#queued that post goodness knows how long ago so it was a nice surprise
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Hey, hey
🌻
hewwo :3
so yknow those spinny fan things on top of vans?
up until recently (like last year).
i thought they made the car go.
like propellers underneath the ship.
it’s for freakin ventilation inside the vehicle
#if only i was taller and kinder i’d be a great himbo with this level of stupidity#the trifecta is incomplete B(#queued that post goodness knows how long ago so it was a nice surprise#answers from the void#superjustaguyblog
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Hyunjae | Vulnerable Words | 18.7K Genre | Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining Notes | Female!Reader x The Boyz Hyunjae, Post College AU. Mentions of alcohol, threats, unhealthy relationships, cursing. A whole shared brain written piece of work; Rainah and I wrote such eerily similar stories without the other’s knowledge, and here’s my rendition. This is a work of fiction, and any depictions of actions, behaviors, thoughts, and personalities of characters used in this story do not reflect reality. Summary | Hyunjae’s been gone for six years, leaving his family and friends behind to escape some painful feelings. Once returning, he realizes that those six years did nothing to help his feelings, and after running into you again, he’s convinced they’ll never go away, and that you’ve felt the same way all along.
Hyunjae hadn’t spent a summer vacation—or any vacation for that matter—in his hometown since leaving for college. He couldn’t place exactly what drew him back, but his parents were ecstatic when he arrived with a suitcase in hand and a shy expression on his face, hoping he still had somewhere to stay, even unannounced, with them. There was an air about his hometown that felt like a sea breeze on his face, like a breath of fresh air, a familiarity he couldn’t seem to find anywhere else.
His mother welcomed him with open arms, always thrilled to see her little boy, especially when she was never quite sure when she would see him again outside their visits to him. A fresh face he was surprised, but happy, to see was his older sister’s. She gave him a warm smile, waiting for her turn to embrace him after finally getting past their mother.
“You’ve been gone so long, you know,” she said to him. An explanation was queued in his throat transitorily just to hum in response, but for a moment just being welcomed by his family was calming.
“I always have classes in the summer and winter, and it’s a long way for a couple of days,” he explained. His father knew his ambitions, always studying extra hard at school, and was always encouraged to join extracurriculars or take more classes if he could—so he did.
“So, then, what made you take this summer off?” she asked.
It was an inevitable question he knew would be asked, but no matter how many times he thought to himself about the reason, he couldn’t come up with one other than he felt like he should, like he wanted to, like something was calling him back. Unable to answer, he shrugged it off before trekking up the stairs of a house he once called his.
Hyunjae got settled into his old room. Most of the things he didn’t take to college or didn’t ask to be kept were gone, and his bed was a full instead of a twin now, which must have meant that they used his room for guests—which he now was. For a brief moment, he sat on his bed, taking in the reality of actually being back in his hometown and seeing his family for the first time outside of FaceTime in a while. All the trinkets and pictures he’d asked his mom to save glimmered and glowered at him—maybe it was time to go through them to see what he wanted to get rid of. He reached over and gently plucked a silver frame from the dresser which encased a picture of himself and a girl he knew from a long time ago: his childhood best friend.
Hyunjae thought about you often, about what you were doing, if school had treated you well and how your family was— you both were that type of friends, the type that was close with the other’s family, the type whose families were basically your own. After moving away, he’d thought about you a lot through college in many lights; the good and the bad.
It was late enough in the evening that fifteen minutes into feeling nostalgic about his old life and friendships made it to dinner time. He was almost startled by the way his mom softly knocked on the frame of his door to alert him that dinner was ready, and although he didn’t feel overly hungry, he wouldn’t refuse mom’s homemade cooking or dare not sit down with them at the very least.
The evening wasn’t eventful, mostly just catching his family up on what life has been like for the time he’d been away, and similarly asked about things going on around there—about how much it had changed and become more accommodating to the younger crowd and how things had shifted around and all of the infrastructure that had been built. It was so much busier than he’d last remembered, with new shopping strips of immaculate and fingerprint-less glass storefronts with fancy chrome polished doors and neon signs that lit up the night; new bars and restaurants popping up in more populated areas he’d only glazed over while in the back of a ride-share on the way to his parent’s home.
His family stayed up much later than they had back before he left for college—he only knew because it was unusual for him to be tired before the rest of them, but when he took a peek at the clock, registering quarter to twelve, he was surprised.
“You’ve had a long day of travels, you don’t have to stay up for us,” Hyunjae’s mother commented, resting a hand against her son’s shoulder to bring him back to life, somewhat, as he was dozing off a bit in the corner of the couch. After moving to get up he gave her a soft smile, bid his family goodnight, and headed back to his room.
The bed and sheets were different, but somehow the way they slid over his body, the cool sheets meeting the warmth of his skin, something about it felt like home. Maybe it was the familiarity of the shape of his room, of the same furniture in the same spots, some trinkets still here and there he had fond memories of, or the comfort of the pillows that he sunk into like a sack of bricks. Maybe he really just was that tired from traveling and the somewhat mental exhaustion of being back and still not understanding what brought him here that any old bed may have felt like this. Despite that, he couldn’t help but glance over to the picture he was hanging on to previously. You both had just graduated high school in the picture, hanging on each other with playful smiles donning your caps and gowns. He wondered what you looked like now because he knew he looked quite a bit different.
Then he began to wonder if you ever thought about him, about how once he left for college the two of you quickly stopped talking... And now that he was thinking about it, he wondered if the number in his phone was even still your number.
Audibly sighing, he rolled onto his side to face away from the dresser from which that photograph was glowering at him, or so it felt. He closed his eyes and pressed his head deep into the pillow, tucking the sheets under his arm so just enough chill of the air conditioning would make it comfortable and somehow, despite his racing thoughts, he fell asleep.
Three days of summer ‘vacation’ went by agonizingly slowly, but he’d gotten the opportunity to look around some new shops that had popped up around the area with his sister before he was looking at your number in his contacts. Was it even worth reaching out to you? Would you even want to see him? Surely if he was having these feelings, there was a chance that maybe you were feeling them, too. So, as he sat across a bistro table from his sister after ordering lunch, his finger hovered over the message button before typing something quickly so he couldn’t change his mind.
An immediate notification came back from his service provider, notifying him that the number he had messaged was no longer in service, but that didn’t seem to ease his tension any as he looked back at the message with a displeased expression—shockingly upset in a way even he couldn’t understand.
“Who are you secretly texting under the table?” Hyunjae’s sister asked, not even remotely distracted with her food enough to not notice.
Hyunjae sighed, there was no reason to lie—it didn’t even really matter at this point, all hopes of him contacting you had been thwarted by the fact that you’d changed your number who even knew how long ago.
“An old friend from a long time ago, but their number is disconnected,” he replied with a sigh and all but tossed his phone against the rustic wood table, finally turning to his flavored tea for the first sip since it had arrived, and already their food was there. “I haven’t seen her since we both left for separated colleges… I figured if I was going to be here, it might be worth seeing her if she was still around.”
She looked at him for a moment; one name clicking in her mind right away and without thinking blurted it out. Hyunjae turned his gaze away from his plate, trying to wrangle his appetite, and up to his sister. Your name almost hurt him to speak out loud, but his look only confirmed his sister’s suspicions.
“Her family still lives around the corner, their old house…” she trailed off, trying not to step on any toes if there were toes to be stepped on, “I’m sure her mom would like to see you, she asks about you a lot.”
“Mom never told me that,” Hyunjae replied, appetite completely out the window that his point even if he picked around at the side of fruit on his plate.
“At the very least, you might be able to ease yourself about it.”
So, after a few more days of hanging around at home, helping his mom with some shopping, and exploring his some-what forgotten town with his sister, he pulled on a light jacket after dinner and announced he was going for a walk. His sister gave him a knowing look, almost promising she wouldn’t say where he was going as he stepped into his shoes and left out the front door. The way to your house was emblazoned in his mind, he knew it like the back of his hand—it was close and he couldn’t even count the number of times he’d been there over the years.
The yard was the same, littered with beautiful flowers as it always had been—your mother had a knack for gardening. All the flora was nicely groomed while the outside lights illuminated the walk-way a pale yellow color that glowed in the twilight air. He approached the door, a tight knot in his stomach; he hadn’t even planned anything to say to you, if you happened to be there, which almost made him turn back if he hadn’t already pressed the bell, listening to it chime loudly through the house before a quiet voice called back.
Hyunjae shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he listened to the locks turn before the door opened to a woman he was so familiar with, a woman who didn’t look a day older than when he’d last seen her at his high school graduation. A soft smile pulled at his lips, and his eyes softened just looking at her. She smiled back, although there was a glint in her eyes that told him that she wasn’t quite sure who he was.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely.
Hyunjae’s smile faded a bit, but not enough to drop from his face.
“I’m here to see my second family, after being gone for six years,” he replied gently, hoping that was enough.
She shook her head as her gaze cast away from him, which inevitably resulted in the smile dropping from Hyunjae’s face.
“Six years pass and your son from another family doesn’t even call you mom anymore,” she teased him as her eyes came back up to meet his disappointed gaze. “You’ve gotten so tall over the years, Hyunjae.”
His smile struggled to come back, and all he knew was the warmth of her embrace as she stepped just outside the door to wrap her arms around him. “I ask about you all the time, your mother always tells me how busy you’ve been and that you don’t even come to visit them.”
Somehow it made him feel guiltier coming from your mom than his own mom—maybe that was because his dad was always chirping in the background about studying hard, about how they’d always be there for him to come back when he was ready. His hands slowly pulled out of his pockets to embrace her back with words caught in his throat, a poor excuse of an explanation about why he hadn’t come back. It didn’t matter, the thought of you loomed in the back of his mind like a bad dream, and, as if her intuition could still reach him…
“She’s out at work tonight. Would you like me to let her know you dropped by?”
Now he was really on the spot. He could feel a shiver shoot down his spine and he thought about just asking for your phone number, but that felt like too much of a hassle. His hands shook a bit, and he was sure your mom could hear the way his heart raged against the cage of his chest just trying to come up with a response to a simple yes or no question.
“Yes, please,” he finally blurted, but it sounded unsure, there was no conviction. She reeled back to get a good look at his face, to see the nerves all over it, to see the frustration knitted in his brow.
“She asks me about you, which is half the reason I ask about you. When your mom said you never come around for holidays—”
“I wish she’d called me,” he interrupted; but did he mean it?
“You both were busy! She didn’t want to bother you—if you weren’t coming home for vacation, she figured you were doing other things. I’ll let her know you stopped by, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that you’re in visiting for a bit.”
Hyunjae slowly nodded and allowed your mom to return inside and bid him goodnight before he was turning away on autopilot. A million things were running through his mind—the most important seemed to be what would he say to you when he finally did see you again for the first time? He couldn’t even come up with something good to say even on the spot with you potentially answering the door to your childhood home. For certain he knew that he would be standing there, looking like a fool, stuttering for quite some time—he had no doubt you’d just look at him with that same patient look whenever he couldn’t come up with the right words for you.
After returning, he didn’t have too much to say as he headed up to his room, the same thoughts cycling his mind like a cropped film reel, but it wasn’t distracting enough to stop him from grabbing that same silver-framed photo of the two of you and plopped on his bed to look at it, hoping it would inspire some things to say.
At least he’d have three days before seeing you, finally, but it was fairly unexpected. His family was just getting ready to sit down to eat when there was a knock on the door. As the youngest and spryest, Hyunjae stood from the table to allow his family to start eating, but they were just as curious. An awkwardness loomed the moment his eyes met yours after tugging the door open; of course, he didn’t recognize you, really—it had been a good chunk of time since he last saw you.
“Sorry, maybe I’m at the wrong house,” you tried, a plate of baked goods in your hands as you looked back at Hyunjae before taking a step back to look at the address. There was a screech of a chair across the floor as it was being pushed out, followed by another one before the doorway was crowded by his sister and mother who greeted you enthusiastically. It didn’t take long for you to come to the ultimate conclusion.
Your eyes shot back to Hyunjae’s, who was still looking at you despite all of the commotion coming from around him which inevitably pushed him out of the way of the doorway. Somehow the plate was coaxed out of your hand with a million questions being asked about it and you were being tugged into the house with insistence that you join them for dinner. You couldn’t answer, your gaze remained locked with Hyunjae until the both of them realized that he was your primary focus, and quickly the chatter stopped and silence took over again.
“Well, aren’t you going to say something to her?” his sister asked, prompting him to come somewhat back to life and he shook his head, swallowing hard, but still nothing was in there to say—he wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled with your name. There was a burning within your face that you couldn’t contain, and couldn’t help the way your eyes trailed away from his face.
“Hyunjae… it’s been so long, I didn’t even recognize you,” you finally said, but still didn’t feel comfortable just yet looking back up at him.
Hyunjae swallowed the knot in his throat, and after some prompting from his sister in the background, finally found something good to say.
“Would you… would you please stay for dinner with us?” he asked. You could feel the nerves in the shakiness of his voice, and in the half-step he took towards you which you could only see because you were looking at his feet. “There’s plenty, and you’re not a bother, and… to be honest, I tried messaging you the other day, but I don’t have your number anymore and I went to your mom’s and—”
“I’ll stay,” you replied, finally finding the heart to look up at him with a soft genuine smile. You could hear his sister and mom behind you, but still, you were focused on the grown-up boy in front of you, who had grown so tall since you’d last seen him—you weren’t even heighted anymore. Hyunjae pulled out your chair at the table and got you a plate and some utensils. Naturally, he placed you between him and his sister where you usually sat when you stayed with them for dinner when you were younger.
Conversation ensued quickly between you and the rest of Hyunjae’s family since you were still far more familiar with them. You settled in next to Hyunjae again, and although there was a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on between the two of you, you enjoyed the fact that the rest of the family was breaking the awkwardness and allowing you and Hyunjae to chime in when appropriate.
The conversation was mostly about you, about school, about how life had been since leaving for college since you and Hyunjae had pretty much broken contact by the end of the first semester. Honestly, it broke both your hearts a little bit, and you could feel the stinging of those same pieces even now. Hyunjae told you what your mom said, about you not wanting to call him, and all of the subsequent lack of communication that led to your complete separation. Conversation seemed to flow a bit more freely between the two of you again, deep somewhere there was an understanding about the hurt that the split caused the both of you. Unfortunately, after that, dinner went quickly and although it wasn’t getting too late, you felt like you needed to go.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Lee, inviting me in so unannounced,” you began, and then addressed Hyunjae’s sister and then Hyunjae.
“It’s always a pleasure to have you over, dear,” Mrs. Lee commented with that same full smile she always had. She always made you feel like a part of the family, like her own daughter.
“Let me walk you home,” Hyunjae offered.
“It’s not far,” you reminded him.
“It’s late and I don’t want you to go by yourself,” he insisted.
He could see the fight in your eyes, the same fight from the number of years ago when he’d say the same thing, when he’d walk you home no matter how much you insisted it wasn’t necessary. The way you dug in was noticeable, preparing to stand your ground against him because, who was he to be so concerned as someone who left? And maybe that was the wrong mindset to have about him because you could feel, even in the way he looked at you, that he still cared for you.
Hyunjae gave you that look where his gaze got a little more tender and there was an almost unnoticeable raise of his brows and a head flick towards the door. It had you swallowing hard, barely even noticing the silence before it was interrupted.
“Please, Hyunjae will walk you home! It’s safer that way!” Hyunjae’s sister chimed in and took a hold of your arm to bring you back to earth. You looked at her, blinking a few times before reluctantly nodding. She gave you a tight squeeze, reminding you how good it was to see you and to not be a stranger because she would always be around and Hyunjae was home for the whole summer.
Out of old habit, Hyunjae extended his elbow to you, and, to avoid being overly awkward, you took it, but not without looking up at him questioningly as he was pulling you out of the door. You walked slowly side by side once getting off the initial porch of his parent’s home, and he reached over to cup over your hand to keep it from slipping away.
“If you don’t mind too much…” he trailed off, asking you to keep your hand around his arm as he escorted you to your home. He didn’t look at you, even when you looked up at him. It was okay, though, because you could hear something in his voice that pained you a bit, so you tightened your grip around his bicep as you moseyed along the sidewalk. The street lamps provided dim light, barely enough to see the cracks in the slabs of concrete. Admittedly, you felt better that he was walking you home anyway—ever since all of the development in the area, it somehow felt less safe year after year that you’d come home for the summer or winter.
Hyunjae was silent the entirety of the walk; the only noise he did make was an occasional rough exhale of a somewhat held breath, and in the off chance that you attempted to sneak a peek of him from the corner of your eye you could see his chest contract with that exhale. Then, you were under the familiar light of your home’s porch before you were ready. You knew the walk was only a couple of blocks, but you’d hoped there was more time with the pace at which you were walking. There was so much stuck in your throat that you wanted to say, so much that probably wouldn’t ever come out unless he spoke first; but it looked like there was little to no intention.
You could feel his bicep flex under your hand, his whole body tensing up next to you as he took another rickety breath. With your eyes still cast down at the ground, you turned your head to him before your gaze fluttered up his chest to his throat and eventually his face; he had gotten so much taller since leaving. The numbers of your address next to it seemed to scrutinize him before he swallowed hard. Hyunjae carefully peeled your hand away from his arm and held onto it as he helped you up the step onto your actual porch landing.
“Hyunjae,” you tried as you turned to face him—leaving in complete silence seemed incomprehensible, unimaginable.
“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly, but his gaze was still cast to the side of you. “I guess just actually seeing you, actually sitting down with you at the table with my family like old times just…opened wounds I didn’t know were there…”
The tone in his voice and the look in his distant gaze was like putting salt in the wounds you knew were there, you knew had been there for years. It took a few moments of silence, but his eyes eventually found yours. He looked at you with a tenderness you’d never seen out of him before, and of course, over six years there was a lot of growing and a lot of changes, but this particular look put knots in your stomach, unlike anything you had ever felt before.
“I think if we’re going to do any mending, that’s a talk we need to have,” you answered, finally noticing the way his hand lingered in yours, the way it had been for the last few moments that you hadn’t registered his fingers playing with yours.
The moment his gaze turned away from yours again, you took a step forward and your hand left his to turn his chin back towards you. “That means you can’t run away again,” you reminded him, as if his first departure away to college was him running away in the first place.
He nodded in your soft grip, but you could see the way his brow ached to draw together.
“Go home, sleep on it, get the right words… we’ll talk,” you told him, hands both dropping back to your sides.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time you weren’t sure what for. Just as you were about to turn towards your door to leave him, he took you around the middle and dragged you into him, hulling you up against his firm chest as his arms tightened against you. Initially, you were surprised. The audacity, but also the guts it took to pull you into a hug when he was stumbling over his words like a dancer with two left feet. Your hands ghosted up his arms, slowly feeling his frame—tall and warm against your own—before your arms draped across his shoulders. Your head was turned to the side, pressed against his collar turned inwards towards the center, and, much to your own surprised, you relished the hug like home. This felt akin to the hug he gave you before you both departed to your separate cities, vowing that he would maintain contact which quickly disintegrated. Honestly, it had tears pricking at your eyes like you were saying goodbye all over again, but also releasing the gates on the emotions you’d stowed away for all those years with no thoughts that he’d ever come back.
His breathing was now even more noticeably rickety with your head pressed up against his chest. A few more times he apologized, still for reasons you weren’t aware of, and squeezed you even tighter for just a moment longer before he was finally releasing you.
“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said as you stepped back from him, and even still he wouldn’t look right at you.
“Go home safely,” you replied, stepping backward until your back unceremoniously hit your front door. You were pawing at the handle, watching him wait for you until you finally popped the door to let yourself inside. “Goodnight, Hyunjae,” you added.
“Goodnight,” he replied, and your gaze finally met his before you turned to close him away from you.
--
Hyunjae spent the next couple of days mulling over your brief conversation about a conversation that still was yet to be had. It was up to him to find you when he was ready; obviously, he had a lot to say to you which would undoubtedly be coupled with a bit of stumbling around for the correct words, no matter how many days he had to think about it.
At least, he attempted to think about it. He slowly kicked his way down the river-front walkway to the dock where you used to play around as kids. The river-front was full of all kinds of neat little local mom and pop shops that gave life to the town, especially when the sun was setting in spring or fall when it gleamed off the river just right and an array of purples and oranges and all the colors in between painted the sky so beautifully. It used to be an empty area, abandoned commercially with the docks left to be perfect ground to play pretend as kids.
He remembered the dock fondly as he stepped off the concrete path and onto the surprisingly preserved wooden boards that looked like they had been sanded and re-varnished recently. Maybe the dock was still in use for smaller boats, or maybe those people who owned the river-front stores kept it looking nice for tourism purposes. Either way, he was happy, because that meant he had to worry less about splinters.
The tide was out, so there was plenty of room for Hyunjae to dangle his legs off the side of the dock as he took a seat, looking out to the glittering seawater which was reflecting the aforementioned sunset colors. He recalled all the fond memories he had of this particular dock with you—it was where you spent most of your time together playing pirates and other silly little kids games and remembered one time very vividly when he was roughhousing a little too much and you ended up tumbling off the dock into the water. He was lucky his older sister was there to pull you out—you were maybe six or seven at the time; he remembered how bad he felt, how many times he profusely apologized and the way you smiled about it, laughed about it even and gave him a hard time for being too concerned. Looking back on it, he wouldn’t have changed anything.
Incessantly he gnawed at his bottom lip, doing a little more thinking of the way things used to be and less thinking about what he would say to you when the inevitable conversation came. Maybe he’d benefit from playing through his memories, and he would have continued to think of them if there wasn’t an iced drink being shaken right next to his ear.
He jumped, a bit startled by the sound, and looked over to a stout iced coffee being handed to him and followed the arm up to your face, where you smiled at him jovially with the straw of your own coffee comfortable between your lips.
“Did you know I would be here?” he asked you and tenderly took the coffee from you and scooted over to make a bit of room for you to sit next to him. You plopped down, hanging your legs off the side of the dock the same way his were for a moment, examining your coffee as you stirred it.
“I had a hunch… and then I stopped by your house,” you told him, implying that they had told you that he went for a walk, but how many places could he possibly go in a city that wasn’t his anymore.
“I’m not ready to have the talk,” he replied quickly as to not get your hopes up about it.
“That’s okay,” you said, “we don’t have to talk about that, we can talk about anything. Or we don’t have to talk at all.”
“But you bought me a coffee—”
“I could see you from the shop,” you laughed, referencing the river-front shop maybe fifty yards away.
Hyunjae just nodded, still too nervous to even look at you again since taking the coffee from you in the first place. He hadn’t even tasted it, just continued to spin the ice around the clear plastic cup as condensation built up on its sides before finally mustering the courage to thank you for the coffee.
A few moments of silence passed--if he didn’t have anything to say, that was fine, but you wouldn’t be the one to force conversation as you kicked your feet back and forth and continued to sip on your coffee. You found the nerves fluttering around in your stomach were also making it hard to look at him, which probably benefitted him anyway.
You wouldn’t, and couldn’t, blame him for being closed off, and gave him a pass for a couple of days ago, the affection and openness after the first time seeing you; the well of emotions was hard to ignore especially when the two of you used to be so close. But now that he had a few days to settle in, a few days to think about that… a different tune was expected. The imminent conversation that loomed in the background of both your minds (perhaps at the forefront of his) was only exacerbating the awkwardness you stewed in.
“Do you want me to go?” you asked after a moment; you had, after all, been the one to come second. It was his dock if he wanted it.
“No, I’m sorry. A million things are running through my mind, and I’m just trying to not say something stupid,” he replied, and finally, the blood rushing through him gave him enough adrenaline, faux confidence, to turn his head just enough to peer at you from the corner of his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to make this trip so hard on you—”
“It’s not you, it’s me. It’s one hundred percent me, and that’s the part I’m grappling the hardest with. I just…” He sighed, taking a moment to compose himself as he ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead just to let it flutter back into place. “You must hate me, for treating you the way I did. For never bothering to check in with you, or even come back. For just leaving you behind like you were nothing.”
His words stung, indubitably. Although that was the fact of the matter, you’d always tried to make excuses for him, but when he gave it to you in total plainness, you understood his feelings a bit better.
“I was afraid to go, and part of me felt like I would be better off if I just… forgot about here and everything with it.” He paused for a moment, biting that bottom lip harder than ever before, and stifled a growl deep in his throat when he finally clenched his teeth together. “I’m sorry, for being such a… freaking jerk!” His voice raised volume at the end of his sentence, emphasizing the way he assumed you felt about him because that was how he felt about him. “There’s so much more I want to say to you but I just don’t… I don’t have the right words yet.”
He took a deep swig of his coffee to try to cool himself off after winding himself up, but it was mostly so he’d shut up before saying anything else harmful because he could already feel the shift in your aura that wasn’t so jovial anymore. Admittedly, his words clawed at the metaphorical stitch job over your wounds, pulling hard at the threads that closed them up, and you could taste a bit of that initial pain resurfacing. Emotionally, you didn’t want to have that coming conversation, but logically you knew that if you were going to heal completely about each other that it was entirely necessary.
“Thank you for being vulnerable with me,” you finally said after a few moments of silence. You knew how much it took to get just even that out, the amount of pride he undoubtedly had to push aside to admit fault in the first place. The fact that he openly admitted he was afraid was somehow unlike the Hyunjae you used to know.
He couldn’t even look at you again and took another sip of his coffee to effectively polish off the small cup before he discarded it to the side you sat on. Gingerly, you collected it intending to throw it away when you left, guessing it would be before him. The silence that loomed between you had you able to hear the way his fingernails scratched against the fresh varnish of the dock in frustration.
“Why are you even sitting here with me? I wouldn’t even have the patience to talk to me until it was time to hear me grovel at your feet about what a piece of shit I was and how I don’t even deserve you to still be in my life anyway and that it was foolish of me to even go to your house, to begin with, and—”
“Stop,” you interrupted, maneuvering both cups to one hand somehow just so you could set your now free hand down on top of his to squeeze it.
“But I just—”
“Hyunjae, stop!” you pleaded, and he’d finally turned to look you in the eye, entirely, for the first time since you sat down. “You’re not a piece of shit—”
“Only that could possibly do to you what I did; a spineless and weak little—”
“Enough!” you begged—now he was just making you angry, but only because you were hurt with the way he beat himself up harder than you ever would; that was something you found familiar about him. “You know I don’t think that!”
“Don’t sit here and lie to my face like this,” he almost growled. “I know what I did to you, and I would hate me—”
“Great, but you’re not me,” you fired back with matched ferocity, and so you exchanged your look between his eyes, noting the way they shimmered amber reflecting the sunset light off the water, noting the way they looked at you with such intensity, while trying to stave the tears that were pushing against his waterline. There was a bubbling against your throat, words you knew you didn’t want to say that burned like wildfire. You continued to switch between his eyes, knowing the things queued weren’t going to help the situation in any way and so, to avoid saying something you knew you’d regret, and since you knew he wouldn’t stop pushing you, you pushed up from the dock and took his empty plastic cup with you to leave him with the burn of your hand on top of his and that distinct lack of your gaze into his eyes.
Then, and only then, did the tears that threatened have room to fall. His nails scraped against the dock even harder as he clenched his fist, still able to feel the warmth of your hand on top of his as he stared through the ghost of your presence. His jaw was tight, and his tears were hot—they were angry, frustrated, discontent but not with you. The wounds were deeper than he thought, still more tender than he thought, and all that led him to a harsh conclusion—the final talk would be even worse hell than he initially imagined.
__
A few days away from each other allowed for a bit of cooling off. Hyunjae drafted a few notes of things he wanted to say to you but often scrapped them, knowing that it would sound ingenuous if he was reading off a cue card. Several crumpled half sheets of paper filled his trashcan, a sight that annoyed him even as he lay on his bed with his eyes closed, knowing he needed to get something to stick. It was already two weeks into summer break and while there was plenty of break left, the sooner you had this talk, the sooner he would stop feeling like complete garbage for being in the same town as you.
That’s really what it was; initially, it felt so good to see you again—although you’d changed a lot in six years, the familiar presence made home feel a lot more comfortable. But the more he settled in, the more he thought about it—thought about what you were feeling, thought about how you made him feel, thought about everything that went down before he said what he imagined was his last goodbye and quite frankly, for as much as he cherished and cared about you, the goodbye was sub-par to shit. And he knew it would come crashing down, that comforting euphoria of having you close to him again when those fateful words exited your mouth: that’s a talk we need to have.
He hated the feeling that was coursing through him now, touching every nerve ending he had, absolute dread. Now, he was feeling like it was a mistake to come back, although he was entitled to the town as much as you were as his family lived there also—the biggest mistake was trying to see you again.
A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts and his eyes opened to look at it as it began to crack open. His sister had a tray with some cups and a kettle on that she was maneuvering through the door, pushing it back closed with her foot as she set the tray on the large dresser to the left. She looked at Hyunjae before noticing the pile of paper around his small garbage.
“What happened?” she asked, knowing it was something because Hyunjae seldom spent so much time in his room, plus he’d been off for a couple of days since he’d seen you at the dock.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hyunjae replied, gracefully accepting the freshly poured tea his sister was handing him.
“I don’t think that’s what I asked,” she replied—she usually didn’t let him get away with that, even since they were kids.
Hyunjae sighed and blew on his cup of tea for a moment. “Just marinating in the consequences of my colossal fuck ups,” he replied with a fake smile to the emptiness of his room, although the statement was directed at his sister.
“She doesn’t hate you, if that’s what you think,” she replied and took a seat on his bed. “She’s hurt about you; I’d be hurt about you. There’s a lot to process between the two of you right now, a bit deeper than you might expect to find. It’s awkward and tense and tough to swallow, but you have to do it if you want to salvage it. But I know she doesn’t hate you.”
He swallowed hard; he didn’t even want to look at his sister for the time being as he was having a hard time with the things she was even saying—they were true; he knew they were true. But about you not hating him? Maybe he didn’t believe that. He was slipping into his thoughts again before his phone started vibrating in his pocket. It was unusual, because seldom did anyone call anymore, and who would be calling anyway? He finagled it out of his pocket to look at the caller ID to see someone he recognized: Kevin Moon.
Hesitantly, he swiped to answer, leaving his sister to occupy herself about his room.
“Hello?” he muttered unconfidently.
“Hyunjae! I heard you’re finally back in town!” Kevin’s voice seemed a bit too jovial, jolting Hyunjae a bit.
“Ahh… yeah. It’s been a minute, huh?” he inquired less enthusiastically.
“A minute! More like a lifetime; you’ve been gone for six years! Anyway enough about that; I’ve planned a get-together for a bunch of friends from back in the day! You know, our high school group! When I heard you were back, I had to invite you! You should come by, I’m sure everyone would love to see you!”
It would be rude to ask who was invited, and then decide based on that; but there was certainly a handful of people he would do better not seeing again, perhaps. He had an answer queued in his throat, he wanted to say that he wouldn’t make it—
“You better go, you’re not doing anything and you need to get out,” his sister commented, loud enough for Kevin to hear.
The look on Hyunjae’s face dropped in an instant when Kevin confirmed that he heard and looked at his sister with daggers in his eyes.
“I’ll kill you,” he mouthed to her but she just smiled and sipped her tea. He composed himself with a deep breath before agreeing to be there and briefly negotiated the time and place and after Kevin hung up, he let out an exasperated sigh.
“There are so many people who are going to be there that I don’t want to see,” he grumbled.
“But there’s so many people who you do! Plus, people who would love to see you, and you can’t just mope around here all day, I won’t have it!” she exclaimed and took her seat back next to him. “You need to get out; sitting up here and thinking about what you’re going to say will make you age too fast. The right words will come, I promise.”
“I think you’re too confident,” Hyunjae said.
“I need to be confident for both of us,” she reminded him and filled her cup back up before leaving him with the rest of the pot in his room.
It was already late in the afternoon at that point, and Kevin’s party would be starting in a couple of hours. He sat on his bed with his legs crossed as he finished off the pot of tea, taking up another half an hour before finally deciding he would shower for the party and at least try to look more put together than he felt. What did the extent of the old group mean? Because you were technically part of the old group; asking about you outright would be too suspicious. There would be plenty of people there to keep you both distracted from each other especially since they’d undoubtedly seen you far more, which meant it was likely he’d be engaged the whole time.
He set the tray off to the side on his desk—he’d take it back downstairs later—and grabbed some things for the shower with a sincere hope that some hot water would help clear his mind. And perhaps he spent far too much time in there, because by the time he got out and checked the clock it was already twenty minutes passed when he thought it was. He rushed through toweling his hair somewhat dry enough to comb it a certain way and hoped it would stay, tugged on a black button-up and a light wash pair of jeans before he was heading out the door, mentioning briefly to his parents that he was going to Kevin’s, a name they were familiar with, and that he’d be back later.
When Kevin answered the door, it was nothing short of a party right there. It had been a long time since any of them had seen him, so the commotion was understandable, and then an actual genuine smile broke on Hyunjae’s face as he clapped hands with his buddy who was quickly garnering the attention of the other party-goers who had also missed him.
Hyunjae stepped through the door, a cup immediately put in his hand as he greeted all his old high school buddies amongst the dimly lit room. Kevin always knew how to set the mood of a get-together; this was no different, done up with candles and string lights that slowly faded to different soft colors with some low music in the background. There were a couple of yard games going on outside, corn hole and beer pong with tables of appetizers and coolers full of drinks of all varieties.
“Wow, Kev, you went all out,” Hyunjae commented and reached into his pocket for his wallet to try and supplement some of the cost, but Kevin stopped him immediately.
“You’re the guest of honor; you’re the whole reason I put this thing together,” he replied and encouraged him to put his wallet back. “When I heard you were back I knew the guys would be stoked to see you. It seems like you’ve been gone a lifetime!”
Hyunjae laughed nervously and hoped that he wouldn’t be asked why he never came back to visit. It was a thought he was still grappling with; a thought he knew half the answer to but the other half was something he’d rather not visit. He had mentioned it to you out loud that day on the dock and it left a burning in his throat ever since—he couldn’t decide if it was because it was the truth or because he knew he was only telling you part of it. Regardless, he tried to push it from his mind before taking a swig from the plastic solo cup in his hand: a hurricane tasting concoction that wasn’t quite right and a bit too strong.
As he expected, he was fairly occupied with the swaths of conversations, always being caught by someone new he thought he’d never see again to strike up a conversation about what he was up to and so far, he’d avoided the dreaded question about not visiting. It was safe to assume that he was just caught up in things; Hyunjae was always a hard studier; school was very important. In a fairly short time, considering the duration of Kevin’s parties typically, he’d gotten through most of the high school group who had come up to him in small circles to greet him and catch up a bit.
For a bit, he’d been roped into a couple of games of corn hole. It was fun while it lasted, although he couldn’t say he was any good at it. It was the bonding and laughing that counted, especially when someone’s throw was particularly bad and they all laughed at each other for never playing games like this in their college days—it seemed everyone turned out to be quite studious in their time at school and spent less time at frat parties.
When one of the rounds was finally over and Hyunjae’s drink had run dry, he found a replacement for his team and excused himself back inside the house to make something more his speed. There were a few small circles of people who seemed like they were all catching up—turned out he wasn’t the only one gone for an extended period. Hyunjae dug through a cooler for a can of coke to mix his own drink before he was overhearing some drama he probably shouldn’t have concerned himself with, but it was right around the corner from the kitchen and it sounded unwelcomed.
“Please just leave me alone,” a voice Hyunjae recognized sounded quietly. Suddenly his desires were conflicted when could tell they were trying not to make a scene but then recognized the voice as yours. On the one hand, he figured the two of you needed a little more space, but on the other hand, was he about to just stand by and let whoever was bothering you continue to do so?
No, he couldn’t let it go, and set his cup down on the kitchen counter, and carefully rounded the corner of the wall to find you sandwiched between it and Sangyeon, someone he considered to be close friends with at one point in time. The look on your face when you finally opened your eyes to see him was nothing short of desperate, but Sangyeon had you locked in tight.
Hyunjae wanted to verbalize his protest, but the look on your face caught his words in his throat. Instead, he stepped forward and took Sangyeon’s shoulder to pull him away from you.
“She asked you to leave her alone,” he was finally able to manage just as Sangyeon had stumbled back slightly, ready to give Hyunjae a few choice words before meeting eyes with the familiar younger male. In less than a second flat, you’d scrambled off the wall to take Hyunjae’s arm as he protectively tucked you behind him, expecting a confrontation. Sangyeon knew the history between you and Hyunjae well.
“Dude, it’s cool,” he tried, a friendly smile on his face as he reached for you.
“Dude, it’s not cool. She asked you to leave her alone,” Hyunjae fired back, taking a step back, and subsequently stepping you back.
“Babe, just tell him—”
“I’m not your babe anymore, Sangyeon. I thought that was clear,” you spat from behind Hyunjae. Although there was shock in his subconscious, he couldn’t let that display on his face. He kept his expression as stone-cold as possible as he glared down the older male who was gritting his teeth. It wasn’t hard to piece together the situation; you and Sangyeon used to date, you called it off and Sangyeon didn’t like it.
“I got it, Hyunjae,” Sangyeon tried again, as if trying to convince him that it was a situation he didn’t need to be a part of, but he could feel your grip tighten a little bit on his arm and he wasn’t about to abandon you—he didn’t care who to.
“How about you take a walk,” Hyunjae suggested, knowing what Sangyeon was implying. The older seemed shocked by his reply, and rightfully so. “She asked you to leave her alone; I don’t think she should have to do so again.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that loomed between the three of you, and you could see the look in Sangyeon’s eyes that you were pretty familiar with and so tugged yourself closer to Hyunjae. The younger raised his brow, prompting for a reply or for the older to move on. It was clear Hyunjae wasn’t going to back off, especially not as he tucked you just a little bit further behind him.
“Take a walk,” Hyunjae reaffirmed, a growl on the tail of his words and he stood firm until Sangyeon growled, attempting to glare past the other male to get to you, but Hyunjae consistently stepped in his view to make sure that would not be successful.
It hurt your pride a little bit, to be rescued from your ex-boyfriend by anyone at that party, but most particularly Hyunjae who you were not expecting to see, although you were expecting him to be there—and you really weren’t anticipating him seeing that. Surely he knew, and surely he gave you a couple of moments to decide what you wanted to do as you stood against him, against his back, waiting for Sangyeon to clear out and even beyond. Hyunjae’s rhythmic breathing was soothing as he made no moves and only looked forward; he could feel the way your hand still furled into his pressed black shirt, the way your forehead lay against his shoulder blade while his hands dangled at his sides.
“Are you okay?” he asked after a few moments. He was met immediately with a tightness of his shirt, as you gripped it a little harder. “Did he hurt you, physically?” he asked, since he could tell you probably weren’t okay, at least for the time being, and he could feel you shake your head against his shoulder.
“Let’s sit somewhere quiet,” he suggested and waited for you for a moment before you were peeling yourself off his back. You expected he wouldn’t look at you, just lead the way through the house that he had been in more times than he could count as he led you towards the back of the house, but not before being caught by a passerby. Feeling a tug on his arm as you responded to the tug on your arm, Hyunjae jolted to a stop.
“Are you okay?” Younghoon asked you. It wasn’t so far out of reach that you be put in a position you didn’t want to be in, but Younghoon couldn’t know that you’d just been rescued from one. Before you could answer, Hyunjae looked over his shoulder at Younghoon.
“O-oh,” Younghoon stuttered. Everyone around knew about you and Hyunjae. “Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologized, soothed only by the warmth of your smile as you pushed the threatening tears further and further so that you could finally get out of there as you were pulled into a back guest room—you could tell it was a guest room because of the décor and the dust on the furnishings. Hyunjae closed the door behind you as he found the light and flicked it on, giving you space to make yourself comfortable first and he would follow after.
You took a seat on the bed, first, letting everything soak in—starting with Hyunjae and your interaction at the dock for a short time before the situation with Sangyeon, how you would manage to make it through the rest of the party without more problems whether that be between you and Sangyeon, or Hyunjae. You watched as Hyunjae’s dark shoes made it into view in front of you as you looked down at the pristine wood flooring covered by an area rug.
The fray of your distressed jeans entertained your hands, picking at it nervously as you took a few deep breaths. There was an almost silent noise that came from him as he stuck his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders a bit before letting out a rickety exhale. He wasn’t sure what to say at the moment; between Sangyeon, Hyunjae’s blow up at the dock, the kind of bad terms you were on with each other.
“May I see your face?” he asked. He hadn’t seen it since the begging look in your eyes and he wanted to wash that away from his memory. Slowly, you raised your head to look up at him, but he wasn’t sure it was any better. The tears were cropped up against your waterline, tears you were desperately trying to fight off as your shaky fingers continued to pluck the threads on your jeans.
His jaw fell open, so many words queued at the front of his throat but none of them felt good enough to soothe the look on your face as you looked up at him, but also looked around him. Trying to decide if staying there or if reaching for you was the better option, he stood there with his fingers furled in his pockets. A few emotions swirled inside of him, feelings he couldn’t quell; he desperately wanted to avoid you once arriving, but the look on your face pressed firmly against his heart because he still cared deeply for you.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered, “I didn’t expect it, him, any of it. I told Kevin, he said it would be taken care of and—”
Hyunjae gathered you into the warmth of his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around you to provide you some semblance of safety as he sat to your side on the bed.
“You do not have to apologize to me; I only wish I could have helped you sooner,” he reminded you, rocking with you a little bit before he sat more squarely on the bed and tugged you to hold you more firmly, more steadily, more securely. You hid your face against his neck, and the tightening in his throat at the feel of your warm tears against his skin was incomparable.
“I’ll have a word with Kev—”
“Please don’t,” you begged. “This was supposed to be a party for you and I don’t want it to be ruined because of me, because of Sangyeon; I should have never come, I knew it was a mistake, that there was no way it could be assured,” you explained, somehow finding your way to your feet after pushing away from him.
“Don’t…” he pleaded, reaching out to take your hand as he looked up to you now as you stood before him. “Don’t say that. I’m happy you came.” He was playing with your fingers at this point, not minding that you were looking down at that instead of at him.
“It will be getting dark soon and there will be tons of lights all over the backyard if you’ll accompany me to play some games,” he reminded you. Kevin had hosted many parties in the past with decorations just the same—twinkling multicolored lights hanging everywhere he could get them and then some to really set the mood. Hyunjae had clearly remembered how awed you were by the lights at night from the last parties you’d come to, and that in and off itself set a few butterflies free in your stomach. You looked up to him, meeting his eyes which looked at you so tenderly. It was a tough spot to be in considering, but he wasn’t about to send you back out there knowing uncertainly that Sangyeon was still looming around and would no doubt continue to cause problems if you were on your own.
He waited for your gentle nod before taking your hand fully, cupped flush against his as he guided you out of the bedroom, and shut the light off behind him to take you out to the backyard where everyone was playing games and mingling. Some conversation fell quiet as they watched you pass, others came up to speak with you more openly before he took you to a game you could play standing side by side, and he made a promise to you that he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until he knew Sangyeon was gone.
And thankfully, for both of you, the party passed pretty quickly with a handful of guests bidding farewell to Hyunjae, reiterating that it was good to see him and that he should come back and visit more often because they all missed him—you were not to be forgotten, as they all bid you farewell as well. Some whispers lingered, some sly grins and knowing gazes as they looked at the two of you, seemingly entirely blind to it.
The games had been put away as it got dark out, not even the twinkling fairy lights illuminated the backyard enough to keep the games going, but nobody seemed to mind. The fire pit was lit and a handful of folks sat around it with drinks in hand just letting the conversation flow. You were among those sitting around it, listening to the stories being shared, some about Hyunjae, but others just reminiscing about your high school times and how much some of them missed the simplicity of life back then. Sangyeon, from what you understood, had been long gone, so you felt comfortable sitting by yourself without Hyunjae’s watchful gaze as he fixed you both a drink in the kitchen before emerging with a plastic cup which was put into your line of sight in no time. You took it, looking up at him, but after his hand was emptied it continued to linger. He motioned his head out to the depths of the backyard where more lights were strung about the garden and it would give you some quiet time. Daintily, you placed your hand in his and let him lift you from the lawn chair—there was a missed beat in the conversation for a moment, but continued quickly to try and not look suspicious.
Hyunjae guided you to the exact spot at the foot of a large tree that was upending the wall that housed the backyard and disturbed some other brickwork of the nearby flower garden, but he knew a good spot where the roots dodged just enough for a plush place to sit and placed himself in it first. You looked at him, skeptical for a minute. There was a choice of where to sit, and he looked at you with no expectations that it would be like old times, so he was a tad surprised when you planted your knees in the grass in front of him and handed over your drink for a second to situate yourself, turning and placing yourself in front of him, between the cage of his legs that bent around you, and gently leaned back into the warmth of his body before collecting your drink.
“You didn’t have—”
“I could use some familiar safety right now,” you interrupted quickly, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Besides, he brought you out there for some peace which typically came from safety and you made the choice on your own.
Hyunjae hummed and leaned back against the trunk of the tree to slouch you a little deeper. Your head rested against his shoulder as you enjoyed the coolness of the evening air, the gentle sounds of crickets and other nightlife, the glow of the galaxy beyond, and the twinkling lights in the gardens around. The only unnatural sounds were that of ice melting in your cups, disturbing your drinks when the structure changed, and the way the cups sounded being moved around. It was quiet, and for the most part, you preferred it that way, but you knew another inevitable question was coming.
“You don’t have to tell me because quite frankly it’s none of my business, but what’s your history with Sangyeon?” he finally asked you. Your cup crinkled in your hand, flimsy under your grasp for only a moment while your other hand plucked a handful of blades of grass from the ground with some quiet pops. He didn’t want to make it too obvious that he didn’t like the idea of you and Sangyeon for reasons he could go on about.
“Long story short, we got together for… reasons… albeit not good ones, and he turned out to be entirely as controlling as you witnessed. I broke it off, he didn’t like it, and heard about this party and knew I’d be here… for you…”
“You should have told me,” he whispered, his voice right above your ear and you could feel the way his jaw shifted against the side of your head.
“We weren’t exactly on great terms,” you reminded him, noting the distress of his jeans against the knee, and mindlessly to distract yourself, you fiddled with the loose strands that were fraying, easy to reach with his knees bent to enclose you. “Besides, I heard there was a chance you wouldn’t show anyway. We all kind of determined that you intentionally hadn’t visited. Not that we thought you hated us, just that you wanted to move on.”
There was a tightening around Hyunjae’s heart he hated as you spoke those words. Hearing you say it hurt in a different way than him coming to grips with it himself. His legs couldn’t help but close on you a bit, a frustrated grunt squeaking from his mouth. Not here, he thought, not now. This was not the best place to be having that conversation, but little did you know that was the conversation.
“I owe you all an explanation, truly,” he said.
“You don’t, really. You have your reasons for doing things that are your own. You don’t owe anyone anything,” you said.
“I owe it to myself, then,” he retorted, “and I want to start with you. But that’s part of the big conversation and while I know you have granted me gracious time to collect my thoughts… it’s a conversation I’d rather have without prying ears as it only concerns you and me without the speculation of anyone else.”
“Hyunjae…” you trailed off, turning your head to fight against his, fluttering at the feel of the corner of his mouth and nose against your forehead. His eyes clenched tightly, once again trying to fight off the feelings, the thoughts, trying not to repeat the day on the dock. To steel his nerves, he turned to the side and took a large swig of his drink, feeling your hand wrap against the outside of his knee to tug it against your body. If it was one thing about Hyunjae you were really in tune with, it was his emotions—you tended to feel how he felt, to understand without him having to say much—and it held true even with six years apart.
“I don’t want you to feel rushed and I won’t force the conversation, but I know you want to say a lot of things, so when you’re ready…” you uttered, nuzzling your chin under his jaw. You were pushing, unintentionally, at the seams of his packaged distress. He was doing his absolute best to be there, to be the open and comforting Hyunjae he always was to you, and that was his ultimate demise. The very concept of Sangyeon put a pit in his stomach, and it didn’t even have to be Sangyeon, it just had to be anyone that wasn’t him. But how was he supposed to tell you everything? About why he left, about the things, the feelings, he wanted to leave behind without seeming insulting to you; and then how was he to address that those same issues never went away, that seeing you for the first time even after all that time stoked the same fire, if not more so.
But back then he was just a kid, and it felt stupid, all of it. The distance hurt like hell, but after a bit it became refreshing. Each year got easier to not come back; but he missed his friends, he missed his family, he missed you, but he didn’t miss the way he bit his tongue, the way he stowed his feelings, the way he’d dare not ruin the amazing friendship you had over what he called selfishness. He wanted you to be free without his burden, which ultimately started driving his choice to leave.
He never changed; he could still feel the tip of his tongue clamped between his teeth, still feel the churning in his stomach with the attempt to put his feelings away, the lump in his throat which felt like a swollen version of his heart, a hole in his chest which the alcohol wasn’t helping in the slightest.
“I think it’s about time we head home,” Hyunjae commented after a few moments of tense silence. You were trying to understand the emotions you were feeling via Hyunjae, the way he was feeling, the sudden tenseness of his body, the closed-off disposition. “I’ll walk you,” he added, a lulled whisper in your ear.
You both made your way to your feet, discarding your cups in the kitchen after bidding everyone goodnight and thanking Kevin for the hospitality. You all lived close, the same homes from the district which put you in close walking distance. Hyunjae offered his elbow to you the way he always did, and the both of you meandered rather slowly to your home where he could drop you off. You wrapped both hands around his bicep, a million thoughts running through both of your heads, putting you in seemingly different worlds than each other while walking right next to one another.
Needless to say, the two of you arrived at your front porch far sooner than either of you were ready. Hyunjae took your hand to help you up the step onto your landing, but the lingering way he gazed at you let you know that he was feeling the same way; that for some reason you weren’t quite ready to leave now that you were really alone. But it was already late, had to have been past midnight, and lingering on your landing could look suspicious.
Still, you turned to look at him, not so much at his face, but at his throat, at the undone button of his black shirt, at the way his throat shifted as he swallowed hard. His thumbs were hooked in his pockets as he stood as attentive as he could muster, waiting for you like he always did. You, on the other hand, fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you thought of what to say, what to do, if it would be best to just say goodnight and be on your way, or if you had something more to say.
Your gaze finally landed on his face, looking over his features. He must have been able to feel your gaze, because slowly his eyes flittered up to meet yours, glimmering in the dim porch light. With you up on the landing, the two of you were closer to the same height—you smiled, remembering how much he’d matured since you last saw him. It seemed like the only thing that could roll off your tongue was his name, so almost silently it did so once more. You watched his gaze shift between your eyes, his feet shuffled forward to bring himself closer to the landing. Slowly, your hands came up; an innate desire to put them against him had you placing them gently on his shoulders. His breath shuttered against your face, jaw tightening as your brow furrowed a bit.
He was so close to you, your arms were entirely folded at the elbow, you could practically feel the warmth radiate off him, his face had to be no further than a couple of inches now that his eyes were peering slightly down at you and still glimmered like the galaxy captive. It took a second for you to realize that his face was sinking closer to yours, that his head tentatively tilted just as his nose brushed against yours. You took a deep breath, fingers anticipatorily furling against his shoulders as his lips fleetingly brushed yours. He waited a moment for you to object, one of his hands freeing itself from his pocket to place tenderly against your hip while your breath was caught in your throat, but when you did not attempt to move away or verbally object, he leaned in further.
It took only a second for you to fall entirely into his grasp, feet shuffling forward just a tad as he slipped his hand around your back to put your body against his; your arms slid around his neck especially as he stepped up onto the landing, and guided you backward to gingerly press you up against your front door with a few readjustments. You couldn’t quite place the mix of flavors you were tasting, but it was clouding your better judgment—many factors were in play between the kiss, the way his fingers pressed into your lower back, the way he had you arching against him, the Sangyeon panic, the alcohol, the distance, which all made the experience surreal. But you couldn’t deny the way your chest was exploding, the way your nerves were all on end, the way it felt so right after so many years.
You almost sighed, the way his tongue flicked against your bottom lip before your subconscious was pinging on the Sangyeon panic, and your arms retreated from his neck to weakly push against his shoulders. He tugged away, the tender sounds of a broken kiss ringing in your ears like a train whistle before those same warm lips were pressing soft kisses against your jaw, and only after a successful few did you find any words to push from your throat.
“Maybe don’t,” you uttered, more as a sigh as your head tilted back to quietly hit your door, “my breakup is still fresh, and we still need to talk.”
Your voice was a whisper of the wind, but still enough for him to ease off, to pull back and press his forehead against yours after noticing your eyes were closed. His hands tugged your hips into his since your hands were still flittering somewhat across the nape of his neck. Your tongue darted out to flick across your lips, remnants of rum and coke lingered before he took a whole step away from you, and that meant the protective grasp of his hands against your hips was gone as well.
“I’m sorry,” you uttered, “I’m sure I’ve been sending you strong signals all night, and when you stepped in and… your safety and your scent and your touch and charm…”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back,” he muttered under his breath, looking up at the cracking paint of your porch covering. He hoped it wasn’t loud enough for you to hear, but unfortunately, it was. You looked at him, queueing a couple of replies in your throat that never seemed to fit the situation and adequately explain how you felt at the same time. You waited only long enough for his gaze to cast back down to you, almost expecting you to say something, but you had twisted the knob to your door and disappeared into the darkness of your home without another word. Could you say it was the best decision? Perhaps not. But in that moment you feared that you would say something that would damage an already delicate situation. If you had just left it at the bit about the breakup and about needing to talk, he would have understood. Everything else just confirmed his fears about you; that you liked the idea of him. He shook his head and turned to head home, ignoring the prying questions of his sister who was surprisingly still awake and, without turning a single light on, closed the door to his room and crawled into bed.
__
Hyunjae was quiet for subsequent days—too quiet, really, and under the prying and watchful eyes of his sister to look for anything to start a conversation about. Hyunjae was a brick wall. As stoic as anyone could be, almost emotionless, and that, in and of itself, was enough to break the ice about it.
“What’s turned you into a zombie?” she asked, closing the door behind her as she entered Hyunjae’s room. He was reading on the bed, but maybe he couldn’t even call it reading; it was more like his eyes were scanning the same ten sentences a hundred times, never once comprehending what any of it said only to start over from square one again. His brain was scattered, the was no arguing that. But while he thought that his scattered brain would provide him with at least some thought about how to handle the situation, there was no such luck for that either. He had become zombie-like between the lack of emotion and disregarding actions.
His eyes shifted over to her—he looked tired; dark circles around his somewhat reddened eyes, but maybe that was for a reason yet to be clear. He took a deep breath, closed his book, and turned to her.
“The same reason I left in the first place,” he replied, not anticipating that she would have an immediate response—she didn’t. She wasn’t confused, she had a pretty good idea why he left even though she never pressured him to say; he had to do what he had to do for himself and no one would stand in the way of that.
“Should I tell her you’re napping, then?” she finally said.
Those few words dropped on Hyunjae like a bomb. The gears ground in his head for a moment, trying to comprehend how incredibly dire the situation was seemingly suddenly. He blinked a couple of times.
“What?” he asked.
“Did I stutter? Do you want me to ask her to leave? She’s having tea with mom downstairs, I said I would come see if you were available since apparently you haven’t been answering your phone.”
He looked over at the device on his bed, remembering the decision he made right before he closed his eyes for the night to block your number. His heart simply couldn’t bear dealing with anything you had to say, if you did even dare attempt to contact him.
A deep sigh fell between his lips as he stared past his phone and at an undesignated imagined hole in the wall. He all but slapped his book down on his bed and dropped his face into his hands, running his fingers deep in his hair just to tug at it.
“Are you serious,” he growled. Was it not enough, what happened? Was it not clear enough that he wanted to just disappear back into the night like he had never shown back up in the first place?
“Whatever problem you’re having with her, you need to solve it before you leave again, if that’s what you decide to do. If that means closing that book, then do it; but leaving it open is only going to hurt more,” she advised, reaching over to take one of his hands after it fell slack at his side. He looked over at her, but he could tell by the look on her face that she was serious. Not closing the back cover left the wounds wide open and he had already experienced once just how painful that could be.
There was a knock on the door, followed by his mother’s voice, and before he even had time to object the door was being pushed open, and there you stood, looking like you’d slept as much if not less than himself.
Hyunjae let out a disappointed and frustrated sigh as he rolled his eyes away, his sister gave a displeased growl while you looked directly at him. Although Hyunjae’s sister harbored no ill will towards you, she cared immensely for Hyunjae which made the situation that much harder. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, but she also didn’t know the whole story, just that it was about you as so many things had been in the past. She stood and turned to Hyunjae for a moment.
“Do what’s best for you,” she reminded him, glanced at you, and side-stepped you to bring her mother away from the situation.
“Great,” Hyunjae growled sarcastically as he turned to sit on the side of his bed and meet your gaze to the best of his ability. Slowly you stepped in, closing the door behind you. The last thing you wanted was for this to turn into a blowout, but you knew things were rough between the two of you, and you could tell he was suffering just as much as you were about the entire thing.
“Hyunjae,” you greeted, not pleasantly nor firmly. He could see the quiver in your jaw just saying his name, but that didn’t stave off his fiery feelings in the slightest.
He muttered your name back, a greeting somewhat in return.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me—”
“Then why are you here?” he asked, almost barked.
You sighed, slinking against his door. Hyunjae tended to get rough when he was wounded, like a cornered dog who had no choice but to bite back.
“Because I gave you as much time as I could but it obviously can’t wait anymore,” you replied, trying to force confidence into your voice. You needed to stand your ground with him, even if you were never particularly good at doing so.
“You’re right, I don’t want to talk to you. Not only that, but I don’t think there’s anything to talk about anymore. So, sorry you came all the way here for nothing, but I don’t have anything left to offer you,” he snapped, standing from his bed and approached the door, and you, and reached out in an attempt to tug it open.
You pressed against it harder, forcing against his pull to keep the door closed. He scoffed and looked to your face containing the most determined look you could muster since you had arrived. You glared up at him and growled his name.
“You’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be. But we spent many years being the closest of friends, and whenever we had a spat, we always worked it out. And even if things are a bit rocky right now, and it looks like I’m not your friend, I’m at least here as someone who cares so deeply about you—in whatever way you want to interpret that—to try and work through this with you, the way he always have,” you almost pleaded, but with a conviction that made it sound more like a statement for the first time since you’d arrived.
“I know you’re hurting, and I know I’m the cause of that. But to think that I’m here for any other reason than to try and make it right…” you trailed off with the shake of your head, gaze trailing away from his for only a moment, “you know me better than that. And if I know anything about you, you left for a reason, so let’s start there.”
“What is this, freakin’ honesty hour?” he asked, taking a step away from the door, almost attempting to convince you that this was ridiculous, but your reply jarred him.
“Yes, it is, that’s the whole purpose of trying to solve something, being transparent.”
“You want me to be transparent?” he almost roared.
“I want us both to be transparent, Hyunjae,” you fired back, although quite a bit calmer than him.
He paced for a moment, trying to figure out how he was going to approach this—the best way didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to express his feelings at the expense of anyone else’s feelings, because everything to that point had been at the expense of his. You stayed pressed up against his room door, watching him pace, watching him think, watching the frustration build on his face until he finally got some words out.
“The other night,” he started, pausing his pacing to look at you, “when you just let me fall into a bear trap…” He laughed, but it wasn’t because it was funny—his brow was furrowed in disbelief as he looked at you, a hurt on his face you’d never seen before. “I left because I couldn’t take it anymore.”
You swallowed hard, having a good idea what he was talking about already, but you still wanted him to say it out loud—you still wanted to have a conversation.
“Couldn’t take what, Hyunjae?” you asked delicately.
“You,” he replied, jaw clenching for a moment, fists following before he took a deep breath himself. “The way we were. How… connected we were. How open and honest and upfront we were, how deep we were,” he explained, or tried.
“And the other night is related because?”
He bit his tongue, you could see it peek out from behind his teeth before he turned his face away from you, clenching his eyes before his hands found his dresser, holding him up in a sense as he leaned into it. A few deep and rickety breaths followed as he composed himself enough to say something.
“It confirmed the fears I struggled with, suffered with, that you only liked the idea of me. Confirmed the fears that you wanted me in theory, and how strained that made my ability to maintain a friendship with you. I left because it seemed easier to forget about the feelings when you weren’t right in my face. I left because I thought it would be easier to move on. You said the other day you sent me strong signals, and you did. They were strong signals; they were wrong signals—”
“They weren’t wrong,” you interrupted, “I was torn between respecting my relationship space with Sangyeon and being elated that you were back and willing to treat me like we’d never skipped a beat,” you tried to explain in return.
He spun to face you, tears already pushed off his face. His heart hurt unbelievably, fiery but in a negative way, squeezing in his chest as he formulated his reply.
“So you think it’s cool to just lead me on? To not only let me but encourage me to kiss you on your front porch and lean into it like you welcomed it, just to hit me with all that shit about my safety, my scent, my charm and in essentially the same breath tell me that I’ve crossed a line? I’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re just the one I won’t ever get over, but you don’t have to make it so damn hard for me the one time I do decide to come back!”
“Hyunjae—”
“Do not. Do not try to charm me with those pretty little eyes, with the sweet way you say my name—” he growled, unable to finish before you had something to say.
“I’m not!” you retaliated. “I am not trying to get out of what I did! I am not trying to discredit how you feel or play the victim in any way. I know my approach wasn’t great, and I will be the first to admit that. But if we could go back and redo the situation… if you hadn’t kissed me, I probably would have kissed you,” you expressed to him.
“I don’t like the idea of you, Hyunjae. I’ve always liked you. And when you left, it took me a few years to get in the game to try and move on… I got with Sangyeon because it felt, in the beginning, like he understood me. Like he empathized with my loss, which was you, and I had an aching, a pit that needed to be filled that I thought he could fill. But that pit is shaped exactly like you, and I realized that nothing else will ever fit it properly…”
You tried so hard to maintain your resolve, but the way getting all of that off your chest made you feel in combination with the look on Hyunjae’s face, you weren’t sure how long you would last. You couldn’t tell if he thought you were lying or not.
“What a jerk I’ve been to you,” you continued, “This is why I get so mad about you saying stuff like how mean you’ve been to me; like you think I thought you left without a purpose. I didn’t know, exactly, your purpose at the time, but I knew it was one you needed for yourself. So, why would I think you were a jerk for that? When you didn’t reach out, I saw the signs like freeway billboards—”
“I loved you,” he interjected. “And I was so scared that if I had admitted that to you, that I would lose you, but I ended up losing you anyway because I was too weak to swallow the fact that I did love you. That I do love you. That those six years away did nothing to help me move on,” he replied, pouring it all out for you, finally saying what he needed to say for so many years and a weight lifted off his chest, but it didn’t stop the squeezing feeling.
“I got too worried trying to respect the relationship with a man who never respected me; who took advantage of me knowing I was vulnerable without you; and if I had come to that conclusion on the landing that night… Hyunjae, I may have not let you leave. It was like my favorite coffee on a cold day, like the sun on my skin in the late spring, like the spray of the water on the dock—nothing has ever felt more like home.”
Hyunjae let out a deep sigh, blinking back the tears that pushed at the outer corners of his eyes as he slipped to the floor. His gaze looked out but didn’t find anything in particular, clouded anyway. He took a moment to reflect on the way the hardwood panels felt underneath his fingers, the way breath filled his lungs, the way his eyes stung, the sound of you sliding down to the floor yourself against his room door.
There wasn’t much else that needed to be said, so the two of you sat across the floor from each other in relative silence for quite a few lingering moments. The both of you were trying to regulate your breathing, trying to quench the fire that burned deep down.
It took a moment, but he crawled across the floor of his room to sit up in the corner of the wall and the door and asked for your hand only to coax you over to him, between his legs to rest up against him as he settled his chin on your shoulder. From then, it was a matter of time and healing, and he wanted to spend the initial healing time with you in his arms in the quiet of his room as the both of you processed everything that was said.
All that could be heard throughout the room was perhaps gentle breathing, silently the continued refusal of tears that stung both your eyes. Hyunjae dug his face in the crook of your neck, even if you were turned away from him; he didn’t want you to see it. But even if you couldn’t see it, you could feel the way his rickety breath fell across your shoulder, the way he trembled against your back, the warmth of his tears against your skin and even though things were on the mend, that, in and of itself, stung like hell.
Hyunjae’s pain had always been your pain, and vice versa—his happiness, his burdens, his struggles, his successes and triumphs; they had always been shared because of your dynamic, and it was clear things weren’t about to change. It had always been a love the both of you were too afraid to admit because there was a very real chance it would drive you away from each other.
“I love you, Hyunjae…” you muttered. It was the only reassuring thing you hadn’t said.
His arms tightened around you, fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your shirt that furled in his grasp. There was a mumble into your skin—you didn’t hear him, but you had a decent idea what it consisted of.
It was contemptuous to even consider moving for a bit. Relishing each other’s presence seemed cathartic, to a point; it felt as though as you sat there with each other, after laying it all on the table, that the healing was somewhat fortified. As the time passed, your touches against each other were different, softer in a way, more calculated, and genuine. Millions of things were still running through each other’s minds—even though there was nothing left to say, you both were over thinkers to the core, so that occupied most of the silence between you. At least, until there was a knock on Hyunjae’s door. He hadn’t realized the time, or how much time had passed, but he helped you to your feet before tugging the door open to reveal his sister.
“We’re getting ready for dinner, you’re welcome to stay…” she hesitated, noting the look on both your faces. Your eyes were noticeably still red and swollen—you never had a quick recovery after crying, even if it was somewhat tame. Hyunjae was still pushing at his own tears, too.
“Thank you, but I should get going,” you replied, a sad smile on your face as you looked to Hyunjae who understood that not only would it be incredibly awkward, but that you both probably needed some time alone with your thoughts. He nodded encouragingly, agreeing with your conclusion before he began ushering you through his door. After following his sister down the stairs, you quietly greeted both of their parents, thanked them for the offer for dinner, and had Hyunjae show you out.
“I’ll walk you,” he asserted, but you quickly shook your head.
“Your dinner is hot, you should stay; it’s still light, I’ll be okay on my own,” you replied as you turned to face him, to look up into his somewhat swollen eyes, to catch the fleeting tremble of his lip as he looked back at you. Before he could nod in reluctant agreement, you reached out to take his hand and gently squeeze it. You used that hand to pull him closer to you, the half a step distance you needed to stand high on your toes to press a soft kiss against his cheek; it was sticky but you didn’t care. His eyes fell closed as you lingered there for a moment then you drifted back to the flats of your feet, gave his hand another squeeze, stepped off the landing of his house, and turned down the street. A few trickling moments passed before his sister collected him at the door, encouraging him back inside to try and eat something even if he wasn’t hungry. Surely, he would hear from you soon enough.
It was a weird type of limbo to be in, unknowing when it was appropriate to contact the other, and sheepishly waiting around for the other to do the dirty work. This inevitably led to another few days of silence, but that didn’t stop you from calling up Younghoon—your new closest friend since your falling out with Hyunjae—to ask for his advice, since he never seemed to give it unsolicited.
Nervously, you turned your iced coffee between your hands as you sat across the café table from him. Patiently, he continued to wait for you, never forcing a word out of you or a move of any kind. When you had called him up saying that you wanted to talk to him about Hyunjae, especially considering the look he gave you at Kevin’s party after Hyunjae had helped you out of a precarious situation, he was eager to meet with you—not because he had dirt or anything to spill, but because he knew, somewhere in there, you agonized over Hyunjae; sometimes in unhealthy ways. You had always been friends with Younghoon, so he was the natural next best to Hyunjae; expressly since he’d watched your friendship at its peak and watched the way it splintered into nothing—admittedly, he was the only one with your actual best interest in mind, particularly when you concluded that Hyunjae’s absence crushed you in ways you couldn’t explain initially.
“Sorry,” you muttered, a rickety diffident to your voice with another shaky exhale.
“I’m in no rush, you know I’m here for you,” he replied. “Why don’t we start with this; you mumbled hurriedly over the phone about how things had been solved, and then unsolved,” he prompted, giving you somewhere to jump off from since it appeared you were having a hard time finding somewhere to start.
A tough swallow broke down your throat as you thought about the instance in which he reached for your arm and asked if you were okay, your hand laced with Hyunjae’s.
“About that—he caught Sangyeon being… well, Sangyeon,” you answered. Part of you figured Younghoon would be offended you didn’t tell him about the incident with Sangyeon, and you honestly weren’t even positive he’d been seen by Younghoon or Kevin for that matter.
Younghoon’s eyes perked a little bit; the situation was a little different now that he knew you had been in Sangyeon’s clutches only to be rescued by Hyunjae. It seemed right, in all fairness.
“We’d fought a couple of days before—not really a fight, a small disagreement, and weren’t on the best of terms. It was a weird situation that went from bad to good to bad all in one evening…” You had to trail off, thinking about the events as they replayed in your mind. But it was salvaged now, right? You blew off your steam with each other and found a ground with equal footing, but things were still awkward.
“The point is, I’m here because we finally had a talk, and while it wasn’t really talking and more like yelling at each other and then breaking down into mutually pathetic messes, I came to ask you what you think is the best way to approach him now. We haven’t talked in a couple of days, I think we’re both kind of hinging on the other being the first to reach out for contact,” you explained.
Younghoon sat in contemplation for a moment. There was no correct answer to your question, and he couldn’t even say there was one approach that was better than the other. Even something as simple as texting him to ask how he was doing could be enough to open the door, so he didn’t take long to come up with that to say to you.
“I suppose you think it’s weird to just text him to ask how he is.” Apparently, the situation was a little more complicated in your eyes than he initially thought.
“I had six years to do that,” you replied, your plastic cup crinkling under the pressure of your fingers furling against it.
“Of course,” he answered, understanding the situation a little better. “To be completely honest with you, you both have overcome a lot already, if you consider. Between the frontages, the distance, the coming back together, and all the drama that came with all that, you both have managed to sort something positive out, right? I’m sure there’s nothing you could say that would have a negative impact short of telling him you wish he’d leave again, and I doubt you’re going to say that.”
A slight laugh escaped from your throat, but it could have been mistaken as a scoff just as much. It was ridiculous for Younghoon to even suggest that, because he was completely right—only if you became possessed would you consider saying that to him.
“I know it feels like a delicate situation, but I’m positive it’s far less delicate than screaming at him in the middle of his bedroom about how dumb you both were being after re-shattering his still splintered heart.”
“Ouch,” you responded, even if it was true, and it was never like Younghoon to pull punches when you needed to hear something. And he had always known of Hyunjae’s feelings for you, so that didn’t make this conversation any less brutal.
“Also, I’m not saying it will be instantaneous, but I’m also certain that deep in there he’s elated to have you back, too, and in the state he’d battled with himself about for some time. You might be best off asking to meet on neutral turf so there’s no awkward looming—I know how nosey Hyunjae’s sister can be,” Younghoon laughed and took a swig of his coffee, relaxing back into his chair which, inevitable, had you relaxing back into yours, letting his words sink in as you picked up your phone to type a message to Hyunjae about meeting up the next day.
--
The late evening sun glimmered off the water, stretching left and right as far as you could see. The soft ripples of the water catching the light to produce a river of diamonds while your legs hung off the edge of the dock. Your phone was tucked deep in your pocket, an unread message about Hyunjae being on his way to meet you sat in your notifications bar. There was an unexplainable tightening in your chest, but maybe it was just because it was the first time you were getting to see him after the tipping point. An unreasonable voice called from the back of your mind to back out; that it had already been a rough time with him, maybe it was better to just let it go—a voice you had to really try to push away.
Another rigid breath—how many had come in the last few days, you would have a hard time counting—as you steeled your nerves, clutching the edge of the dock as you tried to wait patiently, at least until a small cup jingled with ice from the side of your face. Hesitantly, you looked over and slowly followed the arm up to a familiar face. He smiled delicately, his lips barely tugging at the corners to produce it, but it was detectable by your trained eyes.
“Hi,” he almost whispered as you faltered a bit in taking the flavored iced tea from him; it was a little late in the evening to be having coffee—not that it had ever stopped you in the past. He took a seat next to you, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the dock next to yours. To say that he was sitting comfortably close was an understatement; his hip was effectively pressed up next to yours, just like old times, but there was a new sense of comfort that washed over you from the fact, even if the nerves were bundling in your throat.
“Hi,” you choked back, eyes never breaking their contact with his being even when he settled. “I’m going to apologize in advance if this is extremely awkward.”
“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you,” he laughed, looking out over the water to notice the same sea of diamonds you’d been entertaining yourself with since you took a place on the dock yourself. “Can’t say I’ve been through this before, so it’s definitely new and rocky terrain.”
“You seem jovial, nonetheless,” you replied.
“One of us has to try to keep a good spirit,” he joked, elbowing you in the side, reminding you that you weren’t exactly the mood-maker of your duo, before he took a swig of his tea. You followed suit, uttering your gratitude, before forcing a bit of confidence into your bones. All of the times you’d sat on the dock with him in the past in this very setting came rushing back to your immediate memory, and with it, all the times you’d begged to loop your arm around his. So, with a bit of hesitancy, you moved your tea to your hand opposite of him and swiftly stuck your hand under the crevice between his arm and torso to wrap your hand around his bicep, additionally leaning your head against his shoulder to avoid the imminent gaze that would no doubt scout your embarrassed features in half a second flat. Hyunjae did, in fact, turn to look, a more noticeable smile tugging at his face as he pulled that arm tighter to his body, acknowledging your courageous display of affection, and gave you the satisfaction of relishing it without some signature sassy remark from him as he leaned his head against yours.
The way you clenched your hand against his bicep was indicative of looking for something to say, scrapping any ideas you had in your head a handful of times. He knew you weren’t the best with words, especially after having a fight—that’s what he’d call it, because it kind of was—but that didn’t stop him from waiting for you to say anything. Instead, you opted to nudge your head up a little bit, wedging it between his head and shoulder a little further before a somewhat exasperated noise slipped from between your lips.
Hyunjae discarded his tea gently against the finished dock, turning his full attention to you. His slender fingers gently prodded against your jaw, prompting you to lift your head from his shoulder. It was always like him to take control of the situation, and to be completely honest, you had banked on that for this entire meeting. You were pleased to look at him per his will, tilting your chin up so that his face could slip by yours and press a lingering kiss against your cheek, the way you had to his at the end of your last meeting. Perhaps the most important meeting.
Again, you wanted to speak with nothing really to say. Your eyes fluttered at the feel of his supple lips against your cheek and remained closed when his delicate fingers flittered away from your jaw and his hand cupped against the back of your neck, craning up only slightly to place another kiss against your forehead, and another against your cheek—you had to chuckle, nervously nipping at your bottom lip as you tried to read his intentions.
“Just let me marinate in the fact that I have dreamed about this for eight years, and I’m finally here,” he mumbled against your skin, knowing that you were laughing at him.
“I’m laughing at you because you keep missing,” you replied, eyes fluttering open to meet his as he pulled back. The gentle smiles fell from both your faces as your gaze teetered between each other’s eyes, noting their glimmer, their depth, the absolutely homey look you gave each other. Your breaths mingled just a few inches from each other between the two of you before you noted the way his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips—in nervousness or preparation, you couldn’t tell. When he noticed the way your eyes fell past his nose, he couldn’t help but speak up.
“Is that so?” he asked nearly inaudibly.
“As a matter of fact…” you trailed off, anticipating the way one of his hands reached across you to help you settle your tea against the dock so you could place that hand wherever you’d like as his mouth descended on yours, delicately eclipsing yours in a softly meshed kiss that felt worlds different from the one on the landing of your home after Kevin’s party. It felt like a plug had been pulled, and all the tension that culminated between the two of you was swirling away into the abyss as you melted into his touch, gingerly cupping your cheek until his lips broke away. A silent protest came in the form of an exasperated exhale, that shy smile returning to your lips noting he hadn’t pulled far enough away to be out of reach, so you took it upon yourself to lean in for another quick peck.
“Somewhere deep in the back of my mind,” he began, waiting for a moment for your eyes to open so he could look into them once more, “I had always hoped I would get to kiss you on this very dock with the sun going down and glimmering against the water, exactly the way it is.”
You placed your hand down over his, which was pinning you somewhat against the dock as he rotated to face you. The look on your face was enough, he didn’t really need a reply; everything that needed to be said had already been said. Even still, you had something for him.
“Me, too,” you replied, leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his for just a moment, “so, I’m glad you came back to figure it out. I needed you more than anything.”
Hyunjae chuckled; the thoughts he had been battling with for so long about why he was returning all suddenly made sense, like a message in the stars, a secret nudge from the universe telling him there would be something special about him coming back, pushing through the dread he had cut with your hometown. He remembered letting it marinade for a week after the idea first crossed his mind. Maybe he was feeling homesick, admittedly he missed his parents and his sister, but he could tell there was something more.
“Something in the vast infinity delivered your call,” he whispered to you.
“I owe whatever mystical message that led you back to me a great debt.”
“Why don’t you just say you missed me?” he teased.
“The way I missed you is beyond anything I could string together with words, Hyunjae,” you replied, pushing him back a little bit to put him physically on the defensive for only a second before he took the opportunity to pull you across his lap so he could have you as close as possible.
“And showing you feels a little more vulnerable; maybe we needed that all along, instead of putting on that tough face for each other,” you told him, your smile saying something different as your hand gingerly stroked through the tresses of hair on the back of his neck, tilting his head to look at you before your foreheads met, eyes fluttered closed once more.
A moment relishing this closeness was much needed and long-awaited.
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Sunday Mornings 2/?
Notes: Thank you all so much for the positive response last week. As promised, I’ll continue to have a new fluffy domestic ficlet to post in this verse every Sunday. ‘Cause truly, we all just need more soft fluffy Malex in our lives. Shout out to @cosmicclownboy for the idea of Alex stealing Michael’s coffee <3
Week 2:
Alex is sitting on the sofa scrolling through Netflix when Michael finally comes into the room, wearing nothing but Alex’s sweatpants and carrying a fresh mug of coffee. He sits down and Alex grabs the mug out of his hands to steal a sip for himself. Michael glares at him playfully, but he just shrugs back unapologetic.
“It tastes better when it’s yours,” he says with a smile, earning him a chuckle and a roll of the eyes before Michael steals the mug back for himself.
“Find anything for us to watch?” he asks, leaning his weight against Alex’s body. Alex wraps his arm around Michael’s shoulder and his hands move to to play with his hair as he continues to scroll aimlessly through the options.
“I don’t know, I guess I don’t care,” he says, handing the remote to Michael.
“There’s this new documentary that I’ve been reading up on about agriculture and over-cultivation,” he says, scrolling down to the documentary section and clicking through the options.
Michael is such a fucking nerd and Alex loves it.
He’s always known that Michael is smart. He was in classes with him growing up and thus, got to witness the ease with which Michael would learn any and every new concept their teachers introduced them to, no matter the subject, but especially math and science. He’d been aware of Michael’s scholarship and his original plans to go to school for agricultural engineering. And if none of that had been enough to convince him, Alex has been in Michael’s bunker. He’s seen the papers littered with complex mathematics that Alex will never understand.
He’s always recognized Michael’s genius. But the sheer level of nerd is a relatively new side of Michael that Alex is lucky enough to witness. He has never understood it when people tease nerds. Watching somebody geek out about a passion of theirs has always been a beautiful thing to Alex.
It’s why he enjoys talking to Greg about teaching. And why he always asks Liz how her research in California is coming along. Or why he asks Kyle about his day at the hospital. And yes, it’s also why he asks Max about his writing, even when it makes everyone around them groan. But few things will ever be as beautiful to Alex as the way Michael acts whenever he’s learning something new or explaining some science topic to him. It’s breathtaking.
“Here it is,” Michael says, finding what he had been looking for. “It’s supposed to be really good but I haven’t been able to watch it because I don’t have a Netflix account.”
Alex gives him a slightly judgemental look. Not because he’s never signed up for Netflix, he gets that the monthly subscription is a luxury not everyone is willing to pay. But because he’d never told Alex that before and they could have solved this problem a long time ago.
“You know I can give you my log in, right?” Alex says. Even before they started dating, Alex would have given him his password so his nerdy ass could watch all the documentaries his heart desires.
“Really?” he looks surprised.
“Really.” He’s about to end it at that but instead gets a genius idea of his own. “Of course, I’ll require you pay me in coffee…”
Michael rolls his eyes. He hands Alex his mug with an amused smile before standing up, seemingly to go make himself another cup. Alex smiles triumphantly and sips happily at what is truly, the best cup of coffee in town. He’s not sure how Michael manages it, but his coffee is always better than Alex’s, even when they are making it out of the same pot.
“So I’m guessing you want to watch this nerdfest,” Alex calls out to him.
Michael appears back at the doorway looking slightly embarrassed. “No, we don’t have to. I can watch it later.”
“Guerin, do you want to watch this?” he asks again, already knowing the answer is yes even if Michael is going to pretend like he doesn’t care.
“Whatever you want,” Michael says before walking back into the kitchen to finish preparing his mug.
Well lucky for Michael, what Alex wants is to cuddle on the couch and watch his boyfriend geek out over agricultural engineering.
He settles back into the corner of the couch, adjusting the pillows and getting comfortable so that he’ll be ready for optimal snuggling when Michael gets back. It’s 10am on a Sunday and they’ve already been up for a few hours. Alex had woken Michael up with a morning blow job and Michael had repaid the favor before they’d had a nice long shower together. Then Alex had cooked them both breakfast and Michael had done the cleaning up. It’s only their second week together, but already Alex smiles at the routines they are establishing. Spending lazy Sundays together he hopes is a routine that sticks.
Michael comes back into the room with a new cup of coffee and they settle into each other before Alex presses play on the documentary. The smile he gets from Michael as a reward is well worth watching 2 hours on a topic that Alex could honestly care less about.
And so Michael watches the TV with rapt attention and Alex watches Michael.
It’s a great way to spend the morning, actually. Because Alex finds out that few things are as entertaining as getting to watch Michael geek out with no filter. Michael watches the screen with intense focus, but every five to ten minutes he’ll pause in order to turn and explain to Alex how he’s going to this, that, or whatever to solve the problem locally. He watches as Michael’s face scrunches up in concentration when he encounters something he doesn’t already know, and how his eyes get wide with excitement whenever they talk about something he does.
Alex kisses the top of Michael’s head as Michael’s fingers run absentmindedly over the arm that Alex has around his waist. Once their coffees are both finished and set on the coffee table, Michael coaxes Alex down further on the couch until he’s spooning Michael, and while the position makes it more difficult to see the screen past all of Michael’s hair, Alex isn’t complaining one bit.
It’s a two hour film and they are going on hour three with how often Michael keeps pausing the movie. It’s nearing 1pm, he’s been up for hours, and the warmth of Michael against him is causing his eyelids to droop. He wouldn’t mind taking a nap with Michael right here. Alex yawns, which Michael of course misreads and tenses next to him.
“I’m sorry, I know this is boring to you,” Michael says. “It’ll be over in 10 minutes and then we’ll watch whatever you want to.”
“I don’t mind,” Alex says, pulling Michael in closer and snuggling up against his back, leaving kisses on the back of his neck. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Michael pauses the documentary to look at Alex, and Alex can’t help but lean in for a sweet kiss. He’s been wanting to kiss Michael from the first five minutes of the film. Michael rolls over until his entire body is facing Alex’s and then nudges his knee in between Alex’s thighs before kissing him again. This time the kiss is anything but sweet. It’s open and strong, and full of all of the usual passion and desire that Alex is used to with Michael.
It doesn’t take more than a minute before Michael is tugging at Alex’s T-shirt, demanding it to come off and Alex separates his lips from Michael’s only long enough to get his shirt over his head.
It’s a solid 45 minutes before they finish the last ten minutes of that documentary, and by then, they both have several missed phone calls and texts from their friends. Both of them had completely forgotten about plans for a late lunch with their friends at the Crashdown, but neither of them feels all that guilty for it.
“New plan,” Michael says, standing up from the couch and stretching his back, not bothering to put his sweatpants back on. “Let’s not pretend like we’re ever going to leave the house on a Sunday.”
Alex smiles. He loves this plan almost as much as he loves Michael.
Tagged: @callieramics
Let me know if you want to be tagged. I’m all queued up with more fics through the end of August, with more fics in my drafts.
#roswell nm#roswell new mexico#Malex fic#malex#alex manes#michael guerin#fic: sunday mornings#fluff#domestic bliss
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posting this again in a shameless bid for attention (the usual 2-3 people who already give me plenty of attention pls ignore and also i love u <3)
(Also on AO3.)
Clean Hands, part 4
Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel
Warning: Demon deals, violence, mention of abuse and torture. Also: Crowley is an abuse + addiction survivor and also a cold-hearted arsehole with very little respect or empathy for abuse + addiction survivors, and this story is written from his POV.
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What was there to be done when you were enamoured of a man who hit you?
Leave him! the whole world cried back in one voice.
Which was a bit like telling someone trapped in a burning car to get out of the car. Yes. Quite. Thank you. Fully agree. But what if, for a moment, you assumed I wasn’t as stupid as a fucking dog?
That, incidentally, was one of a handful of ways the world had worsened since Crowley last drew breath.
Back in the fourteenth century, the women in the marketplace had noted his black eye and torn dress with immediate understanding. Instead of insisting he pack his bags and walk out of the house belonging to his wealthy shoemaker husband, the father of his child, the man on whom his safety and good reputation and continued ability to eat depended, the man he, for some fucking reason, still loved, they’d actually tried to help.
Sybil had given him willow bark for the pain. Rose had engaged him in long, rambling conversations, stretching the minutes until he had to return home. Jane had walked across the village and rapped on his door every evening she could, always armed with solid excuses, just when the bastard was well and truly in his cups and looking for something to damage.
If ever analytical minds were to try to account for Crowley’s misanthropy and sadism, they couldn’t honestly conclude that either was due to his never experiencing true, heartfelt human kindness.
Yes, Sybil and Rose and Jane had all thought he was a woman and addressed him accordingly, and it had hurt. But that wasn’t their fault. He’d not had the courage to tell them otherwise.
Crowley didn’t regret much. Regret, in this game, was a slow-killing poison.
Still, he did occasionally wonder how things might have turned out if he’d accepted Jane’s invitation and fled with her to London that one warm night, rather than hanging in for years until he finally snapped and beat his husband’s skull into tooth-sized pieces with an iron kettle.
Returning to the present:
As Crowley watched Dean’s fist barrel towards his face, and not for the first time, he reviewed the pros and cons of incinerating him with hellfire.
When fist and nose were one millionth of an inch apart, he teleported across the room.
“Squirrel,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with you.”
Dean charged and took another swing at him. “Fuck you! He worked so hard! Clean for four years, you piece of shit!”
This time, Crowley reappeared sitting on top of the dead man’s wardrobe, where Dean couldn’t reach him. “Good for him. His family and friends won’t remember him as the thieving, lying wretch he was ten years ago when he sold his soul for a pound of meth. They’ll probably give him a nice funeral.”
“Why couldn’t you make an exception? Just once?”
“That’s not how this works, Dean! It wasn’t even my deal! The contract is in the hands of a relatively inexperienced subordinate and honestly, I’m glad that she pulled it off. She’s got potential. This is her first real win. It’ll increase her standing in Hell and make her more powerful, which will be useful because some older demons have taken to bullying h-…”
“I don’t give a damn about your minions,” he snarled, picking up a lamp sprinkled with blood and throwing it at him. Crowley ducked. “Every last one of you can take an angel blade to the face, for all I care. You’re fucking parasites.”
Evenly, Crowley replied, “Yes. We are. You know that. You’ve always known that. Why are you having a fit about it now? Good people get dragged to Hell all the time.”
Dean stared down at what remained of Martin Booke, now that the hellhounds had left. “He worked so hard. Christ. You could have made an exception. He came to us and I swore I’d help him out.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have cocking well done that, should you?” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands.
Eyes wet, Dean sneered at him. “Parasite. Get out of my sight before I wring your evil neck.”
Crowley left.
Upon arriving back in Hell, he went to the Admissions Department.
The soul of Martin Booke was sitting in one of the cheap blue plastic chairs, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably still reeling from the trauma of the hounds ripping his throat out, though no damage was evident on his form now.
“Mr Booke,” Crowley said, sauntering up with his hands in his pockets. “Could you come with me, please?”
A door appeared in the nearest wall and swung open silently.
Once they were both standing inside Crowley’s office, it swung shut and dissolved into nothingness.
Moving to his liquor cabinet, Crowley said, “I hear you’re a Harvard man.”
“Um… y-yeah. Yes. I was.” Thin voice. Midwestern accent.
“Promising career ahead of you before things – ah – went awry.”
Booke swallowed. “Tom. First boyfriend. Got me into meth. Got me into a lot of stuff. I figured it was okay because we were gonna be together forever and as long as I had him, I’d be fine. Then he went and died and I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”
Smiling thinly, Crowley said, “Isn’t romance grand? As it happens, you may still get your happily ever after. Thomas Abbott is currently waiting in the eternal queue – which, ordinarily, is where you’d be headed.”
“Yeah. Dean told me. Although… um…”
“You have a question? Spit it out. Cowards bore me.”
“Dean said that when you sell your soul, you go to Hell and demons torture you until you become a demon. But he also told me about the queue thing. So that’s confusing. I mean, queuing sucks but it’s not torture.”
Crowley poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down behind his desk. “Clever boy. Yes; when I became King of Hell, I restructured things. Most of you end up in the queue. The hot knives and whips are a speciality service and, as such, are reserved for our elite clientele. The pedos and Nazis and so forth – and, of course, anyone who pisses me off too much. As for the process of becoming a demon; that doesn’t actually require torture. I know! Surprised me too! We always thought it did, back when Lilith was in charge. Then I started running some tests and it turns out that becoming a demon is a bit like catching a virus; it’ll happen to anyone who hangs around other demons long enough. Everyone in the queue will have black eyes by the end of their first century.”
Booke took off his glasses and nervously rubbed them on his sleeve. “You said that ‘ordinarily’ I’d go to the queue. So am I an – uh – ‘elite client’?”
“Hah! No. Your little life was staggeringly boring and barely impacted anyone in ways either negative or positive. No, the reason you’re here is Harvard. See, I had a snoop and it seems that before you dropped out, you were getting bloody good grades.”
A wistful smile. “I guess. Had big dreams, once.”
Sipping his bourbon, Crowley said, “On track for a Master’s in aeronautical engineering, I believe.”
“Yep. I wanted to work for NASA.”
“Cards on the table, Booke: I might have a job for you. There is, at present, space in one or two of our departments for a man with your talents. But first I need to ask a question.”
He cocked his head. “Um. Sure? Anything’s better than what I was expecting. Shoot.”
“Do you know how to crash a spaceship?”
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The Miys, Ch. 67
In theory this was queued to post at 2pm EST today... so, 4.5 hours ago. I am SO SORRY it didn’t post on time!
I’m baaaaack!
The break after the holiday was very much needed, so thank you for your patience with no chapter last week. Taking the time helped me level-set a few things and get back to a good place with this.
Also! This chapter has been beta’d, once again, by the fabulous @satan-parisienne. What I would do without her is a mystery of the universe some days.
I’ve received some very curious and polite feedback about how out-of-character some of the main characters have behaved in this arc - I have the nicest readers, ever, I swear! - and I wanted to let everyone know that it’s actually intentional. I wanted to show them fraying at the edges a bit, showing various levels of cranky from feeling the effects. Something true-to-life, in my experience.
Trigger warnings: Mention of sorta-suicide in this chapter. About as much as that sentence, honestly.
As soon as Conor heard that our microscopic new friend was safe for the time being, he gave Maverick very stern instructions to make sure I lied down and did not try to sit back up once I had done so. While one of my partners gently but firmly ensured just that, the other started dragging an empty berth until it was pressed directly against my own. Rapidly, and with focused determination, he rigged the two together so they would not move apart – although, given the sheer weight of the berth, I was surprised he moved it in the first place.
Miys seemed to understand entirely what Conor was up to, as it very gently lifted me and placed me in the center of the combined platforms, carefully ensuring any tubes were tucked where they could not be pulled loose or crimped. Before I realized exactly what had happened, I was sandwiched between Conor and Maverick, their own transfusion ports reconnected.
Gently, I tried to loosen the arms both of them had thrown across my stomach. “I’m not trying to get up, I promise. But I need to breathe, you two.”
“Sleep,” Maverick mumbled in my right ear, the one that could still hear. “You promised lots sleep.”
“Else – “
Conor sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow so I could see his face and read his lips. “You’ve been debriefed. And you heard Xio as well as the rest of us: Else is sentient, so killing them is off the table. You promised.”
Picking my head up slightly, I dropped it as dramatically as possible and huffed. “You’re right. I did promise. I’m just worried.”
“Worried for a bacteria that could potentially kill you.”
Conor chuckled. “That’s her nature, mate. Forgiving as the moonlight, dancing on water, our Sophie.” Gently, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I bet you’ve already forgiven us, too.”
“You were scared – “
“So were you,” Maverick argued mournfully. “And we still stormed out of here.”
I tried to stifle the yawn that crept up on me, but judging by the looks I got, I was unsuccessful. “Can we table this until I wake up again? Or until this crisis is over, just before the next one.”
“No more crises,” he mumbled into my neck, burrowing as deep as a grown man possibly could.
“If only,” I sighed. “That would be nice. But a nap sounds nice, too.”
“Lots of sleep, you promised.”
I nodded. “I did.” Glancing at Conor, I nodded again. That seemed to satisfy him, because he dropped off his elbow, grabbed the knee Maverick had hooked over my hips, and proceeded to do his part to pin me to the bed.
“I’m gonna snore, you two,” I complained weakly.
“Least we know you’re asleep if you’re snoring.”
“As opposed to awake?”
“As opposed to dead if you three don’t shut up,” Tyche’s voice called from across the room. I was extremely grateful she couldn’t see past the shaggy head of black hair that was hiding my blush from her.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed vaguely. I could remember seeing the Ark again, this time in the best shape it had been in yet. Else spoke to me, but I could only recall that they sounded tired, frail. I’m worried about you, I remembered telling them. They already knew. They were worried about us, about humanity.
I woke, eventually, and I immediately recognized two distinct sensations. First, I was incredibly well-rested, more than I could say I had been since before the Food Festival. My body practically sizzled with unfamiliar energy and begged to move.
Second, I felt an overwhelming amount of dread. Something terrible was happening, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I sat bolt upright, belatedly realizing that I was no longer being cuddled to the bed. “Where is Grey?” I gasped, looking around wildly. “Xiomara, anyone. I need a member of the Council. Or Tyche.” In my panic, my eyes were entirely unseeing, and I jerked violently when I felt something touch my hand.
“Wisdom.” A familiar buzz brought me into focus. Miys had one liw on my hand, another on my shoulder. “You must calm yourself. No one is in any danger. Antoine is retrieving Xiomara as I speak to you.”
“Thank you,” I panted. Pulling my free hand to my chest in an attempt to calm my breathing, I bruised my sternum with the sheer amount of force I used. “What in the – “ Staring down, I felt my eyes start to hurt with the effort of opening even wider. “That hurt.”
Gingerly, I held my hand out, turning it back and forth, flexing my fingers, trying to figure out what was different. “Bones and ligaments, check,” I muttered to myself. “Five fingers, palm, wrist, check. Whopped up bruises, check…” Something caught my eye – or rather failed to – and I held up my arm further, looking at the crook of my elbow. Bruised. A glance at my other arm showed more mottling. Frantic, I carefully patted my body down as quickly as I could without hurting myself. A few more bruises made themselves known.
The bruises weren’t the alarming part… “Where are the transfusion ports?”
“They have been removed, Wisdom. You no longer need them.”
“Am I dying?”
A humming, clicking noise that I was pretty sure involved profanity followed. “You are not always dying, despite what Human Conor seems to believe.”
Human Conor. Someone was on Miys’s bad side. “Am I dying at this moment?”
“No, Wisdom. You are not. Your red blood cell and hemoglobin count are well within range for a Terran, and have been for quite some time – “
“How long?”
Wringing vomu were not a good sign. “I would prefer to let Antoine and Xiomara explain that.”
“How long, Noah!?”
The door hissed as my fellow Councilor breezed in, followed by a very concerned Antoine. “Oh, for about two days,” Xiomara answered airily.
“WHAT!?” I squawked elegantly.
She whirled around on me about the time Antoine came to check my vitals. “No one could wake you up, bonehead. So, before you get mad at us for drugging you, or not waking you, or some crap like that, we tried. You were barely not in a coma, woman. We didn’t drug you, and gods above and below know we tried our damnedest to wake you.”
I glanced at Antoine, who was nodding furiously. Mollified, I made a point to tone it down a notch. “So, I was asleep for two entire days?”
“More like four, sweetie,” she grinned unrepentantly. “You were ‘clinically exhausted’, which I didn’t even know was a thing…”
Her eyes widened comically as I waved her off. “Eyeah, it’s a thing. Feels like the flu. Nothing new.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Antoine sent a Tyche-level cutting look at her. “I told you that it was in her file.”
“I thought you meant the current situation.”
“I TOLD you she has a history of this!”
Tears pricked my eyes as I turned to face him fully. “You didn’t let them give me medication to wake me up, did you?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed, his eyes kind and giving lie to the harshness of his comment. “Conor and Maverick were right about you needing sleep. I made sure to tell them as much so they would be as insufferable as possible about allowing you to sleep.”
“Sneaky motherfucker,” I whispered with a smile, earning myself a conspiratorial wink.
Xiomara rolled her eyes at our antics. “Anyway, you called us here for a reason…?”
Sitting up abruptly, I narrowly missed headbutting my favorite nurse on several worlds. “Something is wrong.” I waved off the inevitable request for clarity. “Not all of us being sick, or Else eating all the iron in sight. I talked to Else while I was asleep, and I don’t remember much, but they are weak. Frail is the word I remember saying. I know I told them I was worried for them, but when they responded, they said they were worried for us. They sounded like they were… dying, honestly…”
“No one has taken action against them,” Xiomara asserted. “Even Grey. Once you fell asleep, Grey was frustrated that we had to wait to negotiate with Else, but made no further attempts to eradicate them.”
”How sure are you?”
“Pretty sure, considering they have been holed up in their office since then, trying to determine logical alternatives such as relocation.”
That tracked. Grey was like logic made into an organic body, usually. “Then how am I getting better?”
Xiomara shrugged and looked to Antoine. He gave us each a regretful look and shook his head. “We do not know. It is not only you, but everyone on the Ark who is improving. We do not know why.”
My mind raced, feverishly looking for an answer. “Nixe. How is Nixe?” I demanded.
“Out of her life support tank, being transfused regularly. Noah is working to clone new lungs,” Xiomara reassured me.
“They didn’t want to hurt anyone,” I whispered, but Xio caught Antoine looking at me strangely. I spoke up. “Else didn’t want anyone to die. They didn’t want to hurt anyone, they said. They were sorry.” I gasped and tried to get out of my berth, but Antoine firmly pushed me back and shook his head. “Don’t you two see what Else is doing?” I repressed a groan as both of them only returned my question with confused looks. “Noah! Noah, you have to know what I’m referring to. If your use of resources hinders the life of another being, what do you do?”
“I place my bodies in hibernation until equilibrium is reached.”
“And when your race couldn’t place itself in hibernation, what did it do when resources were strained?” I hoped and prayed I got the answer I was expecting, but prepared myself for the instance I had to argue.
Fortune favors the bold, it turned out, and Noah told me exactly what I anticipated. “My kind would return our bodies to the soil, Wisdom.”
Xiomara looked frustrated, but Antoine gasped and covered his mouth. When she gave him a confused look, he actually groaned. “Killing themselves, Xiomara. They killed the extra bodies to maintain ecostasis. They aren’t individuals, so it isn’t really suicide, but they still killed the necessary amount of bodies to reduce resource demands.”
“Except Else isn’t as evolved as the Hujylsogox are,” I continued. “There is a possibility that, once they reach a certain point, they aren’t sentient anymore.”
“So, they can just grow more, right?”
I shook my head emphatically. “They may not be the same being anymore – Antoine! I’m fine! This is urgent! – If they drop below threshold and then essentially re-evolve, we have no guarantee that we are parleying with the same group. They could hate us for all we know, if that happens.”
Realization dawned on her face. “We have to do something.”
I nodded in grim confirmation. “I need an open channel to the Council, and I need it right fucking now. We have to figure out a solution that doesn’t result in giving PTSD to a bacteria that can easily kill us.”
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#the miys#humans are weird#science fiction#original writing#aliens#plague#tw: suicide#apocalypse#humans are space orcs#fiction#scifi
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Help - Steve Rogers x Reader
A/N: Sorry that I haven’t been writing everyone! It’s been a hard time adjusting to being home and everything that’s changed and having too many social plans on top of everything. I’m going to try and write a few pieces and have them queued for when I’m on vacation this month so I’ll try to post at least once a week.
I hope everyone enjoys this (and it’s not as shitty as I think it is!)
“I’m going to bed,” you told your brother finally getting the energy to get off the way too comfortable couch.
“Don’t forget we have to meet with Ross tomorrow at 7,” Tony said.
You lazily throw your arm out, “I know. I’ll be up and if I’m not than we both know that Friday will make sure I am.”
You were staying with your brother, something that was always much easier, especially when you have to be up early for a meeting. A meeting that you still aren’t sure why you have to go, but they insisted. By they, you mean Ross. “Good night Tonz.”
“Good night Y/N/N.” You rolled my eyes at the nickname. You hated that nickname and even though you were a full grown adult, he still refuses to stop using it no matter how much you asked him to stop.
You make your way down the hall towards one of the guest rooms. Really, it’s you room as no one else has ever slept in it and you might have left an outfit or two behind.
“Hey Friday, can you wake me up at 6:30 tomorrow?”
“Yes, Miss Stark. Would you like to wake up to Back in Black or Highway to Hell?”
“Surprise me,” you said before swinging the door open.
Walking over to your bed, you pause as you notice a light breeze brushing against your face.
Turning you see the window cracked open and jump reaching for the weapon that you left hidden behind the dresser. Squinting, you look closely at the figure looming against the bricks outside.
It’s Steve. Steve “Fugitive” Rogers leaning heavily against the window of a building that Tony “Steve Sucks Club Chairman” Stark owns. But it’s Steve “Might Technically Still Be Your Boyfriend” Rogers.
You hesitate as you walked towards the window. “Hey Friday, Camping Protocol until my alarm.”
“Yes, Miss Stark. Goodnight.”
You watch as Steve opens the window and slides through. “I was worried Tony would find out.”
“You came to his home Steve what the fuck do you think would happen?”
“I needed you.”
You look him over having not seen him for one year. One long year. His hair is longer and he has a beard now. It looked good on him.
But he’s banged up. Really banged up. He starts to falter in his stance and you quickly wrap an arm around him. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”
You help him to the bathroom trying not to notice how much he is using you as support and get him to the tub before slipping out of his grasp and running back for your medical supplies you have tucked away in the closet. Having been around the team since the beginning, you were always treating them after missions. They hated going to the hospital. Never went to one. And you were better than nothing.
“Thank you,” Steve said as you sat on the toilet seat your supplies scattered all around. You looked up to see him looking softly at you.
You missed him. A lot. But it wasn’t the time for that now. You needed to help him.
“I told you to not get hurt,” you reminded him not knowing what else to say. I mean yes, you told him that ages ago, but it still counts. It has to still count.
“I know doll. But I can’t just sit back and let things happen.” You took some alcohol and started cleaning his face up. He had some nasty cuts all over his face and in all honesty, you were afraid to find out how much he really was hurt. So you started there getting the heaviest bleeding cut first.
“I know. That’s what got you into this mess.” You tried offering him a teasing smile but you didn’t have it in you. It wasn’t the same. Everything was too serious. Has been for far too long. Ever since Bruce disappeared, the fight, Ross, the Accords, everything has been serious.
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” you told him. You didn’t think there was any point in being sorry. It wouldn’t do anything.
“I wish I could.”
“Wish you could what Steve? No longer be a fugitive. Be friends with Tony again. Bring back the Avengers. Not drag down how many people with you to save Bucky instead of trying and trusting your team. Take back the last year.”
Steve was scared by how steady you were. Even when you were angry, you kept your cool, which was more frightening than anything. He could stand the yelling and never flinch. But this, this made him scared.
“I wish I didn’t leave you.” He grabbed your hand stopping you from cleaning up his blood anymore. You looked him in the eyes seeing him staring back at you softly. “I didn’t want to leave you but I didn’t have a choice.”
“You had choices Steve.” He sighed and moved closer to you as you dropped your head. You were mad, but weren’t willing to let it get the better of you. You needed to help him and make sure he wasn’t going to die tonight and then let him live. He needed to be out there fighting crime. You hated it but that’s what needs to happen. He didn’t choose you, he never would. But you would have hated if he did.
“If I knew what would happen, I would have chosen you.” You weren’t looking at him and it frustrated Steve. He risked coming here. He was injured and needed help asap. He could have let Natasha patch him up but he needed you. He moved closer and swept back a piece of hair that wasn’t technically out of place but enough to bring your attention back to him.
“I wouldn’t want you to.” He felt crushed but had to take his opportunity. He needed to know if he messed up beyond all repair because he needed you in his life.
He leaned in and paused just inches away letting you have a choice to move away but you didn’t. So, he kissed you and you kissed back. “The world needs you Steve.”
He frowned and you continued cleaning his face before having him take the top of his suit off. You knew that was going to be where the most damage was and wasn’t surprised to see his white tank covered in blood.
“Oh Steve.”
“It looks worse than it feels.”
It didn’t take you overly long to clean and assess. He wasn’t going to die and you were content with that. But he also shouldn’t be going anywhere else tonight. Even with all his super healing, he needed at least a day maybe more before moving. He wasn’t going to listen. You knew he was going to leave. Because he couldn’t risk Tony.
Oh God, Tony would kill you if he ever found out. First, he hated that the two of you dated. Second, he hated Steve. Third, he really hates Steve. Fourth, Steve’s a fugitive. Fifth, HE’S A FUGITIVE AND oh god, you’re seeing the person that caused him to be on the fugitive list.
Hopefully Tony never finds out.
“You need to rest,” you tell Steve as you toss yet another blood-soaked washcloth into the hamper. He was all bandaged up and you handed him a whole roll of that stuff hoping he’d be diligent in changing the bandages.
“I need to leave.” You grabbed his arm stopping him.
“Steve, I don’t know how you’re even getting around right now. You have two broken ribs, bruised who knows what all, most of your organs took a good beating, multiple stab wounds and I just got a bullet out of you. You need to rest.”
“Would you come with me,” Steve asked.
“What?”
“Would you run with me?”
“Steve where would we go? Where will I stay? I know that you and Natasha and Sam and Wanda have been going all over the place but I’m not a superhero. I have some mediocre skills protecting myself but not enough to survive what any of you are doing. I don’t fit in.”
“But you could.”
“I’d have to leave my brother, Pepper, everyone I know.” You reached out to Steve. You really did love him. Do love him. You always will. “If you asked me a year ago, I would have.”
You took your hand and kissed your palm. “If you ever change your mind, you have my number.” He left it on the counter. “I always thought that maybe I could settle down. We’d get a house somewhere nice and just live our lives.”
“I did too Steve, but there’s too much going on.”
“I’m afraid there will always be.”
“Maybe, but if you really want that, it’s gotta be that. No missions, no running. And I can’t ask that.”
“But you could.”
You shook your head. You’ve seen what happens when heroes try to settle. It’s too much for them to know that the world needs them. You get that. The world needed everyone that can help them right now. There’s too many threats out there.
“Promise me you’ll be okay.”
Steve nodded. “I promise doll.”
He kisses your check before slipping out of the window. You watch as he turns around for one last look at you before disappearing.
Tagged:
patzammit
#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x stark!reader
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XIV Reddit Drama
YO STORY TIME. If you don’t like still drama feel free to ignore. But I need to vent. I frequent the FFXIV Reddit, and I like to debate, discuss and in-general help people and hang with the memesters. Someone made a post about the facial hair in the 5.2 trailer, and so I replied: “ They said in the past during a Q and A that they are working on making it available for all races.” Someone replied to me “ But that was like half year ago :/ “ Which to me is laughable. Half a year. Six months? There are plenty of features we waited AGES for. I replied “Lmao, you must be new here. I've waited YEARS for features I've wanted... Do you know how long it took them to implement letting us summon our chocobo while we're queued?!“ I thought my reply was pretty light hearted. Apparently it’s SUPER OFFENSIVE cause I got this in reply: “ The one who seems knew here is you. First off, how nice of you for being so rude and inmature. Second, not sure of what features you are asking, if its something Yoshi says he will add, it will be, if he doest then it wont. Your confuse since we cant summon a chocobo inside a dungeon and is not a priority since almost nobody care and is not needed “ :V I was having a good time talking to people about Innocence at the time, so I was really surprised to find this in my inbox. I had to double take. It was hard to read. I’m not usually one to be a grammar Nazi, but I really didn’t think this was warranted in the first place, so I poked fun at them some more. “Lmao woah woah woah.I'm definitely not "knew" here, and I certainly wasn't being "inmature". No need to get your breeches in a bunch, I don't see how I was being rude, but you're certainly being childish.There are plenty of things that Yoshi-P has said that we're getting and we didn't get them for a long time. Half a year is NOT long. We waited TWO YEARS and they just added umbrellas. People were asking for chocobos to be out while you're queued during ARR in 2013 and they said they were working on it, they didn't add that feature till like the end of HW.I never said anything about summoning a chocobo while in a dungeon so I don't know what you're talking about there.I said "Do you know how long it took them to implement letting us summon our chocobo while we're queued?!"” At this point I start to wonder if I’m being trolled. I can’t quote this one exactly cause they deleted their reply, but it was something along the lines of “This discussion is over.” and I replied “ Lmao there was never a discussion, just you whining.” and their reply to that was “;) Whatever you say kid” they also deleted that and so I stopped replying there, cause no one that wants to have a real conversation says shit like that. They’re a troll. This was TWO DAYS AGO. TWOOOOOO DAYS YA’LL. I wake up to this today;
FOR A GIRL?! FUCK YOU DUDE. THIS WAS TWO DAYS AGO. IMMA NEED YOU TO STOP BEING A CREEPY LITTLE BITCH AND STAY OUT OF MY DMS. I went back to look at our original convo, they deleted parts of it and got downvoted into heck, and tried to correct some spelling errors. lol The fuck is wrong with people? Either way, I reported, responded in a way I HOPE OFFENDS THEM FOR REAL THIS TIME and then blocked them, cause I’m too old for this. I just woke up, over here trying to live my best life and people obsessing over stuff we forgot about two days ago.
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The Fall ‘18/Winter ‘19 Edition of…
It’s a better-late-than-never situation, but it’s finally here!
*~* New to The Nail? *~*
The Nail isn’t about perfection. It isn’t about award-level contenders. It isn’t for highlighting certain genres of fics or specific ships. It’s about seeing real effort and hard work radiate off of the screen - the sole focus is quality. Character dimension. Writing with clever readers in mind. Well-built worlds. Killer starts and clutch endings. Crazy crisp dialogue. Incredibly tight plotting. More shows, less tells. Big emotion.
Find past editions HERE. Find what factors are considered when constructing this rec list, and learn how to get your recommendations to me HERE. Find info on the structure of these rec posts HERE, with answers to FAQs such as “Why did someone make up a title for my piece?”, and more.
>> The Basics On What’s Below <<
- All from the world of SPN (unless otherwise noted, i.e. cross-overs), across all genres; these are organized by length for the most part, so you’ll need to click thru to see if it is a theme of your preference; I aim to not have too much that’s of the same genre/length in a given edition, and limit the times a writer can appear on a given list (if they had more that fit the bill, I’ll chuck ‘em to next edition’s list); when applicable, unique projects, original stories, and any anecdotes/personal essays/family stories/etc. are near the end.
- You’ll see icons throughout…
If it has NSFW elements / walks an NSFW line - ⚠️
If it features / blatantly alludes to a specific ship - 🚢
If it has less than 100 notes (at time of this post) - 📌
And that last item is very important.
- A main priority of The Nail is to have at least 50% of these one-and-done SPN stories (so, drabbles and one-shots) be those which have less than 100 notes (give or take a few self-reblogs by the writer, and not counting mine) in each posting, and for this edition, out of 36, these comprise 26 so the goal was met!
Highly encourage you to at minimum hit the heart, ideally reblogging along with a note of feedback if you enjoyed. To do my part, I’ll be queuing these low-note fics one per day after this edition is published.
- Reblog of this rec list by “big blogs” (let’s say 1K followers and up) is especially appreciated, and not for my sake; it’s to get these wonderful writers with low note fics as much exposure as possible.
- Writers, make sure you scroll - you may be on here more than once!
- “Notes from Nash" at the very bottom of the post.
- For your mobile convenience, here’s The Nail Master Post of Editions
- And finally, shameless plugs....
See Nash Write: Master List
You Totally Made That Up podcast - @youtotallymadethatup
Note: Just a line or two excerpt to paint a little picture - no specific feedback on these drabbles because each writer nailed it in the entirety - all are poignant, well-structured, thoughtful, and they did it all in a limited amount of words. Well done, all of you.
181 words
The Wishes 📌 - @sixtysevenandwhiskey
It’s a lot of nothing, until nothing is all there is.
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182 words
Stars 📌 - @covered-byroses
She loved looking at the stars.
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223 words
Storytelling 📌 - @always-keep-writing
He shouldn’t be surprised that it ends up being a story.
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230 words
A Long Forty Years - @babybluecas
Sometimes, he’d wish he was so much older.
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352 words
Control 📌 - @idreamofhazel
If only Dean knew the other, more biting things he holds under his tongue.
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370 words
His Hair 📌 🚢 - @gabrielfallstonight
He often wondered if, by spending as much time on Earth as he did, he was growing almost human.
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427 words
Topper - @alleiradayne
Coffee. He just needed a cup. Or four. Okay, maybe the whole pot.
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483 words
Tedium 📌 - @smi727
This situation was something Michael simply could not abide.
555 words
Kids These Days 📌 - @revwinchester
A little behind-the-scenes interlude wherein Dean has an interaction with some kids in town. In medias res, OCs developed in a short amount of space, thoughtful/nice message without being preachy.
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560 words
Four Months Expired (But Still Good) 📌 🚢 - @bendingsignpost
A delightful scene based on a premise that could've gone saccharine but stays the just right amount of sweet and humorous.
(I cannot tag this lovely, if someone would be so kind as to try to do so in the comments, it would be appreciated!)
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570 words
Black 📌 - @sculptorofbeginningslibrary
An introspective look at Dean in the time between waking up with his demonized soul and when he left the bunker; doesn't merely recap what we know; nice take on the physical changes; excellent characterization.
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633 words
Smoked - @ameliacareful
A snicker-worthy tale of what should be an ordinary shopping trip, but as we know nothing can ever be simple for the brothers; well-structured, solid characterization, concise descriptions that put you right there with them.
(I cannot tag this lovely, if someone would be so kind as to try to do so in the comments, it would be appreciated!)
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664 words
Last Night - @atwistoffate
A brief interaction between you and Dean that is a perfect balance of snarky and cute, and (thank Chuck) Dean is portrayed realistically, and I personally salute the writer for not uttering a single Y/N or sweetheart (it can be done, folks). I'd also be remiss not to highlight this beauty: “You know what? I don’t even care,” Dean says, caring deeply.
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714 words
Stay - @there-must-be-a-lock
Absolutely beautiful moment between you and Sam that doesn't get weighed down by over-dramatic pining, in part thanks to a sandwich. In medias res; descriptions that paint the picture without diving too deep; lovely from beginning to end.
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812 words
Carolina 📌 - @atc74
A first-person, introspective tale of an interaction Dean has with a stranger. In medias res; sets the stage from the opening paragraph, putting you right into Dean's shoes; well-developed OC in short amount of time; great closing lines.
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841 words
Strange Gifts 📌 - @lastactiontricia
Michael gives you the "gift" of knowing your potential fates. In medias res; great structure/descriptions that convey the mood without being belabored; clutch open-ended ending.
1.1K words
Syruped and Feathered 📌 - @mrswhozeewhatsis
A snicker-worthy on-the-hunt tale where you and the Winchesters get in a... well... a sticky situation. Ahem. Sorry, couldn't resist. Oh, and there's a surprise guest star that'll make you grin. In medias res, nice flow, creative use of prompts.
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1.2K words
Don't Panic 📌 - @koedeza
Beautifully written, somber tale about what eventually happens in the lives of hunters. In medias res, excellent structure/flow, fantastic characterization, clutch ending. Keep an eye out for this writer - they are consistently solid and do not disappoint.
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1.3K words
'Til It All Falls Apart 📌 - @lipstickandwhiskey
Angst done right in this story about what Dean might've gone through after Michael was cast out. Good flow, no laborious explanations of what we already know, reasonable actions/reactions from all.
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1.4K words
Bite Me, BitFit 📌 - @shy-violet-soul
Exactly what you think from the title - a funny story about Dean's battle with healthy living. In medias res, nice structure, great characterization, several killer lines.
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1.4K words
Eggshells 📌 - @hunenka
A coda to Nightmare Logic, this tackles Dean's internal processing of life as he now knows it, Sam in charge and what feels like a million people in his home. Beautifully written, Dean is as accurate as it gets, excellent flow, plausible scenario.
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1.7K words
Told You So - @there-must-be-a-lock
How to do hot and sultry without smut - read and learn. This is a story about what should have been just an ordinary post-hunt night back at the bunker, when it turned to something more. Great opening paragraph, easy flow, trifecta of snarky-sweet-sexy.
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1.8K words
Brother 📌 - @sixtysevenandwhiskey
An exquisite look - to use the writer's words - at Dean over the years, through Sam's eyes. Excellent structure/verbiage, no unneeded repetition of things we already know, good use of song inspo, plausible within canon, feels genuine throughout.
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1.8K words
The Lie 📌 - @sophisticated-angel
Stunning tale (and add this to the pile of "Why the hell doesn't this have more notes?!" stories) about what happens to those who are left behind after a loved one dies - but as always in the Winchester world, nothing can ever be routine. In medias res, creative plotline, moving and heart-grabbing that leaves you with both a sense of rightness and a sense of unease.
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2.9K words
The Unexpected Guest - @crispychrissy
Per the writer's summary - "A day of researching takes a turn when you see something from your past that leads to some interesting discoveries." But, wait - this is so much more. Pay attention as you read, because the writer has left you clues along the way (starting with the title), and it's done quite deftly. In addition - nice blending of humor and drama, time taken to research the creature featured clearly evident, clutch ending.
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3K words
Easier To Be Me 📌 - @alleiradayne
A Sam + Reader story labelled "floof" by the writer, but it's sweet without bending saccharine; in medias res; great opening/closing lines.
[Nominated by @atc74 who said - “So I have read a couple things of hers, this I read a while ago, but it deserves some love, because it is just that good. Hope you like it This was so wonderful. Well written and beautiful."]
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3.1K words
Teeth 📌 - @lastactiontricia
Do you want to read something spooky that’s based on a true story, with a fantastic plot that has roots in a true story, which features well-developed characterization/accuracy in characterization, and is - in case I didn’t mention it - based on a true story?!
Read this. Find you a cozy corner, grab the drink of your choice whether it’s bourbon or hot chocolate, wrap up in a blanket, and Read. The. Story. It is unique, it is well-written, quality top to bottom, and it’ll give you the feels, tips to toes. Stop wasting your time on the same ol’, same ol’.
READ THE STORY
(Part of a collection, all are fantastic, so see also: Halloween Horror SPN One Shots Masterlist)
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3.3K words
Lay Me Down 📌 - @stusbunker
A solid case fic here that balances itself with some cheekiness thrown in amongst the drama (and a bonus for me, not a "Y/N" in sight - it can be done, folks). In medias res, moves at a quick clip, great line here: "The spell spread quickly, like spilled water on a tabletop..."
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4.9K words
Shadow's Edge 📌 - @saenalife
A story of what happened one night when a routine retrieval of an item goes sideways. In medias res, excellent opening line/paragraph that perfectly sets the scene/mood (I mean - "Dark seems like too shallow a word for this. It goes beyond the absence of light - more like the light has never existed here at all..." - hello), creative plot, great structure (specifically: flashback/forward done right), and bonus kudos for switching things up with a feature not seen with regularity, that of a gender neutral lead.
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5.6K words
The Wonders of Modern Technology ⚠️ - @littlegreenplasticsoldier
If you aren’t familiar with Greenie, she’s another one of those rare writers ‘round these parts who gives us consistently solid stories with a unique style that’s all her own, and this one is no exception, a humorous tale of a piece of equipment that doesn’t exactly malfunction, but we’ll just say there’s, ah, user error [wink].
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5.7K words
Like Ocean in the Desert 📌⚠️ - @saenalife
Borrowing the writer's summary - "Baby needs some work before Dean can get back on the road. He went to the salvage yard for parts, but what he found was a human connection." In medias res, well-developed OC, nice premise, great structure/flow.
[Nominated by @littlegreenplasticsoldier who said - "Here’s a prime example of notes misaligning with quality. Pfft. Criminal. This is the third time I’ve read this."]
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6.4K words
The First Bite 📌 - @shy-violet-soul
A story from the way-back-when, and as for feedback, I’ll let the curator take it away....
[Nom'd by @mrswhozeewhatsis who said - "Confession: I love Weechesters. So, this fic was already up my alley from word one. Add in pie mentioned just in the author’s note, and I was already a happy camper! Imagine my surprise when I was sniffling halfway through because wee!Dean was just killing me! The OCs are very well fleshed out, without being distracting, and the whole story was just so well-written I finished it just wanting to hug everyone. The grammar and other technical stuff was at least flawless enough that I didn’t notice it, and the whole story just unfolded in front of me like a cootie-catcher. I think I’m in love, and I might go read it again, even though I should be writing. *swoon*"]
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6.8K words
Gutted - @idreamofhazel
A case fic with some Dean + Reader sweet-n'-sultry on top. Nice opening paragraph that sets the tone, solid characterization, very creative plot/creature featured, excellent structure.
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6.9K words
About Dean's Dreams ⚠️ - @fanforfanatic
This writer has yet to disappoint - and this story is damn near pristine from start to finish. It’s an actual, on god, Dean-in-character dive into the woman of his dreams. Sound fluffy or angsty? Nope. You’re wrong. It isn’t either. What it is, is just right. I’m not telling you any more - when you next have time to sit and read and really absorb an introspective Dean piece, make this your first choice.
Say hello to a new (-ish!) writer, @salt-n-burn-em-all !
Doors 📌
You will not believe this is just her 2nd SPN fanfic - captivating and moving, and even if you're swiping a tear away, I think you'll find yourself with a smile at the last three words.
East of Nowhere ⚠️ - @thecleverdame
You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.
Very creative scenario that takes you on an intimate journey and - most importantly - has quite the satisfying reveal.
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How You and I Will Be - @katehuntington
When a hellhound case in the mountains goes sideways, Dean and you find yourselves trapped in a small cabin, miles from civilization. Rescue is on its way, but will it be in time?
Opening paragraph sets the scene perfectly, you'll find yourself there immediately, and it's a plausible scenario of a hunt gone wrong. (We do love our case fics here at The Nail!)
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If This Is A Dream 🚢 - @wendibird
Sam receives a tip about a restless spirit haunting a particular patch of woods in South Carolina - one who has asked for him by name. He must now deal with the thought of putting to rest someone he once cared for, but will things go that simply?
Phenomenal opening line/paragraph that puts you in Sam's headspace from the jump, and boy howdy can we all empathize with him, and it's a plausible scenario, one I personally haven't seen tackled til this.
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Men of Cold Cases - @smi727
Sam had uncovered hundreds upon hundreds of cases the Men of Letters had never closed, [and the] idea was to investigate what those stodgy old nerds never got around to. Given the cases were at least 60 years old, the chances that any were still active were slim to none. They should all be milk runs…
Fantastic concept, completely original, and well-written to boot. Bonus? The writer has based the plots on actual cold cases and mysteries, and provides you links to the stories behind the story so you can learn more.
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The Ellison Lane Legacy - @sixtysevenandwhiskey
Sam finds a case. You’re reminded of a past you want to forget.
Cheers for a well-rounded original female character who is tough and vulnerable all at once. Interesting and creative story that's heavy, yes, but thanks to skilled writing the flow keeps it moving vs. getting mired down.
Wrath 📌 - @waywardjoy
Shakespeare gets a run for his money here with a small fic inspired by some of his words. Beautifully composed, from the title to the usage of the lines, flows like a dream, evokes big emotion, and puts you right there in the action, breathtaking from start to finish.
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The Runaway Vessel 📌 - @butiaintgonnaloveem
A creepy re-working of a popular children's story that will stay with you after you read it. Killer first line, clutch ending, and a detailed, stunning piece of artwork to boot from @lostmymuseagain, what a match made in heaven. This one dug deep, and definitely read like a cautionary fairytale about fate and choices that grandparents would tell/read to the children on a dark night around the fire, give ‘em a bit of a chill in spite of it.
Ring-A-Ling - @winchester-writes & @littlegreenplasticsoldier & @mrswhozeewhatsis
To think, it all started with an innocent post about a tiny bell - get ready to laugh.
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Ten Years Gone - @cinnamonanddean
This is a short-and-sweet, most worthy exception to a The Nail rule that no RPF will be on the list, wherein Jensen reflects upon his time on the show.
Carriers - @violetwolfraven
Daddy Loves To Be Murdered - @gabesnonnie
Slay Ride - @bendingsignpost
The Awakening - @rmeisel
The Chosen One - @copperbadge
The Night - @later0varies
Bedtime Stories & How Chad Got His Name - @lostmymuseagain (also see the artwork related to the Chad story here)
The Author - @thebibliosphere
Notes from Nash
The document with my little summaries and personalized feedback for each of these got eaten - basically, I had to re-do the list and time’s been scarce, so forgive me for the lateness.
Also, there was a good handful of stories that disappeared due to what I presume was the purge/people deleting or losing their blogs. I did make effort to check AO3 but I’m afraid some stellar work has been lost for good.
There were a lot of repeat writers and folks I’m friendly with in this edition, more than I typically feature - I strive to highlight mostly lesser known writers and, as noted, mostly fics with <100 notes - but they earned it (and I even chucked a few more from some of these peeps into the folder for the next edition, that’s how hard they’re rockin’ it). That’s why it’s so important y’all let me know about the unsung writers and their undiscovered jewels - submit the story links and your reviews to me (links to your reblogs with your comments is perfectly fine) any ol’ time.
That’s it! What’re you waiting for??? Get to reading!
#The Nail#Supernatural Fanfiction#SPN Fanfic#and more#Nailed It!#Quality Writing#Must Reads#Fic Recs#Queueby Dooby Doo#Dad's on a blog post and#he hasn't been queued in a few days
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Fever- Part 1
Hi all! This is my new George fic, Fever, it will be told in four parts. Please leave a comment, like, or reblog if you enjoyed! Keep an eye out for part two, posted soon!
Part 1
Edie picked up her clipboard, and started checking off what had been completed in the past hour.
Additional toilet roll- check Clean bar- check Setup ticket booths- Sandy took care of that Add towels, cups, water pitchers to dressing rooms….
Her brow furrowed, had she brought the towels? Glancing at her watch, there was only 30 minutes until the doors opened, the band would be arriving any moment for a brief soundcheck. For the past hour she could hear chatter outside of the venue as eager ticket holders queued up, ready to fight for a spot close to the stage. Edie could hardly believe they were here that early, but from what she’d been told, tonight’s group was a local favorite. They called themselves The Beatles, and last week when they were at the Majestic, they played a nearly sold out show.
“Oi, girl, are you done? The boys are here.” Edie snapped her head up at the voice of the sound engineer, Bill. Though she had introduced herself when she got here, he apparently hadn’t taken the time to remember her name.
“Yes, I just have to run towels down to the dressing rooms, that’s all.”
“Alright, let’s make it quick, yeah?”
Edie nodded in agreement before heading off to the storage closet behind the bar. She loaded up on an armful of mismatched towels and started to make her way down to the dressing rooms under the stage. On her way she noticed the back door was open. Peeking out she spotted a group or boys, no older than she, working to unload a car. Though she was new, Edie suspected that they were a little more rough cut than what usually came through the Majestic. With long boyish hair, drain pipe pants, and black jackets they looked more like greasers than musicians. Not wanting to waste any more time, she turned and thundered down the stairs.
Noticing the closed dressing room door she let out an irritated sigh, silently cursing herself for not leaving it open. Shuffling the towels into one arm, she opened the door, only to be met with a shirtless man on the other side. His delicate eyes were wide with a surprise that mirrored Edie’s own.
Without much thought, and a burning blush on her face, Edie started to back out of the room. “Oh, oh god I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. Sorry, sorry.”
The boy recovered in an instant, replacing with the shocked expression with a smile, “S’alright. No harm done.” He reached for a shirt, pulling it over his head. “Those for us?” He asked before Edie had a chance to fully escape.
“Uh, yes, I forgot to bring them down. Where would you like them?” She hovered by the doorway, not knowing if it would be better to leave or stay put.
“Over on that table is fine, we’ll find a place for them.” The boy, now dressed, leaned against the long vanity counter, facing Edie. “Say, you’re not from here, are you?”
Edie shook her head, turning to face him, instantly swallowing. God was he just the cutest. They don’t make them like that back home. His face was soft, yet inquisitive. His long hair, brushed forward, played upon the innocence that his wide dark brown eyes invoked.
“No, I’m from New York. I’m only here for a few months visiting my Aunt and Uncle.” Over the past two weeks, she had repeated this same line day in and day out.
“Really? Why would you leave New York City for Liverpool?” His eyebrows knitted together, disbelief painted his features.
“Oh, no, I’m not from the city. I’m from New York State. The city is a few hours from me, Liverpool is actually much larger than where I’m from.”
His disbelief morphed into inquiry. “Really?” Edie nodded. The boy extended his hand, “Well, I’m Paul.”
She smiled, reciprocating his offering, “Edie.”
The sound of cases rolling across the stage rattled overhead. Soundcheck would begin in a matter of minutes. Edie was reminded of all that she had to do before the doors opened, but since she was standing here with Paul, she pushed it to the back of her mind.
“Edie. So when did you get here? I don’t remember seeing you last week when we played this hall.”
“About two weeks ago, but this is my first week working here. Back home I helped out at a dance hall and thought it would be nice to do it while I was here for the summer.”
“Mustn been hard to find work, there’s a billion little places around Liverpool you know.”
“Oh I’ve noticed, I applied to about half of them and this is the only one who would hire me.”
Paul pulled a face, but before he could answer, two other boys entered the dressing room. Edie recognized them as the ones by the car.
“We’ve been here for five bloody minutes and you’ve already wrangled yourself a bird Paulie. Is that a new record?” A tall boy with a prominent nose quipped as he and the other set a few bottles of beer on the counter. Edie felt her face flush.
“Oh come off it John, she works here. She’s an American you know. Edie, this is John and George, they’re me band mates.”
John looked at Edie with a new kind of interest and a mischievous glint in his eye. “An American, huh? What brings you all the way to cold, grey, rainy Liverpool and not bright and shiny London?”
“I have family here.” Her answer was shortened, now feeling uncomfortable with three sets of male eyes taking her in. “Uh, well, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Not here, no.” John added, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile.
Edie answered his cheeky comment with a cold glare. “Have a good show boys,” she said before leaving the dressing room and heading back to the lobby.
As much as their last conversation left Edie feeling a bit miffed, she couldn’t deny that The Beatles knew how to play, and they sure knew how to work a crowd. The other acts that blew through there seemed bland in comparison.
Though Liverpool was far, far different from her small American hometown, she could find solace in the live music. American rock had taken over the youth of England, and for a moment, while they played a Little Richard or Shirelles song, she could close her eyes and be transported into the hometown dancehall where she spent so many summer nights.
In late July The Beatles came to play again. This time Edie made sure to have all of her boxes checked before the band arrived, as she wished to avoid another conversation with John Lennon. From the dressing room conversation to his cocky stage presence, something about him made her uncomfortable. He seemed to be the type who loved to pick and get under one's skin. God, those were the worst type, weren’t they? Just down right arrogant.
A lot of local girls seemed to enjoy his crude behavior though, for reasons Edie didn’t understand. In fact, all of the boys seemed to be a bit of a local heartthrob among the ladies. From the moment they took the stage, the crowd was glued to them, calling their names and shrieking when they threw a wink into the crowd. Little did they realize that the boys couldn’t see much past the bright stage lights.
Unfortunately, her plan for avoidance was short lived when one of her co-workers passed on that the band needed another pitcher of water in their dressing room. By now the doors, or flood gates as they should more appropriately be named, had been opened and people were milling about the ballroom. Edie let out an irritated sigh, maneuvering a full pitcher through this crowd would be a nightmare.
This time, when she reached the dressing room door, it was open. The boys were sprawled out in the cramped room, limbs overlapping the arms of chairs and resting atop of the coffee table. Guitars adorned their laps, cigarettes were in their lips, and beer bottles were placed about. There was a jittery calm hanging in the air.
“Ah, Miss. America!” Paul greeted as Edie stepped into the room.
“The water you requested, can I leave it here?” She stepped over to the vanity counter, setting the pitcher down. John seemed to be preoccupied with his acoustic, picking away with the other guitarist, George.
“Sure, sure, you enjoy the show last time?” He asked, removing the cigarette from his mouth and flicking his ashes into the tray.
“Sure from what I heard. I don’t really get to watch that often, but I like how you played a lot of American tunes.”
“You didn’t watch?” John asked, still focusing on his guitar.
“No, not really. I’m too busy making sure people don’t sneak in.” John smirked.
“Well, why don’t you come to one of our other shows? We play a lot at the Cavern downtown,” Paul offered.
“Get acquainted with the riveting nightlife of Liverpool,” George added, and for the first time Edie actually saw him. She took in his sleepy brown eyes, sharp jaw, and thick eyebrows. He held a lot of the same innocence that Paul did, but his seemed more genuine, more pure, whereas Paul wore the innocence like a mask.
“I tend to busy here most nights. I’ll have to see what my schedule allows.”
Edie wished them well and politely excused herself from the dressing room. Since arriving in Liverpool, she hadn’t done much else other than work. During her first week here her cousin Charlie, by a strong suggestion from his mother, took Edie down to one of the local pubs. It wasn’t much fun though, as the bar was filled with Charlie’s shipyard mates.
The men were rough and handsy with their women, or at least ladies she suspected were their women. They had thick accents and smelled crude. Edie ended up keeping to herself, nestled in the corner of the bar feeling out of place, on edge, and homesick. Since then she has refused all Aunt Bea’s attempts to get her to tag along with Charlie.
But there was something exciting about the prospect of going to one of The Beatles shows. They seemed to have a hold on the Liverpool music scene at the moment, judging from the crowds here at the Majestic. Being a part of that energy would be something else. She would have to go alone of course, she didn’t really know anyone who would want to tag along. But at a concert that didn’t really matter, there was plenty of entertainment to divert your attention. How could you feel alone when you were sharing that same moment with countless others?
#fever#my writing#mine#George Harrison#george x reader#george harrison fanfiction#the beatles#the beatles fanfiction
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🌻!!!
it might be down to synesthesia or somethin but i thought all yellow gloves came lemon-scented….. like, no such product exists in reality to my knowledge, but especially when i was younger i would strongly definitely smell lemon when looking at/using these!!
there’s worse extra sensory experiences one could have :-)
#queued that post goodness knows how long ago so it was a nice surprise#answers from the void#beesetc
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Hot Chocolate (Chris Evans x Female!Reader)
The one where your infamous hot chocolate earns a special spot in your relationship with none other than Chris Evans.
Word count: 1399
Author: @chrixa
I actually wrote this a long time ago, and I don’t know why I didn’t post it.
Gif is not mine.
Today was just an average day. The cafe was not that crowded, thankfully, and the weather outside was just what I hoped for. The wind was a bit much to my liking, but the red, orange and yellow leaves made me forgive the whole windy situation.
I was just cleaning up the tables and picking up some fallen tissues on the floor when I heard the bell chime which made my head turn to the door.
“Sorry, sir, but the shop’s closed for the day. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow for your morning coffee?” I asked him politely.
“Oh, yeah, I saw the sign. Sorry, I just thought I’d warm myself up here before heading home. Is that okay?” He rubbed his hands together and offered me a smile.
“Oh, sure, yeah. Uh, please take a seat.”
“Thank you, uh, Miss?”
“Y/L/N, but please call me Y/N.”
“Y/N, hi, I’m Chris,” he said as he took a seat.
“Nice to meet you, Chris. Some hot chocolate, maybe?” I ask while heading to the kitchen.
“I thought you said the shop’s closed?” He tilted his head to the right.
“I thought you said you wanted to warm yourself up?” I mimicked his head-tilting which earned a chuckle from him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you like it?” I took a seat across from him and tried to analyze his expression as he took a sip from the steaming mug.
“Normally I’d go for tea but this hot chocolate is exceptional,” he grinned which turned into a giggle. “What did you put in this? This is really good.”
Now it was my turn to giggle. “Well thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Why? People don’t usually like your hot choc?”
“They like it just fine. It’s just rewarding to get a compliment from Captain America,” I gave him a one-sided smirk as he laughed.
“I was kinda hoping you didn’t recognize me.”
“Why? Crazy fan encounters?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I need to continue cleaning up this cafe and you need to continue enjoying my hot chocolate. Do not think of helping me,” I warned him before he could open his mouth.
“Did you read my mind?” He tilted his head again.
“Maybe,” I shrugged and winked at him.
“Okay so what you’re basically saying is that I need to do it with you and if I don’t like it you’ll do everything I say,” I explain to him with my eyes wide. I absolutely can’t believe he is actually a 5-year-old.
“Yes! But if it turns out that you do like it, and I bet you will, you’ll make me your hot chocolate as many cups as I want,” he said while practically jumping up and down with excitement.
I sigh almost too dramatically. There’s really no avoiding his childish antics. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with,” I give him a dismissive wave of my hand.
“YES!” He jumped before grabbing my hand and literally dragged me towards the queuing line. I wasn’t surprised that he even had an express pass just for this ride.
“Chris, I don’t like where this is going,” I say as I squeezed his hand as hard as I could.
“Relax, babe, you’re gonna break my hand,” he laughed at my nervous state. How dare he.
We were going higher and higher until all I can see is the blue sky with some patches of cloud. “Chris,” I squeezed his hand harder as we’re nearing the drop. He returned it with a laugh instead.
“CHRIIIISSSSSSS! I HATE YOU!”
“I LOVE YOU TOO!”
“Can I have another hot chocolate?” He asked for the third time that night.
“Hey, babe,” he sighed from the other end.
“Hey. What happened?”
“Wow, I haven’t said anything and you already know something’s up,” he chuckled dryly. I can picture him scratching the back of his neck.
“Wanna talk about it?” I smile despite the fact that he can’t see me.
“Maybe later. I’m about 10 minutes out. I miss you.”
“I know, I’m just so awesome that Captain America missed me.” I can hear him laugh in my ear, genuinely this time. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, I ate with Seb and Mackie earlier. Have you?”
“Does salad count?” I asked back.
“Did you really eat only salad?” He knows me so well.
“Nah. I had pizza delivered hot and fresh in front of my doorstep. There’s some left if you want.”
“Of course I do. See ya soon,” he said before the line clicked.
“Babe, I’m home,” I heard my boyfriend called out, followed by the door closing.
“Kitchen!”
“Hey, what are you doing in th-”
“I made you some hot chocolate,” I smiled at him, now that he can see me. “Couch?” I walked past him to the couch with two mugs in hand.
He sat down next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and taking a mug from my hand. “Thank you, Y/N. You always know what to do,” he breathed as I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Anything for my best guy.”
Are you home? My phone buzzed and I read the text from Chris as I smile for the first time that evening.
No, I’m still at the cafe. Are you?
Nah, just finished the meeting. I’ll pick you up.
Thanks, babe. See you. I clicked send and slide my phone in my pocket, not waiting for a reply. Sometimes customers just don’t understand the meaning of throwing their own trash into the can. And it’s exhausting to throw it for them.
The bell chimed and I groaned quietly as a rush of wind enter the warm cafe. I know it was Chris without looking up, because the shop’s closed.
“Hey, babe,” Chris called out, his brows furrowed.
“Oh, hey,” I said, not bothering to smile at him, which I usually do.
“You okay?” He carefully asked me because he knows me so well. I only glare at him from my spot near the table in the corner. “That explains it,” he muttered to himself. “Can I have a cup of water?”
“Yeah, help yourself in the kitchen. Just don't mess anything up.” I said as I continue cleaning this small coffee shop. Sure, I love working here. But sometimes there are rough days like today that I have to face. I have to smile at customers even though I want to punch them.
I was lost in thought before I realized that Chris has been in the kitchen long enough to make a mess. All he needed was just a cup of water, right?
“Chris? What are you doing?” I asked him as I walked to the kitchen.
“One second!” I heard him shout. After some rumbling sounds, his head popped up from the kitchen door. “How are you feeling?”
I raise my brows in confusion. “Uh, joyful. Unbelievably extraordinary,” I said sarcastically.
“Why don’t you have a seat, hm?”
“Okay?” I take a seat, still bewildered from his actions.
“Look, I know you had a rough day and I just wanted to cheer you up,” he sighed and started walking towards me, with a steaming cup in his hands. “I know this probably wouldn’t taste as delicious as yours but, you know.” He handed me the cup from across the table with an uncertain smile.
“Chris, you didn’t have to do this,” I try to smile genuinely at him as I take the mug to my lips. “This is surprisingly delicious.”
“Really?” His face instantly light up like a Christmas tree with a huge grin.
“Yeah, try it,” I offer him the mug which he took happily.
“You’re kidding, Y/N. This is nowhere as good as yours!”
“Hey, I didn’t say this was as good as mine! I said it was delicious,” I smirked at him.
“Yeah, yeah, your hot chocolate is unbeatable,” he smiled triumphantly, having lifted up my spirits.
“I didn’t say that,” I tilt my head at him.
“That’s what you were implying anyway.”
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes as I take another sip from his oh-so-delicious hot chocolate.
“Are you done cleaning up?”
“No, not yet.”
“Sit here, and relax, babe. I’ll do it for you,” he stood up and took the broom.
“Chris, you don’t-”
“Hey, it’s okay. You deserve a break,” he smiled at me.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Anything for my best girl.”
chris evans tag list: @patzammit @troublermalik
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagine#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans fanfic#chris evans one shot
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Once Upon a Christmas Eve
A/N: Merry Christmas @princesswan I was your Secret Santa this year! I hope you like this little piece I've put together for you and I hope it posts correctly (I've never queued anything before lol). Thanks to @cssecretsanta2k18 for putting together such an awesome event!
*This is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own*
“It started with a kiss.
Well, to be most accurate, it started a bit before that, as many fairytales do.
Let's just start from the beginning, shall we?
Once upon a time, there was a boy. A man, really. And the man, while devilishly handsome, was very lonely.
Now, the man was very fortunate and he had many friends. He had a job he loved working on a great ship, an older brother who he was very close with, but something was missing. Let's call the man Killian.
It was the start of the Christmas season, not so very long ago, and Killian was feeling especially low. He had just broken off his engagement with a woman who he thought he was very much in love with and, in complete honesty, he was feeling quite sorry for himself. So he decided to meet his friend at the local… tavern. Killian had been waiting for his friend to show up for almost an hour that cold winter’s night and he was beginning to get impatient. He had already drank far too much, er, eggnog that night and he was in a mood of sorts. Killian was sure his friend, the idiot Will Scarlett, had blown him off completely. So he sat alone and drank his eggnog in relative peace.
Killian was sure he was broadcasting his ill aura to all around him, souring the Christmas spirit in the air with his grinchiness, but, as it turned out, he was mistaken. He heard a voice from behind him.
‘Buy you another?’ it said and when Killian turned around, there was a beautiful blonde woman standing behind him. Now, Killian was no shy lad, but remember, he was intent on wallowing in his sorrows this particular evening and he was very much not interested in company. Unless, of course, Will bloody Scarlett had deigned to grace the tavern with his presence so Killian could give him a piece of his mind.
So he told the woman, ‘No, thank you, lass. I'm waiting on someone.’ But the woman was persistent, intent on getting Killian's attention.
‘You have an accent! English?’ she asked in her own accent, Australian, perhaps, but that's inconsequential. Killian was trying to be polite, but he had little patience for anyone that evening. Nevertheless, he was a gentleman, and a gentleman mustn't be rude to a fair lady if he can avoid it.
‘Aye,’ he told her, because he had come from England with his brother, Liam, Scarlett, and his former fiancée about ten years before because the ship of his dreams had gone up for sale in a city called Boston, but he didn't have the money to buy the ship and have it brought to England. So he came to it instead.
‘You're cute,’ the woman told him shamelessly, placing her hand on his arm. ‘Are you sure you don't want another drink?’
Killian looked at the woman again. He could feel how fake his smile was but he just couldn't bring himself to be any friendlier to the poor girl in his sorry state.
‘I'm quite sure, love, thank you,’ he said. ‘I'm still working on this one and, as I said, I'm waiting for someone.’
The woman looked undeterred, perhaps having had too much eggnog herself that evening, and she moved closer to him. ‘You've been alone all night, I don't think she's coming,’ she told him and Killian was beginning to get very uncomfortable. He began looking around the tavern for exits he could possibly make his escape through when a hand landed on his opposite arm.
‘There you are,’ a new melodic voice said and when Killian turned, he found himself stunned into speechlessness, for surely he was now in the presence of an angel.
There before him stood the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. Her long blonde hair fell in golden curls over her shoulders, hiding the buttons of the form fitting red sweater she wore. She had green eyes, the kind that sparkled with mischief, but were also deep and soulful, like she'd lived a much harder life than most but came out a stronger person on the other side. She was cool and confident, exuding a radiant inner beauty that was only matched by her breathtaking external features. Killian had never in his life seen a more lovely lass than she.
‘I've been looking all over for you,’ she said, her hand wandering up Killian's shoulder as she tucked herself into his side. He was absolutely gobsmacked, be it from her presence or the ru- er, eggnog he'd been drinking, he'd never know, but that didn't stop him from racking his fuzzy brain trying to remember why she might have sought him out. ‘Who's this?’ she asked, nodding her dimpled chin to his other side and suddenly Killian remembered the other woman.
She was a pretty, spritely thing, but she couldn't hold a candle to the angel. The first woman, Killian had noticed, was now upset, but refusing to relinquish her hold on his arm, despite the angel's clear claim being staked.
‘I'm the one who kept him company while he was sitting up here all by himself,’ the woman said, quite nastily. The angel was unperturbed, her hand finding the back of his neck, and he was unashamed to say the simple touch gave him goosebumps.
‘Well, thanks for keeping my boyfriend company, I appreciate it. Can we buy you a drink?’ the angel asked and put her arms around Killian's shoulder, clearly staking her claim. He shrugged and played along with his savior. He allowed himself to touch her for the first time and slipped his own arm around her waist. It felt right, having her in his arms. Like she just fit there.
‘He never mentioned a girlfriend,’ the other woman said.
‘Well, here I am,’ the angel replied. ‘And we are going to go find a table, if you didn't need anything else.’ She grasped the hand Killian had on her waist in her own and began to pull him away. The other woman tugged on his other arm and held him in place. The look that came over his savior’s face, one of challenge and dark amusement, was one he would never forget.
Before Killian even knew what was happening, the blonde avenger had seized Killian by the collar of his jacket and her lips met his. He felt like he'd come alive again, months of heartache melting away as she kissed him. He couldn't help but to kiss her back, completely giving in to the spark that had ignited between them. Beneath the kiss itself, which was earth shaking enough as it was, a glimmer of hope rekindled in his soul.
Killian didn't notice, being too enraptured by his savior angel and their kiss, but the other woman had left without another word. The angel pulled away from him and gave him a beautiful smile, then patted him on the shoulder.
‘You looked really uncomfortable,’ she told him. ‘Sorry if I overstepped.’
Killian was surprised by her apology, having thought his gratefulness had been written all over his face. He needed to let the angel know he appreciated her.
So he told her, ‘Not at all. I wasn't amenable to company this evening and she wasn't getting the hint, clearly. I'm just fortunate that you came along to save me.’
She smiled at Killian again, a dazzling smile that lit up her gorgeous green eyes from within. He couldn't believe how beautiful she was and he thought for a moment the eggnog might have had him hallucinating.
‘You're welcome, then,’ the angel replied. ‘I better get back to my friends, but it was nice to meet you…’
‘Killian,’ he filled in for her. ‘Killian Jones.’
She nodded, that lustrous curtain of golden curls moving with her.
‘Well, Killian Jones, I hope you have a good rest of your night.’ And with that, she turned to walk away. Killian wasn't quite ready for her to go yet. In complete honesty, he wouldn't have minded if she never left his side, which was a silly thought to have about someone you've just met, but he couldn't help himself. So he called out to her.
‘Am I worthy to know the name of my savior?’ he asked. The angel looked over her shoulder as she walked away and said but two simple words that would change his life forever.
‘Emma Swan.’
Killian was sure he was grinning like a fool at just the sound of her lovely name as he cashed out his tab with the bar keep, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
That night, he was absently thumbing through his Facebook app when a friend request came through from a name he didn't recognize. Someone called Ruby Lucas. As one should always be wary of these kinds of things, he didn't accept right away. Instead, he went to do some investigating to try and figure out who this strange woman was that sent him a request.
He went to her page and looked at her profile picture to see if he recognized the lass, but he didn't. She was very pretty, long brown hair, a little too much makeup, but Killian couldn't place her. So he swiped through a few more of her pictures. When he got to about the third or fourth picture, he was shocked to see a face he did recognize staring back at him.
There, in the middle of a group picture that seemed to have taken place at some sort of hen party, was Emma, the angel. He could hardly believe his luck. He scrolled back up and selected the accept button on the friend request, and he absolutely did not drop his phone in his haste. Killian Jones is a calm, collected, rational man.
No sooner had he accepted the request did a message come through, an eloquent ‘hey there’’ blinking at him from the screen. He replied with a ‘hello’ of his own. Ruby asked him if he'd been in the tavern that evening and Killian confirmed he had been. Ruby then replied with just one more thing and promptly logged off. The message said: ‘Rabbit Hole, 12/24, 7:00 PM. Emma will be there. You should come.’
Killian was completely taken aback by this turn of events, but he could only jump at the chance to see the angel again, so he made sure his schedule was clear. He wasn't due at his brothers until Christmas Day, fortunately and that left him wide open for whatever it was that Ruby had requested him for.
The night of the Christmas Eve came and Killian was very nervous. He had changed clothes at least a dozen times and checked the clock at least a dozen more. After he was finally satisfied that he had stalled enough, he made it to the tavern in record time. As not to seem too eager, he decided to sit in the car until 7:00 rolled around.
Now, Killian could definitely say he knew his way around a woman, but Emma had thrown him off so completely that he started having doubts about himself, not that he would let her or anyone know that. When Emma kissed him, it had thrown his world off kilter, but what if she didn't feel the same? What if it was just a kiss to her? What if she was upset that he was there again? As he sat contemplating the situation in his car, a soft tap sounded at the window. Killian looked up and was rendered immediately speechless, a novelty for him, to be certain. There staring at him through the thin separation of the window glass, a gorgeous, albeit laughing, smile on her lips, was Emma.
Killian smiled back, opening the car door and getting out of it immediately. He didn't know what to do or say, but that didn't stop an outlandishly flirtatious ‘hello, love’ falling from his lips. From across the car park, a woman that Killian recognized from her Facebook picture as none other than Ruby Lucas called out some slightly inappropriate encouragement to her friend.
‘So, you're the surprise,’ Emma told him and it took Killian a minute longer than he would have liked to admit to catch her meaning. It wasn't his fault that the second he turned back to look at Emma he was lost in her sparkling, jade colored eyes. It was an eventuality that he’d lose his head around her at some point during the evening.
‘I suppose I am,’ he replied when he had gotten his train of thought back on track. ‘It is lovely to see you again, Emma.’
‘It's nice to see you, too, Killian Jones.’
Killian had a very vivid memory of the night he met her, and he may or may not have looked at the pictures on Ruby's page a time or two in the days since her friend request, but Killian was still struck by Emma's beauty. Snow had begun to fall around them, and with the backdrop of the street lights behind her, she truly looked every inch the angel he initially had thought her to be.
‘You look stunning, love,’ he told her.
‘Thanks,’ she replied in her simplistic way. ‘You look…’
‘I know,’ he said cheekily when she fumbled for a compliment of her own. Her eyes narrowed at him but the corner of her mouth was lifted in amusement. Killian took that as a good sign. ‘Did you want to go inside?’ he asked, not wanting her to stand out in the cold longer than necessary. She agreed and they walked in together.
Once they made it through the door, Emma was greeted by a large group of people. The tavern was decorated in reds and greens, twinkling lights strung all around in the festive spirit of the upcoming holiday. Emma quickly introduced Killian to her friends and her brother, who was only just a tad overprotective of her. Killian has grown on him quite a bit since then, but that's another story for another time.
Killian didn't feel out of place once during the whole evening thanks to Emma. She was guarded, to be certain, but there was an underlying level of comfort amongst her friends that extended to Killian as well. He could tell right away that this was not a courtesy that was extended to many, and it made his heart swell with gratitude and he was just that much more enamored of her.
The activity in the tavern had dwindled down close to midnight and Emma's very merry brother, David, should have been cut off several… eggnogs before he was. But that didn't stop him from threatening Killian as his lovely wife tried to wrestle him out the door.
‘She likes you, Jones,’ he said. ‘And I'll admit you've grown on me, too. But if you hurt her I'm gonna have to declare a duel for her honor, sir. Don't you forget it.’ Killian would have been infinitely amused by the man's threats if he wasn't so elated at his revelation. Emma liked him. And it was all he could have wished for. He spotted Emma from across the floor as she stood bidding farewell to the infamous Ruby Lucas. Their eyes locked from across the room and Killian knew he was done for.
She smiled. He smiled back. Ruby laughed out loud and said something to Emma that made her turn several different shades of red. Killian's feet began to carry him across the room of their own volition. He had tunnel vision on Emma, his angel savior, and he vaguely heard something along the lines of ‘go get ‘er, tiger,’ as Ruby walked past. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her again.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hello, love,’ he said back.
Emma looked up towards the ceiling and Killian followed her gaze. There hanging from an exposed beam was a sprig of mistletoe. Now, if grown men got butterflies, Killian may have had a swarm of them in his stomach, but he would liken what he felt in that moment closer to a school of particularly violent fish swimming in his belly.
‘Merry Christmas, Killian,’ she whispered, her green eyes bright and so full of hope.
‘Merry Christmas, Emma,’ he replied, and took full advantage of the mistletoe tradition. This kiss was much gentler than the first, but no less life changing. The world began and ended with Emma in that moment and he knew that he needed to know her better, wanted her to stay in his life as long as he could keep her. When they broke away from one another, Emma's beautiful eyes fluttered open and Killian couldn't help the smile that was surely plastered all over his face.
‘Do you want to go get some coffee sometime?’ Emma asked. Killian couldn't agree fast enough. Little did either of them know when they walked into the Rabbit Hole that evening that they would be taking the first step towards their happy ever after.”
A soft gurgle and a coo sounded from the small bundle wrapped in Killian's arms. He smiled, his heart full to bursting, and he ran a knuckle over his newborn daughter's ruddy cheek. The babe yawned and squirmed before settling once more.
“A fairytale, huh?” a voice said from behind him. Killian turned to look at his wife with a grin. Emma was propped up on a mountain of pillows in the hospital bed where she lay, tired but happier than he'd ever seen her. Her hair was knotted in a messy bun on top of her head, her body clad in the standard green hospital gown, tubes sticking out of both arms, and she had never looked more radiant. His love for her had seemed to grow unendingly throughout the entire day, and this moment was no exception.
“Aye, love. My favorite fairytale and my second favorite Christmas Eve. I think this one tops it easily, but that day is a very close second,” Killian agreed. Emma hummed a sigh, her eyes fluttering closed once more and a soft smile on her lips.
“‘Snot the 24th anymore, though,” she said on a yawn. Killian glanced at the clock and saw it was after 1:00 in the morning. He chuckled and walked gingerly to her bedside so as not to jostle the infant in his arms and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Happy Christmas, my darling. I love you both so very much.”
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That Summer Chapter 148 Summary!
i was fed with beauty with chapter... but at what cost,,,,,
Jumi shows up at the blind date looking GOOD AF. I will also add that the 3 candidates for the blind date are all beautiful... Author-nim knows how to draw her men.
ST: Hello Jumi: Wow Jumi: all 3 of them are handsome.
Jumi sits down, mentally noting that all 3 of them are handsome. She and OS share like a telepathic moment, both agreeing at how good looking they all are LMAO.
One guy introduces himself, his name conveniently blurred out (i'm betting that either author-nim didn't want to confuse us with names that aren't important, or it's strategically like that to show that jumi was uninvested in the blind date that she didn't even bother remembering their names LOL).
Literally everyone is busy chatting up and sharing drinks while Jumi is sitting in her seat happily eating away at her food. There's a lot of chattering between the others, catching up on recent news and laughing together. Jumi's silent the whole time, either eating or drinking on her own T___T
ST: Cheers to the end of class-! SFX: Clink
Top ST: They got a scholarship this time— Bottom ST: Really? They already sent a notice out?
When they step outside, the second guy asks if Jumi has a boyfriend. Jumi's surprised by that, and the guy says that she looks like she has a boyfriend and just was forced to come here. He also introduces himself, name hidden. Jumi denies it, saying they broke up already. STOP THAT.
Another time skip, and Jumi's chilling outside when Man #3 approaches, asking to sit next to her. He introduces himself (surprise surprise no name) asking if she doesn't really like karaoke either. He also mentions that he broke up with his girlfriend not too long ago as well. Damn look at Jumi getting her own harem.... I’m proud of her :’)
Guy: Guess you don't really like karaoke -I'm the same. I'm actually tone-deaf, haha.
They return to the karaoke room later. OS asks where they went together, and Jumi says they just got some air. A queued up song starts, and OS asks who chose such a dull song. IT WAS JUMI SO STOP HATING.
Later that night, on the train home, Jumi gets a text from one of the guys asking if she got home safely. BR and OS note that the guys weren't bad, and OS says they should meet up again next week.
There's a text exchange between her and whichever guy, where he gives her music recommendations and they make idle chatter.
Guy: I found it's nice to listen to while you're sleeping. Jumi: Ooh, I'll listen to it. Guy: When are you sleeping?
The next morning, Jumi's sleeping the way I do, her phone still lying next to her as she gets up for classes. She's so adorable T___T
Mom: Tsk tsk -The sun's already in the middle of the sky.
On the way to school, Jumi's texting a guy (I highkey have no idea if it's the same guy from last night alksjal). Mystery Man says he's at school too, and complains about his club meeting going too long since he wants to eat. Jumi asks what club he's in, and he replies theater. She's surprised at that, and the guy smoothly plays along, saying they should go watch a play together sometime.
Jumi stares for a moment before typing out that she wants to go when someone comes up from behind, reaching for her. GOD, I WISH IT WAS WHO I THOUGHT IT WAS.
Jumi whips around, having the same heart attack I did, but it's only SH. The guy's almost more surprised than her, and notes how noticeably disappointed she was that it was him LOL.
SH: You scared me -I think I'm more surprised than you.
They go out for a meal, and SH notes how they barely see each other anymore, since things got awkward within their friend circle. He asks how she's doing, since he heard that she broke up with her boyfriend, and encourages her to eat up to get strength.
Jumi's surprised, wondering how he found out. He says he just did, and Jumi figures OS and BR told him. SH simply says that even if they didn't tell him, he knows lots of things about her... Like the fact that she went on that blind date yesterday with the Player Trio (of course they're all players... why am I not surprised)
SH: I found out. Jumi: Did Oh Soo and Bo Ram tell you?
Jumi's shook that he knows all this, asking how he knew that. SH literally goes “idk I just found out too” LMAO. Turns out he was reading an anonymous school forum on his phone, where people are commenting all over about Jumi and YW's relationship. Mostly because YW's so good looking and how she's so plain in comparison SMH imma fight them all. One of the commenters mentioned seeing her on the blind date, so they figured Jumi and YW broke up.
Comment: That guy is seriously one in a million, what a shame. Comment: I'm sure the girl has some charm, too. Comment: According to a sunbae in the Economics department, she doesn't particularly stand out. Comment: It's break, what's everyone doing? Comment: Why hasn't the Perfect Face School Gate Guy shown up ㅠ Comment: Did he go to the military ㅜㅜㅜ Comment: They probably broke up. Comment: I saw her in DaxRo yesterday having a blind date with guys from PE department. SH: The anonymous forum is going crazy. SH: Why'd you go and date a celebrity, now you're a civilian growing in popularity
SH says she's basically a celebrity now, so she should lay low if she doesn't want rumors flying around like this. He warns her to be careful about the Trio too, since they probably read the forums as well. Jumi, meanwhile, is peeved that people are spreading pictures of her around without consent, saying she's gonna report them LOL.
Later on, Jumi sends a text to all 3 of the guys, apologizing and saying that she's gonna be busy and focus on her GPA, so she won't be able to meet with any of them. She hopes things are still good with them, though, and hopes they can greet each other at school and whatnot.
Turns out Jumi wanted to leave them all on read, but she was worried they might post on the anonymous forum exposing her for leaving them all on read, so she just sent that message as a formality LOL this poor child where tf is HB I need him back here ASAP,,,
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Who Said That Every Wish Chapter 1: Before
After Felix finds out his father has been researching the Heroes of Paris, he digs a little further. He didn't expect everything to change. Curiosity didn't kill the cat, but what will it do to the turtle?
For some background, click the “keep reading” and scroll to the bottom of the post, under the dividing line.
Read on Ao3
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“Who said that every wish
Would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?”
- “Rainbow Connection”
/*****/
“I want to quit. I don’t want to be a soldier anymore.”
Carapace looked stunned for a moment, then angry. "The city needs you. The team needs you. You can't just leave."
"I can't keep doing this anymore," Chat Noir said, shoulders hunching forward, a contrast to his usual confident, exaggerated posture. "The battles keep getting worse, the choices we make are too hard."
"That just means you're needed even more."
Chat shook his head. "It means I shouldn't be the one making the decisions."
"That's so selfish, dude," Carapace said, crossing his arms. Chat flinched as if the words stung. "I can't believe you. So what, you just quit?"
"Yeah." Chat Noir's voice was getting quieter with every word until Carapace was forced to lip read. "You guys'll be better off without me."
/*****/
The Previous Tuesday
"Nice of you to show up," Chat Noir said, dodging a cantaloupe.
"Nice to see you too, Kitty," Ladybug said. "It would be nicer if I had gotten to eat lunch before rushing out here, but looks like fruit salad might be an option."
"If you eat melons thrown by an akuma supervillain and then restore everything with Miraculous Cure, will the digesting melons disappear from your stomach?" Chat asked. He looked around them and spotted something. He made eye contact with Ladybug and grinned. She rolled her eyes as he parkour-ed up into a tree.
"’Sneaky cat in a tree’ is not a real move, Chat. And I… don't know about the melons. And now I don't want to find out." She swung herself onto the roof of a nearby house.
"Punny Chat would have eaten the melons without thinking about it. Would you have preferred that to me pointing it out?" Chat Noir said. He peeked out of the branches at the melon-throwing enemy. "I think the akuma's in his apron, but I haven’t gotten close enough to be sure."
"Don't be grumpy, Grumpy Chat," Ladybug said, yoyo spinning like a shield. "You didn't stop being my favorite just because I'm dating your twin."
"I miss the old days, back when you weren't dating my brother and the world didn't know there are two Chat Noirs."
Ladybug rolled her eyes. "I take full responsibility for the dating part, but you're the one that decided that one Chat dating meant telling the world there’s two of you." She took a run at the akuma before retreating in a shower of melons. They tried a combined attack, Chat shielding Ladybug, but they still couldn't get close enough.
Chat flipped open his baton with a growl, looking at the map of Paris. "Where is-"
"Sorry, sorry!" Carapace flipped off his flying hoverboard shell and landed next to his partners. "I couldn't get away, and then-"
"I don't care," Chat said. "Use your shield, get us close enough to take this guy's apron."
"S-sorry." Carapace tried to will himself not to blush. "Hey, Grumpy."
"You don't know if I'm Grumpy Chat. I could be Punny Chat." He didn't spare Carapace a glance as he deflected more melons.
“You know I can tell you two apart, right?”
"Can we get on with the fight?" Ladybug asked, gesturing towards the akumatized man cackling and yelling about declining melon sales. "Some of us have stuff to do."
"Right." Carapace called up his power, surrounding the three of them in a shield. They ran as one towards the the akuma victim, who had the intelligence to run from them. He didn't get far. As they reached him, Carapace dropped his shield, Chat knocked the man's feet out from under him, and Ladybug yanked the apron from his chest.
"Bye bye little butterfly!" she called. They didn't even wait for the cleansed butterfly to flap off into the sky before fist bumping.
"I'm late for class," Chat Noir said. He bowed to Ladybug. "Always a pleasure, Buggy." He straightened up and nodded at Carapace. "I didn’t mean ‘I don’t care.’ That was a poor choice of words, and I’m sorry. It sounded like you were about to reveal a bit too much of your identity, and I wanted to keep you safe. Be more carefully, Shelly. We need you out there. Good work today." He turned and planted his baton, shooting himself into the air before leaning forward to land on a roof. He ran from there, disappearing into the skyline.
"Was that a good thing? A bad thing? Does he like me?" Carapace asked, staring in the direction Chat had gone.
"He's… That's just how he is. It doesn't mean anything when he acts like that," Ladybug said, using her yoyo as an actual yoyo.
"So… he nothings me?"
Ladybug winced at how far Carapace's face fell. "No! He likes having you on the team! You two work together really well."
"But I still don't have a shot with him, right?"
Ladybug clapped him on the shoulder. "Who knows? I never expected to fall for his brother."
Carapace nodded. "I guess. How's that go-" His miraculous beeped, cutting him off.
"I'll tell you later. Head to class," Ladybug said. "I'll get this guy back to his fruit stand."
Carapace hopped on his shell and flew towards school. He needed to grab lunch before returning to school. Thankfully there was a place down the block he liked. He wondered idly about the fact that Chat had been heading in this direction, but dismissed the idea that they went to school together pretty quickly. He could spot the object of his affections without a mask, right?
/*****/
Felix walked into class like he owned the concept of mathematics. The teacher rolled his eyes but didn't comment. Felix sank into the last row with Nathaniel with a sense of relief he didn't dare show.
"I can't believe you made me take this class," Felix growled, pulling his notebook from his bag.
"More math won't hurt you," Nathaniel said. "I saved you something to eat." He placed a paper bag on Felix's desk. "Now take notes so I can finish this commission."
Felix took notes on autopilot, letting his mind wander to the book in his bag. With Carapace's help, battles were on average shorter in the past year. That meant more reading time for Felix. And more ballet time. And daydreaming time. Daydreaming time was starting to bleed into note taking time when Nath leaned over.
"I notice someone's not in class. So where is he?"
Felix hadn't realized his eyes were roaming around the classroom until Nathaniel spoke.
"Who?"
"Don't play that game with me," Nath whispered back. He hunched down towards his sketchbook a little further, hair brushing the desk. "I don't ask 'who' when you make comments about my crush."
"You really should, with taste that bad," Felix said. The conversation paused while Felix raised his hand to answer the question on the board.
"Chloe's your friend," Nath hissed, almost laying his torso flat against the desk.
Felix choked on his response. Nath glanced up to see what had caused the reaction and started chuckling.
"Shut up, Tomato Boy."
Nino apologized for being late and slid into his seat between Alya and Adrien.
"I do have to say," Nath said, ignoring the nickname/insult, "no one else in class has had a crush as long as you have. Marinette moved on from Adrien, Kim got over Chloe, even Mylene and Ivan broke up for a few months a few years ago. Maybe your dedication would mean something to him. I still say you should try to-"
"Nath, I will follow through on my threat to tell Chloe about your drawings of her as all the miraculous heroes."
Nathaniel quieted down for the rest of class, but Felix knew it was only a matter of time. The longer Nathaniel had known about Felix's crush, the more Nathaniel pushed Felix to do something about it.
In the hall after class, Felix pulled Nathaniel aside.
"I know you mean well, but please just let me be with the whole…" Felix hated that he felt his face heating, "Nino thing."
Nathaniel nodded. "Okay. I think you have a shot, but okay."
Felix shook his head. "He's liked someone for a while now, according to Adrien. Just let it go."
Adrien and Nino watched Felix and Nathaniel from across the hall.
"What's up with them?" Nino asked, flipping through his phone for the perfect playlist for study hall.
"Felix won't admit to anything," Adrien said, leaning close, "but I think… maybe they're… dating?"
Nino snorted. "I doubt that." He lifted one headphone to his ear, confirming that he had the song he wanted queued up.
"Why do you say that?" Adrien asked.
Nino froze, eyes darting to Felix and back to Adrien. "Uh, no… no reason. Let's get to the library."
Adrien started in on another monologue about the wonder that was Ladybug, and Nino let himself release a small sigh of relief. Felix liked him. He had known for a couple years, and still wasn't sure what to do about it. Nino opened his texts and scrolled to "In Case of Emergency.”
Nino: this is your daily reminder that felix, for reasons unknown, is crushing on me. and i still think you should tell me wtf to do about that
In Case of Emergency: I still cannot make that decision for you. He's a good person, if prickly. Treat him well. Do whatever you know to be right.
Nino: dude you are no help
"Who are you texting?" Adrien asked. They claimed a table and pulled out their textbooks.
"A friend." He put his phone in his pocket. "Did you understand that lesson this morning?"
/*****/
Felix knocked on his father's office door that afternoon. He knew Nathalie was at her weekly book club or Krav Maga class, whichever was on Tuesdays, but he was surprised his father didn't answer, if only to tell him to go away.
"Father?" Felix opened the heavy door and stepped inside. No one was there. He walked around to see that the design program was still up and running on his father's computer. He should be back soon then, wherever he was. Felix checked the table next to his father's standing desk for his permission slip for his ballet lessons. He sifted through designs he didn't care about, budget reports he really didn't care about, but stopped when he got to a handful of blurry, dark photographs. Out of curiosity, he picked up a few and flipped through them. They were of an animal in a dark alley, a person standing on a roof, a- wait. Wait a minute. That was-
"Felix? What are you doing?"
Felix froze. He could all but feel the cat ears he currently didn't have perking to attention. He forced himself to turn slowly to face his father, holding up the pictures for him to see.
"I was looking for my permission slip. What are these?"
"I believe those are Chat Noir," Gabriel said, taking the pictures from Felix. "It looks like him, doesn't it?"
"Sort of," Felix said, squinting at the picture that had triggered his realization. "Smaller though, maybe?"
"Younger," Gabriel said. He replaced the pictures and pulled Felix's permission slip from the mess of paper. "Did you know, some people think they saw Chat Noir up to a year before Stoneheart?"
More than a year, Felix thought. I started about five months before Mom went missing. "Interesting. I always assumed he and Ladybug were a pair. I certainly hadn't heard of either of them before Stoneheart."
"Yes, that seems to be the consensus," Gabriel said. He started rearranging things on his computer screen as he talked. "But if Chat Noir was here first… that does narrow down who he could be." He shook his head. "Both of them, I mean. That was quite the press conference last month. Two individuals splitting the burden of Chat Noir's mantle? I certainly never guessed."
Felix hummed in response, looking over the permission slip as if there was anything to look at other than the signature at the bottom.
"If you're going upstairs, please tell Adrien that his departure time tomorrow is earlier than we originally thought. Nathalie has the details."
It wasn't until Felix was doing homework that night that it occurred to him that normal people generally had no reason to research Chat Noir so thoroughly. There were identity theorists, sure, but that sounded nothing like Gabriel Agreste. What was his father up to?
/*****/
Carapace paced the ridge of the roof, muttering to himself. "Hey, Chat! No, that sounds too generic. Hello, Chat Noir. Too formal. Sup, Cat Man?"
"Would you like me to circle the block, let you decide on which greeting to use?"
Carapace jumped and almost fell off the roof, scrambling for a foothold.
"Dude! Don't sneak up on me like that! We should make you wear a-"
"A bell?" Chat reached under his chin to ding the accessory. "Did you know that when house cats wear bells on their collars, they become even more deadly as hunters because they're forced to learn to work around it?"
"Uh, that's kinda- I mean, you're totally a deadly hunter already! Uh, wait, no, not deadly. And you don't hunt. You do the opposite, and keep everyone safe! So, really, you're a terrible hunter."
Chat laughed. "Relax, Shelly." He stretched for a moment, eyes closed and arms extended over his head. It did nothing for Carapace’s composure. “Let’s go.”
They started running their patrol route. Carapace ran instead of flying. It was a different feeling, and an enjoyable one, but that's not why he did it.
"So, how was your… book? You like books. You told me that. I don't know what book I'm talking about because you won't tell me that, but-"
"Would you seriously chill?" Chat Noir leapt from one building to the next and did a shoulder roll. "It's a Tuesday night. Not a high-crime night for this side of town, so let's just enjoy the run."
Carapace would never admit it, but he was glad for the excuse to not talk. When he talked, he could feel every word putting more distance between them. When they ran, jumped, fought… it was nice. Running was also a good excuse to watch Chat without worrying about being accused of staring or being weird. The effortless grace Chat Noir exuded in all he did was entrancing. Carapace had always noticed this, from the first battles. He had been one of the few people in the city to suspect there were two people acting as Chat Noir. He had spent so much time watching the way Chat moved those first few months, that when Punny Chat had joined the team, he had noticed pretty quickly. Punny Chat was excellent as Chat Noir, but it wasn't the same. They moved differently. Becoming part of the team himself had confirmed it. Getting to know Grumpy Chat had been the best thing to ever happen to him.
"Do you remember those first few weeks after you joined?" Chat asked when they paused on a roof to look at the city lights.
"I was just thinking about it, actually," Carapace said, spinning the rounded side of his shield on his palm. "Why?"
"I was thinking of how mad Buggy got when you said something like, 'We'll get Hawkmoth. I'll do whatever I can to make sure of it.'"
Carapace made a snorting, giggling sound that would land in the top 20 of his list of "Embarrassing Things I've Done in Front Of Chat Noir". "She took that so wrong. Like I meant you guys hadn't been trying hard or couldn't do it without me."
Chat Noir lowered himself to sit with his legs dangling off the roof. "She told me she was worried that because you had the miraculous of the current Guardian, you would see yourself as the leader and try to boss her around."
Carapace sat with him, shaking his head. "Anyone who would want to tell Ladybug how to do her job isn't worthy of a miraculous in the first place."
Chat Noir hummed in agreement, pulling one foot up to rest on the ledge of the roof. His chin plopped on his knee and his hands circled his leg. Carapace watched him try to twist the ring on his finger, watched it pull at the glove, not rotating beyond where his skin would stretch.
"Any more news from your kwami?" Carapace asked, nodding to the ring.
"The ring is still stuck. He still doesn't know why. Still doesn't know if I'll ever be free of this stupid thing."
Carapace watched the twisting grow faster, harsher.
"You don't seem to mind being Cat Man most of the time," he said, reaching out to pull on Chat's wrist until his hands fell away from each other to grip the edge of the roof.
"Most of the time, compared to the rest of my life, it feels freeing." He tipped his head back, staring at the dark, cloudy sky. "That first year really did feel like freedom. Just me, in the shadows. Helping. Fixing. Harnessing pure destruction to make changes. Even after Hawkmoth showed up…" He glanced at Carapace out of the corner of his eye. "Did you ever hear why we split my miraculous?"
"You said you were under a lot of stress," Carapace said. He didn't know why tonight was one of the rare nights that Chat was talkative, but he would take what he could get.
"Stressed is an understatement," Chat said. "There was a lot of family stuff going on. Punny needed some support in changing things and all of a sudden our time was filled, nearly every moment. Then there was trying to sneak away from adults, teachers, and Punny all the time to fight akumas. I sometimes… When I'm stressed, I sometimes don't eat enough. It doesn't occur to me to eat, and when it does, I have no appetite. I didn't realize it was a problem until I passed out in gym class. My kwami hadn't noticed it happening. When he figured it out, he was livid. He made me quit some after school activities, and when that didn't do enough, he decided I needed to share the miraculous. He decided without me, really. He flew out of my pocket when my brother was in the room and introduced himself. After the screaming stopped, and he explained himself…” Chat looked at Carapace without really seeing him. “I love being Chat Noir, but I don’t love it like he does.”
Chat turned back to face the growing darkness of the city.
“You okay?” Carapace asked. He started and stopped a new question a few times before giving up and repeating, “You okay?”
Chat shrugged. “Something on my mind, that’s all.”
“Anything I can do?” Carapace asked. He reached up to fiddle with his goggles, inspecting Chat’s every move.
“Probably not,” Chat shrugged. “It’s probably fine.” A moment later he whispered to himself, “It’s probably not him.”
/*****/
"Who's there?" Adrien called, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he squinted at the figure in is doorway.
"Sorry to wake you," Felix whispered, crawling in the other side of Adrien's bed. “But I just couldn’t sleep.”
"How was patrol?" Adrien asked, rolling to face Felix.
"Carapace let me ramble like an idiot," Felix said, pulling the pillow on his side into his chest.
Adrien's tone turned teasing. "I think he likes you."
"Ugh," Felix replied, rolling onto his back. "Father said something about your schedule to leave for Milan changing. I was supposed to pass along the message."
"Nathalie told me, thanks." Felix tried to tell Adrien about the pictures their father had. He tried to make the words form. Instead he said, "Do you think I'll ever be able to stop being Chat Noir?"
"Plagg says something can reverse it, even if he doesn't know what," Adrien said. His words were starting to slow with sleep. "I don't know if I ever want to stop, though. If you quit, do I have to? I want to stay with Ladybug."
"Go to sleep," Felix said. Maybe Adrien should have been Chat Noir to start with. That was something to think about.
Welcome to part 1 of the Take Me Home series!
This story has been in the works since March of 2018. This is my nelix-as-a-love-square passion project. This is part 1. There will be 3 major parts (that I have planned), including this one, with some shorter pieces in between. Some brief context for this AU before we get started:
Felix and Adrien are twins. Felix got the Black Cat Miraculous before Hawkmoth appeared. Once Hawkmoth appeared, Felix's miraculous was split in two so Plagg could occupy one ring or the other at a time and split the job of Chat Noir. (See edorazzi's twin AU for the inspiration for this (but there's only one Ladybug in mine)).
This was started months ago, as I said, so some things we now know in canon don't exist in this AU. Sapotis happened, but Nino and Chloe got their miraculouses under different circumstances than the show. No one knows who any of the heroes are, except Ladybug knows who Rena Rouge and Queen Bee are (but they don't feature heavily in this part). Carapace is part of the "full-time" hero group with Ladybug and Chat Noir. And Nathalie isn't working with Hawkmoth, just because.
And that's all I can think of! If anything's unclear, let me know and I'll add on to this note or mention it on a future chapter. I hope you enjoy! A big, BIG thanks to enbyred / @little-red-alchemist-of-doom, my sister, my friend, my beta-reader, my favorite audience. I just wrote some words. You made this beautiful.
#miraculous ladybug#nelix#felix agreste#nino lahiffe#chat noir#carapace#caranoir#Take Me Home#Who Said That Every Wish#my writing
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COLONY 22′S 2ND ANNUAL APPRECIATION AWARDS
Oh, how much could change in a year.
Alex Donovan remembered last year, as disinclined as he’d been to agree to be one of the three hosts for the night, how he’d watched the frantic decorating committee’ and thought: well at least I’m not one of those unfortunate fools.
And this year, well—he was very nearly one of those unfortunate fools. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was one of a ‘committee’, but he’d been helping bring out boxes to the decorating team all ever-loving day, and several hours ago they’d begun asking his opinion on things and he’d declined to answer at first. But somehow, come 4pm, he’d found himself up to his neck in garlands and twinkle lights and about to be late for his afternoon training session.
When he walked into the auditorium after dinner (sporting black trousers, a white T-shirt and a deep blue blazer) he had to admit he was impressed. And maybe just a little proud. Because looking around, the room had truly been transformed. A lot of hard work and love had gone into it, clearly, and if nothing else, it would surely make Mitch beam. And Heaven bless that ever-optimistic, selfless man—he deserved at least that this season. It made any suffering on Alex’s part worth it, knowing the event was that much more likely to be the success that the original Calyset Head of House dreamed it would be.
What set this year apart from the last—aside from the Reformist-shaped elephant in the room—is that they’d gone full out traditional Christmas this year. Not wintery blues and silvers (a good thing, too, because it may have just been a throw back to the Modius’ Brink Tower reopening—not a failure by any means, but just a sore spot on the roof of the mouths of too many here), but instead, warm and boasting golds and reds and forest greens. Rich colours hung from the walls and pillars in thick tapestries and glowing lights. Ribbons and wreaths and candles sprinkled the room with a bursting festiveness, and not one, but three Christmas trees brightened up the room—even the damaged areas, rubble and broken seats simply became the contrasting foundation of effervescent decorations.
There was even mistletoe. In one or two surreptitious places, waiting patiently for unsuspecting victims.
Okay... so it did look a little like Christmas had thrown up all over the old theatre. But hell—if that was its worst flaw, they had nothing to complain about in their post-apocalyptic today.
People filtered in slowly, chatting and laughing and mingling about, making comments about their outfits, the decor... and Alex supposed that even those who thought the night a waste of time, at the very least, it couldn’t be said that it hadn’t already brought a certain atmosphere of light-hearted relief over the modest, island Colony. Even if just for a night.
At about a quarter after seven, the house lights faded in and out three times, a voice coming over the loud speaker to ask that people take their seats, as the ceremonies were about to start. Taking that as his queue (and Christ, he still couldn’t believe Mitch had asked him to do the opening speech this year—though somehow the fact that Alex had been convinced was less of a surprise, considering his track record with being unable to tell that man no, for just about anything) Alex politely excused himself from his conversation with Cambie, and threw Caelan a grin and a wink when he spotted him striding by with Isha and Clay. Left a smile and a light touch on Clayton’s elbow as they crossed each other’s paths.
And then he was trotting up stage steps, with people still settling into their seats. The lights dimmed, a spotlight panned over to him, and applause grew from the crowd. Chuckling, eyes cast down as he shook his head, he found his place at the podium:
“Good evening, Colony 22. I’d like to start off by saying thank you, to everyone who worked so hard to make this night happen—and that includes all of you who have participated just by being in attendance tonight. Truly, we appreciate it. Because it’s not just about the decorations or the preparation, the drinks or the snacks—though I’m sure the food and drink is the main reason most of you even bothered to show up,” he paused, grinning. “But it’s impossible to nurture a sense of community without all of you—the community. So thank you.” Another pause, and he pointed a wagging finger at Mitch in the second row. “And if nothing else, you can all go home knowing that you’ve put a shit-eating grin on that man’s face—which is apparently how I got suckered into opening tonight’s ceremonies. So while we’re at it, if any of you figure out how to say no to Mr. Douglas, please be sure to come by my office later and loop me in. Preferably before he asks me about doing this again next year.”
A warm, light chuckle from the audience, and with a smile, Alex continued. “Now, as you’re all aware, I’m not Mitch. I have no poetic to weave you about the trials and tribulations we face on a daily basis and how they bring us together in strength and unity. But that isn’t to say what he has said, and what this night now represents is not of value. In fact, I very much believe it to be true. In times such as these, in the face of change and conflict and rebellion, now more than ever it’s important to remember how we got this far. How we have survived, and how we continue to survive. Because we have not done it through selfishness, or greed. We have not accomplished as much as we have by functioning only as every person for themselves. We have gotten this far through cooperation and support. Through contribution and sacrifice, comfort and strength.
“I have been here next to three years now, and I have watched so many of you grow, and I am so proud of each and every one of you. What I think is too easy to forget in all of this, is that after what we’ve all faced, every day done is an accomplishment. Every day, we could choose to give up, to turn back, or throw in the towel. Rebuilding is hard. Starting over in the face of loss can feel impossible. So remember to take the time to recognize that.” He paused, threw a grin at the audience. “Well, look at that, I guess I did have some poetic to weave. Kindly blame Douglas for that too, would you?”
As the audience laughed again, Alex straightened, his tone lightening. “Alright, I’m not going to tell you too much about the awards themselves—I’ll leave that to our lovely hosts, whom I’m very excited to call to the stage and not just because then I can get the hell out of here. But before I do that, I’ll remind you that after the ceremonies there is a reception down at Catch 22, where they’ll be serving food and drinks, and I believe I heard a rumour or two about dancing and karaoke. For which I plan on making myself very scarce. But nevertheless, have an excellent time tonight, happy holidays, and congratulations on wrapping up another fantastic year.
“And now without further adieu—may I present your hosts for this evening: Orson Hurst, Elsa Copland and Mouse Quinley.”
A/N: AND SO IT BEGINS!!!
Well folks... Welcome to the last event of 2018! It has not just been a good year at Colony 22, but a spectacular one. I feel like we too, (much like our characters in verse,) have special cause for celebration—not only do we have our fifth year anniversary coming up, but this year has gifted us so many excellent, long-term members joining the family and exciting new plots, characters and development.
This event will punctuate the year with a bit of light hearted fun that we hope will lead nicely into an exciting 2019 at the Colony, which Lottie and I already have big plans for. We thank you all for being here, for your commitment, enthusiasm and love, and we hope you all stay with us here and continue to write and grow with us for a long time to come!
Now, most of the information you need about the Event Rules themselves I have already posted in detail and you can find here. Make sure you are familiar with them before starting, if you are new to events at the Colony. And if you’re not new, well, it never hurts to have a refresher!
A friendly reminder to send any questions you have about the event to the main blog ASK as we’d prefer to answer them publicly so the knowledge can be shared with everyone, as it’s likely that if you have a question, someone else may be wondering the same thing!
Remember too that this post marks the beginning of the first part of the evening: The Ceremonies only. You are welcome to RP anything that is leading up to the ceremonies, or during, but nothing past into the reception, until you see a post on the mod blog indicated the shift to the second part of the night, which won’t be until after (our real time) Christmas!
Over the next few days, you will see nomination and award reveals on the main blog, and as mentioned in the info post already posted (and linked above), you may continue old threads, or start new ones that are event related (self paras or graphics work too! Just remember that if you make any graphics in photoshop or anything send them to the graphics blog to be posted!)
Keep in mind that activity will still be monitored over Christmas. I still expect you to meet activity, and I still expect you to contact the main if you need an extension before I have to go chasing you down. The holidays are stressful enough—please do not send me on a wild goose chase. That said, I obviously get it: Holidays can be stressful and busy! So just let us know if you need an extension or hiatus!
I will do everything in my power to make sure all the awards are queued and posted promptly and when they’ve been promised—but if something comes up, things may shift a little here and there—nothing that should have too much of an effect though. The Reception will hopefully be triggered sometime between the 27th and 29th, depending on schedules.
Alright, I believe thats all I got for now! But happy holidays everyone, and enjoy! The first awards post will likely roll out here in a few hours!
Much love,
xxPapa!Mod
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Half the World Away
This is my CSSS for @imagnifika.I hope you enjoy it, there’s a little angst as well as fluff. It's been lovely getting to know you over the last few weeks. Enjoy your Christmas celebrations when they come on 8th January! Massive thanks to @best-left-hook-jones for beta reading.
Also on AO3
7k words
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KJ 15:48 Morning Swan
ES 10:48 Afternoon Jones
KJ 15:49 Many meetings today?
ES 10:50 Nope. I’ve got the afternoon off. You nearly finished then?
KJ 15:50 10 minutes and counting and then I’m off until January!
ES 10:50 Nice! Any big plans for the evening?
KJ 15:51 Huge - a ready meal for one and 3 episodes of Stranger Things to watch on Netflix.
ES 10:51 Exciting. I’ve got to do a grocery run but shall we facetime when I get home then?
KJ 10:52 I look forward to it!
She couldn’t quite pinpoint when this thing with Killian Jones became more than a casual acquaintance and turned into a solid friendship, perhaps the most important one in her life. It was gradual, evolving over time until Emma was surprised to find herself looking forward to sharing the upcoming Christmas season with her friend. Even if there was an ocean between them. She told herself that it was only because it meant they would have more time to talk, rather than Emma actually getting into the festive spirit herself.
It had started around 18 months ago when she and Killian had been partnered on a project being run jointly by the London and Boston offices of Mills International. Due to the difference in time zones, Emma would exchange handover emails and skype calls with her British counterpart as he was reaching the end of his day’s work and she was part-way through her morning.
A couple of months into the project, Killian had been due to be out of town at a conference, and had insisted that Emma have his personal mobile number, so that she could contact him whilst he was offline if there were any issues. There hadn’t been, but she also didn’t delete his number when he returned to the office the following week.
Over time, their daily handovers became more informal, sharing little updates about their personal lives in addition to the required work related information. And then, as the long Thanksgiving weekend approached last year, Emma decided to give Killian her personal number. He would be working on what was just another Thursday in November for the London office, she’d reasoned, and he might need to get in touch.
She had been a little disappointed when the Whatsapp notification came through at 7am on Thanksgiving morning. The first couple of words of the message showed on her lock screen and read: [Swan, Sorry to message you so early…]. Sighing, Emma had tapped the notification to see what the problem was, but was then pleasantly surprised to see a series of silly gifs and emojis beneath the full message.
Swan, Sorry to message you so early, but I wanted to be the first to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving! I’m having a turkey sandwich for lunch in solidarity!
So yeah, that was probably when the contact outside of work had begun. They’d still been few and far between to begin with, though. A link from Killian to some ridiculous story he’d seen in the British tabloids, like the Seagull that had stolen bags of chips from a shop. A frustrated gif from Emma of Chewbacca smashing a guitar, sent while she was sitting on hold with her energy supplier for nearly an hour. A photo on Facebook of the London team at their work’s Christmas dinner, with a comment beneath from Killian tagging Emma as a missing member of the team. A corresponding photo from Emma on Instagram the next night of a bottle of wine that she’d tagged Killian in. They’d added each other on various social media platforms and would like or comment on their posts, although Emma was always careful to ensure that she didn’t do so excessively, still uncertain of the boundaries of this new friendship.
After a particularly awkward Valentine’s date, where Killian had been set up against his own good sense with the sister of a friend and colleague, he’d returned home and sent Emma a message.
Well that was a disaster Swan. I hope you have better luck on your date tonight!
Oh no what happened?
Turns out that the chap that this Felicity had seen across the bar and wanted to go on a date with was Kieran from Accounting and not myself.
Ouch
Yes, seemingly she’d spotted him/me when we had a team night out and we both had blue shirts on, have dark hair and stubble so Robin had assumed it was me when she started asking questions. What time are you meeting your mystery man?
Billy? In an hour. Ruby hasn’t told me much about him, just that he’s not long moved into town after a divorce.
Well, have fun Swan and be safe.
When Emma returned home a mere two hours later, her first thought was to get in touch with Killian. Kicking off her heels in the hallway she fired off a quick message.
Hey. You still awake?
She plugged her phone in to charge and got changed into her pyjamas, not expecting him to reply given the late hour. When she checked her phone a few minutes later, Emma was delighted to see a message waiting.
You’re back early, Swan, everything okay?
I’m fine Jones, I think this must be a night for disastrous blind dates!
Do tell!
He was already several drinks in when I arrived, had ordered food for both of us, thought I wouldn’t notice when he tried to pinch the waitress’ ass as she walked by, and then tried to get handsy with me.
Are you sure you’re okay?
Really, I’m fine. I downed my drink, threw his beer in his face and his burger in his lap. Then grabbed my coat and jumped in a cab.
Seconds after sending the last message Emma’s phone vibrated in her hand with an incoming call.
‘Hey Killian, you didn’t have to call, honestly I’m fine!’
‘I have no doubt that you are, Swan, but I wanted to make sure, and I wanted to commend you on your stylish exit.’ His voice sounded huskier than when they spoke at work, as if it was thick with sleep
‘What time is it there?’
‘Just after 1.’
‘I woke you up didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have messaged.’ Emma kicked herself for being so thoughtless.
‘Nonsense. I was actually trying to stay awake to see if you would be sending me any of your usual gif reactions to your date.’
Emma grinned. ‘Really? Well I’m sure if you hadn’t phoned I’d have sent some. Probably involving Lesley Knope or some angry kitties.’
‘Well, as I’m wide awake, shall we share all the horrendous details of our delectable dates?’
Getting comfortable for a long chat, Emma replied, ‘Absolutely, you start Jones.’
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After that, the phone calls became more regular. Sometimes it would be Emma calling Killian when she was up late, knowing he would be getting up for work. Other times Killian would return the wake-up call on his lunch break. There were calls at more civil times for both of them on weekends, late evening for Killian and mid afternoon for Emma. All of these interspersed with messages, and their regular work related dialogue.
It was fun, and easy. Killian soon became one of the best friends that Emma had ever had. It seemed he could sense when she was doubting herself and immediately appeared in her notifications as her personal cheerleader. Emma, in return, tried to rally Killian’s spirits whenever he was particularly stressed at work, going out of her way to find things to make him laugh (dogs dressed as Yoda seemed to be the most effective). There would barely be a day going by where they didn’t speak or message at least once.
Then of course there were the little gifts and postcards she would get in the mail from him. Sometimes it would be a special hot chocolate mix or coffee blend that he had come across and wanted her to try. Other times it would be a book that they had talked about, or some trinket that reminded him of her. When he went on his travels at the weekends he would try and find the tackiest and most tasteless postcard that he could, knowing she would get a kick out of it.
For her birthday, he had sent her a stunning charm bracelet with a swan attached. She had squealed down the phone at him when the mailman delivered her parcel.
‘Oh my god Killian thank you so much I love it I love it I love it!’ she rambled.
‘Bloody hell Swan, I think only dogs were able to hear some of that. Calm down love.’ Emma tried to contain her excitement, but still bounced a little on her toes as she giggled. ‘You are most welcome in any case.’
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December 22nd was no different. Emma had to run to the grocery store on the way home from her half day at work, making sure her fridge was stocked with comfort food before putting herself into hibernation mode until Christmas had been and gone for another year.
After queuing for longer than seemed humanly possible, Emma finally returned to her apartment, plated up her grilled cheese and hot chocolate that she had picked up on the way and dialled Killian.
‘Swan!’ he greeted, eyes twinkling with mirth as his face filled her phone screen.
‘Jones, how was your frozen lasagne?’
‘I haven’t had it yet, it’s still in the microwave - see?’ He turned around so that Emma could see the microwave on the bench behind him.
‘Oh yum, you lucky, lucky man. I’ll try not to make you too jealous with my grilled cheese.’ She took a bite and gave an exaggerated moan of pleasure, noticing the way his eyebrow jerked up at the noise. ‘Mmm so good. Want some?’ She held the sandwich out towards her phone.
‘Not nice to tease a man, Swan. Bad form, love.’
‘I’m just getting you back for those gingerbread cookies you taunted me with last week’ she laughed.
‘Fair point. So what are you going to do for the rest of your day?’
Emma told him about her minimal plans as she pottered around her apartment folding laundry and generally tidying up. Killian had retrieved his dinner from the microwave and had settled himself at the kitchen table, happy to let her talk while he ate, his phone propped up against something to keep them both in view.
Having inadvertently given Killian a virtual tour, he asked, ‘Are you putting your tree up this weekend? I haven’t spotted it in the background.’
‘Not going to happen.’ Emma replied abruptly, sitting back down on the couch and trying her best not to glare. ‘I don’t have a tree, never had, probably never will. Not a huge fan of Christmas, if I’m honest. I mean I’m happy for others to enjoy it but, myself, I’d rather just hibernate until all the good will has moved on.’
‘So you’re not doing anything special on Monday then, love?’
‘Nope, not this year. Well, not any year, to be honest. Normally Mary Margaret insists I join her and David for dinner and she force feeds me festive cheer until I’m gagging on it. But this year they are going to stay with David’s mum in Wisconsin so I’ll be cocooning myself in a blanket on the couch and enjoying the extra couple of days off work. And talking to you, of course. That’s the only part I’m really looking forward to.’
Emma looked away from Killian at that admission, reluctant to see his reaction. He didn’t miss a beat and carried straight on with the conversation.
‘Sounds similar to my own plans there, Swan. Not a big fan of the holiday myself. I tend to get all Bah-humbug about it,’ he shrugged.
‘Tell me, Jones - how have we made it to December 22nd and have never had a proper conversation about Christmas when we speak every day? Did you used to spend it with your brother?’
A sadness washed over Killian’s face, his brow furrowing and the light vanishing from his eyes. ‘I did. We had some good times. Never a dull moment.’ He paused. ‘Until the accident. There were a few magical years with someone very special too. But that was a long time ago.’
‘Milah?’ Emma asked tentatively.
‘Aye,’ he sighed and scratched behind his ear, unwilling to make eye contact.
‘Oh, Killian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you down. Here’s a deal for you. As we both normally have challenging Christmases, why don’t we have a virtual one together this year? We can keep each other company, without having to go overboard on the festivities.’ She wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, provide a gesture of comfort, but the thousands of miles between them made that impossible.
‘Sounds like a fine plan, Swan. Let’s do it.’ Emma could see him rallying himself. ‘Now let’s talk about something else other than why we don’t like the holidays.’
They chatted for what seemed like hours, and quite possibly was, agreeing to speak again the next day.
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Saturday morning, had Emma feeling more positive about the forthcoming holiday than she had in years. That was, until she checked her Facebook feed and saw the pregnancy announcement that Neal and Tamara had made. She kicked herself for letting things like that get to her. Neal was ancient history. It wasn’t as if she still had feelings for him. But it still sucked that after his betrayal all those years ago - where he had unceremoniously hung her out to dry - that he was the one who found love and happiness. He got to have the family he had promised her 17 year old self. And yet here she was spending Christmas alone. Again.
Determined not to wallow in self pity, she poured her second coffee of the morning and called Mary Margaret to wish her and David safe travels. Mary Margaret’s festive cheer was normally highly contagious, and this morning she was as effusive as ever. As they chatted, she waxed lyrical about the three different types of cupcakes and the two batches of sugar cookies she had been baking up until 2am. She told Emma of the hand-crafted gifts she had made for David and Ruth, mentioning that Emma would receive her gift when they returned at the end of the month. Christmas couldn’t help but be magical when Mary Margaret was involved.
Normally Emma would be part of that too, albeit in small manageable portions. As they spoke it dawned on her that this year she would be completely alone, all her closest friends over 1000 miles away. Feeling another wave of sadness rapidly approaching, Emma wrapped up the call and agreed to meet Mary Margaret on New Years Eve when they returned, with a further promise of a phone call on Christmas Day.
As she hung up the call, the sadness she had so desperately been trying to push deep down through the soles of her feet reared up with a vengeance, and the tears started to flow. It was like a dam bursting; what began as a sniffle quickly became violent sobbing that took her completely by surprise. Unsettling as it was, in the back of her mind she realised that this moment was probably overdue. Not normally one for expressing her feelings, many painful thoughts had been held in submission for too long. Unable to bring the sobbing under control, she relented and gave in to the outpouring of emotions, hugging a cushion to her chest as she slid to the floor her back leaning against the couch.
After what seemed like hours, but was in truth only a few minutes, the tears subsided and Emma began to feel like herself again. She was just about to reach for the box of tissues on the table beside her when her phone rang. Killian! Dammit! She couldn’t talk to him like this. They had become incredibly close these last few months, but she hadn’t cried in front of him yet, and that was a level of vulnerability she didn’t think she could manage just now. So she sent the call to voicemail. A minute later, he called again, and as before, she sent it straight to voicemail. Shortly after, her phone buzzed with a message notification.
Swan, I know you’re rejecting my calls, is everything ok?
Not up for talking right now, Jones
Now I’m worried. What happened? Are you alright?
I’m fine, I’ll call you soon.
Promise?
Promise
As her last message sent, Emma realised that she did want to talk to Killian about her sorrows. If anyone would understand the loneliness that Christmas could bring it would be him. Plus, she found herself wanting to share more and more of herself with her friend these days.
She stood up, walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her face was puffy, her eyes bloodshot from the tears and her nose was redder than Rudolph’s. She splashed some water on her face to cool her cheeks, pulled her hair up into a messy bun and then went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Armed with caffeine, she grabbed her phone and started a facetime with Killian, figuring that if she was going to confide in him, then she wanted to be able to look him in the eyes.
Within moments, his handsome face filled her screen, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes full of concern.
‘You’ve been crying.’ It wasn’t a question. Emma nodded her head and bit her lip in response. ‘Talk to me, Swan,’ he continued softly, ‘you can tell me anything.’
‘I know, and I will tell you,’ she began, ‘but before I do, you need to understand that I’m not normally like this. I don’t wallow in self pity. I’m not some damsel in distress. Nobody saves me but me.’
‘Understood.’ He smiled, ‘I was under no illusion that you needed rescuing, love.’
He said nothing more, just nodded to her encouragingly and waited until she was ready to tell her story. With a deep breath she began, starting with Neal, telling Killian how she had fallen for an older man in her teens. A man who had promised her the world and then had abandoned her - quite literally leaving the country - when she told him she thought she was pregnant. It had turned out to be a false alarm, but by then Neal was in the wind.
‘So when I saw the Facebook notification this morning that he and his fiance are expecting a child…’
‘It opened old wounds?’
‘Yeah,’ she whispered, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, love, given that he hurt you so much, how are you seeing him on social media?’
‘Oh yeah, that!’ Emma huffed. ‘I wish I wasn’t. An old friend of mine, August, who also knows Neal, commented on the post so it appeared on my newsfeed. Normally I just skim over anything to do with him, but this one stood out.’
‘I sense that isn’t the only thing that upset you this morning Emma,’ Killian continued, his eyes searching her face as if for clues.
‘No, you’re right. It’s not.’ Her shoulders sagged as she twisted a loose strand of hair around her fingers, not looking at Killian. ‘I spoke to Mary Margaret and she was so excited about going to Wisconsin with David. And I, I just felt, I don’t know…’
‘Lonely?’
‘Lonely,’ she agreed, and this time the tears did fall. Not to the ugly sobbing extent of earlier but enough that she couldn’t hide them from Killian.
‘Oh, love,’ he murmured. ‘I wish I could be there with you right now. I think you need a hug.’
Emma nodded, breathing deeply to get her emotions back under control once again.
‘Thank you for listening, Killian. It really has helped. And I’m sorry that you had to see me in such a state. Like I said, I’m not normally like this.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for lass, you are lovely in every way. And if I might be so bold, even your nose running and tear tracks down your cheeks doesn’t detract from how beautiful you are.’
‘Charmer!’
‘I prefer dashing rapscallion!’ Emma tried to stifle a snort. ‘See? At least I made you smile, love.’ Killian looked like he wanted to say more, but was holding himself in check.
‘You did. I think I’m going to get dressed and head out for some fresh air. Clear my head.’
‘Ok well if you want to talk again later I’ll be here. And if not we’ll chat again tomorrow, aye?’
‘Yes, thank you again, Killian.’
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As she lay in bed that night, Emma wondered, not for the first time that day, whether there was any deeper meaning to Killian’s comments about her being beautiful. In recent months, their conversations had become more personal, and affectionate. There had been the beautiful bracelet for her birthday. He had taken to calling her ‘love’, though she was sure that that was just a figure of speech. It couldn’t mean any more than that, could it? Even so, it was irrelevant given the small matter of the Atlantic Ocean sitting between them. They’d never even met in person, although she hoped in the coming year she would be able to rectify that. Perhaps she could take a trip to London?
It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world though, would it? He was a very attractive man, he was kind, thoughtful, funny, handsome, attentive, supportive, incredibly good looking (she might have already covered that one). And he was one of her best friends. Maybe Emma did have feelings developing for him, or maybe she was just transferring her loneliness into romantic feelings because he was always so attentive.
When Emma woke on Sunday morning, her news app reported storms sweeping Britain and causing untold damage. Still cocooned under her blanket, she fired off a quick text to Killan to make sure he was unaffected.
Afternoon, Jones. Just read about the storms, hope you’re okay
Morning Swan :) All good for now. Expecting London to get the brunt of it sometime this evening. How are you feeling today?
Much better thanks. I’ve just woken up, are you still good to talk in a couple of hours?
Glad to hear it. Can we make it 10 your time? I’ll need to pop out mid afternoon.
Perfect, speak soon x
Looking forward to it x
Emma re-read the last two messages again. She hadn’t intended to put a kiss at the end of hers, it wasn’t something she and Killian did. Emojis yes, kisses no. She was even more surprised when he returned the gesture. She needed to stop reading into things. It probably didn’t mean anything. Friends put kisses at the end of text messages all the time.
Eventually, after scrolling through her various newsfeeds and dashboards on every app on her phone, she dragged herself out of the warmth of her bed, had a shower, and made coffee and pop tarts. It was, in her opinion, a perfectly balanced breakfast and ideal for someone in hibernation. She was flicking through her choices on Netflix, trying to find something non-Christmassy when her phone rang.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Swan.’
‘You sound funny, Jones. What’s that noise in the background?’
‘That would be the wind, love.’ The background roaring was distorting Killian’s voice.
‘That sounds far too loud to be inside.’
‘That’s because I’m not. I decided to go out earlier than I’d originally intended as the weather is closing in. I’ll be inside in a moment so you should be able to hear me better.’
‘What was that? I can barely hear you!’ Emma shouted.
‘Hang on, Swan!’ Emma kept the phone to her ear as she focussed again on her Netflix choices, waiting for Killian to start talking again.
‘Sorry love, that was a bad idea to call you while I was outside. Can you hear me now?’
‘Yes, but it’s still really noisy. Where are you?’
‘I’m at, eh’ he paused, ‘a train station. So you might hear announcements over the tannoy.’
‘Are you going somewhere?’ His hesitation seemed off, but Emma assumed he was just distracted by his surroundings.
‘Just taking shelter for now.’ They chatted for a few minutes, Emma only partly paying attention to the conversation as she finally decided on binge watching The Crown for a few hours.
‘Well, love, I suppose I’d better venture back out again if I’m going to succeed in my Christmas Eve quest. I reckon I’ll be up late tonight so we can talk again this evening if you wish?’
‘That sounds good. I’m not planning on moving from the couch anytime soon so call me anytime. Be safe, Killian.’
The rest of the day passed unremarkably, Emma stuck to her plan of hibernation, moving only occasionally from the couch when nature called or she needed snacks. She maintained a running commentary for Killian on Whatsapp of the highlights of each episode, with occasional selfies of herself snuggled up under a blanket, or of her latest mug of hot chocolate. The first few he read and commented on, but after that he went silent. She assumed he was focused on getting back from his mission into the warmth and safety of his home.
She sent him a text mid afternoon, in case the weather was causing internet issues for him. Certain that he would be home by then and keen to hear how his day had gone. No reply. He had been particularly vague about his ‘quest’ when she had questioned him - he’d joked that it was ‘Top Secret’ and that details could only be given out on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps he’d called in to see a friend on the way home, she thought. Or gone for a Christmas Eve pint with the lads.
Emma sent another text an hour later, when the first had still gone unanswered.
Just checking you’re okay, Jones. Let me know you got home safely, please.
Half an hour later there was still no reply and a little ball of anxiety set root in Emma’s stomach.
Jones, are you okay?
By 6pm, Emma was starting to fret. Killian’s radio silence continued. Her multiple text messages remained ignored or unseen, and there was still no tick mark to show that he had read the messages on Whatsapp. Facebook Messenger showed that he had been active 6 hours ago. He was tagged in a post by his friend Robin, who had indeed been out for pints with some of their mutual friends, and remarked on his unexpected absence. Clearly he had planned to meet them for drinks and hadn’t shown. That didn’t necessarily mean anything; he might have cancelled on them a couple of days ago. He might have met up with other people for a drink instead. Even so the knot in her stomach tightened, the longer he stayed out of contact. She called his number but it went straight to voicemail.
‘Killian, I’m starting to worry. Call me, please.’
Under other circumstances Emma would think nothing of him being out of contact for a few hours. It was partly because she knew that the storm winds were building, he had said that London would be getting the brunt of it about now. It was also because they had agreed to speak later on, and she expected him to be around by now. Something didn’t feel right about this. He wouldn’t have agreed to speak later if he was going out for the evening, besides he had said he was just popping out. That implied that he would be returning home within an hour or so. It had been 8 hours.
The minutes and hours ticked by slowly, and Emma’s apprehension steadily increased. When she wasn’t searching the internet for news updates in the UK she was pacing her apartment and working her way through a bottle of wine. She almost sent Robin a message at one point to see if he knew where Killian was, but then stopped herself as she didn’t know him and it felt a little too much in the realms of clingy girlfriend. Wait, what? She wasn’t Killian’s girlfriend so why would she even be thinking of herself in those terms? And as for clingy. Emma didn’t do clingy. She was fiercely independent.
It must be the wine talking.
When midnight approached with still no word, Emma reluctantly decided to go to call it a night, although she very much doubted that she would sleep a wink. Setting an alarm so that she could try and find out what had happened to Killian first thing in the morning, she climbed into bed. She sent one last text and then turned out the light.
Merry Christmas, Killian, hope you are okay. Thinking of you x
Her phone buzzing on the nightstand woke her from a rapidly fading dream that hazily seemed to involve someone who looked a lot like Killian and a hell of a lot of kissing. She groaned, telling herself that the dream was simply a manifestation of worrying about him all day. Although, she had to admit that making out with him in her dream had certainly been enjoyable. Something to dwell upon to later. Why was she awake? Her phone, right. What time was it?
Emma reached across and grabbed her phone. 2.07am. Who was sending messages at this hour?
I’m so sorry for worrying you, Emma. I’ve just got your messages and missed calls. I promise I will explain everything when you wake up in a few hours x
Where are you, Killian? What the hell happened? Are you okay?
Sorry for waking you. I’m fine. Honestly. You should go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.
No way, buddy. I’m wide awake. I’ve been so worried. Let’s talk now.
Whilst all of Killian’s previous texts had followed quickly on from hers, Emma got no response to her last message. She had felt enormous relief when she saw the first text from him but now the anxiety of the afternoon and evening returned quickly as something felt off, once again.
Fifteen minutes later, as she sat in bed scrolling through news feeds again, her phone finally rang.
‘Killian?’
‘Sorry again, Swan. I wasn’t expecting you to be awake and was in the middle of something so couldn’t call right away.’
‘Where were you yesterday? I was so worried! I thought something had happened, that you had been injured in the storm.’ She could feel herself starting to ramble. ‘I checked every UK news site I could find to see if there were any updates.’
‘Emma…’
‘I almost got in touch with Robin to see if he knew anything, and I probably would have done that in the morning if there was still no word from you.’
‘Emma love…’ Killian tried to interrupt again.
‘And I know that maybe that would have been overkill, but I was so worried! So tell me, what happened to you yesterday? Where did you go?’
‘I promise I can explain and I will, in detail. You know, you really should get the security door to your apartment block looked at, love. Anyone can get into the building.’
‘What does that have to do with anything? And how would you know that? Killian, where are you?’ Emma stood up ready to begin pacing again if she didn’t get answers soon.
There was a soft knock on her front door.
‘Is that? Was that? What the hell is going on Killian?’
‘Open the door, love, please.’
Emma dropped her phone onto the bed and ran to the front door. Pulling it open she was stunned to find Killian Jones standing before her, his phone still pressed to his ear and a small suitcase at his feet. Without giving it a second thought Emma dragged him into the apartment, wrapped her arms around him and peppered his face with kisses, causing him to chuckle. The sound brought her back to her senses and she pulled back, punching him hard on the shoulder.
‘That was for worrying me.’
‘Ouch! Okay, I know I deserved that. Talk about a warm welcome. Or at least the part before the violence was warm!’ He smiled nervously and his hand rose up to scratch behind his ear as he rocked back on his heels.
‘How are you here? Actually no, hang on a second, don’t answer that yet!’ Emma pinched her arm, and then rubbed her eyes. ‘Just checking that I am actually awake.’
She looked Killian up and down. He was definitely better looking in the flesh than on her screen. His raven black hair was all disheveled, his eyes a crystalline blue, slightly red rimmed and he looked about as tired as she felt. His stubble ran down his neck, drawing her eyes to the tufts of chest hair poking out the top of his grey henley. His black jeans were tight, and, - no. She stopped herself. Eyes back up - she absolutely wasn’t looking at how well fitting they were.
‘Is it okay that I’m here?’ Killian asked, looking more anxious than she have ever seen him in their hundreds of video calls.
‘Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a surprise you know?’ Emma started walking towards the sitting room, ‘Come on through, take a seat.’ She gestured to the couch in front of them. I’m just going to grab my robe. Be right back.
Dashing to her bedroom, Emma closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. All of her earlier worries had been replaced with deep relief and what might be joy. She had so many questions, but at least Killian was safe and well. And here in her apartment. In Boston. Her best friend was from London was here in Boston in the middle of the night. Oh good grief she’d kissed him. That was going to be awkward to move on from. Taking a deep breath she grabbed her robe, and hoped that it would cover the blush that had crept across her chest in the last five minutes. She looked herself over in the mirror, running her fingers through her hair to try and comb out some of the bed-head tangles, then returned to the living room to her unexpected yet very welcome guest.
As she approached, Killian grinned over at her and patted the couch beside him for her to sit. ‘Has the shock worn off yet, Swan?’
‘Kinda,’ she answered with a hesitant smile, settling herself at the other end of the couch and making sure to keep a gap between them. ‘So are you going to tell me how on earth you are here instead of London?’
He scratched behind his ear again. ‘It was supposed to be a surprise. Which, I guess, it still is. But I promise you, it wasn’t supposed to cause you so much worry in the process.’ Killian started to reach across to touch her arm, but then seemed to think better of it and ran his hand through his hair instead.
Emma inched a little closer and nodded for him to continue.
‘When I called you yesterday afternoon and told you I was in a train station, I was actually just arriving at the airport. I had hoped we could have a full conversation while I was en route to Heathrow and then the next thing you would have known I’d have been arriving at your door sometime around 8.30pm your time.’
‘It’s nearly 3am, you’re more than 6 hours late.’ Emma gasped, ‘I’m guessing the plan derailed then? I have so many questions!’ She pulled her knees up to her chest and leant towards him intrigued.
‘And I will answer them all, but yes the plan went somewhat awry. The weather was awful, and we couldn’t hear each other, so there was no way I could stand outside the airport. I thought that once I had gone through check-in I could call you again from the departure lounge, and then let you know that I’d be out of contact for a few hours.’
‘But you didn’t.’ Emma murmured.
Killian winced. ‘Sadly, no. The incoming storm played havoc with my signal. I had wi-fi for a short while I was still in the concourse but for some reason not at the departure gate, which was how come I only managed to reply to some of your first messages.’
‘Ok, that explains how come you went quiet on me for the first few hours, but that doesn’t account for the missing 6 hours!’ Emma reached across and laid her hand on his knee. ‘I can’t begin to explain how worried I was about you.’
‘I have an inkling, love.’ He put his hand on top of hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Their eyes met, Killian’s expression was hopeful and as Emma held his gaze she wondered if he might perhaps be feeling the same way she was. There had to be a reason for him sitting on her couch at this unearthly hour on Christmas morning.
‘So,’ she said putting an end to whatever moment they were having. ‘Those six hours?’
‘Ah yes. The plane was an hour and a half late in boarding. Then there was a problem with the air-conditioning unit, so we had to wait for an engineer to fix it before take off. And then because we had been so delayed already, I guess we had to wait for a new runway slot. We took off nearly four hours later than scheduled in the end. The flight finally landed around midnight. It wasn’t until I got on the plane that I realised that both my phone charger and my power bank were packed in my hold luggage rather than my carry on, so even though I would have had signal again when we arrived I still couldn’t get in touch as my battery was completely flat. I wanted to let you know what was happening, I hope you believe that.’
Emma nodded, ‘I do.’ She smiled. ‘That takes up until midnight. There’s still a two hour gap.’
‘I said that we landed at midnight, Swan, I didn’t say we got off the plane then!’ He chuckled. ‘It took another 45 minutes before we could taxi along to the arrival gate. And then there was another delay waiting for backs to be unloaded. When I sent that message after 2, I’d just walked through customs.’
‘Wow, some journey! And I haven’t even offered you a drink. I’m a terrible host.’ She stood up and walked to the kitchen area on the other side the room. I’d offer you coffee but that’s probably not wise at this time of night. Hot chocolate? I might be able to manage tea, I think.’
‘Hot chocolate will be fine, love.’ Killian joined her in the kitchen, watching in amusement as she darted between cupboards and the fridge finding the necessary ingredients, a nervous energy radiating off her. She could feel his eyes boring into her, but she didn’t dare ask her next question, trepidation filling her about what the answer would be.
‘I can hear you thinking, Swan.’
Emma turned to him. ‘It’s just... I know how you got here, but I still don’t know why.’
Killian took a step towards her and reached round to turn the hob off under the milk. Gently he pulled her into his arms and walked them back a couple of steps, away from the stove until they were leaning against the breakfast bar.
‘Do you really not know why?’ Emma shook her head, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she looked up at him. She swallowed, deciding to take a leap of faith.
‘I have an idea, but I guess I don’t dare let myself believe it.’
‘Well, love, let me tell you then. When we spoke on Saturday you were so sad that my heart broke for you. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around you, kiss you and make you feel safe and loved.’
‘So you flew halfway round the world?’
‘So I flew halfway round the world, to spend Christmas with you. It was risky, I know, given that you might not feel as I do.’ Emma’s breath caught as he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke. ‘But I realised that Christmas should be spent with the people that mean the most to us, the ones we love. And so here I am.’
‘You love me?’
‘Aye.’ he breathed.
‘Good.’ Emma smiled, tears glistening in her eyes and her heart trying to beat it’s way out of her chest.
Killian stroked his thumb across her cheek and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips softly against hers. As kisses go, Emma thought it might be one of the best in her entire life. It was was perfect, sweet and tender with a promise of more to come. As they separated, she sighed contentedly.
‘Happy Christmas Swan.’
‘Happy Christmas Jones.’
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