#realizing the lights on my desk mirror made this image a lot more radiant and ethereal than it had any right to be

[inkameswetrust]

you guys ever wonder what kendall and james talk abt during the times james sneaks in thru kendall's bedroom window in my fic? i ask like i'm not literally the author. but do you ever think they lie on kendall's bed, spending hours talking each other's ears off until they drift off to sleep in each other's arms and then when kendall wakes up he panics from the realization that he slept with his head atop james' chest so he scrambles into the bathroom to calm himself down and after spiraling from bisexual thoughts he comes back into his room to see james finally awaking from the most peaceful and ethereal slumber he'd ever seen, james is like "did i fall asleep while you were talking to me? sorry, i didn't even notice i was drifting." and after james inevitably leaves kendall screams into his pillow for 7 minutes then looks at the ceiling pondering his thoughts of james until he's called down to dinner? do you guys ever think abt that?

BECAUSE I SURE DO.

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts Fanfic, Epilogue

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo moves on from Radiant Garden.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Still, Ienzo was sad to see Destiny Islands fade from behind them. It was raining here, too, and despite his initial worry about visibility Riku seemed nonplussed. “I’ve flown through worse,” he said. “Try to relax.”

But it was nearly impossible. The thought of going to the basement had his heart beating hard, a slick anxiety chasing away the joy and freedom he’d felt the past month. Ienzo took slow, deep breaths. After so many days in shorts and sandals, his normal clothes felt constricting, and Riku looked odd in his adventure wear.

The flight was both too long and too short. He’d accumulated a small bag of things in his time there--mostly weather-appropriate clothing--but he’d also brought along a few souvenirs that Kairi had helped him pick in an attempt to placate the others of his absence. And some foodstuffs he couldn’t get here. He couldn’t help it.

The day was clear, though cloudy, when they landed, and, Ienzo noted with a strange irony, when he disembarked it felt cold. He scoffed to himself.

Dilan was standing guard at the entrance. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said dryly. “Wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. With a bloody tan , too.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Good day, Dilan.”

The castle felt massive and brutal, though Ienzo noted Aeleus had made some more progress with the paint. Though he’d cleaned his bedroom before he left, it smelled a bit dusty. He set down his things.

Procrastinating wasn’t going to help.

Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Ienzo?”

“I’m… I’m alright.” He found himself glad he hadn’t eaten much at breakfast. “Right. If you would just… give me a moment to change.”

“Change?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be right outside.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. Took two. He went over to his wardrobe, took out the black slacks, the white shirt, the sweater vest. The boots, the ascot. With shaking hands he took his lab coat off of its hanger.

The apprentice garb felt heavy on him, and its fit was different; he must’ve gotten more exercise on the islands than he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he said softly.

Riku appraised him when he came out. “Ready?”

“...As I’ll ever be.”

The walk down to the lab felt long. He realized he hadn’t even checked to see if Even or Ansem would be down there, but when they got down it was empty, the computer asleep, the room in semidarkness. Ienzo didn’t realize he was almost gasping for air until Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

Wearily, Ienzo nodded. He approached the keypad. He typed in the default password, and the door slid open.

He wasn’t sure what he expected--darkness rolling out, running at him--but nothing happened. “I don’t smell or sense much,” Riku said. He drew his Keyblade. “Stay close, just in case.”

They walked down the long, long ramp to the second lab door. The air smelled musty, stale, but not much worse than that, the lights flickering unevenly down the hall. Ienzo felt shaky, weak, already choked up. At first he wasn’t sure if he were seeing things, shadows flickering. Riku surveyed the space warily.

He took slow, shaky steps. The offices were all the way at the end of the corridor, past all of the cells. Their doors were open, unoccupied, but the whole place was in disarray; mattresses torn to shreds, gouges taken out of the floors and walls, sinks and toilets ripped from their joints. “You kept people here?” Riku asked, in a neutral voice.

“...Yes.” He swallowed. “It takes some a long time to fall to darkness.” He imagined, not for the first time, how his subjects might have felt. Dazed, terrified, in pain. He did remember them screaming out--either in anger, in fear, or in grief. He remembered himself giving them psychological profiles as a child--some had thought he, too, was a victim and tried to save him, only for their horror to grow that much more when they realized he was apart of it.

The pain he’d inflicted echoed heavily around the room as the memories poured in. Xehanort, or Even, or Dilan gently nudging him to do this, that, or another awful thing. Wanting to do it without their prodding as well. Seeing his family members do so in turn.

“How many?” Riku asked.

Ienzo swallowed. “A little over a hundred. But… what we wrought here… spread across the world--the seeker of darkness’s artificial Heartless--”

Riku rested a hand on his back. “You were a child. If you were anything like me… they used you.”

Somehow Ienzo made it to the office. It was a large space, with filing cabinets to one side, a few computers to another, a printer in the far back. Chemistry supplies, glassware, and a fume hood were to the center right of the back wall. Black-topped worktables were also towards the back, a Bunsen burner left out connected to the gas line. In a lot of ways it looked untouched, like it was that hectic and horrifying day they’d been turned. A coffee cup sat on the table in the center of the room, its contents long evaporated. Papers were still spread across the desk, someone’s old, moldering lab coat on the back of a chair.

Ienzo’s knees gave out.

“Ienzo!” Riku cried.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was all so… casual. Mundane.

This had been his normal. School days spent here, torturing other people, other kids, because he thought it was for the greater good. What were a few sacrifices for knowledge? To understand human nature?

He made an odd, guttural noise. “I’m sorry.” He sounded like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ienzo?” Riku knelt next to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me.”

The tile floor was cold and dusty under his hands. He wanted to rip the file cabinets from the walls and destroy everything--

“Look at me.”

Ienzo did so, breathing through his teeth. Despite it all, there was still somehow tenderness in Riku’s eyes.

“Apologizing can’t help them now,” he said. “But what we can do to help is to preserve the memory of who they once were.”

He felt so incredibly heavy. “I killed them.”

“Xehanort and the darkness made you. Weren’t these guys your only family? If you hadn’t listened, what would’ve happened to you?”

“I’d be alone.” His chest hurt. “I’d be an orphan.”

“It was all you knew. What happened to the Zo who forgave himself on the island?”

Ienzo looked down.

“Huh?” he prompted.

“Do you think I deserve forgiveness?”

“Yes. I do. I think you were a victim too. Just like I was one of my Ansem’s.”

Ansem had said the same thing. The pain bled out of him. Riku let him cry, and mourn the person he could’ve been if not for all this. “Alright,” he said at last. “Alright. Alright.”

Riku helped him to his feet and wiped the tear from his face. “Better,” he said gently. “Where are these files?”

“Over… over here.” His knees were still shaky. He pulled open the drawer. “Help me…” He hefted them over to the scanner. “Digitize them. So they never get forgotten.”

“Right. Of course.”

It was a tedious, annoying task, but seeing the images, the people , get uploaded into the system, Ienzo felt something like relief. Once it was all--finally--done, he checked with his phone and the network that the data was safe. “All these years,” he said softly. “We kept the results, the data, but this was all left here to rot.”

“Easier to forget the price that way,” Riku said. “We can do something with this.”

“I’ll talk to the others. See how they feel. But seeing as all this--” He spread his hands, “Is due to my influence… I think I can guilt them all into agreeing.”

“For some reason I don’t think they’ll need much persuading.” Riku kissed him once, lightly. “Are you ready to leave?”

He looked around the room. He noticed a document on the table with his childhood self’s handwriting. He touched it once, turned it over. “I think so,” he said. “I think so.”

---

“Ansem? Can I speak to you?”

The man looked up from his writing desk, startled to be called his name. “Oh, Ienzo, it’s so good to see you,” he said. “I feel as though it’s been ages. You look so wonderfully well. Did you have a good time?”

“I truly did,” he said. “There was a lot I learned. But I’d…” He exhaled. “I realized something.”

Ansem gestured for him to sit in the opposite chair, so he did.

“I recall you telling me I am one of the victims of what happened here,” he said slowly.

“Yes. I believe that is true.”

“Staying with Riku’s family… seeing what type of life he used to have, what I could’ve had… it… so much of it shifted my perspective.” Ienzo cleared his throat and knotted his hands. “I think I’ve started to forgive myself, but moreover… I… I want to do something to honor those we destroyed.”

Ansem’s face slackened a little.

“Riku helped me digitize the personal files of the victims. I feel like… by accepting responsibility openly… we can give the townspeople closure. Ensure their memories aren’t lost. We can’t bring them back, but using what we’ve learned… we can help the people here move forward. Help heal their hearts.” He spoke quickly, not at all encouraged by his expression. “Please, master. This is because of me. I want to do something--even if it is so simple as a memorial.”

A long pause. Ansem tapped the tips of his fingers together. “That is very wise, Ienzo,” he said at last. “I think it’s a good first move. I think myself, and the others, agree heartily.”

He took a deep breath. “Moreover… I think I would like to leave Radiant Garden.”

Ansem’s eyebrows shot up.

“I know it probably seems selfish--” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “I have so much to atone for. But being there, in Destiny Islands, I… I just need time, I need time to figure out who I can be, before I’m truly emotionally able to do all the work here that I need to. I’d like to move there and attend university.” He bowed his head and realized he was asking for permission. “I want to heal, and experience normalcy, and in order to do that in any meaningful way I have to leave. The memories are too painful. There’s too much unsaid.”

Ansem smiled kindly. “Ienzo,” he said. “Why are you trying to convince me?”

He looked up.

“I think that would be wonderful for you,” he said. “I always thought you were so young to be weighed down by so much. I’m your father. Of course I’m going to support whatever you think you need.”

“Thank you.”

“I just have to ask…” He chuckled a little. “This isn’t just because of the boy, is it?”

Ienzo blinked. “I do love him, but no,” he said. “I’m not going just to be with him. ...Though that will be a perk.”

“You have no idea how much it soothes me to know you’re beginning to move on,” Ansem said. “For the longest time I felt like I’ve damned you. Whatever I can provide--money, an official letter, name it.”

“I still have to figure it all out. They just barely know of other worlds. How would they deal with an immigrant? I don’t think forged papers would be good enough.”

Ansem sat back. “I seem to recall a good friend of your beloved has sway with the mayor,” he said.

“Kairi,” he said. “I completely forgot.”

“You may want to start there. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to introduce you.”

“...Yes.” Ienzo was dizzy. “Yes. That’s a good place to start.”

---

“You’re what. ” Even’s nostrils flared.

“I’m leaving, Even,” Ienzo said. As much as he’d braced himself for this conversation, he was still not looking forward to Even’s reaction. “I just… I need time. I need space. I need to learn how to be me… and I can’t do that here.”

Even sniffed. “The boy’s been too much influence on you. All of the tenderheartedness, the ideas… Life won’t be easy, Ienzo.”

“But it will be normal,” he said. “I think that’s what I need in order to begin to heal. A… controlled environment. A vacuum.”

This made him soften a little.

“ I need to have control,” he said. “And if I stay here, for now, I’ll only be reminded of when I didn’t have that. It’s not forever. Or maybe it is, that is yet to be determined.”

Even sighed. “I see,” he said. “Ienzo… child… there’s so much I have to do to make up to you, and you’re just leaving ?”

Ienzo smiled. “Then support my decision,” he said. “Moreover, with the phones… it’s not as though I’ll never see you again. And we can still work together, as well. I think… one of the things you can help me do is spearhead the memorial with me.”

Even took a breath.

“I know you want to atone just as much, if not more, than I do. Help me accept their pain, Even, and make sure they don’t get forgotten. And that nothing like this happens again.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” He turned to leave, but Even spoke.

“It is… easy, to get caught up in the guilt and the grief,” he said, “And let it paralyze one. So often I feel as though I’ll never have enough time to even begin mitigating the damage I’ve done to this world.” His green eyes were sharp, reddened at the edges. “My mistakes were mine more than yours were yours. Yet…”

“In the end you chose to give up everything in order to stop Xehanort,” Ienzo said. “You deserve to be here. You deserve life too, Even.”

He chuckled. “You have gotten soft, child,” he said. He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “It suits you. But don’t let go of all that bitterness just yet. Use it. Build your new life just to spite us all.”

Ienzo nodded. “I likely shall.”

Even sighed. “I will miss you,” he said. “But I understand.”

“And I you, I think,” Ienzo said.

“Though if you’re going there we must come up with a way to protect your complexion,” he said, snapping into brightness, though Ienzo saw his eyes watering. “I’ll get to it at once. We can’t have you end up with… moles, or worse, you’re so fair.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, Even.”

“You’ll… you’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will if you will.”

Even smiled.

“Truly, Even, you lecture me for working too hard, yet I’m not sure you sleep.”

A beat, a moment. “Take care, Ienzo,” Even said. “I do hope this new life treats you well.”

He nodded. He nearly left, but acting on impulse, he hugged Even once, quickly. “I’ll be back to collect that sunscreen, I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll see you before I leave.”

“Yes, yes, leaving me with more work, as always.” A smile.

---

The apartment had come pre-furnished, but was cramped. The sink leaked. Most of the microwave buttons did not work, and the electric stove heated unevenly. If Ienzo was not quick to shower in the morning, the other flats in the building used up all the hot water.

It was run-down, but it was his, and he loved it.

Riku groaned a little when he got up. “Why,” was all he said.

“I have to get to work,” Ienzo said. “I told you last night I’d be getting up early and if you wanted decent sleep to go home. I warned you.”

He sighed heavily. “To be fair, after what we did, I didn’t think I could move.”

He rolled his eyes and went to go shower. He’d made it for the hot water, though under the wire. When he came back out to get dressed Riku had pulled the blanket over himself, like a burrito. “Don’t you have class to get ready for?”

“Yes, and if I don’t go now I’ll be late.” Still, he didn’t move.

“The last thing I want is for you to become a ne’er do well on my watch,” he said. He grabbed his apron from the closet door handle.

“ Fine. ” He got up and started putting on his discarded uniform. “As long as I can be the first customer. You’re not going to make me wait outside until open again, are you?”

“The last time I didn’t my manager was unhappy.”

“You are the worst sometimes.”

Ienzo smirked. “You still keep coming back.”

The left the apartment together, down the rickety narrow staircase. The sun was just starting to rise. The days, lately, seemed long; but they were full, and Ienzo no longer dreaded them. He found the keys in his bag and unlocked the cafe’s door. “See you in half an hour,” he said breezily to Riku, who just rolled his eyes and sat at one of the outdoor tables.

Most days he didn’t mind this work. Opening the cafe meant he got out of work early, leaving the day open for his classes, or seeing people, or simply existing in this strange city. It wasn’t forever--he had reason to believe he’d be offered a student research position at university, and that would cover most of his living expenses. Ansem had given him money, but he didn’t want to touch it unless he had to.

Sometimes admittedly if he was having a frustrating day--if customers were awful to him or the espresso machine was on the fritz yet again --Ienzo felt his genius was being wasted being a barista. But most of the time, he liked the work, baking and making coffee the most. It was objective, harmless. I wanted normal, he’d think.

He counted in the drawers, put the breakfast pastries in their displays. Warmed up the machines and made coffee. He’d been promoted to keyholder when the manager saw how efficiently he was able to work, and that meant opening shifts. Sometimes on breaks he’d sit with a book and watch the people go by.

He hadn’t realized life could be gentle.

He saw Riku making faces at him through the window, and though he knew it was unnecessary, Ienzo waited until it was six on the dot to let him in.

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Riku said.

“Sure I am. Your usual?”

“You’re bankrupting me.” He placed a note on the counter. He made Riku’s latte and handed him the usual buttered croissant, and before the morning rush, sat with him to have his own breakfast. “So, later,” Riku said. “Couple of us are getting together at Sora’s. You in?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’d love to, but I have to finish that paper. I’ve procrastinated enough.” He seemed to be angling towards a degree in psychology with a minor in literature. He could use this to help people--he was trying to help Sora, who seemed to at least be more willing to open up. It was a start.

“Come anyway.”

“Then I’d have to stay up all night.”

“...Like you haven’t done that before.”

“Anyway, don’t you have a test to study for?”

“So?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’ll come, but I’ll be late.”

Riku leaned over and kissed him. “I should try to grab the ferry. Looks like you’ve got customers.”

---

There were already a few people over at Sora’s by the time Ienzo had done enough schoolwork to justify going. “Oh, you made it!” Sora said.

“And I brought snacks.”

“Yay, snacks!”

“Easy to please, as always,” Ienzo said, and Sora stuck out his tongue.

All of this wasn’t easy, but it was slowly getting easier. Sometimes Ienzo felt he was living a lie, not disclosing his past to everyone he met. As he made true, real friends here, it became apparent that this would be something he had to figure out how to deal with. Darkness still poked out from time to time.

There was some kind of movie playing on TV; Sephie and Tidus were arguing over what to watch. “But this is the good part!” Sephie said.

“I don’t care, it sucks.”

Someone had put on music, an upbeat pop song. Only Riku and Ienzo were of age to drink, but somehow someone had brought some wine. A normal Friday. His phone chimed with a text; a file from Even. Call me. Ienzo sighed and went onto the balcony. “Do I even want to know what time it is for you?” he asked, as prelude.

“This is what we’ve come up with,” Even said. “Can you let me know what you think? If it passes your muster?”

“Even, you know it’s better if these things are symbolic. It’s more meaningful that way.”

“I know, I know, I know, I’ve heard enough from your father.”

“I do look forward to seeing it,” he said. “The notes from the committee were helpful, at least. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Out and about, are you?” Even asked.

“Ah--quite.”

A pause. “You’re eating well, and all that?”

He smiled. “Yes, Even.”

“Because you know I raised you to--”

“I promise I’m getting all my fruits and vegetables.”

“Right. Ah.”

“Go sleep, Even. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“As long as you do.”

He hung up. The moon was full, and it was glinting on the ocean. Ienzo heard the back door slide open. “What are you doing here, all alone?” Riku asked.

“Even called me. He has a new draft of the memorial.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

Ienzo smiled. “It’s alright. I think we’re getting close.”

He offered him a glass of wine, which Ienzo took. “Are you glad you came after all?” he asked him.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I just… I dunno. I want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Well, I am.” He chuckled a little. “As much as I can be. It’s just that… sometimes the darkness still… comes out.” They both nightmared, occasionally. Sometimes Ienzo heard Riku cry out in his sleep for Sora or Kairi.

“It… does.”

“Are you happy?”

“As much as I can be.”

Ienzo nudged him. He rested a hand on Riku’s waist.

“I’m just glad to… have time,” Riku said. “I think I’m understanding that… it’s not all gonna get snatched away.”

“Good. I told you as much, though I know why…” He sighed. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to wake up in that… stark white castle. But then I wake up with you.”

Riku kissed him. “I can’t wait to figure it all out together.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The door opened again; Kairi was smirking. “Alright, lovebirds. Do you want to want to play dominoes or what?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ienzo said, “I’m going to wipe the floor with you all.”

“Easy there, killer,” Riku said.

And they went inside, to the rest of their lives.

[thejollyroger-writer]

Keep Hope Close at Hand - Chapter Seven

A/N:  You guys are all the absolute greatest, and I'm thankful for each and every one of you. There will be another chapter by the end of the week :) This is the last chapter before I have to add TW’s, just as a warning! Enjoy the happiness while you can!

Start at the Beginning: tumblr // AO3

Chapter One: tumblr // AO3

Chapter Two: tumblr // AO3

Chapter Three: tumblr // AO3

Chapter Four: tumblr // AO3

Chapter Five: tumblr // AO3

Chapter Six: tumblr // AO3

Tags: @shireness-says@wellhellotragic@flyflyangel@stahlop@superchocovian@kingofmyheart14@drkeldonmd@darkcolinodonorgasm@profdanglaisstuff@pirateherokillian  @captainsjedi @let-it-raines

Also on AO3!

With Hope napping on the deck of the ship, a blanket Killian found in the captain’s cabin draped over her back, and Henry sitting not far from her with the story book perched in his lap, Killian does not realize that he’s lost track of time. Looking out over the open water, his back to the dock still visible on the horizon, the realization hits Killian all within a moment, all at once remembering that he was supposed to meet Emma at the station after just a few hours, and they have spent most of the day on the water.

Henry does not even realize that Killian has taken them back to the dock until he is about to weigh anchor, looking up suddenly from the story book as the chain begins to creak.

“Do I really have to go home?” he asks, his voice barely loud enough for Killian to hear with the old parts of the ship creaking all around him, but though he barely registers his words, he does not fail to miss the sadness dripping from his voice.

“I told your mother I would take you back to the station before the end of her shift, and I am hoping we can still get there in time.”

“But why can’t I stay here? With you?”

“You need to go home to your parents, Henry,” Killian says softly, resting his arm on the boy’s shoulder.

The smile that grows across Henry’s face is so familiar to Killian that he feels like a dagger has stabbed into his heart. He’s sure it’s the same smile that covers his face when he is about to make a joke, about to say something he’s not sure he should really say but is going to anyway; but that’s not where he recognizes it from. No, instead, the smile that covers his son’s face is the mirror image of the very few times Liam Jones did something devilish, made a joke on Killian’s behalf or said something just on the edge of appropriate. It did not happen many times, and it has been quite a few regular lifetimes since Killian saw this expression on the face of his brother — a face that he sometimes fears is approaching the furthest edges of his memories that he will soon disappear.

But seeing the expression of his brother so clearly in Henry is the light he needed in his life right now.

“But you’re my parent.”

Killian kneels down on the deck to be face-to-face with the boy in front of him, clasping his hand harder against his small shoulder. “I promise you, Henry, that I will not stop until this curse is broken. I have never wanted anything else more in the hundreds of years of my life than I want to have your mother realize the truth and have our family back together. I would sooner give my life than be content with Emma believing the unhappy life she lives now is the truth.”

“Okay,” he says softly, his eyes falling to the deck of the ship. “Operation Cobra is a go, then?”

“Of course, lad. We’re a go.”

Much to Killian’s relief, Emma is sitting at her desk when Henry leads them into the police station, one headphone in her ear as they walk into the room, and she turns to them just as Henry begins to rush towards her.

“Mom, mom, I had the greatest day on Killian’s ship!” Henry yells, wrapping his arms around Emma’s waist, and she smiles down at him before raising her eyes to find Killian’s for just a moment.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, kid,” she says. “Did you learn a lot?”

“Hope and Killian taught me everything! I can’t wait until it’s nice enough again and you can come with us!”

“Is that so?” she asks, raising her eyes to Killian’s once more, but keeping them there this time, the raising of her eyebrows telling him that she is really asking his thoughts on the subject.

Twelve years later, and he can still recognize her facial expressions.

“Of course, love,” he says, smiling softly at her across the room. “I would love to take you out.”

It seems she realizes what he says before he does, the edges of her cheeks beginning to turn a deep shade of red. Thankfully, Hope breaks the moment by pulling on the hem of Killian’s shirt. “Daddy, I’m hungry,” she says softly, then leans into his side.

“Can we all go to dinner together?” Henry asks, perhaps a little too excitedly, and Emma’s eyes go wide, turning back towards Killian.

“Hope and I have no plans, and that seems to be where we always end up anyway,” he says, trying to hide the excitement in his voice with a shrug, but he still smiles at her.

She pauses for a moment, turning around to look at the time on the screen of her computer, and then she shrugs. “As long as you don’t mind waiting three minutes for Graham to get here, then I don’t see why not?”

Granny smiles at them as Killian brings up the rear of their group into the restaurant, a knowing smile that only a lovely little old lady could pull off.

“Corner booth’s open,” she says, just as Emma comes to the same realization, and Killian returns her smile.

“Thank you,” he says, then slides into the booth beside Hope while Emma and Henry sit across from them.

They all take a few moments to look over the menu, though it is unnecessary for any of them. Emma and Henry practically live here, not to mention the fact that they almost always get the same thing; and Killian and Hope have frequented enough in the past two weeks that they have favorites. But once the menus are piled in the middle of the table, the silence becomes both unnecessary and thick.

But, the one that breaks the silence is not any of the four sitting at the table; no, instead, it’s a Storybrooke resident that enters Granny’s — a Storybrooke resident that Killian hasn’t seen since before… before he married Emma, if he’s honest with himself.

“Henry!” the man's little girl says excitedly, passing her father to rush towards their corner booth. “I’m having a birthday party next weekend and I was wondering if you’d want to come?”

Much to Emma’s surprise, Henry does not answer right away, instead turning towards Hope across the table from him.

“Grace, this is Hope, she’s my new friend. She’s new to Storybrooke, but as long as I can bring her with, then I would love to come to your party!”

Grace’s eyes grow wide, excited by the news of a new friend in this tiny town, especially another girl. “Of course you can bring her, Henry!” she says, smiling across the table at Hope, who is leaning closer to her father, unsure of how to react.

But Hope is not the only one on edge. Killian, who had gone years since seeing the Storybrooke resident before him, feels the same way.

But, much to his relief, the man before him says nothing about the look of familiarity in his eyes that tells Killian he recognizes him.

And instead of acting on it, he stays silent.

“Of course,” Grace says excitedly, smiling at Henry across the table. “Of course you can bring her along with you!”

“Thank you, Grace!” he says, returning her smile. “We’ll both see you there, then.”

Grace reaches her small arm out and takes Hope’s hand in her own. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she says cordially, then hands her the invitation out of her pocket that was meant for Henry. “And I can’t wait to see you at my party.”

As Grace’s father leads her away from the table, Killian comes to a conclusion: given the recognition in his eyes when he saw Killian, he has decided he is going to visit his old friend at some point this week. If he recognized Killian, then Killian things it's safe to say that he’s not cursed. And, perhaps more than anything else, this gives him hope.

By the time they are done with dinner, the sky has grown dark, the stars hanging above Maine’s dark sky, the perfect night to look at the constellations.

Hope knows so, too.

“Daddy, can we go out onto the ship and look at the stars?” she asks, leaning against his side, her small arm wrapped around him, and he sets his hand on her shoulder.

“Of course we can, starfish,” he says, smiling above Hope and Henry’s heads, somehow finding Emma’s eyes in the dark Maine moonlight.

He begins to say good night to Emma and Henry Swan, but something between the stars lighting up the sky above them and the fierceness of Emma's bright green eyes reflecting the lights from the diner leads him otherwise.

“Would you like to join us?”

When he watches her smile grow, he cannot keep himself from doing the same. Emma turns down to Henry, asking what he wants to do with a shrug, and he nods excitedly, wrapping his arms around her waist in a tight hug.

“Oh, mom, please! Killian told me that he would teach me the constellations!”

Killian hears Hope gasp from beside him, and when he turns down to her, she is smiling up at Emma, just as radiant in the streetlights as her mother.

“Does that mean I can teach Emma?”

When Emma leans down and rests her hand against Hope’s shoulder, Killian feels the weight of his heart fall to the ground in front of him, and the matching smiles on the girl’s faces just makes it worse. But when Emma softly replies, “I bet you’re a better teacher than your daddy,” in the same tone that she would speak to Hope before she was born, his breath catches in his throat and his chest tightens.

He’s spent every day for the past twelve years constantly faced with the fact that his daughter was a mirror image of the wife that he couldn’t be with, but it is here, in this moment, that he is finally able to see it for the first time, just how much his little girl’s smile mirrors that exactly of her mother.

Hope, it turns out, is an excellent teacher. Sure, he would ask her to find the patterns in the stars from the roof of their apartment or when they were able to talk one of the harbor workers in the city to let them go out at night, but he had never seen her this excited.

He is standing at the helm with Henry, drawing out the lines of the lion constellation in the sky over their heads, but as Henry points to the spots in the sky with his arm extended over his head, Killian turns his attention instead to the voice of his daughter being carried on the wind.

“And that star right there, this big, bright one? That’s the middle of the Swan in the sky, or the Cygnet, as my daddy calls it. He says it’s the first one I ever remembered on my own, and that’s why he calls me his cygnet. It means “little Swan”.”

In this moment, he realizes this is what his life would have been like had the curse never happened, what his life was supposed to be like. He and Emma and their children, spending days sailing and nights learning how to navigate using the stars in all the realms, the same way Liam taught him all those years ago, back when he was literally a different person.

He needs to have his family back. His whole family. They’ve been incomplete for what feels like a lifetime, which is a lot for a man who has lived dozens of lifetimes — the lifetime of their daughter, who was just a few months old when they had to leave her behind.

More than the entire lifetime of his son.

If only he had some sort of idea about how to break the curse.

[spookyjuicefiction]

The Black Diamond - Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

A/N: This one has Smut Lite™ (aka Bucky solo in the shower... you’re welcome) so please proceed with caution! Also a kind of very serious life/death situation convo about teenagers at the end that could be distressing. And swearing. And it’s kind of long. 

BUCKY BARNES X READER

Her eyes flickered from Steve to Sam to Bucky for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the makeup and the martini.

“I never expected someone as famous as the Avengers would come by to catch my little act,” she said coyly to her own reflection.

“Well, it was worth the trip. And it was quite a long trip,” Bucky blurted out before Steve could open his mouth. He felt his friends’ eyes on him as he continued, unable to hold it in and taking a step towards her. She was magnetic, drawing him to her, and he was powerless to resist. “What’s a... talented girl like you doing all the way out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Ah, well,” she was grinning now, swirling the martini with one hand and dusting eye shadow off a brush with the other, “the gigs in New York and Chicago aren’t so good anymore. No room for little old me. And hey, the crime-fighting business must be going under, too. A bird told me Natasha Romanoff is washing dishes in my kitchen. I didn’t realize you all were out of a job?” She looked up at them again, smiling sweetly and blinking exaggeratedly with gigantic false eyelashes.

“Try again, doll,” Bucky replied smoothly, although his heart was hammering. He crossed his arms so that no one could see his hands shaking. “A little bird told us there was a dynamite act we couldn’t miss at The Black Diamond, so here we are. Sorry, your roses dried up in the hundred-degree heat.” He returned her coy smile.

Finally, she turned on her stool and stood up to her full height. She was a Grecian statue, draped in a silken robe with ringlet curls brushing her cheeks in the soft, yellow light. She looked feminine and sweet as cherry pie, yet strong, like the marble she was made of. She looked him up and down for a moment, grinning wickedly, like a cat playing with her mouse before she bit its head off. He would have died willingly. Then she strode over to one of several clothing racks lining the room and began rifling through them.

“Very charming, Sergeant Barnes,” she cooed in a voice like taffy, plucking a lacy set of red lingerie from the rack. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. However,” she tossed him a look over her shoulder, “I must ask you to leave this town immediately.”

Bucky, Steve, and Sam all raised their eyebrows in surprise. Bombalurina fixed them each with an intense stare in turn.

“I know why you’re here, and I know what you’re looking for. You’re not going to get it. So I think it’s best you leave before things… escalate. Since you’re all such big fans, I hope that you won’t disappoint me.” She strode back over to the vanity and downed the remainder of the martini before turning back to them, her coy smile again fixed firmly in place. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for the... after-hours.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared behind a partition in the corner of the room, lingerie in hand.

The Avengers exchanged looks and, shrugging, Sam and Steve started towards the door. Bucky knew he should follow, but he found it impossible to leave the radiant glow of her presence. He watched the silk robe fling over the top of the partition and his mouth went dry with the knowledge that she was naked behind it. He should leave, needed to leave, and yet his feet would not move.

“What if I wanted to stay for the after-hours?” he blurted, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Since when did he speak--at all--much less to women? A melodious chuckle rang out from behind the screen that made him want to join the circus if it would make her do it again.

“Well, Sergeant, you’d have to pay quite the pretty penny.” Bombalurina stepped out from behind the partition in the red lingerie, fixing him with the wicked cat grin again. He couldn’t keep his eyes from roving over the curves of her figure and the way the scalloped lace shaped her like a pornographic picture frame from heaven above. She bent down to hook the garter to her thigh-high stockings, looking up at him through her lashes. “Although, for the look on your face alone, I might just give you a discount.”

“Buck,” Steve’s voice cut through the room, making Bucky conscious of the tightness of his pants, and he looked away from her, from the sun, and blinked the vision away. He had been right. It did hurt. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Nodding, Bucky walked towards the door, forcing himself not to look back at her again.

“Au revoir, soldier,” came the musical coo over his shoulder, and he shoved his way into the hall.

The guy behind the desk at the motel seemed annoyed to give them each a separate room, but he brightened up at the hundred-dollar bill Steve produced from his wallet “for his trouble”. Inside the dingy room, Bucky dropped his bag on one bed and headed straight for the bathroom, turning on the shower. He needed to clear his head.

Steve had been tactful on the ride to the motel, not saying a word, but Bucky could tell Sam was straining not to crack jokes at his expense. Just as Sam opened his mouth, Steve had cut in.

“It’s been a long day, let’s just get some rest. We can rendezvous with Nat in the morning and figure out the next move. I’m sure she will be… fired, after tonight.”

Now, Bucky stood in the hot water with his eyes closed for a few minutes, allowing it to soak his shoulder length hair and run down his metal arm. What the hell had gotten into him? What was it about Bombalurina that turned him downright insane? Sure, she was beautiful, but it felt like more than that. He had met plenty of beautiful women. What was different about her?

Behind his eyelids, he could see her perfectly, as if the image was burned there. Her pulling up the stockings in the lingerie, her taking off the sequined dress on the spotlight stage. Her eyes as they locked on his on her final, alluring pose. The shapes her lips made as they said “Sergeant Barnes.”

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was rock hard. To anyone else, this might not be a surprise after fantasizing as he just had, but he had scarcely felt sexual in decades. Bombalurina had awoken something within him that had been long dormant in the aftermath of his days as the Winter Soldier. Cautiously, he took hold of himself, letting out a low groan and closing his eyes to picture her again. It didn’t take long. A few more mental reverberations of “very charming, Sergeant Barnes” and “au revoir, soldier” had him coming, hard, over the shower drain at his feet.

Twenty minutes later, he lay face up on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He hardly slept anyway, what with the nightmares, but this was a whole new level of insomnia. He felt a little guilty that he had thought about her as he jerked himself off, but he got the feeling that if she knew, she might like it. The thought made his pants twitch again and he threw his arms over his face with a frustrated groan. What the fuck is happening to me?

He tossed restlessly for a few hours, losing consciousness once or twice and sighing irritably twice or twenty times. At length, he looked over to digital clock on the nightstand. 5:08 AM. With another irritable sigh, he dragged himself out of bed and put on the first clothes he found in his bag: jeans and a black t-shirt. Shoving on his boots and grabbing the room key, he stumbled out into the brown desert on foot.

After some time walking, he was drawing near to The Black Diamond. It looked eerie and abandoned in the gray light of the creeping sun. Bucky noted there were still several cars in the parking lot, and he shuddered at the thought of what these patrons might still be doing at this hour.

The walk had allowed his mind to clear a little, and as he made his way around the building, inspecting it, he tried to bring the facts they had discovered last night into focus. The Black Diamond was so exclusive that members of the CIA and the government came to see Bombalurina, some with and some without their wives. There was something fishy going on, and Bombalurina knew all about it. Bombalurina wears lingerie to the “after-hours” where people have to pay a pretty penny. Bucky frowned at the implications of that information.

He picked his way to the back of the building, where a line of cars were parked in a neat row: presumably, the employees’. Right in the middle of the line, backed into a spot, was a cherry-red Cadillac convertible that must have been from the 1950’s but was in mint condition. Smiling slightly, Bucky had a sneaking suspicion who this car belonged to. A pair of black fuzzy dice hung from the rear-view mirror, and a huge, fur coat was tossed haphazardly across the back seat. Rounding the car, Bucky chuckled when the license plate confirmed his suspicions. “BMBLRNA”.

Just then, the back door of the building flew open, revealing a young woman gesturing him urgently to come. Here goes nothin’, he thought, and approached the door.

Following the girl, Bucky tried to get his bearings as to where they were inside The Black Diamond. He pictured the layout in his head as they climbed a set of narrow stairs in a back hallway, and realized that they must be over Bombalurina’s dressing room. There was another red door, this one with a peep hole instead of a star, and the girl unlocked it and gestured him inside.

“She’s on the patio,” the girl all but whispered before hurrying back down the hall.

Bucky spun around and took in the apartment. It was large and open, with the kitchen, dining, and living spaces all in one area. There was a door to the side that he imagined must be the bedroom. The style and decor was not unlike the rest of the club, although brighter thanks to the warehouse windows lining one side of the room. He located the patio door and opened it, stepping out into a courtyard enclosed by walls, but sunny and bright nonetheless. Ahead there was a lush, green garden of planters and pots growing flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

“What do you think of my car?” The voice came from the right and he turned toward it hungrily, nearly staggering at the sight of her. She was draped across a chez lounge in a white, gauzy robe that barely skimmed her thighs. Beneath it he could see only a sheer nightgown and he swallowed thickly, dragging his eyes to her face. But that was worse. She wore no makeup, only the light of the morning sun which had risen in earnest now. She held a teacup and saucer up to her lips and made a show of taking a delicate sip.

“Do you always leave your mink out for anyone to find?” Bucky asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stepping towards her. He wondered how he looked to her. Did she find him… attractive? The thought made him suddenly very self-conscious of his metal arm.

But she was giggling, motioning for him to sit down and leaning forward to pour another cup from the pot on the table. “Occasionally. But that’s why I have cameras out back. I’d have to kill anyone who touches my car.” She liked it when he played with her, he thought as she gave him the coy smile again. He took the cup politely from her when she offered it and was pleased when the aroma of coffee, not tea, hit his nostrils. He nearly downed it in one sip.

“I thought you were leaving,” she said, cocking her head slightly, the teacup hovering over the saucer.

“I’m… finding it hard to stay away,” he admitted, unable to meet her eye. After a moment, he shrugged and gestured at the tall walls around him. “Perhaps it’s the beautiful scenery.”

Her laughter was music. She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “James, I can’t help you. Whatever you think you’re here to find, it’s not going to happen.”

The use of his Christian name shook Bucky to his core, paired with her words that seemed to him like a double entendre. He clinked the teacup down a little too hard on the table.

“So you like the view here that much, huh?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his sudden tone. He continued, unable to stop himself. The pent-up sexual frustration and the sleepless night had caught up to him along with the jolt of caffeine. “You waited your whole life to be the biggest star in the middle of the desert, did you? I’m not buying it, doll. Nobody loves a guy that much. How much does he pay you to keep his secrets?”

Bombalurina pursed her lips, but if she was annoyed she hid it well. She sipped her coffee and remained silent. Bucky stood up and walked over to the garden, pacing as he pressed on.

“So who is he? Your pimp? He buy you that pretty car so you’ll get information from the horny CIA agents that come in here looking for an escape from reality?”

He turned back. She sat, stonefaced.

“That’s it, huh,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl in the world, in the middle of nowhere. One night for them at The Black Diamond and you and your pimp have the nuclear codes by breakfast.” He could see her pressing her lips together harder, and he knew he was right. “And when he comes back he brings you a new fur coat and kisses you on the forehead and brings you 10 more underage girls to put in your show.”

At that, her beautiful face turned harrowing, an angry harpy mother ready to kill for her children. And suddenly, with her next words, he realized he had it all wrong.

“Why do you think I’m still here? Why do you think I do it? Do you think he hasn’t hurt me so many times now that I’m immune to it? I do it because he turns on them!” She meant the girls. The young girls. Bucky felt his stomach drop like a stone, horror dawning on him as he remembered the girl who had brought him up the stairs, the one behind the desk, the ones carrying drink trays. He remembered what Steve said about them having hard lives. Bombalurina pressed on. “If I don’t get the information he wants, he hurts them. Those girls...” she choked down a small sob, “I’m all they have. Do you understand? I have to run the club, make the money, fuck the old men, and do my job. Or they die.”

Bucky fell to his knees in front of her, taking her hand in his flesh one and squeezing it gently. She was crying a little, but it was somehow dignified and graceful. 

“I’m going to save you. And the girls.” He squeezed her hand, and he felt her squeeze back a little bit. “But you need to tell me everything. You need to tell me who he is. And then we’re going to kill him.”

[flowersymbolism]

Flowers of Spring - Chapter 10

AUTHORS NOTE: Guys. This is it. The end. I am so, so grateful for each and every person who took the time to read the story we wanted to tell. I’m sure Alex will make a post giving her two cents, but I wanted to say, from the bottom of my heart, thank-you. Thank-you so much for reading, liking, reblogging and experiencing our story. I want to thank you for falling in love with Lammermeier as much as I did (I love him a lot.) I want to thank you for all the times you’ve said ‘how dare you?’ to us. I want to thank so many people who have given us feedback as we’ve written this. I feel like I’m at an awards ceremony. One last thank-you! I want to thank our beautiful pals @riyis @skeletonmelodies  and @stupid-sea-pigeon for validating us. @obsessive-introvert  for being wonderful and supportive. @thatsilvermagic for being them (Thanks, lke. Sorry we killed you.) And thank-you Alex, the other half of flowersymbolism, @flew-off-with-whizzer-brown for being an amazing co-writer and sister. You’re gonna grow up to do great things, kiddo. We’ve been told a few times how canon this story feels, and we couldn’t ask for a better compliment than that. So, I hereby present to you, after my ridiculously mushy and unnessecary authors note, Chapter 10, the finale of Flowers of Spring.

Yours, forever and always, Lottie.

It was as if everything were in a haze. Hanschen threw the letter down on the bed, his knees failing him as he found himself falling onto the bed. He sat, shaking, unable to understand why this had affected him so. He was going to leave her. He didn’t want to be here. So then why was his world slowly crumbling around him? This was his fresh start. Suddenly his regret, remorse and guilt was overcome by a new emotion. An emotion Hanschen hadn't felt since childhood, not truly. A hint of it arose when his son, for the first time, had used his words against him, but it had never bubbled to the surface until now.

Hanschen felt rage.

He was angry at himself, angry for being careless and ruining things again. He was angry at his son, his stupid son, for taking things too far and getting kicked out for good. He was angry at the world for letting a villian who stole the life of a child go unpunished. He was angry at the man who had tore his family apart with his soft curls and brilliant smile. He was angry at his damned wife for once again ruining everything he wanted. He wanted to leave, and of course she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He grabbed the nearest object to him, a book laid on the bed, and threw it, hard against the wall. It hit the wall with a thud, clattering to the floor and falling open. Hanschen stared at the book, just for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet.

Hanschen hurried out of the room, not realizing until now that he was crying. He aggressively wiped away his tears with the heel of his palm, taking the stairs two at a time. He stormed through the hallways, straight to his study, and looked around for a moment. Darting over to his desk, he grabbed a single item: the letter. The last remaining letter he had saved all those years ago.

He clutched it in his hands, and seemingly for a moment, his anger disappeared. But he soon stuffed the letter in his trouser pocket and headed back out of the door. He moved quickly, at the front door in a second, coat in hand and then around him. He was out the door in a flash, the only things on his person a wallet and that precious, precious letter.

He wasn’t thinking, he knew he wasn’t, but somehow he could bare to spend another minute inside that house. He didn’t know where he was going, but his legs seemed to, and so he followed his heart - or his head, at this point he couldn’t tell which - all the way down the country lane he lived on. Neighbours watched as the distressed, messy and frantic Herr Rilow moved down the road and out of sight, in the direction of the train station.

The air helped clear hard, calm his range, but the distress remained. He was broken, or so he thought, never to be fixed. His family had discarded him, like a broken toy that you were once so fond of but now only see as trash, something to get rid of. Something that no longer belonged. Hanschen no longer belonged in that house. The ghosts that haunted him deserved better than his presence. He missed home. That was not his home. Home was garden parties, and soft kisses, and books, and joy, and love. The house he left was filled with nothing but silence, and remorse, and the weight of every mistake he had ever made. He filed through them in his head, Sofia, his angel, Robert, his pride, his joy, Lammermeier, and sweet, sweet Johanna.

Ernst.

All these lives, ruined. Because of him. He thought of all the lives ruined by others, ruined by fate, and cursed that he too would suffer the same fate. Wendla. Moritz.

Max.

The childhood faces he could barely remember but who’s memory pressed against his chest like a cold, dead weight.

And then he’d reached the train station. He looked up at the building, blinking away tears that hung on his eyelashes. He knew this was where he belonged. He knew that whatever happened, he would end up back here. This was the first time, Hanschen realized as he stood there, taking in the weight of the situation, that he had visited the train station on his own volition. Every other time, something had brought him here.

A letter had brought him here. But not this time. He knew that whatever he chose, stepping into this train station would lead to the end of the line.

And so he stepped inside.

“Open it, father, go on, open it!”

The two eldest children watched their father with big eyes, sat around the fire. The presents under the tree had been unwrapped and the children were sat amongst the collateral damage. Well, all except one. In Hanschen’s hands sat a long, small, neatly wrapped box, with a brown label - ‘Love Santa Claus’. It certainly wasn’t his wife’s handwriting. His wife looked equally confused at the box, but his children waited eagerly, wanting to see what Santa had brought their father.

And so he gingerly unwrapped the box, being careful not to tear the paper too much. He slowly pulled the lid off the box, scanning the contents for a brief moment. A beautiful brass fountain pen lay in a cushion of velvet. Reflecting the light of the fire, it almost seemed to glow. He stared at the pen, feeling his cheeks flushing pink and hot. The children looked disappointed.

“What a beautiful gift,” Sofia said, cooly. Hanschen looked up at his wife, whose eyes were fixed on the pen. He instantly looked back down, to his lap, and closed the box.

“Yes, quite,” he said quietly, slowly pushing himself up off the floor to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I-” He faltered for a moment. “...I think I left one last gift in the study.” He moved out of the room, and as soon as he was safe behind the door of his study, almost collapsed against the desk. With a shaky hand, he placed the box onto his desk, sitting down on the surface and wrapping his arms around himself.

Ernst.

He’d forgotten about him. He’d received plenty of letters of good cheer and christmas wishes that he’d forgotten that he haven't received a letter in months. Because he wasn’t sending a letter. He was sending a gift.

Hanschen shook his hard violently, clutching his shirt sleeves tightly on his upper arms as he held himself. His life was going wonderfully, with his third child on the way and two more beautiful children around him. His loving wife, radiant and wonderful, and a home that he could call his own. So why did he hurt so much whenever he thought about the sweet boy he fell in love with all those years ago? Why would he shake, and cry, and hurt? He might never know. Hanschen picked up the pen one last time, opening the box, and noticed an engraving in the brass.

‘Yours, forever and always.’

Standing on the platform, Hanschen was faced with his life. In front of him stood every path, every road taken, and those he’d chosen not to go down, too. A million lives he could’ve lived, but only one he chose. He could’ve lost himself in the dreams of what could’ve been, but he chose not to. Now he had little choice. Now, he was at the end of the road, in front of him stretching out only the woods. For all Munich knew or cared, Hanschen Rilow was dead. He decided he liked that. As the train's whistle grew louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds, Hanschen thought of two men - the one who'd been here before, a passing shadow in his life, a mirror; and a man who was miles away, whose smile was the world's greatest treasure, a dream.

That smile. A smile so bright, so genuine and warm. A smile that ruined him.

His mind always seemed to wander back to Ernst. In the years they'd known each other, they'd spent more time apart than they did together, and yet his image was as clear as day in Hanschen's mind, every detail memorized: the pale freckles on his cheeks on which Hanschen left innumerable pecks. His dark brown hair, tousled by the wind. His voice, soft and warm, but which could also spit scorching flames, jeers and criticisms that you felt for days. The way he moved as though an orchestra was playing a tune only he could hear. Though it was in Hanschen's nature to blame others for his fate, he never could it in his heart to be bitter towards Ernst.

“Hurry up, Hanschen!”

The two boys ran through the streets of the small town in which they lived, schoolbags clutched tightly so as to stop them bashing into their sides, or other people. “If we don’t hurry, my father will have finished his sermon! Hurry!”

Hanschen lagged behind. Not because he couldn’t keep up, but because, quite honestly, going to church with Ernst straight after school on a Friday evening was not his idea of fun. His idea of fun was lazing about in a field of tall grass, with the beautiful dark haired boy tangled in his arms. But Ernst wanted church, and so he would go.

He realized, soon enough, that he had gotten distracted, and had lost sight of Ernst. Frowning, he picked up his pace, close enough to the church that he reached it within a minute or two. As he was running he cursed Ernst’s long, slender legs, for the first time in his life. Hanschen finally reached the church, and slowed his pace as he made his way up the gravel path.

Ernst stood in the doorway of the church, starting with sparkling eyes at what was happening within. As Hanschen got closer, he realized that Ernst was starting at his father, up in front of the congregation preaching something or other about loving thy neighbour, whatever that meant. Hanschen loved his neighbour and was chastised for it. He’d never understood what the Bible had that made it so special, but Ernst was borderline obsessed on learning the details, the lessons, the parables, the whole nine yards. Hanschen bet every penny in his pocket that Ernst could probably tell him what Jesus ate for breakfast the day before he was crucified. Ernst was absolutely set on becoming a pastor, and Hanschen, although unhappy with his decision, supported him. Especially when it meant getting to stare at his wonderful, freckled face and his gorgeous, wide, sparkling eyes just that little bit longer without him noticing.

The sermon ended, and Ernst turned, the biggest, most beautiful smile that Hanschen had ever seen. A smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Ready to go?” Hanschen asked, casually, although inside it was taking all his strength and willpower not to grab the poor boy there and then and place his lips on his neck and tell him how much he wanted him.

“Mhm!” Ernst nodded enthusiastically, his smile seemingly growing even more, which Hanschen had previously thought impossible until he’d witnessed it himself.

“Then let’s go.” He held out his hand for Ernst to take, and he almost did, but hesitated, his smile suddenly fading from his face. Hanschen quickly realized what he’d done, and shoved his hand into his blazer pocket. ‘You’re such a fool’ he thought to himself. ‘Be more careful.’ The two stared at each other for a moment, then Hanschen lifted his chin and turned on his heel, beginning to head off. His cheeks flushed and his body ached and he wanted so badly to touch the beautiful, starry-eyed boy, to feel his skin against his. And then, as Ernst caught up, he felt his fingers brush against his and Hanschen almost doubled over, the wind practically knocked out of him. How was he so affected by this boy? He was nothing like Hanschen had ever seen before. This boy who unbuttoned the collar of his shirt which exposed his neck and soft, warm skin dotted with freckles and god, he loved him. More than his Io. More than his Desdemona. More than his fleeting crush on the good-looking boy in his class who had caught his eye. He loved Ernst, more than he’d ever loved anyone. And this evening, at the vineyard, he would tell him.

The simple realisation struck him as more and more people filed onto the platform, and though the station was filling up, he felt as though he was the last man on Earth. God, I love him.  It was then he felt the cold metal on his finger. His ring. His wedding ring. He twisted it around his finger, toying with the idea, before pulling it off. Hanschen held the ring in his hand, in a closed fist against his chest, feeling the cold, cold metal against his palm. The cold grounded him. Hanschen inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, taking in the ring of the engine, the rapid chatter and shuffling of feet. The soft tinkle of metal as the ring fell from his first to the tracks below. And the train grew closer yet.

He was prepared, now, to take the leap.

It was a pleasant afternoon, the setting sun bathing everything in a deep orange glow, the air hanging with the rich aroma of the flowers of spring. The well-trod path that lead from the church to the small house was once again being walked by Pastor Robel. He could’ve walked the snaking way home with his eyes closed. And sometimes he did, losing himself in the tranquility of pure silence, the few moments where he wasn’t expected to be anyone-not Pastor Robel, the pillar of support, not Ernst, the lover.

Years had passed since he’d last seen Hanschen, and in the predictable yet enjoyable motion of his life, that weekend stood out, the memory of it still as detailed as when it was first forged.  He’d turned it over and over in his mind, much like how he did with Hanschen’s first letter, the cold, distant goodbye and that vineyard, 20 years ago. If nothing else, Ernst could always retreat to his thoughts, taking out moments in time and replaying them as one would take out photographs and read the notes scribbled on the back.

He did, however, come to as he reached his street. Looking to the right, he could see the Pfeiffers’ house, and, on the front porch, Kurt and Dieter were huddled over homework, scratching of pens interrupted every now and then by giggles and fingers fumbling to intertwine. Seeing them so carefree brought a smile to Ernst's face and he knew they'd both taken to heart his advice. All they needed now was luck, which he could only pray they'll have. Just before continuing on his way, he saw Mathilde come out of the house and set out lemonade for them, an easy smile on her face. How the Pfeiffers managed to live unperturbed by whispers or rumours was beyond him, but he could only be happy for them, despite having never had the luxury to do the same.

He turned right to reach his own yard, when he looked up and saw a figure on his porch. Ernst approached, getting closer so as to try and see who it was. A tall man, his back turned to him, and next to him two bags. His hair- golden, shining in the soft light of the sun. Ernst's breath was caught in his throat and a million thoughts raced about his mind, and he felt like everything inside of him, every cell and every drop of blood, was pushing him forward.

He couldn't remember moving his legs, he could've floated for all he knew. Now, Ernst was at the base of the steps, but the man with the golden hair was still lost in his own world and didn't notice anything. It must've taken Ernst years to untie his tongue, but eventually he did, and his voice broke as soon as he opened his mouth to say the name.

“Hanschen?” it was a mere whisper, but behind it were hidden a million unspoken words.

At that, the man was finally brought back to reality, and his head snapped around, coming face to face with Ernst, staring with wide blue eyes. That's when Ernst’s heart stopped. Blue eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes that weren’t Hanschen’s. He felt disappointment wash over him, though he knew, rationally, it was not this man's fault that he wasn't who Ernst had wished he was. Still, it took a lot for the misplaced betrayal to not show.

Ernst took a moment to look at him, and a suspicion was beginning to form in the back of his mind. This stranger, though certainly not Hanschen, reminded him uncannily so of him. The hair, the face…  something he couldn’t quite decipher. Regardless of his confusion, Ernst spoke:

“Can I help you?”

It was then that the boy seemed to snap out of his thoughts, and it dawned on him that he’d been silent the whole time. His face reddened and he looked down in embarrassment for a second, before snapping his head back up and answering:

“Hello, yes, you can. Sorry, I, um-” The boy seemed flustered. Embarrassed. Desperate. “I’m sorry to have showed up on your porch like this, but... but I need.. help. Are you Ernst-- Um, Pastor Robel?”

Ernst was intrigued, not knowing how the boy had learned his name, but decided to keep his questions for later. “Yes. And you are...?”

“I believe you know my father.” He swallowed, looking off to the side for a brief moment before looking back up at Ernst with those big, blue eyes. “My name is Lammermeier Rilow.”