for Santoro? That she deserved that spot?"

"I've tasted her food. She has talent."

"And yet, you eliminated her," Isabela expressed directly.

"Because of simple mistakes. Someone had to be eliminated-"

"Ms. Alegría couldn't even make it to the final round of a children's cooking competition, yet we're supposed to believe she was one of the most promising culinary students at a prestigious school?"

"Yes, actually. And if she had made it onto the third round, I'm sure I would be able to guess which was her dish without being told. She didn't need to steal any recipes."

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

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[molathesunfish]

my limbus bugs mainly based on characters that may or may not show up later... and one mystery feature for your guessing fun:]

[singing-swan]

A Home, Just For You and Me

(Takes place between 6.5 and 6.55)

Rest under the cut:

[arkarti]

Art summary 2024

was quite the year. Onwards to 2025 😊 Happy new year!

[knightinink]

“Again, with the horn?”

I was thinking about this & something tells me if Fizz used the horn every morning, Ozzie would eventually get used to it & sleep through it. It still works on Ozzie because the horn isn’t the only thing Fizz uses to wake him.

He has various things.

All of them extremely obnoxious, but unapologetically & fittingly Fizz.

[horribluh]

hilarious mpreg zosan thought, sanji has a kid that has green hair but its not zoros kid. he has in fact never disclosed who the other father was (choose ur own adventure dead beat dad edition) and his siblings already have amazing technicolour hair so its not outside the realm of possibility for his biological children to also have weird hair colours. but when the kid pops out with green hair everyone immediately connects the dots that hey, doesnt the strawhats first mate that sanji famously doesn't get along with also have green hair? is this why sanji never said who the other father was? hes a fucking dead beat! get his ass!

this misconception integrates into everyones mind bc it makes too much sense to not be true and everyone is suddenly deadset on "protecting sanjis honour" and making zoro "take responsibility"

sanji is screaming crying throwing up disgusted bc no!!! the shitty mosshead is not the father!!! stop saying that!!!! but since he still wont say who the actual father is, everyone is just like its ok sanji, you dont have to defend a deadbeat even if he is your crewmate and sanji has no choice but to kill himself and also zoro for daring to have green hair

when the strawhats show up for sanjis baby shower they also unanimously come to the misunderstanding that sanji and zoro totally boned. franky goes as far as to call the kid mini marimo. brook makes a hundred innuendos, chopper is upset at the implication of them having unsafe sex, and robin alludes to "knowing all along" in a very ambiguous way. usopp is the only one who refuses to connect the dots and he is sanjis favourite strawhat fr. jinbei pats sanji on the back and says he hopes they work through their differences for the sake of their kid. sanji is dying, youre killing him, you're killing your cook

even more shenanigans ensue when zoro shows up 3 whole days late to the baby shower and is gaslit into thinking hes the father by everyone in attendance despite being Pretty Sure that he and sanji never fucked. zeff gives a pretty good shovel talk and nami gives an even better one (debt increment is involved) while zeff nods approvingly behind her and then luffy slingshots in all parents should be married right? and doesnt wait for an answer

anyway, like 2 hours later zosan find themselves standing at a makeshift altar on the thousand sunny, saying their vows. sanji insists to the very end that zoro is not the father so they dont need to get married but alas luffy isnt giving him a choice in this (he wants to eat wedding cake)

to sanjis eternal despair, the kid grows up to really like swords

additional zosan thought, sanji does not help things by shouting "this is all your fault!" the moment he sees zoro. zoro is futher gaslit

[biblically-accurate-dca]

super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want

[sth-askverse]

I think you might need therapy after this, Sonic but still DON'T PUSH YOURSELF GOD DAMN IT!!

First | < Previous - Next >

[vincentvalenfine]

ok but hear me out—you trying to accept vincent and his past with lucrecia but he keeps on pushing you away, until you've finally had enough and decided to give him that space he oh so "wanted" and him realising he is losing the only person who has cared for him after all this time and trying to win you back. i NEED this man to grovel!!

Sometimes love is letting go, Cid tells you over shots of whiskey at Tifa's bar. Some people are best loved from a distance, to give them the independence they require, and you think Vincent may just be one of those people. Too many times he's pulled away right when you think you're making progress with him, too many times you've heard him self-deprecate in one breath and place you on a pedestal in the next, supposedly out of his reach even when you're right there reaching for him.

"Just take a week to yourself," Tifa advises. "Guys like that just need a little time to realize what they actually need."

She's been waiting on Cloud for longer, you realize. Maybe... love really is letting go, leaving it in their hands to decide on someday. You take your phone out and send off a quick text to Vincent. Whether he'll respond, or even read it to begin with... you don’t know. It won't matter anyway, turning your phone off as soon as the text is delivered and turning to Cid to harass him into playing taxi for a trip to Costa del Sol for the week.

[Let me know when you make up your mind someday.]

Four days later, you're just getting into your pajamas in your inn room for the evening when an alarmingly loud knock rattles the door. You can't help jumping, hurrying with your shorts as you call out, "Just a second!"

Another knock thuds against the wood and you swear you hear it creak a little this time. That's worrisome enough to make you hurry on over with shorts just barely making it to your hips in time, and with just a glance through the peephole you know exactly who's on the other side, throwing it open for him.

Vincent looks like he hasn't slept since you sent off that text, eyes sunken in and lined with shadowy bruises. He takes just a few tentative steps in when you make space for him - and then drops to his knees, head hanging. You can't help crouching in front of him, hesitating to reach out, but this time he doesn't shy away from your hands as they meet his cheeks, leaning into your touch instead like it's the respite he so desperately needs right now. Your heart leaps into your throat.

"Vincent?"

"Forgive me," he murmurs. His eyes seek out yours with sorrow creeping out of the corners, damp trails glistening down his cheeks. "I did you a disservice, and you... deserved to be treated fairly."

Not better, as he's said before - fairly. That's... actually an improvement. You open your mouth to reply, but he continues to speak.

"I... tried to make the same mistake twice. And I thought it would protect you, from who - what I am." He takes a ragged breath, somehow keeping his voice from wavering initially even as the tears continue trickling. You take your thumbs to gently wipe them aside and the look he gives you is one of desperate desire. This time his voice does waver as he pleads.

"Please. I cannot - I am... far from perfect. But I wish to try again. If you allow it."

You lean in and kiss him. Vincent melts into your arms, heedless of where and when, desperate for the affection you give him. It's going to be messy, nothing's ever been simple with him... but just maybe he can let you close now.

[rox-of-iu]

also while we're on the topic of fics

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 2)

aka: Put Your Ear Up to My Wall, Mistake My Heart for A Drumbeat

David fights to keep everything quiet, Asher takes on a new role, and Milo finds Tank (for better or worse).

Ch. 1 // Ch. 3 // ao3 // 4.6k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief, implied/referenced self-harm, vomiting, gore/blood, violence)

EDIT: new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

————————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:52 pm

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David’s phone started vibrating as soon as he pulled away from the morgue. He’d placed it in his backseat—a habit Gabe had instilled in him years ago so he’d never be tempted to text and drive.

He ignored the buzzing, willing the rain battering against his car to drown out the sound. It worked; his phone eventually went silent, and David’s full attention was brought back to the barely visible road he was traversing.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Another call. He contemplated pulling over, but Gabe’s voice hummed in his head: Patience. Not everything needs an answer right away. He decided against it. Whoever was calling would realize he wasn’t available and leave a message. 

The call ended.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

It started again. And again. And again. And again. As soon as a call ended, another began. He could feel them in his skull, like the buzzing was coming from his brain. Like his head was a freshly shaken wasp nest.

The wasps traveled down into his gut, twisting and tightening his intestines. They kept traveling, moving to his extremities. His hands went numb. Then his feet. He couldn’t feel the steering wheel. Or the gas pedal. Or the brakes. His vision began to tunnel.

No. He didn’t have time for this. He had a job to do. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to his apartment safely. He needed to get the key. He needed to go to his dad’s house. He needed to get into his study. He needed to throw up.

David found himself pulled off on the side of the road, doubled over in the rain, emptying his stomach into a bush. How embarrassing, throwing up like a little kid. That’s enough, he thought to himself, get it together. He stood up straight, but the movement was too quick and he found himself doubled over again.

Everything in him burned as it came up. It stung. 

Retreating back to his car, David quickly checked his phone. Missed calls, voice messages, and texts from various pack members flooded his screen. Someone must have found out what happened. None of them seemed urgent—nor from Asher or Milo—so he put his phone on ‘do not disturb’ and returned it to its place in the back seat.

When he sat down behind the wheel, the wasps were gone. David started the car again and continued back home.

————————————————

Asher cradled his phone, rocking gently in an effort to appease his bawling body. He told himself he had until Milo texted with an update. Then he would pull himself together. His abdomen ached as wave after wave of mourning slammed into him.

He mourned for Gabe. The officer had said he’d died at the scene, but had it been instant? Had he suffered? Did he know he was dying? Did he try to move his legs only to realize he was paralyzed from the waist down? The neck down? Did he frantically gasp for breath as his lungs slowly, agonizingly filled with blood? Had he tried desperately to pry his arm from where it was pinned to reach his phone and call his son just one more time?

He mourned for his pack. Gabe was the founder. They’d never been without him. Would they survive? Would they break into dissension? Crumble apart without leadership? Asher had heard of the devastation past packs had gone through following the death of an alpha or a founder. Gabe had been both. And the pack didn’t even know he was gone. David had said he’d tell them tomorrow at the meeting, but was that the best way?

He mourned for David. David, whose family was already so small. Who already struggled to feel and show his emotions. Asher had seen the initial impacts of this loss. Cold. Detached. Devoid. Would David recover? Was this a wound he could ever heal from? Was he in pain? Asher assumed so, but if David was, he hadn’t shown it. Was he putting on a front, a wall he wouldn’t let anyone see behind? Or was he numb? Was that worrying David? Did he feel guilty he wasn’t feeling anything for his dad’s dea—

buzz buzz

Asher jumped at the vibration in his hands. He rose from the floor and stumbled over to the couch, wiping his face with his shirt. Milo had texted:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

Asher’s stomach dropped. His fingers were a messy flurry as he texted back:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

He waited for a reply.

————————————————

Milo pulled into the parking lot of Tank’s apartment complex. He’d past the site of Gabe’s crash on the way, scanning for a glimpse of Tank or their bike. Thankfully, he’d found neither.

But he saw Gabe’s car, and that alone almost sent him into a spiral. No wonder Tank had sounded so wrecked; the driver’s side had crumpled like paper.

As he raced through the parking lot, Milo caught a glimpse of Tank’s motorcycle parked in a large puddle to his right. He’d been right; they’d come back here. Thank god.

Once at the entrance to Tank’s building, he pressed the buzzer for their door and waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. When he was met with the same result, he started pressing every button, hoping someone would let him in. Eventually the door unlocked, and he pushed through.

Milo bounded up the stairwell to Tank’s apartment, slipping and catching himself several times on the rain-slick steps. His throat tightened when he turned a corner and spotted their door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

As he walked towards it, he texted Asher:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

After a few moments, his phone buzzed with a series of replies:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

When he reached their door, Milo pushed it open further and crept into the apartment. The curtains were all drawn and the lights were off, but Milo could slightly make out a series of objects on the floor. He felt around for a switch and flicked on a light.

All the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen were open and empty, silverware and broken dishes littering the floor of Tank’s tiny studio. Milo could practically track Tank’s movements, following the dents along the wall where they had hurled each cup and plate and fork and knife.

Then his eyes landed on blood—a piece of broken glass on the floor, glistening crimson along its sharp edge. Milo trailed the fat red drops to the closed bathroom door. The sight and faint smell of Tank’s blood made his head spin.

“Tank?” he called out.

A smear of blood glinted on the door handle. He gave two soft knocks. “Tank, please,” he tried again, “I know you’re in there.”

A wretched voice answered from the other side of the door, “Go away.”

He ignored them and tried the handle, grimacing at the slick feeling of fresh blood on his hand. Luckily, they’d left it unlocked.

Pushing the door open, Milo peered inside the dark bathroom. Tank was a huddled mass in the corner of their shower, head buried in their arms.

“I said go away, Miles!” they shouted, raising their head just enough to glare at him over their arms, eyes glinting with fury.

Milo flinched but didn’t leave. Crouching down, he spoke in as calm of a tone as he could muster, “Where’re you hurt, Tank?”

“Get. Out.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Milo replied, “Can I turn on the light?”

“No,” they snapped.

“Okay." Milo took out his phone and turned on his flashlight instead. He tried to ignore the trail of blood leading to Tank as he opened up their mirror cabinet, then the one under their sink.

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking for your first aid kit.”

“I don’t have a first aid kit,” they sneered.

Milo shined his light at Tank, who shrunk against it, burying their head again in their arms. They were soaking wet from the rain and shaking terribly. He cast the light away from them.

“Just leave!” they moaned.

“No. You’re injured, and since you have nothing to treat it with, I’m taking you back to Ash and David’s,” he retorted.

A snarl gurgled up from deep in Tank’s chest as Milo approached.

“You can growl at me all you want, I don’t give a damn.”

The snarl grew louder the closer he got. But once he kneeled down in front of them, it began to change, breaking up and losing its bite.

“I know,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as Tank began to cry, “I know, Tank.”

He placed a tentative hand on their arm. They trembled under his touch, but didn’t pull away. 

“Just come with me, please. You don’t have to talk about it. You can be as angry as you want. I don’t care. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” Milo said as he set his phone down, flashlight to the floor.

“I-I am,” they lied, their sobs warping their words. 

“You’re bleeding from somewhere, I saw the blood in the kitchen and in here. So no, you’re not,” Milo countered. 

“��it’s n-n-not b-bad,” Tank lied again. 

“Can I see?”

Tank hesitated, then raised their head. Milo couldn’t make much out. He flipped his phone around, so the light pointed up at the ceiling.

He choked down a gasp at the sight of Tank’s face. The gash just under their left eye was deep, blood still pumping out slowly, drenching their cheek and dripping down their neck. It was in their hair, on their clothes, on their hands.

“Not that bad, my ass,” Milo muttered, “Tank, this needs a healer.”

“No. No healers,” they choked out, tears leaving trails in their blood.

Milo knew accepting any sort of medical help was difficult for Tank. They never talked about it, but he assumed there was some sort of trauma or pride or fear stopping them. He was trying to be understanding, he really was, but it was all too much. It was late, he was spent, Tank was bleeding, and Gabe was dead.

“Fine,” Milo spat, “You either go back to Ash and David’s and let me sew it up, cause it’s going to need stitches, or I stay here and call a damn healer. Your fucking choice.”

That shut them up. Their sobs subsided and they glared with all the fury left in their trembling body before muttering, “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

————————————————

At the sound of the front door opening, Asher sprang up and raced to the hall. "Tank?"

David stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping like tears from his lashes. He looked as stoic as before, but now a sickly tinge covered his features. 

"David," Asher breathed, "Was it...was it him?"

"Yes," he muttered, walking inside and shutting the door, "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You thought I was Tank." David stopped in front of him. 

"I just uh...hoped..."

“What happened?” David repeated, his voice low and tense. He didn’t have the time nor energy for hesitation. His stare bored into Asher, demanding an answer.

"T-Tank saw Gabe's car," Asher spluttered. David's eyes widened. "They called Milo when they saw it. He had to tell them what happened, he—we couldn’t lie to them. Milo went to their place. He texted me when he got there but he hasn’t updated since.”

Of course. Of course they couldn’t have just waited to tell anyone until David got back. Or until tomorrow, like he told them. David pulled out his phone, turning off ‘do not disturb’. There were more missed calls and texts, but none from Milo or Tank. He pulled up Milo’s contact and called him. 

“Hello?” Milo’s voice oozed with trepidation. 

David’s was dry and sharp. “Is Tank ok?”

“…yes. We’re heading to my car now, we’ll meet you back at your place.”

“Are they hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David started getting another call. He ignored it. 

“Um…” David could tell Milo was choosing his words carefully, but for David’s sake or Tank’s he didn’t know. “Yes, but it’ll be ok.”

David gripped his phone tighter, but kept his rising worry out of his tone. He needed to stay level, anything less would just be detrimental to everyone’s safety.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Take them to a healer.”

David heard Asher mutter ‘fuck’ behind him. There was a long pause on Milo’s end, filled only with the sound of rain and Milo’s breathing as he walked. 

“Milo.”

Finally, he replied, “We’ll be at your place soon.” And with that, Milo hung up.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

The buzzing in David’s head started again, echoing those from his phone. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket as he stormed past a bewildered Asher and into his bedroom. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“David? David, what did Milo say? Is Tank ok?” Asher called out as he followed, making the wasps in David’s head angrier. He watched David tear through the drawers of his desk, searching for what, Asher didn’t know. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher called his name several more times before David seemed to hear him. He whipped his head around.

“Is Tank hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Yes,” David replied before continuing his search, “But Milo says it’s fine, so I’m hoping it’s not too bad. They won’t go to a healer, no surprise there, so they’re coming back here.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Who is calling you?”

David finally found what he was looking for; he pulled out the key and clipped it onto his key ring. “The pack. Someone must have found out. Maybe the wreck was on the news or someone saw it like Tank did. They’ve been calling since I left the morgue.”

David pushed past Asher again and started heading towards the front door. He fought back the wasps in his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Are you going to answer?” Asher asked as he followed. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“No.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Why not?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

He opened the front door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “At the pack meeting.”

“David they can’t wait that long,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “They already know. Or they’ve at least heard rumors. You need to talk to them.”

“Well, I don’t have the time!” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “I’ve got to get to my dad’s house and figure all this shit out,” David growled. The wasps were winning; he was starting to lose focus. He turned to leave. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Then let me do it.”

David paused. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“What?” he asked over his shoulder. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher’s voice took on an edge David had never heard from him before, “Let me go with you and answer the calls,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…“I’ll still be near, so you can get to your phone if you need to. But this way, you won’t be distracted, and the pack won’t be left in the dark all night.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David wanted to say no. Having Asher near right now felt like a liability. But he was right. buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…The pack already knew, and keeping them in the dark was only going to incite panic. That and David needed the buzzing to stop, both from his phone and his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David unlocked his phone and handed it to Asher. 

————————————————

“Hey, can you see who just texted me?” Milo asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. 

Tank wiped their hands as well as they could on their jeans before picking up Milo’s phone. 

goin w david 2 gabes

key undr mat

b back l8r

“It’s Ash,” they reported, “He’s going to Gabe’s place with David? He said the key is under the mat and they’ll be back later.”

“Why’re they—nevermind. Can you text him back and let him know we’re almost to his place and also ask if David has a suturing kit? Password’s 0209.”

Almost to ur place, u got a suture kit?

tank???

The one and only, how’d u know?

u txt dif

y do u hav milos phone

He’s driving

oh rite

r u ok

Im fine, suture kit?

david says in bthrm

Gotcha

y do u need it

Dont worry bout it

————————————————

“…yeah Kelsey, it’s true…I know…we don’t know that yet…yes, tomorrow morning at 11…okay…hey, you text me if you need anything…okay…okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, try and get some rest…I will…bye K.” 

Asher ended the call and trotted after David, who was already unlocking Gabe’s front door. He rubbed his eyes in the brief moment of silence before David’s phone started buzzing again. 

“Hey, Mika…yeah, it was a car crash…”

David was stuck in the doorway. The foyer loomed before him, both nauseatingly familiar and eerily alien. His childhood home was now as much a husk as his father was. It made the wasps in David’s stomach writhe. 

Asher was staring at him, David could feel it. So, he took a step inside. Then another. And another. It almost felt like trespassing. 

There was a David who used to live here. Who at seven years old had learned the virtue of honesty when he admitted to breaking the kitchen window. Whose first loose tooth was yanked out by a string attached to the front door. Who used to visit every week after he moved out. Who mended the roof and repainted the baseboards. Who spent countless hours listening to his father’s stories by the fireplace.  

That was not this David, the David treading across the floorboards like a thief. 

He reached his father’s study and unlocked it with the key he’d retrieved earlier. Asher ended his call and said, “I’ll be in the living room. Let me know if you need anything.”

David nodded and walked into the study, closing the door behind him. 

It smelled like him: rosemary, leather, and something distinctly Gabe. The scent should’ve been comforting, but it just stirred the wasps up, making him lightheaded as they whirled.

David switched on the desk lamp. Everything was just as he remembered:

Books lined the walls, organized alphabetically by last name. Stacks of paper sat neatly on the outskirts of the desk’s surface, leaving the middle open for work. A lumpy mug David had made in high school held a collection of pens and pencils. 

David walked around the desk. Three picture frames adorned the polished oak. The first held a pack photo from the previous year’s Solstice. The second held a candid of David’s mother, sticking her tongue out at the camera as she ran through a yard sprinkler. The third held a picture of Gabe and David on their most recent camping trip, their faces wild and beaming. 

On the back of Gabe’s chair hung his jacket. David felt the black leather—soft with use and dedicated upkeep. 

The wasps were stinging his eyes; David pressed his fingers into them, seeing sparks as he crushed the bugs behind his eyelids. He collapsed into the seat and focused on his breathing, forcing the wasps in his chest to move in an orderly fashion. Not here. Not yet. He had a job to do. 

David opened the largest drawer of the desk and began to gather what he needed. 

————————————————

"Shit, Tank, this looks really bad.”

Milo sat back on his heels; the cold of the tile seeped through his pants and into his skin. Tank stayed still in their position on the bathroom floor as Milo leaned in again, holding the needle tight in his hand.

After a moment, he leaned back again, exclaiming, "Fuck, I don't know how to sew stitches! I mean, my mom taught me to sew but skin is so fucking different than fabric. It moves and bleeds and-and, for fuck's sake, it's your face, can we please get a healer?"

Tank scowled but didn't reply, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from snapping.

"Alright, fine. Okay. But I'm gonna have to go slow. I don't know what I'm doing and, again, this is your face," Milo warned them.

"Just let me do it, then," Tank muttered. 

He dismissed the offer, "No, you've got your shaky hand."

"I can use the other."

"No, cause that's not your dominant hand. You've got to do this with your dominant hand, and that's your shaky hand. You're gonna scar real bad if you—”

"I don't care about scars."

"You'll care about this one."

"I have other scars on my face, I really don't care."

"You'll care about this one."

Tank looked away, the weight of the night and how they got there in the first place pulling them back down into silence. Seeing he’d won, for now, Milo breathed deep and tilted Tank’s head up slightly with one hand. He held the needle close to their cheek, whispering, "Okay. I'm gonna start."

Tank winced as the needle pierced their skin, and Milo almost called the whole thing off. But he kept going, and they quickly stopped wincing.

Milo was laser focused, doing his best to keep the stitches small and tidy. But when he was about halfway done, a tear rolled down into the gash, stirring Milo from his concentrated state. He used a gentle thumb to brush away the tears on Tank's cheeks.

"I'm not crying cause it hurts," Tank whispered, "It doesn't hurt."

"I know," Milo murmured, "...almost done."

Despite the circumstances, a sort of morbid satisfaction stirred in Milo at the sight of the bloody rift closing under his hand. It felt good, felt right, to be pulling something back together when everything was falling apart. 

When he finished the last stitch, Milo placed a large bandaid over the gash. Tank stared down at their hands while Milo put away the suturing kit. 

As he began scrubbing the dried blood off his hands in the sink, Tank explained:

“I didn’t mean to do this, you know.”

Milo stayed quiet, giving Tank the space to talk more if they wanted. But the silence just made them feel more pressured to defend themself.

“Well, I did mean to throw that glass, I just, I didn’t mean for it to throw itself back at me,” they clarified.”

“Okay,” Milo said. His tone came out of his mouth light, but fell heavy on Tank’s ears. 

“I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself,” Tank asserted, their anxiety rising.

“Okay,” Milo repeated. The discussion didn’t need to go any further. He didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. 

Tank blinked tears from their eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t purposely pull everyone’s attention from Gabe.”

Milo turned around and leaned against the sink, trying to defuse them, “I believe you, Tank. I know you. You would’ve let yourself bleed out in that shower before ever coming to me or anyone else for help. Especially tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course it’s a bad thing, Tank!” Milo threw his hands up, gripping tightly onto his braids.

“How is that a bad thing?!?”

“Because you can’t—I just—ugh, I can’t have this conversation right now. I need…I don’t know what I need, but it’s not any more of this,” Milo shot. 

Tank’s face twitched from the blow. They staggered to their feet. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.”

“What? Tank, no—”

“You stitched me up. Thanks. Now I’m leaving.” They threw open the bathroom door. 

Milo followed them down the hall, grumbling, “Tank, you don’t even have a ride.”

“I’ll walk.”

He rolled his eyes. They were being ridiculous.  “That’ll take you forever, especially in this weather.”

Tank whipped around, hissing, “I don’t give a fuck. You don’t need me here, you said it yourself.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well it sure did fucking sound like it.”

They stormed towards the door, but Milo slipped in front of them and blocked their path. 

“I just meant I don’t need to talk about that anymore!” he exclaimed, gesturing to Tank’s cheek, “We can talk about Gabe. We can talk about how we feel. We can talk about the future and the pack and what this all means going forward. Or we could not talk at all! But I don’t want to talk about shit that’s already happened. I don’t want to talk about shit that didn’t even happen in the first place. That’s not productive.”

“I don’t care about being productive,” they spat. 

“But you care about David, right? If you won’t stay for yourself or for me, stay for him.”

“He’s not even here.”

“But he’ll be back. And you know how he gets; he’s going to need us.”

“He doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, he does,” he groaned. 

Milo’s phone began to vibrate. 

Tank cried out, “No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t need my mess on top of everything else going on.”

As Milo dug his phone out of his pocket, Tank shoved past him and raced out the front door. 

Milo’s heart stuttered at the name on his screen. He rushed to the open door, yelling into the storm, “Tank, stop! Tank, please come back! Tank!”

Tears welling in his eyes, he leaned his weight against the door frame and answered the call. 

“Mom?….yeah, it’s true. Gabe’s dead.”

Wails erupted through his phone, scraping Milo hollow. 

————————————————

David found everything in under ten minutes—unsurprisingly, given how organized Gabe was and how pressed David was to leave. 

When he’d gathered the last of what he needed, he locked the study and walked into the living room. Asher was pacing, on another call of what seemed an endless barrage. He glanced at David and was summoned by a jerk of the latter’s head. 

The two left the house and drove back home, Asher answering calls and texts the whole way back. When they reentered their apartment, they heard Milo’s voice trickling down the hallway:

“Yeah, I know…no, but I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow…Oh, David and Ash are back. I’m gonna talk to them and then head over…no the rain has died down, I’ll be fine…yeah…okay, I will, I promise…okay, see you soon…I love you too, ma.”

He looked up at David and Asher. 

“Is Tank okay?” Asher asked. 

“Huh?” Milo replied in a daze. 

“They had to get stitches?”

“Oh right…um, yeah they fell on their way to their apartment after they saw the crash. The rain made their stairwell slippery and they busted their face open. But I stitched them up, best I could,” Milo lied. 

Asher nodded before getting another call. He answered, walking away into the kitchen. 

“Where are they now?” David asked, clutching a  handful of manila folders, a briefcase, and a familiar jacket. 

“They uh,” Milo looked away, “They left.”

The buzzing picked back up in David’s head. “Left?”

“…we got into a fight.”

David breathed out slowly, muttering under his breath, “Tank.”

“No, no, it’s my fault! I was distracted, I wasn’t careful with my words, I wasn’t listening to them. They left, I don’t know where, and I was gonna chase after them but then my mom called and…” Milo wiped the back of his hand across his face. 

The sight of Milo’s tear-streaked cheeks turned the hum in David’s head into a cacophony. 

“I think I’m gonna stay at hers tonight,” Milo croaked as he gathered his things, “She’s really upset.”

“Of course,” David replied, internally cursing that he couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

“I um, I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll text Ash for the details,” Milo babbled. He stopped by the front door. “David. If you need anything, you text me. Or call me. You hear?”

“I hear,” David lied, the buzzing in his head drowning everything out.