#reverse white tray ceiling

[rogersx]

Hawaii Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen A concrete patio kitchen with a roof extension in a mid-sized, trendy backyard is an example.

[amchara]

Road to Hell (Wait for Me, I’m Coming) Part Two - Kit / Ty Hadestown AU

(Part One)

Ty rubbed his face tiredly, as he stared at another chicken-scratch parchment in the Unseelie Court’s library. He looked up and saw that Dru was fast asleep, gently snoring into her crossed arms, while Anush was dazedly flipping through pages of a huge leatherbound book. Mark had left a while ago, muttering something about getting some food for them but he hadn’t returned yet.

Ty looked down at his research, the collected notes he had written over the last day and a half and suddenly it seemed pitiful, compared to the task ahead. Ty could feel the panic rising, his chest tight and he concentrated on the feel of the rough paper underneath his fingertips. He had to get Kit out of Hell and he was taking notes, like he was back in the Scholomance and this was an assignment, instead of… instead of the most important fucking thing in the world.

He hadn’t told Kit how he felt yet. They had only just re-entered each other’s lives over the past two months and were still doing a wary dance as they relearned each other’s steps after three years apart.

There had been a hesitant scene in the L.A. Institute’s atrium when Kit had strolled in, almost as if he had never left, all sunshine gold hair, eyes the colour of a clear autumn sky, and a husky voice with just the slightest hint of an English accent.

There had been the angry, sparse time when Helen had sent them on a patrol together and they had strode along in miserable silence until Kit had finally stopped him and asked where Livvy was- and Ty had snapped back at him, the wound still raw, that he was trying to make amends for everything he’d done but he’d had to do it alone and he wasn’t ready to talk about it. The fragile moment when Kit’s face had crumpled briefly and he told Ty he was sorry he had left and that Ty had had to do it alone. And the appearance of the Raum demons a minute later, interrupting them- but then the glimpse of how it could be, as Kit had stopped him after the attack and insisted on drawing the iratze on Ty’s forearm, his face a study of concentration as they sat in the car before driving back to the Institute.

There had been fleeting, glorious moments in the training room when they had sparred, the pretence of combat a freeing sensation for Ty, as he felt able to finally touch Kit and the look Kit had given him, his breath an uneven whisper on Ty’s collarbone after he pinned him to the floor, almost helping Ty make his decision. But it hadn’t been enough - and the agonising choice of whether to knock - and still being a coward and walking away, almost too quickly, from Kit’s door.

And then that moment in the clearing. When Kit had done the stupid, honourable Herondale thing and sacrificed himself for the rest of them. Ty didn’t think he’d do the same if the situation was reversed - but then again, he was a Blackthorn.

From far away, he could hear a tearing, ripping sound and he came back to himself, noting the confetti of yellow parchment floating down to the ground around him, as he paced back and forth, paper strewn around him and his hands moving almost mechanically as he shredded his carefully taken notes.

Anush looked over at him, finally noticing Ty’s pacing and his eyes widened. And just then, Mark re-appeared in the doorway, carrying a large tray. He let out a curse as he saw Ty, almost knocking over the tray in his hurry to put it down. He crossed the room quickly to stand in front of Ty, gentle as he placed his hands over his brother’s as he clasped them a firm grip. This time, Ty let him in and he drew in a few deep, shuddering breaths as he let the small remains of paper drop.

“It’s all right,” he told Mark. “I have them all memorised.”

Mark nodded. “It’s wise to not leave the notes to Hade unguarded,” he said. He paused. “Although perhaps a bit unkind to the brownie cleaners - but no matter, I’ll arrange to speak to them.”

There was a stretch of silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Ty said. “I can’t wait too long- we don’t know if time moves differently in Hades compared to the rest of Faerie and I can’t risk it.”

Mark’s eyes searched Ty’s face - not seeking eye contact but a different kind of reassurance. He seemed to find it, and he dropped Ty’s hands. “Then we’ll prepare to go together - you’re not going alone,” he said. A chorus joined in - a rousing if slightly terrified response from Anush, and a sleepy affirmation from Dru, who appeared to have just woken up.

Ty felt a brief moment of terror that he was bringing more people into what his research told him was likely a suicide mission… but the ice cold shiver of memories and Livvy’s pleading, drained face swam into view and he swallowed his protests. He didn’t think he could go through it alone again.

—

The ivory keys of the grand piano were always immaculately polished and Kit wondered whose job it was to clean them. His job was to play the music and he thanked - well, it wasn’t God and it wasn’t the Angel Raziel - but he thanked his lucky stars that he had picked up some basic songs from Jace the previous summer when he had visited the New York Institute, and that Jem had considered learning to read music by sight an essential part of a well-rounded education, alongside Kit’s Shadowhunter training and mundane school.

In contrast to the bright electric fluorescence that lit the warren of overly warm machinery-filled rooms that Kit had started to refer to as Hadestown, Persephone’s conservatory was different, with its faded white, latticed walls and high glass ceilings letting in the smallest fraction of outside light.

It reminded him of where he had lived with Jem, Tessa and Mina - in… C- In Cir- Kit’s mind stuttered. He didn’t know how long he had been here - the days were starting to blur together and he was worried he was starting to forget more than just the little things.

He stared down at the piano keys as the large ornamental clock on the wall struck eleven. Like clockwork precision, Persephone waltzed in, her movements sultry but sulky as always. She threw some new music books at Kit and he caught them awkwardly, balancing them on his lap.

“These ones - I don’t care which one you play first today,” she said, sitting down on the long fainting couch across from him, her black hair spilling over the white satin fabric as she rested her head. Kit tried not to stare at her deep decolletage, which was prominently framed by the tight red dress she was wearing. She noticed as he turned away and her gaze was hungry as she looked at him.

Kit looked down as he chose a music book and blindly opened it to a first page he saw. He started playing, a crooning jazz number singing out underneath his fingers. He didn’t know if it was because he was in Faerie or the spell he could feel he was under but he was a much better musician here than in the mundane world. The tight, lost look on Persephone’s face began to relax as the melody echoed in the conservatory.

As he finished the first song and began another, his movements almost automatic, Kit allowed himself to think again, of escape - of returning to the land of the living - to his family, to the Shadowhunter institutions he was slowly becoming accustomed to again, to… Ty. To what might be between them, although he had almost strangled that hope, locked it away tight and deep inside his heart. What they had resurrected - if that word could be used - given previous circumstances was almost a miracle, Kit thought, hard fought for and one that he hadn’t been about to throw away on foolish too-soon declarations of love. Even so, when he had seen that faerie arrow aimed straight at Ty’s heart, he hadn’t hesitated. He might not be ever able to tell Ty how he felt but at least he had been able to show it in his actions, he mused.

And he wasn’t about to give up on leaving this hellhole, although each unrelenting day in this dull, dark and depressing place of dust and hollow-eyed workers pulled at that hope. But he clung to his memories - to the now-dimly lit memories of the outside world. Of his love for a black-haired, grey-eyed boy with his sharp intellect and fierce love of his family, who saw the world in a different light than most, and was - had been willing - and maybe, might be willing again to share it with Kit.

The last note rang out as he finished the song and he drew his hands back, muscles aching. He had been playing for nearly an hour. In the sudden silence, Persephone let out a ragged sigh.

“Who is the love that you play for, boy?” she said, her voice ancient and rough. She rose from the couch and crossed the floor, her dress swishing across the smooth marble. “I have heard many love songs in my years… but yours is one that I haven’t heard in an eon. Tell me their name.” Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears.

But Kit remained silent. He knew instinctively if he said Ty’s name, he would lose it. He shook his head, his lips pressed together.

Persephone narrowed her eyes, and she reached out, as if to stroke his brow. Kit evaded her and stood up. He had been coming to play for her for several times now, and he had started to learn her ways. He needed a distraction. “I saw that crack in the wall- is that new, Persephone?” Kit lowered his voice as he gestured across the room. “I know you’re a captive as much as I am. Let me help you- we can escape together and then I will tell you.”

Persephone’s laugh was as dry as a winter’s wind as she sized him up. “Oh, that’s adorable, my sweet-” she said. “But I made my choice long ago and it’s--” her eyes suddenly moved past him. “It’s the love I deserve,” her voice suddenly was filled with honey and springtime.

Kit knew that Hades had arrived, and he tried to quell the fear rising in him as he turned around.

The man - fae - god or whatever he was - was standing in the doorway, casually watching them.

“Leave him,” he said in his deep voice. “I desire your company.”

Persephone swept past Kit without another word and draped herself across Hades. “Of course my darling- I am here. What shall we do?”

Hades took a moment to whisper into her ear and Persephone looked uncomfortable but let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Of course.”

Hades smiled, with a devilish twist and he pulled her away, starting down the hall.

But then he stopped and looked back at Kit. “Your shift here has ended - get back on the assembly line.”

Kit looked down at his rough worker’s uniform, smeared with rust and dust and he forced himself to nod evenly - he knew from past experience that it was unwise to argue with Hades.

Hades’ firelit eyes swept over him. “And once that is over - come see me in my office.”

And at that, Kit knew that he was in trouble. Hades had summoned him twice since his arrival to his office, after the initial contract signing. Each time afterwards Kit had found himself weak and gasping on the floor outside, his mind blank and unsure of what had passed behind the walls of the office. Nothing good, he thought grimly - and that was likely the cause of his increasingly fuzzy memory recall.

He needed to escape and soon. He nodded again and Hades left with Persephone. Kit started to make his way to the factory floor. On his way out of the conservatory, he bumped into a small, bird-framed girl with a luminous beauty and whose too-large eyes must have been lively once but were now faded and glazed over with the thousand yard stare that all Hades’ workers had. That he might soon have. “What’s your name?” Kit asked the girl, trying not to sound desperate.

She looked up at him. “I- Eu- I…” she looked puzzled and sad. “I don’t know.” she said.

Kit felt a stab of despair.

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added / removed!)

@jesse-is-spiraling @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @thechangeling

[itsapapisongo]

FOR THE HOMIES | SKZ

Pairing: None, though you I don’t blame you if you spot any Ho-Yay moments.

Genre: Comedy | Crack Fic

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Felix loves to bake. The boys enjoy the “magic grass.” One thing leads to another and—well, you can guess the rest.

Notes: 

This is inspired and totally based on a post by @hanstagrams​; she deserves all the credit.

Though this is a fun little one-shot, this doesn’t reflect who the boys’ (Stray Kids’) are in real life. It’s a fictional portrayal of real people and thus not the real deal.

Keep in mind this is a) based on my own experience with the “magic grass” and edibles and that b) it’s for written for shits and giggles.

I kept the cast short, meaning it’s only Felix, Chan, Minho, and Jisung. Perhaps a follow-up one-shot might include the other boys—Changbin, Hyunjin, I.N., and Seungmi—because they, too, deserve to have fun.

CLING!

Felix, humming to a song he can’t name nor remember the lyrics to, calmly puts on an oven mitt and takes out the baking tray of recently baked brownies from their dorm’s small oven. Though the piece of equipment is old and ready to be replaced it still heats up and bakes like it’s a new model.

The strong yet smell of chocolate fudge permeates the kitchen and he can’t help but smile at it. It’s somehow therapeutic after a long night of dance practices or long days of promotion. Baking is Felix’s own little thing, a way to unwind and focus on something else entirely.

“What a master baker I am,” he says to no one in particular, smirking. “Five-star Michelin, baby.”

He looks at his pride and joy: an entire batch of chocolate fudge brownies, the perfect shade of brown sprinkled with the perfect amount of chocolate chips. He places the tray on the counter, leans in, and takes a whiff. Not only do they look amazing, they smell amazing too. Waving a hand over the tray in a circular motion, as though to keep the chocolatey scent all to himself, he chuckles. With a pep on his step and the catchy but unnamed tune still being hummed, Felix turns on the ball of his feet and crosses the kitchen from the counter to the refrigerator. He opens it, peruses its contents, then takes out four banana milks, balancing them with great care in two hands.

“For the homies,” he whispers, nodding to himself.

Felix pokes his head out the kitchen and sees his friends sitting on the ground, laughing and complaining, colorful cards flying from their hands onto a ground-level table. Bangchan laughs loudly, smacking Jisung’s knee as Minho cackles, doubling over, relishing in their friend’s awful luck. Apparently he’d been forced to pick up over eight cards.

“Yeah.” Felix finds himself smiling with crinkled eyes. “For the homies.”

The chocolatey fragrance still lingers in the kitchen, oddly soothing and tantalizing. It’s stronger than before, something else entirely harmoniously mixing in with the sweetness.

If only Felix knew what it truly was.

THEN, about an hour before . . .

“How the hell did you get that?”

Jisung asks this as his eyes widen at the paper bag Minho conceals in his hoodie’s pocket. He glances over his shoulder and sees Felix and Chan working on the brownie batter, talking amongst themselves in between chuckles and smacks on their shoulders. When Jisung looks back at his hyung, Minho stares back, impassive.

“I know people,” Minho retorts with a shrug.

A beat. Jisung looks over his shoulder, eyes toward the kitchen, then leans in real close.

“Can I meet them?” he whispers.

Minho glares, flicking Jisung’s forehead. “Definitely not,” the other says, scoffing. “You’ll scare them away.”

“C’mon, hyung.”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Pretty pretty please?”

“Add another pretty and I might consider it.”

“Pretty pretty pretty—”

Another flick to the forehead. Jisung blinks, eyes toward the ceiling, a blank expression in his face. He smacks his lips and nods, as though to say I deserved that.

Minho sports a devious smirk. “I said I’d consider it not that I’d agree.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet you keep coming to me for cuddles.” Minho wiggles his eyebrows. He glances past Jisung’s shoulder and catches a glimpse of Felix stirring something in a mixing bowl. “Call Chan over.”

“What for?” Jisung asks, looking back and forth between Minho and the kitchen. “He’s busy.”

“Just wave him over.”

“Wave who over?”

While Minho merely blinks, Jisung gives a startled jump as Chan stands behind him. He has brownie batter in the tip of his nose, his hands smudged with chocolate and butter. His blond-dyed hair has a blue highlight across his bangs and it’s held back underneath a black bandana. His arms are exposed thanks to a white sleeveless tee. Equally amused and confused, Chan looks between his friends and demands an answer by lifting his chin.

“Something on your minds, darlings?”

“He’s got the stuff,” says Jisung through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at Minho’s hoodie. “The stuff, y’know? The magic grass.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, stifling a chuckle as Jisung nods. Minho, on the other hand, glares at Jisung.

“Subtlety clearly isn’t your forte,” says Minho.

“A lot of things aren’t my forte,” Jisung replies, shrugging. “And I’m still standing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chan sing-songs, imitating Elton John’s lilt. He pats Jisung’s shoulder and leans on it. He sneaks a glance at the kitchen before turning his attention at Minho. “We’re doing this?”

Minho nods, tapping his hoodie’s pocket. “Oh we’re doing this.”

“Nice,” Jisung exclaims, fist-bumping Chan. His smile falters as he frowns. “What are we doing again?”

“Aish.”

“OI, Lix, need another pair of hands?”

Felix turns, stirring the batter with chopsticks and skillful ease. Chan joins in the kitchen, Minho close behind him. Jisung stands in the small corridor between the kitchen and the living room, eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. He looks like he’s both amused and nervous, though he quickly looks away and disappears from view.

“Sure,” Felix replies with a shrug. “The more the merrier.”

“What can I do?” Minho asks, surveying the mess in the kitchen.

Felix looks around then passes him the mixing bowl. “Whisk this,” he says, momentarily distracted. “Chan, I need more eggs.”

“Right on it, mate.”

Minho sits on the table and begins to whisk the batter. He glances over his shoulder every now and again and when he’s certain Felix is too distracted to pay him any attention, he extracts the paper bag from his hoodie; the contents are gently placed on the table and hidden in plane sight. Felix comes by, looks over his shoulder, offers a thumbs-up, but just as quickly moves away when Chan calls him over.

It only takes Minho a second to slip the special stuff in the batter.

AN hour later, which is to say now . . .

“They’re done!” Felix exclaims from the kitchen. “What are you guys up to?”

Gathered around a table, conspiratorially looking at each other, Chan, Minho, and Jisung hold cards in front of their faces. Chan smirks at Jisung who, due to a streak of bad luck and constant betrayal by his friends, holds more than twenty cards in his hand. Minho, having played his cards well, simply looks between them and scrutinizes his hand. If all goes according to plan, he’d be able to win in the next eight to nine moves.

“We’re playing UNO,” says Chan, stifling a fit of laughter. “Oops. I meant kicking Han’s arse at UNO.”

Jisung mumbles complaint under his breath, tilting his head in annoyance. “This isn’t fair,” he whines.

Minho wiggles his eyebrows, throwing a Reverse to play his hand yet again. “Life, in general, isn’t fair,” he chuckles and pats Jisung’s knee. “But we know this, don’t we?”

Jisung looks at the Skip recently placed on the table and pouts. “Aish.”

“Lix, c’mere!” Chan shouts, red in the face from laughter. “You’re missin’ out.”

“Be there in a second,” their baker friend replies, his voice echoing loudly into the living room.

“I think he’s tasting them,” Minho whispers, eyes glued to the kitchen. He chuckles then grimaces. “Aw shit.”

Chan nods, as though to convey something obvious. “The whole point is that he tastes them.”

“With us, not on his own.” Jisung pipes up, drawing a Wild Draw 4 and setting it on the table without looking. He does this while biting his lip and snorts, concealing a giggle by clearing his throat. “Chan, it’s your turn.”

“He’ll be fine.” Chan barely reacts to Jisung’s play and adds a Wild Draw 4 of his own. He turns to Minhow and whispers, “You didn’t go overboard, right?”

Minho shrugs. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“It’s about whether or not we can handle it—”

“Felix has never touched the special grass.” Jisung points out. His eyes widen when Minho adds a Draw 2. “So it’s going to be like that, huh?”

“We’re keeping an eye on him.” Chan’s demeanor suddenly transitions from shits and giggles to team dad in the blink of an eye. “The moment we notice he’s not feeling well, we sober him the fuck up.”

“Deal.” Minho nods.

“Operation Sober Boy is officially a thing,” Jisung adds, smiling at having passed the burden of picking up twelve cards to Chan after drawing a Draw 2 of his own.

Chan nods, pouting with an impressed expression. “That’s a mouthful but I like it,” he compliments and smiles when he sees the cards. “Yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen.”

From his hand, Chan throws a Green Draw 2. Minho stares at it. Unfazed, he draws yet another Reverse and Blue Draw 2 and slowly turns to take in Jisung’s look of utter shock. The inevitable betrayal that comes with playing UNO lingers in the air.

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“We can do this all day, Han.”

“Are you still bullying poor Jisung?”

They all turn when they see Felix join them, baking tray in hand, his every step bringing forth a mouthwatering aroma. He looks at them and smiles, his eyes crinkled with joy and his freckles distinctively present. Jisung plays his hand, drawing the last Draw 2 in his deck, and groans when Chan rebuffs him with yet another Wild Card 4. Minho chortles and responds with a Draw 2 his own.

“Aish, are you two planning this? This is an ambush!”

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “Cut Jisung a break.”

“It’s just a bit of fun.” Chan waves Felix over, tapping the empty space to his right. “And UNO is the perfect game to build character.”

“This is a massacre,” Jisung whimpers as he begins to draw twenty-four cards. He looks at Felix and pouts, feigning tears. “Look at how they massacre your boy.”

“Hate the game, not the player.” Minho shrugs and, before anyone can correct him, he smugly adds, “If you say it’s the other way around, you’re playing wrong.”

“Let’s go with that.” Felix shrugs and sets the tray on a corner of the table. He smiles proudly. “I reckon this is my best batch yet.”

“It sure smells nice,” says Chan, his voice high-pitched. In the thickest Australian accent he can speak in, he whispers, “Chocolatey.”

“It sure does!” Minho agrees, the faint echo of laughter in his voice.

“Give me an eternity,” Jisung says, still counting cards. “I’m gonna be at this for a while.”

“Let’s eat!” Chan claps and rubs his hands together.

“Not yet, not yet.” Minho reaches out and gently gets a hold of Chan’s wrist. He looks at Jisung with mischief in his eyes. “I’m enjoying this.”

WHEN Felix said it’d been his best batch yet, the young idol and part-time baker hadn’t been wrong.

But while the boys divided an entire brownie between each other, aware that one for each of them would be a tad much, Felix, on the other hand, had an entire brownie by himself. The boys hadn’t noticed until Jisung pointed it out. Apparently Felix had been taking bites from it way before he joined them, which meant he’d started in the kitchen and finished eating it when he joined them in the living room.

The UNO cards have been put away—Minho won, leaving Jisung with forty-nine cards in his hand—and they sit in a circle, eating brownies and giving each other shit. The TV is on, though mostly for background noise, and Chan, in his infinite wisdom, makes a playlist to both set a mood and for future sessions.

Though he looks focused on the songs he’s picking, Chan is trying not to look worried or shocked. Every now and again, he glances at Felix with a worried glint in his eyes. Minho, anticipating what is soon to ensue, carefully watches Felix, smiling that smug smile of his that indicates he knows something his friend doesn’t. And then there’s Jisung, who openly stares at Felix bug-eyed, making obvious comments about the special stuff in the brownies and sporadically chuckling to himself.

Felix, for better or worse, hasn’t noticed any of this. He drinks his banana milk and carries a conversation about baking with Minho, explaining how he made the batch; he’s aware to not pat himself on the back too hard because, as much as he loves baking, he’s still a relative newbie to the whole thing. Minho nods and adds a thing or two but overall simply scrutinizes his friend’s body language.

Having an entire brownie is a recipe for a ripe high.

And just as he gives the final details, Felix feels it.

“So you just leave it for about thirty-five minutes and—” Felix zones out, his eyes widening. He blinks and blinks and blinks until he slowly turns to look upward, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His entire body relaxes to the point where he leans on his hands and stretches. “Crikey.”

Minho smirks and points at him while Jisung leans in and waves a hand over Felix’s eyes.

Chan, on the other hand, claps and sings an improvised song:

   Hey hey, ho ho

  Felix had some of the special dough

“Wh—what?” Felix asks, his eyes heavy. “Who’s a hoe?”

“He is,” Jisung absentmindedly replies, pointing a finger at Minho without looking. “A big one.”

Minho glares and works his jaw. “Dumb prick says what?”

Jisung is about to reply but Felix beat him to it: “What?”

Minho and Jisung exchange a glance and smile as Chan leans forward and gets Felix’s attention.

“How you feelin’, mate?”

“Loose.” Felix shakes his head. Though the gesture is gentle, to him it feels like the heaviest and slowest movement in the world. His eyesight is blurry then clears and everything seems to move in a different frequency and is presented in a strange, one-of-a-kind filter. “Very, very, very loose.”

“How are the brownies?” Jisung asks, giggling.

“They’re—have I ever mentioned how pretty you are, Minho?”

“Once or twice.” Minho winks. “But do go on.”

“See? He’s a hoe.”

“Yah!”

“But you’re my hoe.”

“You little—” Minho motions to punch Jisung’s knee but relents when Jisung blows him a kiss. He scrunches up his face in a mocking face. When Jisung looks away and lets Felix lean on him, Minho softens and can’t help but smile. “Lix, you look like you could use something to drink.”

Felix nods, giggling. “I’d love something to drink.”

Chan looks at his friend’s hand and sees the half-drunk banana milk there. He pretends to hand it over to Felix then shakes his wrist a bit. “There you are, Lix,” he says.

“Heol!” Felix’s eyes widen and he giggles a bit more, a high-pitch sound of pure joy. “You’re pretty fast there, Chan-Chan Man.”

“Sure am.” Chan snaps his fingers, motions finger-guns.

Felix smacks his lips, nods to himself. “This is definitely my best batch.”

“Does it have a name?” Jisung asks, genuinely curious.

“Super Duper Brownies!”

Minho snorts, choking on his banana milk. “Come again?”

“I would need to be hard for that to happen.” Felix giggles. “I can’t come without—”

Chan chokes on the small brownie piece he’s eating. Jisung scoffs, a hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. Minho, on the other hand, rolls his eyes in that way a diva does after hearing the lamest pick up line of the century.

“Whoa, buddy, pal, mate, easy there on the dirty talk.” Chan pats his chest then shakes Felix’s leg.

“What’s the taboo? Sex is sex is sex.”

“Shit.” Minho raises an eyebrow, amused. “He gets all philosophical when he’s high.”

“High? Who’s high?”

The boys look at each other then back at Felix. “You are,” they chorus, apprehensive amusement laced in their voices.

“Come again?” Felix leans forward, groggily blinking. “Did you just say I’m high?”

They nod.

“I haven’t smoked any magic grass.”

“Hey!” Jisung raises his hand, waiting for a high-five. “I call it that too.”

Felix absentmindedly high-fives Jisung. “You haven’t smoked any of it either. Dunno what you’re on about.”

“That’s because we didn’t smoke it.” Chan replies sheepishly.

“We ate it,” says Minho, lifting his chin and pointing at the baking tray with his eyes. “And you ate an entire brownie by yourself. You’ll be pretty fine and dandy for a while.”

“You—what—huh?” Felix blinks and scratches his head. The sensation is both new and familiar, feeling soothing to this touch. “Did you put some magic grass on the batter?”

“Not exactly magic grass.” Minho smiles with that mischievous glint in his eye. “Super duper special butter.”

“Butter?” Felix asks, but he says it in english so his Australian accent comes off very thick. It sounds like buttah instead of butter. “I think you put too much of that buttah.”

Minho nods, grimacing for a fraction of a second. “I might have gone overboard, yes.”

“Why do you say that?” Jisung looks worried.

The question is answered as Minho blinks and nods to himself, lips puckered. His eyes look glazed over as he begins to giggle. The giggle becomes a modest chuckle then hysterical laughter. Minho’s laughter is echoed and matched by Felix’s, a contagious fit of guffawing that is hard to contain. Chan and Jisung exchange a glance then look at their friends.

“It hasn’t hit me yet.” Chan raises his eyebrows and shrugs. His head suddenly feels heavy, sort of forcing him to lie down. “Wait—shit-fuck—I spoke too soon.”

Jisung chortles, shaking his way to show disappointment. “You’re weak, fellas,” he says, reaching for half a brownie. “You don’t have what it takes.”

“Han, sing us a song,” Minho requests, fighting a fit of giggles. “Can you sing opera?”

“I can certainly try,” Jisung retorts, his mouth full.

“Do or do not,” Felix chimes in, his voice high-pitched. “There is no try.”

“Hey hey, ho ho—” Chan sings, his voice cracking.

“—Felix’s Yoda, yo!” Minho finishes, snapping his fingers to a beat that is only in his head.

“Shit.”

Chan, Felix, and Minho turn to Jisung. He’s mid-munch and he looks lost in thought.

“Something in your mind, darling?” Minho asks, dragging himself toward Jisung. “Do you feel relaxed?”

“What was that about us being weak?” Chan raises an accusatory eyebrow before chortling. “You drongo, you.”

Jisung perks up. “Bongos? Where?”

Minho rubs his forehead. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Chill out, we have brownies.” Felix reaches for the baking tray, picking a bigger brownie than he expected. “We’ll be coolio.”

“Did he say ‘coolio’?” Chan asks through gritted, covering his mouth with his hand though exposing his mouth to Felix and not Minho.

“I can read your lips,” whispers Felix.

“Shit.”

“Language.” Minho snaps. “For fuck’s sake.”

Jisung snorts. “What an example you’re setting for all of us.”

“A terrible one.” Chan giggles, his eyes crinkled. Smoking grass every now and again was fun but eating it was another thing altogether. “We gotta thank Lix for this batch, though. If I had stars to give, I’d gladly give you the whole damn night sky.”

“Bro,” Felix whispers, his voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.

“Bro,” Chan whispers back, tapping Felix’s nose with his index finger.

They move closer and lean on each other, foreheads touching. They remained like this for a while until Felix sits straight and sighs a heavy sigh of relief, as though he’d been tense and is only know letting go of all the weight on his shoulders.

“I’m a great masturbator.” Felix the Idol-Baker nods and smiles, his eyes suddenly and oddly watery. “I’m such a talented masturbator.”

The boys blink.

It takes the quartet a full minute to realize the Freudian slip.

“Fuck! I meant I’m defo master baker!”

Chan sighs in relief. “Had us scared for a second there, champ.”

“But I’m also a wickedly talented mastur—”

“Have another brownie.” Jisung snatches the brownie Minho snatched from Felix and returns it to its original owner. “Before you say something you might regret.”

“Too fucking late.” Minho burps. He stands up and points at each of them. “More milk?”

“Defo, mate,” Felix and Chan chorus, high-fiving at their synergy.

Minho sighs and rolls his eyes. “Be right back.”

It  will take Minho twenty minutes to return. By then, half of the tray is empty, and the boys are playing UNO again—though no one is paying much attention, even while high the inevitable betrayal that comes with playing UNO lingers in the air.

[dollsted]

Title: Black Pearl Rating: M (nsfw) Characters: reader, sans, Wingdings, papyrus, Jukin, lucious  Source: a03 (archive of our own)  Author: F0rce0fnatur3 

Plot: You the reader are about to go on an adventure to the underground. You don’t necessarily have a good home life but even so you weren’t expecting what happens to actually change it so drastically! When you come out the other side you weren’t expecting to wake up after your harrowing escape, in the Gaster Brothers home.

                           B     L     A     C     K   |    P     E     A     R     L

You open your eyes and as you do so there’s a nagging throbbing rage against your skull. Your cheek is pressed against something soft while your fingers confirm that its a pillow elevating your head from the mattress you’ve been propped upon. Three days ago you were back in your world with your normal life going about your business. Three days ago everything was perfectly fine and you took back all the times you silently wished your life would be more adventurous. You really had only meant that you wanted to go somewhere. That was the most daring thing you really wanted in your life. Not what actually ended up happening. You roll to your back and trace with your eyes the shape of the bars leading up to a circular top like a firework in reverse as you spiral your eyeballs around the circular shape overhead and count all thirty three of the bars banning you from escaping. The steel is strong, you’ve tried more than once to bend them with whatever strength you could muster on three days without food.

A giant birdcage wasn’t the conventional cell you thought you would be subjected too and yet here you were. The fairy lights or as other people referred to them as garden lights are looped around the very top. The height of the cage was at least ten feet high and out of your reach. Lazily you flop your hand above your face as far as the length of your arm can extend and trace the shape of the looped lights and mentally scoff at the attempt to make your jail cell “pretty” and non threatening. When your arm gets tired you let it fall over your stomach. You let your leg dangle off the edge of the bed and look around your little enclosure. A dresser, a bathroom with a little curtain for privacy, a small bookcase with titles that you’ve never heard of. You utter aloud just to have something other than silence as you mockingly joke about there not being a perch for you to swing on or newspaper lining the bottom so you can shit anywhere you like.

Back and forth your leg swings while your toes meet the floor every-now-and-then before your dull entertainment passes and you grow bored. You switch to rolling over onto your stomach looking out through the bars. The room you’re in but not allowed to frequent is a dome like grand open scoop. There are no windows, only overhead lights as if you’re in an opera stage minus the incline of said stage, and seats for an audience. There are a pair of doors which are always closed and evidently heavy given the thickness of the wood. There are carvings in the oak but its hard to register from this distance. Your cage is stationed in the far right corner of this huge room and you often inspect it taking in the details. The cobblestone fireplace always has a cackling fire which helps break the silence when he’s not around to bother you with awkward praises. You look from the mantle to the red leather chair aimed in your direction and next to the fire. It’s his favorite spot to plop down into when he strides in to gawk at you. You skip looking at the black and white tiled floor. For some reason the lack of bright light makes you feel a bit dizzy when observing it and so you go back to the bookcase. The room seems like a study to you and you wonder why he decided putting a human woman in here in a giant ass bird cage prison would be just the cherry on top of the minimal decor.

The rotten apple from two days ago has lost its luster and the single bite you took out of it is already bruised and rotting. The tender tan flesh has browned and the sheen of red has wrinkled and withered into a leathery texture which you ran your finger over just a day ago to give yourself something to do other than increase your anxiety in the situation at hand.

“You’re going to go out of your mind if you keep sticking to those habits you know.”

Your surly friend with an oddly deep voice for being something so small, casually chides you from above. You tilt your head to look past the slit in the bars above your head moving away from the circular topping of the cage to the butt of the one suspended just above yours dangling from the ceiling. You only have had this view unless you stand and your little companion stands to look down at you. You can however, see his weblike toes extended from between the bars suspending themselves in the air as he lays upon his back with his arms behind his small head and leisurely has one leg crossed over the other. You discovered him after you were thrown in here and the endless weeping caused him to peep up and bark at you to desist. Since then your ill mannered friend and you have engaged in conversation whenever one of you wasn’t weak enough to do so. It wasn’t long until the pair of you got to the topic of how each of you came to be here came up. Two days later you develop a small kinship given the parallels of your predicaments. His abode is much smaller in size than yours making it seem like a palace, but his stature also seems to fit inside perfectly despite when he elongates to stretch and his feet stick out like this.

Supposedly the amphibious looking creature suspended above your palace was a highly regarded doctor that bordered on doing some questionable things during his practice. He went against a high order that was delivered to him months ago refusing to carry out the mad monsters wishes and landed himself in this tiny little apartment as he liked to call it. You found the overall description vague and feigned reluctance when speaking with him while the back part of your brain wondered if he was terrible like some of the doctors you heard about in your world. Did he tear people apart? Was he experimenting like the mad scientist in Frankenstein? He puts on a nonchalant facade but you can tell just by the small growls in the night he’s starving. Trays are brought to you in three square meals which you refuse to eat until you’re set free and only a bit of scraps once a day if the attendants don’t forget are offered to the doctor above. You were instructed specifically not to share any of your meals with him for all the meals and scraps are recorded before going in and what’s left when coming out. Yet somehow you managed to tell them you wanted to keep the apple. Just in case.

You scoop up the rotting fruit while carefully balancing on the flat surface of the dresser praying it doesn’t concave under your weight. Once you find your center you still barely touch the top of the bars even with the apple extended upon your fingertips.

“Here, Jukin.”

You watch as his foot gets slurped into the cage and out of your view. Seconds later one of his eerily long limbs comes down to meet you in he middle and easily slips his long arm and fingers into your sanctuary curling them around the morsel. You notice he has the same color stripes of black and white on his arm as the flooring. You can hear him taking small bites to savor each nourishment and he doesn’t thank you. The crude creature never does but you know he appreciates this small act of kindness despite the knuckle wrapping you’re sure you’ll get later. You dismount from the pedestal easing back into the carpeted cage floor stretching out your own limbs to keep the circulation flowing. You’d rather not have your muscles turn to jelly should your prediction of being here for awhile come to fruition. After a good half hour and the last joyous sounds of crispy bites subsides Jukin decides he has enough strength to chat.

“That thing was rotten you know.”

“Only half of it,” you rebuttal. “I didn’t hear you complaining either. I bet you’re sucking on the seeds right now.”

The creature crunches in response spewing the seed in the opposite corner of your confines. Then waves a second one outside the cage letting you know he’s about to pop the second one into his mouth. You roll your eyes.

“You could have given it to me sooner before the rot set in, or perhaps even had the conviction not to take a heaping bite out of it to start the decomposition process.”

“I would suffice a thank you. But if you must know I had a small moment of weakness.”

“Clearly.” Out come his toes as he wriggles them and assumes his natural position of laying back.

“I don’t know how you can stand being in something so small and not get the urge to move around.”

“Focus is an easily accessible trait my dear and it all stems from being able to tap into that part of your brain in order to use it. If I think the pain away then it stays away.” You roll your eyes again rolling back into bed.

“I’m going to sleep now so don’t be too loud when spitting the seeds out.” At this, it prompts the creature to poke his head out and down peering directly into your cage. You meet his half lidded gaze and watch the abnormally large lips of the frog-like creature speak. The tiers seem to be a pale pink and the only color on the being that has the height of a toddler yet its body is small and limbs long and slender. You can see the brown sphere firmly in the corner part of his mouth, teeth firmly grinding against the hard shell.

“If only this was a beetle.” He contrived before concerting to your request to quiet down in order to let you sleep. You shutter at the gross imagery and close your eyes slipping away from the confines of your cage and find freedom in your dreams.

———————————————————————————————————

When you rouse the next morning you drift back to four days ago before the abduction replaying everything that transpired. Perhaps you were feeling sentimental when you opened your eyes this morning but as you rewind the tape you try not to create scenarios where you actually escape. You have to revisit the truth. Even if your brain wants to correct the story of what really happened. Even if it was ugly you have to revisit it. You steal the few moments you have before the attendants will walk into your room and set down a tray you wont touch, before Jukin rouses from his own dreamland and bothers you with morning ramblings. But your thoughts slip further back and you let it all play out on its own.

                                                                               .          .          .

Three years ago you still lived with your mother. It was five years since your dad had passed away and only two years after his passing that your mother moved on and married an arrogant prick. With this prick came an entitled pampered little princess that you were meant to call stepsister all thanks to the marriage that bound you to the asshole. Her own mother ran off and left her rotten daughter and disgusting husband behind as she fled somewhere out of state. Since then you’ve been wishing and praying that your eighteenth birthday will free you of this play happy pretend family torment and you can painfully detach from them and flee just like the sensible ex wife had. Last year you graduated and couldn’t move out of there fast enough, your mother was heart broken about the decision for you to dorm immediately at the college you studied so hard to get into since the entrance of dick one and dick two came into your life. Your own heart aches that you’re leaving her behind but if he makes her happy who were you to ruin that opportunity for someone you loved so dearly?

Enter four days ago when the father who never disciplined the now fourteen year old girl who had more gadgets and things stocked in her room than a Best Buy demands you bring her some weird Greek type of ice cream that’s mad expensive. You cant say no because if you do she’ll suddenly become a daddy’s girl and pout and cry until she got her way and it would just result in a terrible headache for you. You were there solely to visit your mother and had thought those two were going to be on an outing during the time it would take for you to get a good catchup in but found out they came back because one of their batteries died on the way and they forgot to bring the car charger. So you were stuck playing happy family until your stepsister cornered you when you escaped up to the bathroom and with half hooded eyes glued to her phone screen explained in a flat monotone way that if you didn’t get her ice cream then she was going to throw a fit. So you went. During this time your mother and her husband went to run to the grocery store when he decided it was going to be a good idea to have a cookout in celebration of your return. You wince as his stare lingers a little too long over you and that’s when you made a B-line to the bathroom in an attempt to right yourself.

Luckily there was a quick corner store that you went to knowing your mother and the husband would go thirty minutes out of their way just to get these quality items and maybe knowing your mom just get a few things she needed grocery-wise while they were perchance there already.

You chuck the stupid item into the dual freezer slash fridge and trudge up the steps to inform her highness that you indeed got the snack she so rudely desired when you feel an odd tingling sensation against your skin. You have an overwhelming sensation that someone else is in the house besides the brat camped out upstairs in her room. It’s eerily quiet and normally in the past you know if it was just the two of you at home she would have her music blaring. Yet the absence of it now sends warning shocks throughout your body. It isn’t like her not to have on something even if she had it on a lower setting. So you silently stalk up to her room making sure you avoid the creaking wood under the carpeted stairs. You make your footfalls invisible and the door to her room is open just a sliver. You can see the vibrant overly saturated pink of her walks and bedding glaring at you from the fairy lights strewn around the edges of her cubic squared room. You don’t realize you’re on your hands and knees inching closer rather than on your feet like a normal unafraid human being but as you get closer you notice that her room is a mess. Not the typical teenager mess either, things disheveled and knocked over. She would never allow her precious stereo to have fallen and shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. This throws you to your feet and you call out her name. Frantically you shuck off the fact that there’s a potential intruder and curse the fact that you let that little girl dictate what you do. You should have been here to protect her. You should’ve stood your ground and told her no and just camp out in the living room. You were gone for five minutes. Maybe six since you literally timed yourself and that’s all it would take for someone to get in here and snatch a ninety pound girl up.

You scope the entire room for any sign she might be hiding or the intruder still being there and it’s blatantly easy to see the normally hidden spaces like the closet or under the bed have been shoved open and the covers from the bed thrown onto the ground. Then you feel it again. That same tingling sensation as before. You try to quiet your irregular panting and stay still so you can hear the sounds of creaking. But you only hear a high pitched whine of resistance of the door behind you as it closes slowly and gently. Someone is behind you. You turn your head as the back of the door reveals the figure that was hiding there. Lurking and waiting until you stupidly came in. But—-this isn’t a normal hooded figure in dark garbs or a human man. You’re confronted with a giant wolf-like creature waiting in the pit of the shadows of the room. The lights begin flickering and you can feel the air around you change. What was this? You take steps back and feel wind where this is no possible source for it to get in especially on this dry summer day. You take slow steps back and despite the utter fear seizing all your nerves causing you to shake uncontrollably you feel the instinct to protect that bratty teenager you’ve known for three years.

You confront the thing. You demand to know where she is. You take in its appearance. It has a wolfs head and yet the eyes almost seem human with the brown hue gleaming in the fizzled lights shining above casting devious shadows. You look at the plume of fur that disappears beneath a neatly pressed suit and matching black pants. The brown Oxford shoes are a blend of black and red complimenting  his tie and is the only colorful thing on this monster. How can this thing be dressed like a human and walking on two legs? You look to the hands which remind you of werewolf hands. They aren’t condensed like a regular wolfs paw and yet it too is covered in silky strands of fur but then your eyes go to the black pearled daggers upon its fingertips and you gulp as they slickly gleam like the hide of a snakeskin under the florescent lights. Even the undershirt seems to be clad black with pearl buttons carefully buttoned.

Like the scoop of a ravens wing those eerie claw-like fingers span in menacing formation outstretched ready to grab you in those terrible talons getting closer to you. Your only escape is a window that would take time to open and even then you’re looking at a three story jump which will result in broken bones, the door that the terrifying figure is occupying would surely result in your capture. But those are your two options unless you can somehow master the art of supernatural powers and phase through the figure to your freedom down the hallway. He lunges, you evade by scrambling onto the bed to create some distance in this small span of space and your eyes focus on the door. You spring from the other side but there’s a death lock on your ankle which causes you to fall short and you cushion your fall by landing face first into the toppled blankets pooled at the end of the bed. You wrench your leg trying to get away from the deep reverberating cackle of the monster knowing he’s got you.

The wind you felt earlier picks up and you fail to find the source of where its coming from. One of her headbands rolls across the floor, your eyes follow it as its sucked into the...closet? It’s definitely the source, you can feel the vacuum of what you can only rationalize is a portal? All the contents inside the closet jostle wildly as if its own personal hurricane is occurring in the walk in space. Even you can feel the pull from seven feet away. You have to get away, you’ve got to make sure the brat is safe, you have to call the police or...animal control to put this thing away far from you.

You pull away and in the same motion the being is upon you, pinning you down as his massive lanky form hovers over you pressing your chest into the carpet suffocating the air from your lungs. It seizes your wrists and the only thing you can manage to move are your legs which you flail until you stub your toe on the metal base of the bed and cry out. It’s muzzle comes in closer contact with your ear causing further discomfort when the hot breath of the predator encases the entire side of your head. You’ve never heard a deeper timbered voice as the one gruffly growling against the shell of your ear.

“Caught you little rabbit.” The monster purrs sweetly into your ear making your skin absolutely crawl. Your instincts kick in and you need to get to that door, that’s your focal point and even if you lose a limb you have to get to it. It is your means of freedom. It all comes crumbling down when the monster easily lifts you to your feet wrenching your arms behind your back in an uncomfortable twist of pain that shoots down to your fingertips. You look to the window hoping your screams can reach past the streets to the close knit neighbors that are blissfully unaware of the supernatural predicament happening across the way.

The portal like structure quivers and something in the pit hums as the wolf creature drags you over to the closet. Dread fills every fiber of your being and it is vital that these last few seconds you fight even if it costs you. You try to unknot your limbs in a natural way to regain them without the casualty of a broken arm but the being merely shifts tactics wrangling you in a different manner. A fistful of hair is all it takes for your compliance as it painfully resists being yanked out of your head.

Entering a different dimension isn’t as painful as you anticipated. The movies got it wrong. It’s like going through a simple archway and stepping through the other side. And here you thought due to the force of the windstorm you were going to expect something terrible like the very atoms of your matter coming apart and re-stitching back together. Maybe you’d lose and eye coming out the other side. But you blink and its over. The ripples in the air subside until finally it dissipates altogether.

———————————————————————————————————

And that’s how it happened. Soon after you were shut into this room and after the first day you watched as your abductor casually strolled in, perched in his favorite armchair and watched you for at least an hour before introducing himself.

There’s a famous saying here that you’ve heard more than once from both the wolf and the doctor.

“I am Lucius. I am a monster as you well know. No I am not a lycanthrope or werewolf. Yes, I can alter my appearance to look human but I cannot maintain it for more than a day. We have rules and regulations here just as your realm does. And by all means should you feel the need to escape do so at your own risk. But outside of my manor are monsters and murderers just waiting to tear that beautiful flesh apart. You are certainly safer in here then you are out there. This cage is for my aesthetic as well as your protection from the hungry things that lurk outside the garden of my estate. You are mine now and I own you. Don’t worry about your sister I delivered her safely upon the orders of a high paying buyer. Just so we’re clear if you also feel the need to rescue her, just know she’s probably already dead. So. Now that that’s cleared up I bid you a good night.” He stands and you watch through bleary eyes as his distorted wobbly figure gets to the large wooden doors but he pauses and looks back at you and grins...yes wolfishly.

“Oh, and welcome to the underground.”

[brooklyn-1918]

Day 17

Characters: OC Angel Moore and Clint Barton

Warnings: Fluff, possibly minor language

A/N: This one is more Christmas themed. Send an ask or leave in the comments if you would like to be tagged.

If you would like to read the previous day’s story, you can read it HERE

If you would like to read the background to the OC Angel Moore, you can read it HERE

Angel walked quietly, rolling her heel back as she walked on the balls of her feet. She was pretty sure that Clint didn’t have his hearing aids turned on. Or at the very least turned way down low. But she didn’t want to take any chances as she snuck up on him from behind. 

“Clint!” She yelled as she grabbed his shoulders from behind. He jumped and whirled around, swinging his fists. Angel ducked, and smiled as he paused his onslaught, seeing who it was that had grabbed him. 

“Angel, what the hell?” He asked grumpily. He reached up to flip his hearing aids on, then crossed his arms over his chest. 

Angel stood up fully, and bounced on her bare feet. Her toes curled from the cold of the concrete, but she didn’t care. 

“Do you want to bake cookies?” She asked, a childish grin on her face. Clint perked up, and smiled. 

“What kind?” 

Angel looked around, then leaned forward and covered one side of her mouth with her hand, like what she was about to say next was some big secret. 

“We can make whatever we want,” She whispered. Clint threw his arm into the air with a yell of excitement. Trotting away to the kitchen, a laughing Angel following him. 

__________

The kitchen looked like the atomic bomb of baking went off. Flour was all over the counter, there were chocolates and candies on the floor. They had somehow managed to get an egg on the ceiling. 

Singing happily along with the carols streaming out of her phone speakers, she pulled a tray of fresh baked cookies from the oven, setting them on the glass stove top. Clint was standing at the other end of the counter, tongue stuck out as he mixed a bowl of royal icing. 

She walked over, bending slightly to inspect his frosting work. She stuck her finger in the bowl, swiping out a bit to tase. She hummed in approval, and stuck her other finger in, extracting it to dab the sticky white goop right on the end of Clint’s nose. 

He maneuvered his tongue to lick it off, with a satisfied little noise. Meanwhile, Angel let out a disgusted groan. 

“That is abnormally impressive, Mr. Barton,” She observed, giving a little shudder as she turned away again. She grabbed a spatula, and started to pry the cooling cookies from the sheet, plopping each one on the cooling rack. 

“Thank you,” He said with an air of mock superiority. She huffed a laugh, and dropped the empty sheet in the sink, along with the spatula. She soaped up the sponge, and got to scrubbing.

“What are we going to do with all of these?” She asked, looking around. All in all, they had about 200. In other terms, way too many for two Avengers to be eating by themselves. She finished washing the remaining dishes in the sink, before getting to work on the rest of the kitchen. 

“We could bring them to the team?” He suggested, beginning to frost a sugar cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree. Angel wiped down the counters, before bending to scoop the fallen treats from the ground. 

“Like reverse Halloween?” She questioned. He pointed at her, a grin on his face.

“Exactly, just red and green instead of orange and black.” 

“And less creepy.” 

“Yes!”

Angel laughed, and stood, depositing the candies into the trash can. She looked up, and decided her best bet was to climb on the counter to reach the egg, which was starting to drip down. 

“We need Santa hats.”

__________

And that’s how they ended up pounding on the doors of each team member. Wearing Santa hats and blasting carols, exuberantly handing them each a bag of cookies. 

Like children, they literally skipped down the hall, rolling a little red wagon behind them, piled high with baked goods. 

Permanent Tags:

@wildefire​

24 Days Tags:

@im-a-light-child​ @nomadicpixel​

[alj4890]

Love/Kiss Prompt

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) with the prompts of tending an injury and a kiss of relief as requested by Anonymous.

(Thomas x Amanda) one shot

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject  @krsnlove​   @annekebbphotography   @cora-nova @bella-ca @hopelessromantic1352. @sunflowergirl05 @desiree---1986 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices​ @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 y @lolablackwrites​  @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker. @trappedinfandoms​  @kate-mckenzie​

Masterlist

Disquiet

The lights of Los Angeles melded into one long streak as the car maneuvered through the traffic. Amanda stared out the window, barely comprehending what she was looking at. Her mind was consumed with fear over what she would find at Cedars-Sinai.

She looked down at her cell phone, silently willing it to flash with that familar number. It had been nearly thirteen hours since she had left Cordonia after that one terrible phone call. 

_______________

Everyone had been shocked at how well she had taken the news. She knew that allowing panic to take over would not help her get to where she needed to be. Her mind focused on each step she had to take to get to Thomas.

She had made the necessary arrangements with her flight crew while her friends debated on how the accident had occured. Next she packed her bags as the conversation veered toward it being a fluke accident on his movie set. As she waited on a car to come for her, they then discussed which one who should travel with her.

"I don't need anyone to go with me." She stated in a perfectly calm voice.

"You don't know how badly hurt he is." Liam placed a comforting arm around her. "You need someone to be there with you for emotional support."

"He could be disfigured." Maxwell blanched at the accidentally spoken thought. He knew he shouldn't have said it when multiple pairs of eyes glared at him. "I mean...you never know what you might find."

"I will be fine." Amanda repeated. "I promise I’ll call if I need one of you there."

"You don't have to do this alone." Olivia countered. "Let us come with you."

Drake folded his arms. "You know you would insist the same if the situation was reversed."

Amanda stepped out with her bags. "I know, but until I discover what has happened, I prefer to be alone right now."

The driver took her things as she turned to say goodbye. Before a sound could be uttered, she was pulled into a group hug.

"I'll talk to you soon." She promised.

_______________

The car soon pulled into the hospital’s drive, stopping at the main entrance. She softly sucked in a deep breath and took the necessary steps inside.

To keep the panic from forming, she began to silently count the sound of her shoes striking the polished tile floor. Though she had never been fond of math, something about counting kept her mind from succumbing to fear. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

"May I help you?" The admissions attendant asked.

"Yes." Amanda replied. "I am looking for--"

"Amanda!"

She turned around and saw Matt jogging toward her. He embraced her then guided her over to a set of elevators. "Thomas has been out of surgery and in his room for a few hours now."

Amanda nodded while hoping he would explain more without her having to ask. She couldn’t seem to form the necessary words to find out how badly hurt the one she loved was. When she received the rushed call, no one had known what had happened, only that Thomas had fallen off of a scaffold at the studio.

"I have to hurry home." Matt explained after giving her the room number and floor Thomas was on. "Michael and Marcus both have ear infections and now Addison has come down with a cold."

"Of course." Amanda mumbled. "I hope they all feel better soon."

He squeezed her hand goodbye while telling her to call if she needed anything.

Amanda stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ninth floor. She watched the numbers flash on the screen, praying the whole time that all would be well.

The doors opened and she read the signs and turned toward the direction Thomas' room was.

She once again counted her steps. She nodded a greeting toward the nurses station, pausing when they asked who she was there for.

"Thomas Hunt, room 8023." She replied. At the suspicious look she was given, she clarified who she was. "I'm his wife, Amanda."

The doubt cleared as they smiled and told her to buzz if she needed anything.

She continued down the hall, reading the numbers along the left. 8017. 8019. 8021. 8023.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle. With a soft click, she pulled it open and somehow walked inside.

She paused when she heard his voice.

"...she hasn't arrived yet. How could you allow her to travel alone without knowing I'm not that seriously injured?!" He snapped.

"Mr. Hunt, I need you to call down. I can't get a good reading of your blood pressure." A nurse said, trying his hardest to get the director off the phone.

"In a moment." Thomas muttered. "I would have called her but my phone broke in the fall." He looked up at the ceiling. "I haven't had a chance to memorize Amanda's new number. Yes, I do see that as a problem." He gripped the phone, causing the plastic to click and snap. "Just give me her number. I don't have time for these speeches."

Amanda felt tears prick her eyes. His frustrated anger touched her heart. He wasn't horribly injured. She moved out of the aclove and further into his room.

Thomas was scribbling her number down and briefly glanced up. "5-320-." His head shot up when he realized who had come in. "She's here." He hung up the phone in the middle of Maxwell talking.

She walked on legs that seemed to be on the verge of collapsing as she reached out and took his hand. Her eyes scanned over him, taking in his left leg in a cast and the bruises along the left arm. She gently touched his face, brushing along the stitched cheek and bruised forehead.

The nurse cleared his throat. "Give me just a moment and I will leave you two alone." He finished checking Thomas' vitals, then left them with a reminder to buzz if they needed him.

Amanda gripped his hand. "What happened?"

Thomas frowned slightly. "My gaffer was running late and I took it upon myself to readjust one of the lights for a scene." He tugged her to sit on his bed as he continued to talk. "I lost my footing and fell onto the soundstage." He motioned toward his leg. "Broke it in three places."

Amanda took a shuddering breath, knowing it could have been so much worse. "You shouldn't have gone up there."

"I've done it before." He grumbled. "I--"

"You can't do that kind of stuff anymore." Amanda snapped.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I can. I--"

"You don't only have yourself to worry about!" She jumped up and towered over him. "Do you have any idea how my heart stopped at hearing that not only had you suffered an accident the day after I had to leave for Cordonia but that you had been rushed into surgery because of your injury?!"

"Amanda--" he tried to pull her I to his arms.

"Don't you dare try and comfort me! I want your promise that you will never do that again!" She struggled against him.

His lips brushed her cheek. "I'm sorry you were told so little. I--

"Promise me!" She demanded.

He gently cupped her face as her tears fell. "I promise."

Her anger disappeared as she pressed a kiss to his lips. She allowed herself to sink into his embrace as the sweet relief in feeling his firm lips beneath hers swept over her. She sniffed when the kiss ended and blindly reached for a tissue.

Thomas brushed her hair back off her face as she dabbed at her tears. He pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that unnecessary worry."

She huffed at his apology. "All this has revealed that I'm going to have to be with you on every movie set. I thought you could be trusted to not risk your life."

Thomas let her rant a little while longer, watching as she carefully covered him up and readjusted his pillows. She dumped his cup of water out and poured him a fresh glass all while telling him how she couldn't lose him.

He pulled her back in his arms, kissing her once more. "You didn't lose me." He said, his lips remaining against her skin. "You wont be a widow for a very, very long time."

"I can't even explain the fear I had at the thought of arriving here too late." She sat up and looked into his eyes. "I love you with everything within me."

He trailed his fingers down her cheek. "That's my line." His lips curved briefly before becoming serious. "I love you more than words can possibly express."

She sat up and noticed an ice pack sitting on his bed tray. "Are you supposed to be using that?"

"It's for my wrist." He held up the brusied and slightly swollen hand up.

She sighed at him already disobeying the doctors and went into the bathroom. She returned with a number of white bath towels. She propped his hand on them then placed the ice pack on his wrist. Her hazel eyes flickered up and she noticed his tender smile. "Better?"

"Very." Thomas murmered, lifting her hand to his lips. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Amanda leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Now who's stealing lines?"

[maki0725]

Klavquill 1-9

I’ve finished the next part!!

It’s all Japanese style, so I add some explanation.

Chuushin-gura is a period play that themed Samurai’s loyalty. The loyal retailers avenge their master. It is based on the real story on December 14th, 1702 and there are many fictions about it. It’s a kind of year-end special program on TV. Those who like period play(typically they are old people) watch it.

In Japan, they have special dishes on New Year’s Day in many cases. Though the traditional ones are not popular so much, many department stores sell modern-arranged dishes. Traditional ones have their own meanings (long life, wealth, and so on), some people are particular about them.

And some people (not so many) wear kimono on New Year’s Day, but Furisode, a long-sleeved kimono, is a formal kimono for (young) unmarried women. It’s so beautiful and expensive, sometimes mother or grandmother give Furisode belonged to them to their daughter.

They have special bottles and cups for Sake, bottles are used to warm Sake inside the bottle. Though they can be used to have a regular temperature Sake. Furoshiki is a cloth to wrap anything. It might be more formal to bring something like a gift in furoshiki wrap.

Manzai is normally performed by two people, they talk about funny things, like a duo stand-up comedy. Rakugo and Manzai are different but they are both comedy performed by comedians, those who like to laugh at jokes like them. I think Manzai is more popular among young people(in my opinion Rakugo lovers are mainly old people). There are Manzai competitions in every December.

I hope you enjoy the rare pair a kind of enjoying Japanese new year!!

(I should have learned that how to use <!-- more --> )

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

It feels so light. On an unfamiliar ceiling, Simon couldn’t know where he is at once. Tall, wide, white and soft... it is clear that this is not the prison. He remembers being in the guest room of Klavier Gavin, so he is about to laugh thinking how far from his cell. He wonders if he is the only one experiencing these two things together, and then he thinks about those who might be following the reverse order.

A soft, cypress-like scent discourages the nostrils. On the bedside table, a glass bottle like a small vase with a narrow mouth is placed, and brown water is inside. About 10 thin sticks are stuck. Simon has never seen it but it seems that the water inside has a scent and the scent spreads through wooden sticks. The amount of water is about half that of the container, and it is impossible for Simon to judge whether it contained only this much or is it gradually decreasing.

Simon gets up slowly. Apparently it is past noon. It was completely morning rather than last night when he arrived at Gavin’s house and was attended to this room, he can remember nothing from that time. Perhaps he fell down to bed and fell asleep, but he had no experience of going to bed after dawn and suddenly feels guilty. Fortunately, he didn't drink much, and he can't say he has a hangover. Until now, it was unthinkable for him to sleep in another person's house without taking a bath and changing clothes.

Looking at the bedside clock, it is around the day. Has Gavin already got up? He doesn’t know where he is, but there is probably a room like the living room where he can enter. For the time being, he leaves the room and heads towards the inside of the house, opposite the entrance. Passing through probable another private room’s door, he opens a large door that combines a grid pattern and frosted glass.

That is overwhelming. The ceiling height will probably be 5 meters. Glass windows occupy two sides of a nearly square living room——close to a glass wall rather than a window——no curtains or blinds, he can see the city with skyscrapers and the greenery of the garden between them, and the sea to the far side. In the corner of the living room there is a staircase extending to the upper floor. When Simon saw the exterior first, he thought it was a big condominium though he didn't anticipate that Klavier’s place would look like this.

"Good morning"

Simon was fascinated by the superb view, but Gavin is sitting on the high chair of the kitchen counter opposite the window. The glass placed on the black counter contains water.

"Morning...... isn't that right?"

"Yeah, it's already noon."

Gavin prepares another glass, pours water from the water server and hands it to Simon.

"I owe you one"

"Is the hangover okay?"

"Alright"

"You didn’t have a bath yet, did you? Why don’t you take?”

Gavin wears a black V-neck sweater and tight jeans. They are simple, but at a glance they are luxury items. Perhaps it is shortly after taking a bath, his hair is gathered in loose bun on the back of his head.

"Yeah"

Simon decides to accept Gavin’s offer. Since he has come to stay, it would be acceptable to have a bath.

"Then, please come upstairs. Do you have clothes to change? I can lend you mine, but I’m not sure if they fit you"

"I have"

Simon returns to the guest room to take his clothes. There seemed to be no bathroom between the entrance and the living room, but it was on the upper floor. He thinks it's a structure that gently separates the public and the private from the top and the bottom. Is the Gavin’s bedroom room on the upper floor?

He has known that there is a specification called a maisonette that occupies multiple layers in an apartment, but it is the first time he actually sees it. However, there seems to be many things more than maisonette structures in this house that are beyond Simon’s imagination.

"Shall we get going”

Gavin leads Simon who returned to the living room and heads for the stairs. He crosses the living room, fascinated by the view from the window.

When Gavin opens the door on the left side after climbing the stairs, it is a washroom. To the far right is the entrance to the bathroom, and in front of it is a glass door leading to a balcony like a wooden deck. Gavin pushes the glass door open. Simon wondered why he is guided to the balcony for the clothesline before the bath, and that question dissipates immediately after he stepped on the balcony.

"Jacuzzi, I'm sorry if it doesn't work because I put it in after a long time"

The impact of the white bathtub installed on the rooftop balcony about 150 meters above the ground is impressive. Was the jacuzzi a so-called bubble bath? The hot water is stretched slightly shallowly, and there is a bubbling bubble. And a small room like a log cabin by the bathtub.

"I wish I had a wash room here. That's a sauna, but if you sweat, you can just soak it in."

A sauna.

"What's going on with your house......"

Simon poses a frank question. He imagined that Gavin’s house would be reasonably luxurious, but he never thought there would be a condominium unit equipped with such facilities.

"I don't usually use it. There's an ordinary bath out there. It's nice to take it directly from the balcony, but you have to go back once."

Gavin pulls the glass door and they return to the washroom.

"You can use as many towels as you like and you can use shampoo and so on. Then take your time but don't dehydrate."

Gavin hands a bottle of water to Simon.

"You’re well-prepared”

"One of the band members fainted before."

Gavin smiles, saying that they were reckless in the old days. Then, after seeing Gavin out of the washroom, Simon looks around the room. There are two sinks on the marble washbasin facing the bathroom balcony entrance. There is a latest toilet bowl with only partitions, not a private room. Only here, it reminds him of the solitary cell, but it seems to have been made in a western style, with the bathroom and toilet integrated. However, the bathroom has a general structure that is independent, perhaps assuming Japanese people who are particular about bathroom with a bathtub and a wash place.

Simon is no exception. He decides to let him enjoy both the sauna and the open-air bath.

After getting out of the bath, he changes into the sweatshirt top and bottom that he brought as a sleepwear. Before he went to bed, he seemed to take off his battle surcoat but the usual clothes he wore all day and night are wrinkled, and it doesn’t look very good. Originally, he was supposed to change into a sleepwear before going to bed, and once he woke up, he would wear what he wore again. Since it is winter, it would have been no problem if he changed his underwear. The sweat glands and the physiological functions of ordinary people have receded in prison life, but have not returned to their full extent.

When he gets down to the living room with his luggage, Gavin is preparing a meal.

"Oh, welcome back"

In front of him, who seems to be able to go out for a while, it is a bit embarrassing to be in a lounge sweatshirt(at best) but it is unavoidable. Maybe he can borrow an iron later, take care of it, and change his clothes.

There is a low table in front of a large sofa in the living room, where Gavin prepares new-year dishes packed in simple boxes made of white paulownia. The three-tiered boxes are gorgeous suitable for New Year. Simon doesn’t think he made them so he probably bought them, but apparently they cost several tens of thousands of yen. The small plates are Western tableware and are very simple white one——probably high priced items——the chopsticks are celebration chopsticks for the New Year. They may be accessories of the dishes.

"......Luxurious"

"I don't love them actually, so I don't know if they suit your taste......I went to a department store for the first time in a long time, but it's been a lot of fun. What do you drink, beer or Sake? I bought both of them. I'm not familiar with Sake, so it's recommended by a clerk."

Gavin brings out one bottle. Fortunately, it is a brand different from the one brought bySimon. However, this is much higher. He wonders if the clerk who noticed "Klavier Gavin" palmed with it.

He returns to the kitchen carrying a Sake bottle and two small Sake cups on the tray carefully.

"I don't have these stuff here, so I brought them from the house I grew up."

"T-the house you grew up? Don’t you have to go back there?"

After unintentionally speaking, he regrets whether that was appropriate.

"No, there's no one there right now"

Further prying hesitated. He read some time ago that the residence of the prestigious Gavin family in the legal profession is located in one of the most luxurious residential areas in Tokyo. However, it was roughly 100 years ago that the Gavin family became famous in Japan's legal world when it was the (probably) great-grandfather of Klavier Gavin and his siblings. Some are practitioners and some are scholars. Even now, if they look at a criminal law book, they can see their influence here and there.

However, the genealogy from them to the Gavin brothers was not well known. The nickname of Thoroughbred in the legal profession was due to the achievements of the great ancestors and their own achievements, rather than their parents.

The Sake set brought out of the great Gavin family are beautiful, delicately crafted, deluxe products , but surprisingly they don’t look so vintage.

"There are older ones, but I don't have the confidence to wash them down to the middle of the bottle. Well, don't worry, they don’t belong to my brother"

"......I can't laugh."

Simon doesn’t expect him to mention his brother, so the reaction is delayed.

"My grandmother’s. It's been a while since she died."

The story of Gavin’s family is interesting, but he doesn’t seem to go any further.

Simon wonders if he should hand the gifts he brought with him. When he paid a visit to his mentor, it was clear when he should give them, but his sister didn't talk about what to do in such irregular cases. For the time being, he will not be disliked by handing over a souvenir. At least as for Gavin.

"This is a gift."

From the plain black bag, he takes out the furoshiki wrap. According to his sister's recommendation, the content is a 720ml bottle of Simon’s favorite Sake. He wondered which was better, 1.8l bottle or this one, though the bigger one might be too much so he chose an affordable size. Simon was confident of drinking the excess, but it would be a problem if he was too drunk in an unfamiliar place. He wanted to avoid exposing the blunder.

"Thank you so much, but I wish you didn't worry"

Gavin rounds his eyes for a moment and immediately smiles.

“This is so good...…”

"Yeah, why don't we have it first?"

Gavin continues the conversation quite naturally, while Simon hesitated to say “let’s drink together”. He is keenly aware why he was able to talk to the weird prisoners in the prison, because he had a clear purpose to search for information about the phantom. He didn't care what they thought of him at all.

"And then... this too"

Simon takes out another furoshiki wrap. When he opened it and they can see a golden box, as opposed to a plain bag or furoshiki.

"Eh? Godiva?"

It seems that Gavin was immediately understood, perhaps because it was so famous.

"Thank you! I love this."

The smile is dazzling than before. He remembers when he gave Athena’s favorite sweets to her in her childhood.

"That’s good."

"It's the first time I got chocolate from a man."

However, Gavin exudes nuances that a child would not include and laughs. Simon gets upset about his joke.

"......Hey, "

"Sorry, I was just kidding. It's true I've never been given chocolate by a man. I’ll have this with care only by myself"

Gavin gently holds the box and goes up the stairs. Simon thinks that sweets should be held in the kitchen, he wonder if Gavin intends to bring it to the bedroom. Apparently it seems to be his favorite.

Being alone, he feels his cheeks are hot. It’s supposed to be an ordinary joke for Gavin, but a little too stimulating for Simon. Even though he is old enough and is a man who survived prison life, his chest keeps rustling.

Confession......to him? To ask for......a relationship......

Simon has never done any kind of the confession of love, or even thought. He has thought that there was no relationship such as romance for life.

"Thank you for waiting...... Ah, sorry, I might have said something strange......"

Gavin, who returns, gets panicked when he sees Simon looking down. Perhaps he thinks Simon was offended.

"I won't tell you stupid jokes anymore, can you forgive me?"

"Ah, please."

"I won’t. I don't want to lose you."

"You are exaggerating"

Simon doesn’t think of being through as friends because of such a small thing, but Gavin is serious.

"Okay, let's open this and make a toast."

Gavin opens the 720ml bottle.

"Um... should I put it in the Sake bottle once?"

"Whichever if you don't make it hot? Though, might as well”

Simon takes the bottle and poured it into the Sake bottle. The scent of Sake rises softly.

He pours Gavin the liquor. Gavin’s way of receiving and pouring Simon in return Check is so beautiful. Whether it's something by the education of his parents or the entertainment world and the prosecutor's office——in any case, there is no reason for Simon to know.

"Cheers”

Gavin lifts the cup to eye level and smiles, without matching the cup. So does Simon. He inadvertently has drunk most of the cup, and soon has to be poured by Gavin again.

"I won’t have so much, eat a lot. This one is Japanese, and the rest is Western and Chinese."

As recommended, Simon starts to have the luxurious dishes. Gavin doesn't seem to like traditional New Year's dishes ——it seems to be with a modern twist enough——he picks colorful meat dishes from the Western-style set.

"Good taste"

"This Sake is good as you said. Thank you."

"I’m the one who has to say it...... did you go to buy it yourself?"

"Yeah. It’s been a while since I've been the department store for a long time, but it was fun. I’m assuming so did you, right? Thank you for your concern”

"Never mind……"

He is embarrassed to say that he asked his sister for advice. Suddenly, he recalls her misguided advice and wrinkles between his brows. Gavin asks him questionably.

"......What's wrong?"

"Nothing"

He can't even say that she told him to bring a condom, so he keeps quiet. However, he might be a rude person who is invited to a gourmet meal and suddenly feels unwell. He has to smooth over somehow.

"Ah, I remember the New Year in prison."

"Oh......they serve the new-year dishes to the prisoners, don’t they?"

Gavin has an indescribable look. After saying, Simon realizes that the topics that remind him of the current state of his brother and his friend were inappropriate. With such a blunder, he may feel offended and regret the invitation. It’s quite natural not to be invited again, but at least he has to apologize.

"I’m sorry, I didn't mean to bother you......"

"I'm fine. I talked about my brother first. Rather, no one would mention it. That would be so."

He doesn’t look offended, but the smile is gloomy a little. It isn’t the part where he could touch easily but he wants to be able to help.

"If you want to talk about it...... I'll always listen."

He had conveyed it with his heartfelt thought. Gavin looks at Simon as if he was at ease. His slightly open lips trembles, shaking.

"......Thank you.”

A peaceful atmosphere appears in his blue eyes. Simon feels relieved and feels warmth in his chest. Is it the same protective drive as he feels for Athena? He can’t tell.

"Let's watch the program for today. The one you wanted to see."

It may be a recording of Chuushin-gura, which was originally intended. He can’t find a TV in the room, but Gavin takes out the remote control in a casual motion, and after a little fingering, a huge screen has come down from the ceiling. In addition, by another remote control operation, the glass windows on the two walls turned into smoke-like glass that blocks light.

Simon gets no more surprised. If it were a house of this class, it might be natural. The room is dim and like a movie theater. Simon comes to realize he has never been to it since he was released.

Images flow from a projector stored somewhere. Simon gets surprised at the realism of the sound, from the speakers hidden here and there. Gavin must be particular about the sound.

An image of a little old age is projected on a large screen.

"Is it rerunning this year?"

"It's an old masterpiece. TV stations probably don't have the budget."

"I haven't seen it properly, so it might be better“

It might be strange to see a speciality of the year-end while picking up new year dishes, but it is not bad. From the middle of the watching hours, he has started to pour his own drink, and before he knows it, the mouth of the 1.8l bottle prepared by Gavin has been open. The Sake bottle has also become a useless product.

"It was interesting, I've never seen a period play properly, but I can see that it's popular. It's a fantasy, but it's also connected to the present, and the virtue and coolness that never change are well expressed"

"...I see."

Simon himself hasn’t had no particular analytical thoughts, but seems to agree with Gavin’s opinion.

But then his heart skips the beat hearing what Gavin said.

"I don't think there's a person who wants to kill someone to avenge for his life right now... Do you feel sympathy? As a "loyal retainer"?”

"...No, I'm totally different from them. At the time when I was convinced that there was a blade injury between Athena and my mentor, I wouldn't have a piece of loyalty."

Gavin looks at Simon as if to be surprised.

"...I'm sorry, I think I stepped into something a little too delicate."

He casts down his eyes.

"I thought you were proud of the past. Everyone praises you, you are the best disciple......"

"Not at all"

Partly He wants to keep talking, but he is hesitant to confess the heavy repentance. For the time being, it can be said that this is a happy new year celebration.

The main purpose of this visit has been reached. Should he leave Gavin’s home soon? According to his predictions, he was supposed to be his home by this afternoon, but the sun has already fallen. The time is not so much as night, but the pattern of early nightfall seemed to be "it was late to go home".

"Can I use an iron?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have one."

He seems to depend on dry cleaners for cleaning clothes. Considering his busy schedule, it is a reasonable choice.

Then, wouldn't he have to go home with wrinkled clothes? Simon doesn’t care about that so much, as no one would see him and he doesn’t care what they think.

"Maybe you want to iron the clothes you've been wearing? If you send them to the laundry of this apartment, they'll be back tomorrow."

High-class condominium services are also exceptional. If he takes Gavin’s offer, he will be staying at this house tonight, but he can’t tell immediately whether he can lean on so much.

"Ah, I wonder if you had a plan for tomorrow? Your bird gets angry?"

"No, nothing. Taka can get food himself."

"And if you don't mind, why don't you stay overnight today? I see, I ruined the schedule. You fell asleep without changing clothes because I took you around."

It seemed not to be right that it was because all of him, but Simon decides to accept.

"Yeah, I'll stay here one more night."

"Great"

Gavin winks in a showy way. He has just said that he should refrain from flirting jokes, but is it just natural behavior for him?

Looking at his cell phone just in case there is an urgent need, he has received an email with a picture from the Athena a few hours ago. Along with Juniper, she is dressed in long-sleeved kimono.

"Juniper’s grandma dressed us up! This is my mom’s furisode”

He smiles without realizing when he sees Athena in the bright yellow kimono. He just replies "I'm glad to hear that" and closes the mobile phone.

Gavin, who was going to deposit Simon’s clothes, returns. Simon thought that there was a reception like the hotel reception on the first floor and he had to reach there, but it was unexpectedly early. Gavin says that there is a box on the same floor as his place and if he puts it in the box, it will be collected, and the next day it will be cleaned and returned. It's like a luxury hotel service. Of course, it will cost some money, but this is a necessary expense to maintain his performance. At least when he had two jobs.

"Ah, did you see the M-1 this year? I recorded it the other day and I haven't seen it yet. If you like rakugo, you might like Manzai too.”

M-1, The Manzai competition, which can be said to be another end-of-year feature, was the secret pleasure of him when he was young.

He was released about just one year ago and he wasn't aware of that. He feels like he was watching a TV commercial this year, but he missed it because he was busy. A joy fulfills him gently.

"Is it okay?"

"Of course. It's more fun than seeing it alone?"

Even Simon, who hasn't seen it for nearly 10 years, can be convinced that this year is a bonanza year. He laughs a lot with Gavin. When looking at the same thing and laughing at it, the distance will shrink, Gavin’s head touches Simon’s shoulder before he knows it. Suddenly when he looks there, Gavin separates as if in a panic.

"I'm sorry, it's fun and I was absorbed"

"I don't care."

Just a week ago, he remembers being in the immediate vicinity for a moment. He doesn’t think Gavin wearing perfume now, he has a faint scent different from that time. Pretending not to realize that he likes both of them, Simon returns to the incandescent final round.

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 27

Click here for more Numb content OR JOIN THE NUMB DISCORD

Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2750+

Date posted: 27 Jan 2019

A/N: Hey all! I was originally going to get this chapter out sooner, but I got so caught up at AH Live that it had to wait. Shout out to everyone who freaked out at me about the last chapter - hopefully this one gives you some warmer feels. 

His flannel shirt greets your ascent along the path back home. Red against winter. Honey gold in the humming darkness. You want to call out to him, to tell him that everything is alright and apologise for bolting away; but you don’t trust your voice. Certain, in fact, that the sobs clinging to your ribs will tear their way from your lips as soon as you try to speak.

So instead you grant rejection and betrayal the time they need. Stinging your nose and quivering against your lips as you raise a hand to Ryan’s distant figure lingering at the top of the snowbank, waving him on. Motioning for him to continue and hoping more than anything that he will grant you the isolation your vulnerability needs.

He takes a moment. His expression distant. Watching you at the base of the path, your hand now pressed to one of the tattered trunks lining the ascent like a railing. His fingers twitch, curling into a loose fist before he takes a step back from you. Then another. Dragging his attention away and reluctantly disappearing like you urge him to.

In the dark you’re grateful, night having fallen fast over Motbury as though the sky were trying to hide the hurt you dress in. Unwilling, stubbornly so, to let Ryan see you break. Desperate, more so than anything, to avoid explanations. Knowing that as soon as you start unweaving the tale you tried to escape by moving to this town in the first place you’ll be unable to stop from unpicking yourself at the seams.

The bitter cold is thick against your skin, gnawing on your bones through the coat you pull closer. It sees your limbs stiffen and discomfort exude in steam from your lips. Still, despite the freezing temperatures desperate to claim your body, the heat of Jeremy’s words cling to your back as you keep pushing forward. White hot and screaming from the static shock you’d left him in, his feet rooted to the floor and expression one torn between anger and regret.

You don’t blame him. Not because you don’t want to; but because you can’t. You’ve been on the path Jeremy is spiralling down, you and the detective both have. Trapped in tunnel vision and bent on seeing one thing as another that you will it to be. Desperate to find connections when none exist, and far too eager to put a familiar face on a monster. Following a clumsy pattern that doesn’t make sense, and getting frustrated when the design is nothing more than a mess.

Your mess.

Last time it had gotten someone killed. Last time you hadn’t been able to save your sister or see your boyfriend for who he was around the target you’d painted on someone else's back - but not this time. This time you know better.

A storm is coming, you can feel it. Not just from the emotions churning in the turmoil, but from a glance at the clouds. Their anger so obvious you shy away from the sky.

Trying to put the past out of your mind, you submerge yourself in the calm scattered across Motbury. Taking in what you can of the stars as they guide you along the path you’ve walked so many times. Fresh air filling your lungs and washing away the panic that builds in your chest. Close enough to comfortable by the time the roof of your home stretches into view.

Ryan waits for you on the porch, doused in the light pouring from the windows. Caught in the same rich oranges and warm yellows painting the wooden beams and pooling across the snow. Everything about him screams nervously. Anxiousness set in his expression, knitted with the tug of his eyebrows and worn bags circling his eyes. Even the jitter of his hands, fingers drumming incessantly against his arm, tells the story of the panic and confusion.

Guilt knots your stomach, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Ryan drops his discomfort at the sight of you stumbling over to him, quick to smile and draw you close. The pound of his heart works wonders, his heat thawing your skin.  

“Y/N,” Ryan murmurs, his voice draping across your crown, “are you alright? You scared me half to death when you ran off.”

You hum in response, not quite ready to break your own silence. Instead you’re content in his arms until the moment drags on and he pulls back to gauge your expression. Offering him a smile, you lace your fingers through the hand he places against your cheek, the action easing the knot of his brows.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “I am now. C’mon, let’s get inside. It looks as though it’s going to storm.”

-

Lauren beams, brightening the room even more and eyeing your blush as Ryan skirts behind you in the kitchen. With a hand on your lower back, he leans for the tea towel on your left, laughing at the jokes pouring from Alfredo’s lips and soaking in Trevor’s half hearted complaints. You can feel your best friend’s attention, can practically see the knowing grin that adorns her face, but for a moment you can’t drag your eyes from the countertop.

“Those carrots sure seem interesting, huh?”

You scowl at her comment, forcing your gaze upward as Ryan drifts further into the space, smiling broadly before tossing the towel at Alfredo - who fails to dodge it. Lauren’s sparkling eyes meet yours, mischief obvious in the way her head tilts. You look to Trevor, already knowing the direction the conversation is heading, but he offers you an equally teasing expression from his position beside the fridge.

“But not as interesting as the new boyfriend.”

“Lauren, stop-”

She ignores you, and manages to avoid the ‘here we go’ Trevor throws her way as he places a drink in front of you before relocating to Lauren’s side.

“So,” she continues, whiskey cheering her on, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh my god, are you really going to do this?” The blush on your cheeks deepens, and you’ve never wanted to sink into a pot to hide more.

Ryan, however, doesn’t shy away. He moves back behind you, removing the knife from your hands and leading you to the side to take over. You want to argue, but the smile he shares is so genuine and caring that you allow the redirection. Instead you move to stand on the other side of the island, determined not to clutter the kitchen that Ryan and his assistant chef, Alfredo, have taken over.

“You know how we met,” you lecture her, stripping your apron and tossing it to Alfredo’s outstretched hand. He quickly dons it, eager and at attention. “You don’t need to hear it again.”

Lauren’s eyes narrow at you. “All I got from you was screeching and spam texts and ‘I fucked him’ freak outs-”

“LAUREN-”

“Besides, I wanna hear the story from someone in touch with reality.”

Ryan chuckles, warmth jumbling with the vegetables he gathers in his hands places on a roasting tray. “I might not be the best person to ask, then.” He glances up, cracking a smile. His own blush shimmers across his cheeks at the sight of your now beetroot complexion. Golden light fills the room, bouncing off his brightness and shining from his skin in the amber lights overhead. “I’m not good with reality.”

Lauren laughs, watching you direct Alfredo on how to crack and peel garlic cloves. “You’re better than someone I know.” Again, she ignores your playful scowl. “And I wanna hear it from you. What did you first think of Y/N? Did she curse you? Oh, or maybe put a spell on you so you’d put up with her shitty jokes?”

Alfredo snatches the herbs away before you can hurl them at your giggling friend, the cold frustration in your palms shedding from your skin in small flecks of light. They join the ceiling as though they’re snowing in reverse, faint enough to be missed but obvious enough for Lauren’s grin to turn wicked.

“Why are you like this?” you grumble, moving to perch on the arm of the sofa she and Trevor adorn.

“You brought this upon yourself,” her boyfriend muses, pressing a teasing kiss to Lauren’s neck while his arm winds around her. “You were just as bad when we started dating.”

You wait a beat before finally giving in. “I guess I did threaten you.”

“You did.”

“Fine, fine.” You wave your hands dramatically, sinking against Lauren’s side with a huff.

She shakes you off, taking a sip of her drink. “So, Mr Sexy Lumberjack, as Y/N likes to call you-”

“Lol, I swear to fucking god-”

“Shut up, Y/N. Jesus Christ. Let your man tell me the story.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment, contemplating the herbs and oil he swirls around the tray before slipping it into the oven. When he finally speaks, it’s gentle, his words joining the rag he circles across the countertop while he cleans. “I was hooked as soon as she walked into Geoff’s store.”

Your skin heats, sucking your internal temperature to the surface. You hadn’t realised he’d noticed you as he’d entered, remembering the way you’d bumbled your way through the aisles and backtracked to shelves far too many times.

“Shut up,” you tease, “you were not.”

“I’m serious,” Ryan insists, continuing to tidy up to the sound of Alfredo clattering the dishes. “You looked so peaceful when you came in. All rugged up and with this little smile on your face.” He lowers his expression just a little, bashful. “Every time I saw you pass through the aisles I was like, ‘woah’.”

You look away from his intense gaze, the intimacy too much. Lauren’s smile has settled into one of softness, the wicked teasing having soaked into the cushions. Trevor looks equally content, his chin resting on her shoulder and lips occasionally brushing her skin. You can see the fraction of a smile pressed against Alfredo’s mouth, but between the suds of too much dish soap, it’s hard to catch.

“I must have looked like an absolute idiot,” you laugh nervously, a shaky hand running through your hair.

Ryan shakes his head, leaning across the island with a smile that tells you he’s forgotten there are other people in the room. “You looked beautiful.” His eyes dart to Lauren as she lets out a happy, almost cringing breath, and he quickly collects himself. Busying around the kitchen, you can clearly see the red dusting his skin. “Y/N came over and helped me pick out dinner, and we picked on the resident detectives for breaking everything all the time. I made a stupid joke…” Ryan peeks at you over his shoulder, his features so gentle and vulnerable your heart threatens to stop. “And you laughed.”

You smile softly, fiddling with your sleeves. “All your jokes are stupid.”

He frowns, unapologetic. “Harsh.”

“But true.”

“Either way, you laughed,” he points out, “and asked for a job, so it can’t have be that bad.”

“Oh god.” Your head falls into your hand, sniggering at yourself while Lauren giggles. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You get an elbow to the side, your best friend’s expression surprised. “Since when are you that confident, huh?”

“Since he was hot!” you implore.

Trevor nods vigorously, making Lauren squirm beneath his chin. “Hotness beats a lack of confidence. Hell, I’d ask Ryan for a job.”

Ryan laughs. “If a position ever opens up, you’ll be the first to know.”

“It better not open up. Y/N is working for you forever now, no way around it.” Lauren puts on a stern mask, but you can see amusement crack at its edges. “Because if you ever hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

“Please,” you groan, tossing her an exasperated glance. “No fighting in the house. Take it outside and maybe we’ll be lucky and the incoming storm will kill you both.”

Ryan pulls a face, his cheeks rosy and eyebrows knit. He can’t keep the grin from his features. “I’m wounded, Y/N.”

“Good,” you respond, hopping back to your feet and moving over, jabbing him playfully in the chest. “That’s what you get. Now scooch, I need to get the cutlery and plates out otherwise we’ll be eating like animals.”

-

The storm you’d felt creeping along your back as you’d walked home continues to rage from it’s early moments midway through dinner, and the night quickly fills with laughterm warmth and a surprisingly comfortable silence whenever conversation lulls. Nothing disturbs the peace. Comfort heavy across bodies like thick blankets by the fire, of which chuckles with gentle amber flames in the hearth.

Snow swirls behind the curtains you’ve pulled closed, biting at the glass; but inside it’s as though the idea of the cold has never existed. It has no place amongst the bodies sprawled across the living room and burrowed into comfortable nooks, unable to penetrate the soft stupor a night of drinking and new friends has brought. No stinging memories of your fight with Jeremy, and no aching loss from the digging up of your past. Not even the paranoia of an unwanted visitor, be it the wind or the tentative knocking of whatever likes to lurk on the porch when the weather turns and darkness falls, is able to bother you.

Comfortable, and all together peaceful when the sounds never come.

Pressed into the couch, you and Ryan lounge together in the dying light of the fire. His chest is firm against your back as you settle between his legs, one of his feet resting on the floor while the other rubs lazy circles against your shin. Clumsy and inconsistent, much like the strength of his voice.

Ryan’s grip on your waist loosens as the weight of exhaustion claims him, arms heavy and secure as they hold you close. His voice drifts, coarse as it catches in your hair, his lips brushing a final kiss against the crook of your neck before he gives in and lets sleep take over. Head falling back, you hear his consciousness slip into the pillows as a gentle sigh leaves his lips.

You smile. Dopey and overjoyed as you give one of his legs on either side of you an affectionate squeeze. “I’m surprised he lasted so long,” you hush to Alfredo with a chuckle, the man struggling to stand from the position he had sprawled out in across the carpet. “He’s never been good at staying up late.”

“Nah.” Alfredo rolls, stumbling with the sudden action while his face contorts into a strained expression. Eventually he manages to find his footing, holding out his arms and bending slightly to keep from toppling. “Dealing with your crap all day?” he teases, “I’m not surprised, man. You’re exhausting.”

“Rude.”

He sways, stifling a yawn. “But true. I’ll see you in the morning, I ain’t bout to pass out on the floor when I’ve got a bed upstairs. Night, Y/N. Night, Trev.”   

Your goodnights follow him up the stairs while your gaze drifts to the only member of your family still awake, Trevor absorbed in the peace his girlfriend wears in her sleep. His fingers work through her hair, lost in long locks of blonde and the comfort the motion brings. Stroking free whatever stresses of the day remain in his fingertips while sunshine presses into his palm. He’s not paying attention to the conversation dwindling into the cracking of the hearth, oblivious to the soft smile and gentle expression he shares with the slumbering woman in his lap.

You leave him in the moment, his skin warm in the light of the fire and the soft glow of the one he cradles close. His eyes churn, molten and rich as he watches her sleeping expression, intent on committing it to memory. Drinking it in as though it’s both the first and last time he’s ever seen something so beautiful. As though there aren’t enough sunsets in the world to compare her to.

“You know,” Trevor says finally, his murmur swept away with the continued motion of his hands, “I’m going to marry her one day.” The statement is certain, so confident that you wonder for a moment if he’s ever seen anything else in his future. If, ever since he met her all those years ago, he’s kept the ring he bought on the first night in his coat pocket everywhere he goes. Your heart squeezes, already knowing the answer. “Then,” he breathes, smile so heavy with adoration that his lips struggle to hold it up, “she can annoy me forever.”

“You are,” you reply simply, “and there’s no way she’d let you get away with not.”

[caddy-whump-us]

More? More! Marisol’s (Dr. Marisol Gutiérrez) character is developing even as I write: it seems she was a researcher involved with The Company (Jamf Research? IDK yet) that developed Julian but she was only involved in earlier iterations of the project. After a crisis of conscience, she got out (a story in and of itself) and got involved with Jack, Ryan, Phillip, and the rest. Phillip (Dr. Phillip Yeoun) was never involved in the project, but found himself involved in the “resistance” side of things through Jack--details still evolving. Anyway:

This is kind of long and a bit of a mess but it follows these events and sets things up for later. Julian is still under observation in his quarantine cell. Marisol has been monitoring him for most of the night (via camera feed) in the hopes that he’ll start showing signs of memory recovery. (Also, I think Phillip and Marisol are work-spouses, so that’s rad.)

Phillip pushed open the office door bearing aloft a cardboard tray in which stood two coffee cups. “Doctor.”

Marisol leaned back from the desk and computer monitor and rubbed her eyes. “Ah. Doctor.”

Stupid routines and inside jokes are sometimes the only way to get along without screaming.

Phillip set Marisol’s cup next to her keyboard, picked up his own from the tray and took a sip. Hot. “What’s the news this morning?”

“He’s taken his shoes off.”

“Okay...” He sipped.

“You probably weren’t at the house enough to see it, but he stayed barefoot around there a lot. I never quite figured out if it was conditioning or preference.”

“But he’s taken his shoes off now, so--”

“Don’t get your hopes up, but he could have some memory recovery, if being barefoot is his preference. Or he may think he’s off his mission, so he may have gone back into kind of a holding pattern. It’s too soon to tell.”

“Is he sleeping at all?” Phillip asked over the rim of his cup.

“If he is, it’s only ten or fifteen minutes at a time and he’s sitting up for it.”

Phillip dropped into the chair next to her and they both studied the gray, green, grainy feed coming up from the quarantine rooms below. Julian was still, sitting in half-lotus (barefoot) with his back against the far wall. Then, movement: he rolled his head on his neck, ducked his face to his chest, and yawned.

Phillip sat back with a sigh. “Even comatose patients yawn.”

“Yes, thank you, doctor.”

“You’re welcome, doctor.” And Phillip saluted her with his cup.

They were quiet for a time, both looking at the camera feed, waiting for some sign that might or might not come. Julian was still. Phillip spoke at last:

“Are you sleeping at all?”

“I survived my internship. So this? This is nothing.”

“No, I mean it. You know more about the project--”

“--I know.”

“We need what you know,” Phillip said, “but we also need you healthy.”

“I’ll be fine.” She waved him off.

“Marisol,” and Phillip’s voice was grave, “is this some kind of penance?”

Marisol turned back to the screen and spoke almost brightly, almost cheerful, “I broke the oath, Phillip. ‘First, do no harm.’ And I hurt him. Because I did the research that kept the project going until it was used on him. He survived when so few others did because of my research to get the right sequences and viruses. I hurt him, Phillip. So if it isn’t penance, it’s at least an apology.”

Phillip said nothing at first. And they were quiet, side by side, for a time.

“Have you talked to Ryan about this at all?”

She shrugged. “Back when Ryan was in with them, it was all military research contracts. They were looking ways to take any kind of volunteer and make them into high-alert special-ops types. They were trying to build an army, not...breed one.”

And they both looked at Julian’s small shape on the screen, crouched on the floor, in his quarantine room.

“It’s the memory issues that really give me pause. It’s so global. When I was involved, it wasn’t at all this sort of--”

“Meatball surgery?” Phillip suggested, sipping at his coffee again.

Marisol snorted, “Meatball surgery.”

Phillip counted that near-laugh as a success.

“They can do detailed memory alteration,” she went on. “They’ve been able to do that for years. It’s to the point that they can spark or deaden individual neurons. After all, they did it on me. They snipped out what they wanted and left the rest intact--with no reversal.”

She stared into the monitor, chin in hand.

“No reversal that you know of,” Phillip said.

She didn’t answer but still turned toward him and leaned on the arm of the chair. “Why not perform the alterations on his memory before the genetic enhancements? Create the scar-tissue before implementing the accelerated healing. They’ve all but set themselves up for failure, having to go back and block his memory all over again every few months. No sooner have they set up the amnesia, but he’s starting to recover from it. Is it a control tactic--to make him dependent on them? It is to keep him disoriented? Is there a memory boost from the enhancements they didn’t want to lose? I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Listening, sure, but Phillip leaned forward towards the screen.

Julian was up off the floor. Dusty, dried-mud footprints followed him from the corner to the sink. And Julian himself was standing, leaning over the sink. Distantly came the tinny sound of splashing water over the computer speakers.

“What’s he doing?” Phillip asked, still staring.

“He’s washing his face…” Marisol said, trailing off, trying not to let too much hope color her voice.

“Can we get Ryan on the phone? I want the boyfriend down there.”

“Call him. They’re both at Jack’s apartment right now.”

But even as Phillip was jumping up, leaving his chair spinning, he stopped at the doorway and spoke over his shoulder: “Marisol, how many more kids like him do you think there are still?”

A faint vision: white rooms and perfect lighting; endless tanks of frozen embryos; the cold stir of clouds of liquid nitrogen; needles finer than a human hair; artificial wombs and clumps, clusters, spines, hearts growing therein; fetal heartbeats in glass chambers; the human zoo; synthetic amniotic fluid that smelled faintly of maple syrup; jokes flipping between the Nobel and condemnation; pieces of small, translucent bodies but not the whole; life support for prenatal infants; steady streams of response testing and in-utero (“in-utero”) tests; cell cultures; the failures; the “births”; the newborn children. Meatball.

It was easy to trace the progression forward, branching out towards the behaviorists, the early developmental encouragement, the Skinner Boxes and dime-store Pavlovian conditioning, the new plan for foster parents, the obligate activities for the children, the expectations and the results, forward even unto this ever moment. But where was the root? Following back all the umbilical cords, placenta to cord to navel, placenta to cord to navel, in that bloodied tree, who was first? Who was the Zero? Who was the Firstborn? And now, who held the leash? What word had started the cascade and whose voice had sounded it?

“I don’t know. And sometimes I wonder if that’s what they had me forget.”

“Hey, Avery! Get your stuff--we’re going to see your boyfriend!”

His face was different: not the hard, sharp mask he’d been wearing at first, but softer now and faintly dazed. Even his eyes were roving more slowly around the small room (cell?), drifting and studying the ceilings, the patterns of lights, the doctors or nurses or researchers who passed by, the movement of the curtain in a thin stream of air, thoughts behind his eyes, sniffing the air.

And Avery smiled seeing him looking around the room, all moving lines instead of spiky planes and hidden teeth like he’d been before. Good. He sat down in front of the glass again and Ryan kept just aside, ready to move, ready to guard once again.

Julian came pacing over, slower this time than before, not a strike, just curiosity--again, so catlike in this half-crouch, curious. And he sat in front of the glass and yawned again.

Avery, slowly, hesitantly, laid his hand flat against the glass again. “Do you still recognize me?”

Julian mirrored him, setting his hand, palm to palm, though still divided, against Avery’s. He nodded, once.

“Do you--do you remember how we met?”

This time he shook his head, once: no.

“But you still recognize me.”

A nod. And he yawned again.

“Well, I guess it’s a start.” And Avery did his best to smile.

Julian didn’t (didn’t or couldn’t, Ryan wondered) return the smile. But he leaned forward, resting his face against the glass, resting his face against the glass as though he were lying against Avery’s shoulder. And he stayed very still for a time.

His eyes opened as Ryan passed behind Avery and his eyes followed him as he went to the electronic lock that kept the glass between them. Julian closed his eyes again. And Ryan reached for the silver keypad.

A voice popped from the intercom speaker near the keypad. “Don’t do that, Ryan.”

“Hey Phillip?” Ryan called into the air, “Trust me that I know what I’m doing here.”

Seven keys, a series of clicks and sounds, a tinny warning, another code, another warning, and then, a rush of air as the glass panel slid away from between them.

Julian tumbled forward into Avery’s arms--skinny, dirty, barefoot Julian slumped against Avery, one hand thrown over his shoulder.

A woman came running from somewhere back in the soft corridors near the elevator. She carried a pale blue blanket and knelt down beside Avery and Julian. “Is he all right?”

“He’s asleep,” Ryan answered.

“Finally.” She draped the blanket over Julian’s shoulders and checked his pulse from the hand hanging loose on the floor. She whispered, “I’m Doctor Gutiérrez. I’ve been monitoring him since he was brought in.”

Julian settled a little deeper against Avery’s chest. He smelled of dirt; his breathing was slow. Avery was looking down at his face and said nothing but his eyes were bright and wet.

She set one hand on Avery’s shoulder. “Can you pick him up?”

“Yeah,” Avery said, wiping his eyes, “Easy.”

Blanket and all, he scooped Julian into his arms--he weighed nothing, or next to nothing. Never tall or broad-shouldered, always on the skinnier side of the politeness of “thin,” Julian seemed thinner and smaller than Avery remembered. But he was asleep, with one hand hooked into the front of Avery’s shirt, and that was all right. Following Ryan, who motioned him along, Avery started with his burden back to the elevator.

Dr. Gutiérrez, Marisol, slipped back into the glass room and, with a glove on her hand, picked up Julian’s boots; sealed and locked, she left the room for more testing later--the blood, the dirt, the air itself, anything.

She caught up to them, a peculiar trio, in the elevator, waiting for her.

Slowly, they started to rise up to the surface again.

Avery looked over at Julian’s boots hanging from Marisol’s hand. She looked at him, looked at the boots, then back at him and she smiled faintly. No fool, this boy. Good.

“We have reason to believe he’s been dosed with stimulants, and possibly other drugs,” she said. “And we want to identify them. There should be traces in the sweat in his shoes.”

Avery smiled, more to himself than anyone, and nodded. But, slowly and quietly, his brows drew down and his smile tightened itself towards tears again.

Ryan rubbed his back. “Big relief, right?”

“Yeah.”

Marisol was looking up at the rising numbers on the elevator screen. Still, she spoke: “His recovery is going to take time. But this is a good first step.”

Three nurses were waiting around a wheeled bed when the elevator doors opened on the back side of the elevator. Avery turned to find sunlight--real and true sunlight--pouring in from a row of skylights. No, this wasn’t the lobby floor with its rows of glass offices; this was still one floor below that, at least, but there was more light and more air here. The walls were white, sure, but they didn’t have the kind of institutional darkness Avery had expected. It was more like, and he had to smile a little at the comparison when it hit him so instantly, walking into the hallway of a brand new school.

With the nurses leading him along, he laid Julian out on the bed and draped the blanket over him. “I’m going with him. Just so we’re clear.”

“Absolutely,” Marisol said and led the way down the hall to another room--bigger than the cell downstairs, but not exactly palatial. And it still had one glass wall, but okay, fine. On the other hand, it had a skylight.

One of the nurses set up an IV in Julian’s arm. Julian only barely stirred and tried to roll a little away.

Avery smoothed Julian’s hair back from his forehead. “Geeze, you’re so out of it,” he said and tried to smile.

Marisol was busy with the nurses, busy sending something on her phone, busy checking Julian’s pulse or heart or lungs. The nurses came and went, bringing in trays or carts of things, staying alongside for a while, then changing over and someone new came in. Low chatter, soft footsteps. And Avery just crouched by the bed, holding Julian’s hand and looking at his face.

He looked almost--almost--like himself asleep like this. Almost.

“All right,” Marisol said, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “Phillip’s on his way; let’s see how he’s healing. If he’s healing.” And Marisol and one of the nurses were suddenly both brandishing scissors.

As they cut away the torn black uniform, Avery rubbed at his face. “Please tell me you’re wearing underwear, dude.”

Marisol stopped cutting for a moment. “Well, if he isn’t, it won’t be anything you or I haven’t seen before.”

And Avery blushed.

He was quiet, though, and patient, staying nearby. And trying not to get underfoot. He held Julian’s hand and smoothed his thumb over Julian’s fingers and Marisol dabbed at the dozens of scratches, scrapes, cuts that seemed to litter, to crosshatch Julian’s body--even his palms (and Avery had to surrender Julian’s hand long enough to suit Marisol), his left temple, across his cheek and nose, his lower lip. And wherever there was a scrape, there seemed to likewise be a bruise.

But, slowly, the worst of the cuts and gashes were disappearing under gauze and bandages. And the bruises were covered by electrodes on his chest, wires. And the rest of him was softened with a little soap and water, to get the worst of the grime off his face and hands and away from the cuts and scrapes, then covered with a pale blue gown (with some tiny repetitive flower-petal print all over it and snaps at the shoulders). No giant tubes running in and out of him (yet), and for that Avery was grateful.

Marisol, content at last, stripped off her gloves. “Well. Nothing worth putting a stitch in.” Though maybe there had been a few days ago. Still, she looked at Avery. “That’s good. He’s healing. We’ll help him clean up more when he’s really awake again.”

Avery nodded and held back his question: What happened to him? Not now, he decided, but soon. He’d ask it. No more obscurity from these fuckers.

“Doctor Yeoun is on his way.” And she looked at Avery crouching there on the floor. “You can pull a chair over if you want.”

Avery met her eyes, steady. “I don’t want to let go of his hand.”

And Marisol had to smile.

Avery was dozing, leaning over onto Julian’s bed (and sitting on a chair Marisol had brought over to him), their hands still together, when the sound of the glass door sliding aside woke him and he sat up. A man, young, but definitely a doctor, came in.

Avery rubbed his eyes. “Are you Dr. Yeoun?”

“I am,” and he smiled. “Call me Phillip, though. I’m not quite as formal as my colleague.”

“Sure.” Avery sniffed, waking up.

A nurse came in just behind him, carrying a steel tray. He set it a little aside of Julian’s bed; even from his seat, Avery could see the syringe, the gauze, and the scalpel.

“What’s that for?” he asked, flat, grave.

“Can you stay and help me with this?” Phillip was asking the nurse. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Dr. Phil: what’s the knife for?”

And Phillip closed his eyes; the nickname would haunt him forever (whether he ought to blame his parents or Oprah…). But it only took him a moment. He pulled over a second chair and sat down across Julian’s bed and his covered legs (lumpy blanket mountains).

“So how much do you know already?”

“I know it’s not the bullshit witness protection story I heard. And I know my mom got dragged into it.” His voice rose near to cracking again.

“And you got dragged into it.”

Avery nodded.

“And Julian got dragged back into it.”

Avery nodded again.

Phillip laced his fingers together, let his hands hang down between his knees. “We’re dealing with some dangerous people. And they’re going to want Julian back, bad.”

Avery turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah.” He dropped his face in his hand.

Phillip reached out across the bed between them, across Julian asleep between them, and set his hand on Avery’s (Avery’s hand still holding to Julian’s hand).

They were quiet a moment; only the machinery surrounding and monitoring Julian hummed and chirped, rhythmically.

Avery, his voice straining, spoke in a rush from behind his hand. “They already took him twice. Like--the first time it was bad enough because he just fucking vanished all of a sudden and he’s gone for months, and then his dad turns up and starts talking to me about him and wants me to bring him back and that’s already fucking weird but then they bring my mom into it and start saying she’ll lose her job or might get hurt--but maybe I can see him again if I do what they say, so it’s lose-lose and win-win at the same time--and I did get to see him, but just because they used me as bait and that time I actually saw what they do to him, like, when they gagged him and tied him up and threw him in the van? And that’s, like--that doesn’t even explain half of the bruises he’s got or why he doesn’t remember for shit or why he keeps looking like he maybe wants to kill everyone he fucking looks at.” And he broke at last, sobbing into his hand, loud, choking.

The nurse brought tissues and crouched beside him, rubbing one hand along Avery’s shoulder. Phillip kept his hold on Avery’s hand. They let him cry as he needed to, the choked sobs quieting at last, leaving Avery sniffling and wet; the nurse handed him a tissue and stayed crouched beside him.

“Will you be okay if we keep talking?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah, probably.” He shook his head to clear it.

“I’ll stop if you need me to, but I want you to know the truth as far as I can tell it.” (Avery nodded.) “Because they want him back, they’ll do what they have to to keep from losing him in the first place.”

“What, like giving him amnesia so he doesn’t remember--” he stopped short: the people who love him?

“That’s part of it. The last time he was with us, he had embedded telemetry in his body.”

Avery cocked his head, blinking, frowning. “Tracking devices.”

“Exactly. So--”

“You have to take them out to keep him,” and Avery paused, “hidden.”

And Phillip nodded, squeezing Avery’s hand one last time. “You got it. Now I can let you stay while we do this. It’s a little bloody, but hopefully the chip is in about the same place as before. One thing about these people is they’re pretty organized.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” And he managed a wry smile. “Please tell me the chip is somewhere embarrassing like in his ass so I can tease him about it later.”

Phillip stood up, trying not to smile. “I hate to break it to you, but it was in the back of his neck last time.”

“Damn.”

“Hey, Doctor Yeoun? I think he’s awake.”

One dark eye, shining in the blue glow under the surgical cloths that covered most of Julian’s head and shoulders, turned, roamed, and finally focused on Avery’s face.

“Well, we’re almost done back here. Any pain, Julian?”

Julian made no move and no sound.

“Hey,” Avery said under the cloth, “You doing okay? Don’t nod, just, I don’t know, blink.”

Julian blinked. Avery smiled.

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

But that stillness--nothing moved but his eyes (eye; the other was hidden under the folds of cloth). Even his breathing seemed small and slow, as though he were holding himself inordinately still. And that one eye: empty of purpose, focused only on Avery, waiting for something--to start, to end. An almost unearthly stillness. Avery reached under the cloths to hold Julian’s hand again.

“You can go back to sleep if you want, if you’re still tired. I’ll stick around here as long as they’ll let me.”

Julian blinked again, then again but slower. And, slowly and slowly, his eyes closed and, perhaps, he slept. From over his shoulder:

Phillip: All right, I think I’m pretty happy with that. Michael, let me hold onto the--yeah, perfect. I think we ought to take a look at this thing before we do anything else.

(The sound of surgical tools being laid back into the tray. The cloths are lifted and rolled away. Julian is rolled back onto his back, which covers the gauze pad taped to the back of his neck which covers the tiny line of sutures which covers the cut that had to be made to draw out the tiny sliver that was the tracking chip. Michael left, then Phillip left, bearing with him the chip in the bottom of a plastic cup. And Avery and Julian were alone again for a little while.)

Phillip caught up to Marisol in the hallway. He tipped the cup towards her to show her the bloodied chip. “Same as before, but a little deeper this time.”

Marisol set her mouth and nodded. “Well, that’s one thing solved. I said in the elevator that this was a good first step,” she paused, “but I have to wonder if this isn’t just a crash after the stimulants have worn off. He may seem better, but--”

“He may not actually be any better.” And Phillip nodded. “Yeah. This is new territory. We saw him so much later in his recovery process before.”

“He’s responding differently, though. I’d almost call it positively.”

“Well, maybe Avery can set a dopamine bomb off on him.”

“I’m determined to start an EEG recording on him--the sooner the better. But I’m not going to set it up with the boyfriend there. He’s about to lose it as it is. You should’ve seen him--”

“I did see him. He saw them take him back. He saw everything.”

“Is he still in there?”

“You’re going to have to get security to drag him out.”

Marisol shrugged. “We’ll send Ryan.”

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Delayed Reaction (The Fear of Falling Remix, aka the Nicky Remix)

I wrote this for the fantastic AFTG remix/redux challenge, which was an utter blast.  It was inspired by this amazing fic, by @sunrise-and-death.  It let me explore Nicky’s feelings after the events of the series, especially his role in the Eden’s Twilight disasterTM of the first book.  It’s a bit of a departure for me, lol, but I loved writing it.  References forced drugging/forced kissing.  Read on AO3 if you prefer.  (I apologize if you’re on mobile and the keep reading link doesn’t work.)

The second Neil wrenched his arm out of his grasp, Nicky knew.

The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream left him slow and stupid as Neil planted his hands against Nicky’s chest and shoved.  Tripping over his own feet, Nicky crashed backwards into some faceless people who were dancing in a tight pack.  Cursing, the clubbers bounced away while Aaron got to his feet in what would have been a leap had he been sober.

“What the hell was that?” Aaron snapped at Neil, whose face went from white to red in a second.

“I’m going to get some air,” Neil said, and disappeared, weaving through the crowd towards the back doors.

Aaron grabbed Nicky’s arm and helped haul him to his feet.  He staggered over to the table and dropped his head into his hands.  He felt more than saw Aaron settle next to him.  “Seriously,” Aaron shouted over the thundering base, “what just happened?”

Nicky felt like he was going to vomit, but he didn’t think it was from the alcohol.  That had been actual fear in Neil’s face, before anger and embarrassment had swept it away.  Neil, afraid.  Of him.  He let his elbows slide out from under him until his forearms rested on the table, keeping his forehead pressed against them.

For an endless moment he remembered being surrounded by four men, being punched and kicked and shoved; the vicious laughter and taunts echoing in the alley, the desperate need to cry out but the inability to get enough air.  It had taken months before he had been able to get in and out of the club without terror, and over a year before he had been able to dance again, to enjoy the feel of other bodies around him.

The sound of a tray full of glasses being set carefully on the table made him bury his face deeper into his arms.  Andrew.  Oh, God, how could he ever look Andrew in the eye again?

“Did someone break Nicky?” Andrew asked flatly.

“Your boy toy,” Aaron answered.  “Nicky wanted him to go dance, and he shoved him into a group of dancers for no reason then took off.”

“It wasn’t for no reason,” Nicky said.  The words were muffled against the table and looking up was impossible, but somehow he knew Andrew heard.  Heavy eyes bored into the top of his head then disappeared.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked.  Nicky felt perversely grateful that his voice was different from Andrew’s.  “He’s gone,” Aaron added unnecessarily.

“I kissed him,” Nicky mumbled into his arms.

“What?”

“Neil.”  Nicky sighed and sat up.  “I kissed him.”

“Dude.  You’ve been sitting here all night, I would’ve noticed.  How much have you had to drink?” Aaron laughed.

Too much, always too much and not enough.  “Not tonight.  His first time here.”  The room was spinning and Nicky braced one of his hands against the table.  “Andrew…Andrew told me to keep him high.”

“I don’t understand,” Kevin said, downing one of the fresh drinks as if that would help clarify things.  

“I kissed him to give him more dust.”  Nicky pointed at his mouth to make sure it was clear, nodding at their expressions.  “He didn’t want me to.”

All traces of amusement were gone from Aaron’s face.  “Andrew didn’t know.”  Nicky shook his head.  “He’s going to kill you.”

“Neil won’t let him,” Kevin assured them with a confidence born of copious amounts of vodka.

“I am way too sober for this,” Aaron said, reaching for the tray.  He was on his second drink—well, his sixth if you counted the first round—when Andrew reappeared, alone.

Andrew didn’t say anything, and neither did the rest of them.  Aaron and Kevin knocked back one last drink each before the three of them followed Andrew out of the club in a line, Aaron bringing up the rear.  Nicky felt absurdly like he was at an elementary school class trip, following a teacher out of a museum.  There was a picture book he had loved as a child, with drawings of the big dark mama and papa ducks, the little yellow ducklings marching in between.  He imagined they looked the reverse, he and Kevin with their black hair towering in between the tow-headed twins.  He would have laughed if he hadn’t felt like crying.

Andrew pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.  Kevin fled.  Aaron did not; he looked between Andrew and Nicky until he saw something in Andrew’s face that made his mouth tighten.  With a venomous glare at Neil, he scooted out of the car and into the house, lingering for a long moment in the doorway.

Nicky had no idea what Andrew was going to do.  Andrew had once told him that he would kill him if he touched Neil; he hadn’t understood the protective instinct at the time, but now it made all too much sense.  If Andrew was going to make good on that promise now, Nicky wouldn’t fight him.  

He hoped Aaron would understand.  He knew Erik would not.

“I am going to make a deal with you,” Andrew said, sounding as if he were making a grocery list.   Neil was watching, expression unreadable.  There was no trace of the panic that had earlier ravaged his features, but that was still all Nicky could see.  He felt his eyes start to burn and dug his nails into his palms to try to drive it back.  “You will promise me that you will never touch someone without their consent again.  And in exchange, I will not kill you.”  

Nicky nodded; he should have felt relief but all he really was aware of was the guilt of getting away with something undeserved.  He was pretty sure he was babbling something but had no idea what useless words were falling out of his mouth.  Andrew’s expression was getting flatter and finally Neil interrupted.

“It’s okay, Nicky.  I forgive you.”

The tears overflowed then.  Andrew ordered him out of the car and roared out of the driveway before Nicky could do more than stumble onto the lawn.  He watched the taillights glow at the end of the street then dragged his sorry carcass into the house.

Aaron and Kevin were waiting for him.  Well, Aaron was.  Kevin was technically in the living room as well but clearly on a different plane of consciousness.  “We need to talk about this,” Aaron said

“Tomorrow.”

“Nicky—”

“Please, Aaron.  Just…tomorrow.”

Aaron gave him a long searching look, then disappeared upstairs to collapse in his bed.  Nicky rearranged Kevin so he could breathe and wouldn’t choke if he vomited, dropped a trash can next to his face, and dragged himself into his room.  Not bothering to undress, he flopped backward onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

There was dust on the edges of the fan that he needed to wipe off.  Part of him wanted to start the fan, see if the dust would rain down all over the room, but that would require getting up.  After a while he kicked his boots off.  Sleep darted away from him every time he reached towards it.

It was closer to morning than night when he heard the door open again.  He went out into the hall to see Andrew half-carrying a sleepy Neil, kicking the door shut behind them.  Andrew glanced at him, eyes sharp as his knives, before scooping Neil fully into his arms and heading up the stairs.

*****

It was a silent morning followed by a silent drive back to campus.  Nicky knew if he opened his mouth stupidity would spew out so he kept it clamped shut until they were back at Fox Tower and his dorm room door was shut firmly behind him.  He barely made it to the couch before his knees gave out.

“Are you ever going to talk to me about this?” Aaron asked.

“About what?” Matt appeared behind him.  “What happened?”

“I’m an asshole,” Nicky said.  “That’s it, that’s all there is to say.”

“Bullshit,” snapped Aaron.  “What happened with Andrew?”

“We made a deal, okay?  I don’t touch someone without consent, he doesn’t kill me.”

Aaron snorted.  “I can’t fucking believe you.  Why would you ever think that was okay?”  He was looking at him like he had never seen him before.  Nicky could feel his eyes filling.  He and Aaron had always been…not good, nobody in their family had good relationships, it was genetically impossible, but they had always cared about each other.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Matt said.  “What the hell happened?”

“Nicky kissed Neil against his will,” Aaron answered when it was obvious Nicky wasn’t going to.

Matt looked aghast.  “Not last night,” Nicky clarified.  “It was the first time we took him to Columbia.”  Not that that made it any better, really, but it explained why he was still breathing.  

“Jesus Christ, Nicky.”  

I know, Nicky wanted to scream.  “I’m going to call Erik,” he said instead.  Once alone in the bedroom, though, he just stared at his phone.  Erik knew about the incident; Nicky had told him the next day, while Neil was missing.  He had been disapproving about the drugs but hadn’t worried about the kiss.  Nicky wasn’t sure if he could handle his forgiveness about it now.  He knew he would get it, but with Neil’s fear burned into his retinas he didn’t think he wanted it.

There was a knock on the bedroom door.  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed; enough that he felt stiff when he got up to answer it.  Or maybe that was the exhaustion.

“Hello, Nicky,” Renee said with her usual sweet smile.  “I thought perhaps you might like to go get some coffee.”

Nicky didn’t have it in him to say no to Renee.  He grabbed his coat.

It was rare for he or his cousins to visit the coffee shop on campus; they usually just made their own.  Nicky debated ordering something gross like straight black coffee with a shot of espresso, but caved to his tastebuds and got an iced hazelnut latte instead.

They sat at one of the little iron tables in front of the cafe, watching the handful of summer students straggle by.  Nicky was halfway through his latte when he asked, “Matt told you, huh?”

“He told me his understanding of it, yes.”

This was why he loved Renee.  He took a deep breath, and in as spare language as he could manage, told her about that first trip to Columbia and the morning after.  About the arbitrary lines he had drawn in his own head about what was okay and what was not.  How he had succumbed to the Hollywood idea that forcing a kiss on someone would win them over in the end.  How at the time he hadn’t really thought that what he did was any worse than what Andrew did; how he had never thought about what he might have been taking from Neil until that weekend before Thanksgiving.

He didn’t tell her about the months of regret he’d been dealing with since he had walked into his parents’ guest room and seen Neil tenderly wrapping a bloody and battered Andrew in a blanket.  Or how he had been struggling not to regress to the habits taught him at conversion camp, to the self punishment that was seen as just penance for his sins.  But she saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice anyway.

When he finally went silent, she sipped her iced tea for a moment.  “Did you apologize?”

“Yes, as soon as he would let me.  He wasn’t ready to accept it then.”

“Have you talked about it since?”  

Nicky shook his head.  It had taken all of his courage the first time, he wasn’t sure he had enough left.

Renee hummed and then was quiet while they finished their drinks.  They were walking back to the dorm when she touched his arm.  “Nicky…I may be out of line to ask this, but have you found a church here?”  

He shook his head.  He had been to several when they had first moved to campus two years prior, but none of them had been right.  Slowly he had been forgetting what it felt like to seek that sort of peace.  He couldn’t recall the last time he had prayed; maybe during that terrible vigil the whole team had held on the bus after Binghamton.  

“Would you like to come with me tomorrow?”

“I’m not Catholic.”

“It’s not a Catholic church.”  He looked at her in surprise.  “I didn’t find the parish of the local Church very welcoming, so I found an alternative.”

“Yes,” Nicky said, not really sure why he felt so hesitant.  “I’ll come with you.”

“I go to the early service most of the time,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if it was apology or warning.  “I leave at seven-thirty.”

He groaned internally; after his sleepless night he had been looking forward to spending most of the next day in bed.  “I’ll be ready.”

*****

The church was like nothing Nicky had seen before.  There was no ornate glass, no crucifix, no organ.  It almost looked like a business building, but off the vestibule the bulk of it was one large room with pews.  A friendly man in a blue suit greeted Renee by name when she entered.  

“Reverend Pawalek, this is my friend Nicky,” she said, and the minister held out his hand in greeting.  His grip was warm and solid.  He reminded Nicky of Erik’s father, though he couldn’t have said exactly why.  Something about his eyes, maybe.  Or the generous cut of his mouth.

They entered the sanctuary and sat in a pew near the back.  Nicky’s gaze was immediately caught by a small pride flag sticker on the otherwise plain podium.  He glanced at Renee; she gave him a nod.  All around him people were filtering in, men and women and children, black and white and brown.  There were piercings and tattoos and wild hair and wilder clothes.  Some, like Renee, wore crosses; he spotted two hijab, and a yarmulke.  The only thing they all had in common was the attentiveness with which they turned towards the podium when Reverend Pawalek took his spot.

Afterwards Nicky could not have recalled a single sentence of the sermon.  He knew that it was about how to help God’s love manifest here on earth, but the specifics were washed away in the rhythm of the minister’s tenor voice.  He felt embraced by that voice, cocooned by it; for reasons he could not have told, tears fell until his hands and shirt were damp with them.  Around him the other people were smiling and laughing and crying too.  

He had never felt so loved outside of Erik’s arms.  He had never known faith so uncorrupted by religion.  At the end, as Reverend Pawalek put up a prayer about love and acceptance, Nicky prayed as he hadn’t in too many months.  He prayed for forgiveness:  Neil’s.  God’s.  His own.  For once, he did not even think about his father, standing over him pallid and stern.  His father did not understand God like this; was incapable of understanding a God that was not a stand-in for his own judgments.  But this—this was the God Nicky had always sought, the one Erik and Renee so freely opened their hearts to.

An hour had passed in the thrall of that voice and those words, but it felt like days later when they stumbled out into the heat of a South Carolina morning.  Renee took his hand, threading her fingers through his.  They didn’t speak as they headed back to campus in Allison’s car.  Nicky didn’t think he had any words anyway.

*****

He went back the following Sunday.  Andrew had not allowed him time alone to talk to Neil.  He might’ve tried while Andrew was at Bee’s but he didn’t want the rest of the team listening in.  Neil kept catching his eye, and Nicky took hope from that.  Fitting, then, that the sermon was about hope.  The way hope can keep us alive when all else around us is trying to drag us down.   The way hope can erase fear, can erase hate, can fortify against the judgment of others.  That hope can help us let go of the fear of falling.  That hope is just a different word for faith.

Another week passed.  Aaron and he went back to their usual brand of “good,” and Matt seemed to have forgotten about all of it.  Andrew’s vigilance did not falter, but Nicky had never thought he would forget.  Though he would have loved Andrew’s forgiveness, it didn’t really matter in the end; it had been Neil he—no, they—had wronged.

Aaron and Katelyn were cuddling on the couch and Matt was just starting a movie when there was a knock on the suite door.  Matt answered it; Nicky got to his feet when he heard Neil’s voice, though the words were quiet and indistinct.  Then Matt called his name and he walked to the door.  

Neil still looked guarded, but there was something other than fear behind it.  Hope, maybe.  Or determination.  He followed Neil into the suite he shared with Kevin and Andrew.  It was empty, so Nicky assumed the others were out somewhere.  He leaned against the door.  Somehow it felt safer.

“I wanted to talk,” Neil said.

“Me too.  I’ve been wanting to since that night.”  Nicky hated the quiver in his voice.  “Oh, Neil, I’m so, so sorry.  That look on your face…I never wanted you to have to look at me like that.”

“I’m fine.”  Neil’s mouth twisted in an ironic smile after he said the words.  “It just made me remember, you know?  Being drugged and not able to control myself.”

Nicky’s heart ached.  “I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Honestly, the being drugged thing bothered me more than the kisses.”

Somehow that made Nicky feel worse.  “I tried to justify it so many different ways, you know?  All of it.”  He slid down the door so he was sitting on the floor, looking up at Neil on the beanbag chair.  “Andrew was so certain.  God, he’s always so certain that he’s right.  It’s easier just to go along with it.”

“I know.”  

Nicky’s lips twitched at Neil’s wry tone but the smile wouldn’t quite form.  Neil didn’t know, not really; Andrew gave ground over and over to him in a way he never did for anyone else.  And Neil had never sought the easier path.  “It seemed like such a clever idea.  Honestly I was so freaking proud of myself for thinking of it, you know, a way to keep you high without getting caught.”

“It was creative,” Neil said thoughtfully.

It was hard to keep back the ready tears at that.  “The thing is, though, I also just really wanted to kiss you.  I was lonely, I hadn’t seen Erik in forever, and you’re hot.  I guess I just thought you needed to lose some inhibitions or something.  Like that’s for me to say.  What the hell made me think I had the right to decide that?”

Neil shrugged.  “I think a lot of people think like that.”

“It wasn’t until everything went down before Thanksgiving that I got it.  I mean, Jesus, what kind of an asshole am I?  Like, I had to see that in order to understand?”  He thought again of dazed Andrew, frantic to make sure Aaron was okay, the blood and worse from the dead body on the floor, and Neil so…so gentle.  Not for the first time, he wondered how he hadn’t seen it then, the love they had for each other.  His sniff was embarrassingly loud.

“But you understand now,” Neil said.

Nicky nodded, feeling a bit like a bobblehead doll.  “Absolutely.”

“I think a lot of people wouldn’t.  I think a lot of people would say it was totally different.”

“You might be right,” Nicky said.  It didn’t really make it any better.  It didn’t change that he had taken advantage of someone he cared about, someone who was compromised.  He didn’t understand how Neil could be so vicious sometimes, and yet find forgiveness too.  For some reason, Reverend Pawalek’s words about hope popped into his head: he had talked of hope not for a better world after this one but for making this world a better one, for making it a world of justice, of peace.  In his own way, Neil was fighting for that.

Somehow, somewhere in that terrible year since that first night in Columbia, Neil had let go of the fear of falling.

Nicky dashed the tears from his eyes and stood on shaky legs.  “Ugh, everyone’s going to know I was crying,” he said, trying for normalcy.

“You look fine,” Neil said, getting up too.  Of course, Neil’s definition of that left something to be desired.  

“Can I?” Nicky asked, holding his arms open in invitation.  Neil hesitated just a moment, then stepped into the circle of Nicky’s arms.  Nicky pulled him in and held him close.  Not tightly, but—close.  He knew Neil would never understand, really.  He never seemed to see it.  Outsiders never did either.  They just saw a fucked up kid with a smart mouth.  

But for the rest of them, for the Foxes, he was hope.  Precious, and fragile, and a reason to keep going on.  A reason to let go of the fear of falling.

[monicaexol]

Dangerous Vows

Genre: Mafia Au / Angst / Fluff / Smut

Pairing: BTS / You

Warnings: Mentions of guns / Death / Violence / Allusions to torture

Read: (Chapter 1) (Chapter 3)

Chapter 2

Date: 16/04/16

Time: 08:24

“Y/N.”

The vibrations of his voice deadpan against your ears. Your eyes flutter open and see the curve of his plump lips through your eyelashes. A cold hand strokes random shapes on your cheek. You rub away the sleepiness from your eyes with the heels of your palms, and upon recognising your close proximity with him, you instantly jerk your body away from his touch.

You scan the room. You were surrounded by acres of plain white walls. A large mirror hugged the wall on the far end. Hurriedly, you comb your fingers through your hair before glancing back at him.

Those same eyes, that same smile. You wonder where and how life had turned him into a cold blooded person, and wished it was reversible.

“Y/N.” Fingers snap in front of your eyes, knocking you out of your deep thoughts. You shake your head and look away, afraid that you might be lured into the depth of his eyes again.

“I love you.”

You shiver at the words, his lips curve into a frown. He reaches out to tuck hair behind your ear, but you push his hand away. “I’m still the same Tae you knew in college.”

A bitter laugh tumbles from your cracked lips, filling in the dry silence in the room. You sigh while staring at the ceiling, not daring to meet his vision. “Well then, I wish I never knew you.”

It was sudden. Too sudden. As if he was waiting for the wrong words to escape from your mouth. Rough fingers wrap themselves around your throat, he drags you foreword by the neck and rests his forehead against yours. Tears form in the corners of your shaking eyes, his grip tightens, your hands forcefully push him back but he’s as firm as a stone.

“Don’t you dare give me attitude.” His breath comes out as hot puffs against your cheeks. You catch sight of your position in the mirror and continue fighting, all breath gone from your lungs. He lets go, and your head collides back onto the cusion, coughing, stuttering and breathing in as much as you could.

‘The same’ you think as you hear the bedroom door click closed.

“Where are you going, Y/N?”

You pause in your steps, bag slightly skimming the carpet on the ground. He steps closer, hand fitting into the curve of your waist. His breath hits your neck when he pulls you into a demanding hug. You sigh, tearing away from his touch.

“Sunmi isn’t well, I’m going to visit her.”

You turn to reach the door handle, but you’re suddenly pulled back until you crash into his chest. His hold around your wrist tightens, furious eyes boring into your own.

“Tae, you’re hurting me, stop.”

He doesn’t.

You feel your chin being tilted up roughly, he holds you still with his thumb and index finger. You look back with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall. You’d seen the protective side of Taehyung, but what was this?

“I’ve never heard of a ‘Sunmi’ before.”

He whipser shouts. There was something in his eyes, something that told you it was best if you left and never returned. You use what was left of your draining strength to remove his grip from your wrist and push him back. Though you weren’t quick enough. His hands pulled harshly at your hair, winding around and tugging in a mocking way, making you fall right back into his arms.

It was quick, too quick, his hand on your mouth numbed your screams. Blood dripped from your forehead, you gasp in fear and cried for what felt like hours, but was only a mere minute.

“You’re not leaving Y/N. You’re mine.”

Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, but your fearful eyes hadn’t shifted from that door for ages. You didn’t know when he was coming back, or what he’d do.

The door creaks open, you snap your head back to see a different figure blur in from the dark corridor to the artificial lights in your room. He places a tray of food on a small table next to your bed.

You watch the way he neglects your eyes, they wonder around, look everywhere that was not in your direction.

“Jimin.” You whisper, hoping that he sensed the begging in your voice. He turns away, focusing on the door instead. “Taehyung told you to come into the conference room when you’re done.” The words were as fast as his feet, he left within a moment of when he came.

Food was the last thing on your mind, right now, all you thought about was escape. You take small steps out into the pitch black corridor, men guarded every turn that you took. You gulped upon seeing each one, their vision just as locked and loaded as their guns.

The conference room was lined with many seats, each empty. The screen on the wall had a picture of you, one that you had no idea existed. Click. The image changed into another photo that you don’t remember taking. Click. One more photo. Click. And another. Click. It was never ending.

“When you left me, I was broken.” He slides an arm around your waist, head resting in the crook of your neck, looking at the pictures as if it was the first time he’d even seen them. Your body heats up, mind praying for peace. His fingers run along your side, rubbing in what seemed to be a soothing manner.

“If I could show you how you made me feel, I would.” His fingers tighten, you squirm uncomfortably. “But,” Another hand shifts to softly pull away the hair that scattered on your shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He stamps a kiss on the side of your neck. You suck in an immediate breath, wishing you could just run.

“Because I love you.”

Date: 17/04/16

Time: 05:24

Morning broke.

The sky still held the night in its midst. Your eyes tear open to a day that was as meek and as your limp body. He lay next to you, arm draping over your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. You press your hand against your mouth hoping to suppress any noise, fearing that if you let out the slightest sound, he would wake.

You analysed the rise and fall of his chest, the loud snores that he gave out every now and then. So when you decided that he was too deep in his sleep to notice any movements, you slipped out of his grasp and placed a cusion where you had layed. You pick up the dress that he had teared off you and cover your body while walking to the bathroom.

You stare in the mirror, fingers tracing the necklace that he placed around your neck last night.

There were spare clothes placed for you, you freshened up quickly and put them on. Then, you sat back in the bed, next to the body of the demon that has trapped you in his prison.

It creaks, then nudges open slowly. You narrow your eyes to see who would peer out of the bedroom door, and find a figure that you had presumed long dead. He sends a warm smile, eyes crinkling the way they always did. Warmth filled your body, he brings out a hand and ushers you to take it.

You glance back at Taehyung who lay completely smashed on the bed, fear tipping back into your thoughts. He calmly walks towards you and strokes your cheek, his touch was so different to Taehyung’s. You hold his hand there, letting your heat delve into his skin.

“Let’s go.” He whispers, softly pulling you up by your arm. Within a moment, you found yourself outside the bedroom, bodyguards lying seemingly lifeless on the ground. Their guns were useless.

“You got what we needed?” He asks, eyes darting up and down your body curiously.

Your lips curve into a smirk, you lift your hair away from your shoulders to reveal the necklace that dangled there.

“Do I ever leave a mission unaccomplished, Yoongi?”

[randomabiling]

The First Christmas

Another protracted, heavy sigh left the confines of her lips before the delicate edge of her teacup rose. The tepid breakfast blend slipped into her mouth, causing her to grimace. Her bones shuttered, the draft in the room compounded by disappointment in the tea’s temperature. Her fingertips were cold around the flowered porcelain, something she couldn’t ever remember happening before, and she turned her attention to the fireplace. The fading embers taunted with their flickers and pops, becoming more of a memory of fire as the heat died. Where was Simpson to check on her? Violet sighed again. It seemed that was all she did lately, sit around and expel the stale and disgusted air that lay trapped behind her breastbone.

Placing the teacup down, Violet shifted on her sofa, angling her face toward the window. The landscape had been transformed into a tundra with the last storm, looking as unhappy and formidable as she felt. The clock on the mantle ticked, catching her attention. Half past four. It had been three days since she’d received an invitation to Downton for dinner and one day, three hours since any of them had checked in on her.

Violet poked at a scone left on her tray. It seemed to crumble at her touch and she grumbled under her breath, thinking how incompetent Mrs Wallace was, nothing like the staff she had cultivated at Downton. Such a shame. She’d have to speak to Robert about hiring another cook for the Dower House. As soon as she thought it, the idea turned sour in Violet's mind. To have to ask permission to hire one’s staff...was there anything more humiliating?

The truth of her existence still shocked her anew each morning, as she stretched from sleep and opened her eyes to the peeling ceiling of the Dower House master bedroom. She didn’t think of it belonging to her, that specification still reserved for the Princess Amelia room, which had seen the last thirty years of her life unfold, marking the memories in its faded gold wall coverings. This new room, which she’d occupied for just over three months now, was as foreign and cold to her as any she’d stayed in as a guest. Violet couldn’t quite reconcile that she was now the dowager, making the Dower House her home.

She’d always known it would happen of course, her eventual ouster from the day-to-day life at Downton, regulated to the role of bystander while her son and his wife took their place upon her husband’s passing. Knowing it, however, had been like knowing the inevitability of her own death; it was a vague probability that she had never really believed would befall her person. And when it had, when the dirt had grown firm over Patrick’s grave and the half way mark of full morning had passed, and Robert had gently informed her that the renovation of the Dower House was complete, still Violet hadn’t really quite come to terms with her fate. Like a prisoner staring down her execution, Violet had expected a last minute stay, a swift reversal of her punishment and the reinstatement of her life as she’d known it.

That hadn’t happened, of course, and each day’s awakening reiterated what she couldn’t quite allow herself to believe: that she was no longer in charge.

The timid squeak of the door stirred Violet from her pensive mood and she looked up to see Carson hanging back behind Simpson. Violet’s back snapped straight.

“Mr. Carson, your ladyship,” Simpson announced dully and Violet had to purposefully refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Yes, yes,” Violet answered. Immediately, she took note of the way Carson took a tentative step around Simpson, of how white his knuckles were around the bowler hat he held firmly in front of him.

Carson waited, shifting from foot to foot, until Simpson took the hint and slinked out of the drawing room, leaving them alone. Even then, Carson took a moment too long, his mouth moving awkwardly as though chewing the lumpy words that wouldn’t come forth.

“Carson,” Violet prodded. “Is there something you came to tell me?”

His bushy eyebrows rose at her words before diving down, further deepening the worried wrinkles on his forehead and practically touching one another. He squeezed the hat in his hand harder.

“Well, milady, that is to say that, you see…” Violet waited, a small splinter of anxiety jabbing into her ribs. The rest of Carson’s words came out in a rush. “You see, her Ladyship is decorating the Christmas tree, on her own...with the young ladies. On a ladder and all! I’m concerned for the impression it will make on the junior staff.”

The abused hat in Carson’s hands was pulled taught until it resembled a woolen dishcloth. Violet wondered if it would ever recover its shape after such a wringing. She swallowed down the fit of laughter that threatened to burst from her chest. Dear Carson, Violet could always count on him to be more shocked by lapses in protocole than Queen Victoria herself. She stifled the merry impulse, seeing the torment it cost him to come to her, already he was feeling loyalty to his new chatelaine. Violet chose to reply with a simple nod before ringing for Simpson to fetch her coat.

Choosing to walk the path to Downton rather than drive back with the butler, Violet let the fresh December air invigorate her. Upon contemplating Carson’s confession, it was right of him to come to her. The idea of the current Countess of Grantham perched up high and placing ornaments on the tree, seemed almost indecent. The housemaids had always accomplished the task during Violet’s time as Countess. It was preposterous. Leave it to the American to muck up as simple a project as Christmas decorating. Violet shuddered to imagine the arrangements that Cora would have commissioned for the table tops and the mantels.

By the time Violet reached the massive doors to Downton, any comedy she’d found in Carson’s reaction had disappeared, her earlier irritation exacerbated. Violet’s agitated breath hit the chilled air producing a cloudy plume before she pushed on the oak doors and nudged her way in. She noticed the heat first, the density of it instantly warming her chapped face and the numb tips of her fingers. It was the kind of warmth you could taste and Violet marveled that the salon could be brought to such a temperature, with its endless walls and vaulted ceiling. It had never felt so warm during her tenure. Violet tsked at the waste, imaging an entire forest worth of trees disintegrating in the hearths of Downton so that Cora could be kept comfortable. The child was fragile. She’d warned Robert in those early days of their courtship, Cora was not of hearty stock.

Their laughter could be heard before she could see their faces; Cora’s easy giggles, Robert’s deeper chuckle, and then the girls, the high, bell tones of her granddaughters as their happiness rung through the house. Something about the sound of it, of all four of them laughing together tugged hard at her heart. Violet fought to catch her breath, her corset suddenly feeling too tight.

Rounding the corner, she saw them. Mary held a delicate ornament, and though the laughter still played over her lips, her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her hands confident as she lifted the glass bauble and placed it just so on one of the tree’s lower limbs. Edith fidgeted around, the young toddler clearly too excited to settle down. She dashed between Mary and her mother and then to Robert and Violet felt herself briefly get caught up in the child’s wonder. Cora stood atop a low stool, reaching to the higher branches as Robert stayed by her side, his hand held an inch shy of her back, ready to steady her, should she waiver. The tableau was as sentimental and perfect as any Christmas postcard. How happy they looked, the four of them lit up and twinkling like the lights on the tree. Violet took a step back.

“Granny!” Edith shrieked in delight.

Mary’s head snapped up. Cora turned so suddenly she teetered on her ladder. Robert caught her firmly around the waist and held her a moment as the young woman regained her balance before dropping his hands quickly. The happy glow in the room seemed to dull, like someone turning the key on a gas lamp cutting off the fuel. Violet felt herself shrink a little, a reaction that was strange to her usual bulldog self-assurance. Quickly recovering, Violet straightened, a tight smile hurting her face.

Robert spoke first, coming to her and placing a formal peck upon her cheek. “Hello Mama, what a pleasant surprise.”

She couldn’t help herself, the words out before she could try them in her mind. “Well, if I waited for an invitation-”.

Cora deflated further, all signs of pink cheeked joy gone as she gingerly stepped down off of the ladder. Violet opened her mouth to say something, anything that would restore the scene she had unwittingly changed. That had been so very happy, so relaxed and natural. Remorse churned in her belly, a bitter knowledge that she had broken their innocent revelry, that what Robert and Cora presented was the facade they thought she preferred. Even little Mary was learning to reserve her true emotions in her presence.

“Granny! Here!” Violet looked down at Edith, no higher than her knee.

The sweet child held up an ornament. Violet stared at it too long.

“Put it on the tree!” Edith explained with childlike exasperation.

Mary snickered behind her hand as Violet still did not move. Self-consciousness rose up the back of her neck making the room too warm and she carefully plucked the glass angel out of Edith’s chubby fingers. It glittered in the low light. Violet chose an empty branch and wiggled the string over the spiky needles. Releasing the decoration, it twirled revolution or two before settling into its spot. Violet stepped back, an odd bloom of satisfaction filling her chest. She looked up to see Robert had placed his hand at the base of Cora’s back. They both smiled widely at her.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to it.” Violet’s throat was tight, roughing up the words she spoke.

Cora placed a tentative hand on Violet’s arm. “You don’t have to go, Mama.”

Violet nodded her head. “But you see my dear, I do. Mrs Wallace is expecting me for dinner soon, and you know how a cook feels when you’re late to meal time. No, you go ahead and finish your decorating.”

“We can send someone down, tell Mrs Wallace your plan has changed. Stay for dinner, Mama.” Robert said.

“I’m sorry Robert, I simply cannot.” Violet insisted.

Robert shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

Violet received their kisses goodbye and then turned to leave. She’d only taken two steps before the low chatter gained volume once again, Mary and Edith’s voices becoming heady and bubbly. Just like that, her interruption was forgotten as the family of four resumed their activity. Violet rushed through the front door and back out into the cold, swiping hastily at the tear that snuck down her cheek.

[klcrisistine]

In Reverse

Lucas exited the office building that evening with a sigh. It hadn’t been a good day. A difficult production issue, countless customer complaints, and several impatient customer success representatives turned his day into a nightmare. 

Now, Lucas had a terrible headache and slightly trembling hands. But he felt relieved to be finally out of the suffocating office building. Unfortunately, it seemed that rotten luck wasn’t ready to leave him. Heavy rain pounded on the roof of the building porch and of course, everything that lay beyond it. He rummaged in his old navy blue knapsack for his umbrella but he seemed unable to find it. He must have forgotten it at home. The first time in a while. Great, just great.

Sighing again, he walked down a narrow gravel path toward an old shed where he could find a jeepney to take him home. The path was roofed. But the rain was so harsh and the winds so frighteningly strong that the absence of the roof would not have made much of a difference.  Cold water sprinkled Lucas’ face and drenched his white polo shirt and brown trousers. He wanted to walk more briskly but the path was wet and slippery. Left and right, people pushed past him, some on their way towards the clutches of the ferocious rain to get home, others about to clock in at work to begin their shift. Lucas didn’t know who he pitied more.

Lucas was freezing by the time the path had ended. Clutching his shivering arms, he ran as quickly and carefully as he could in the rain toward the nearest opened establishment: a bright and crowded KFC restaurant. He pushed the door open and immediately tried to dry his shoes on a mat by the entrance. Using a handkerchief he kept inside his pants pocket, he wiped his face and arms. 

Lucas heaved a sigh and looked outside through the glass entrance. He could barely see a thing through the pounding rain. Unwilling to take an evening shower in the rain in his office clothes, he decided to join the line of people in front of the counter to order a modest dinner: fried chicken, white rice, and a bowl of mushroom soup. He might as well eat a good meal while waiting for the rain to stop pouring.

After thanking the petite young lady at the counter, Lucas took the tray containing his orders, and searched for a seat. It seemed as though many people were doing what Lucas had planned to do. All of the tables seemed occupied. Still, he walked around the restaurant, looking for someone who seemed willing to share a table with him.

Near the back of the establishment, by the waste bins and the restrooms, was a table with benches, occupied by a young man who didn’t seem to be eating. His table was clear. Perhaps he was waiting for someone? Lucas eyed him curiously. He seemed to be deep in thought, staring at the ceiling, his chin resting on hands clasped together. He looked strangely familiar.

Lucas abruptly stopped in his tracks. Only when he stood right by the table where the young man sat did he recognize who he was. He blinked hard several times, unable to believe his eyes. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t be. Was he hallucinating? Perhaps the young man just looked very much like the person he knew...

Lucas! the young man said suddenly, very pleasantly surprised. I can’t believe I ran into you!

Lucas didn’t know what to say. He stood rooted to the spot, trying to comprehend what was happening. The young man in front of him had died, he was absolutely sure of it. He was sure of it because he had been the one to lay him to rest.

There actually wasn’t much to it. No, it didn’t happen instantaneously. But the young man’s death wasn’t the result of an elaborate scheme. Lucas didn’t even need a weapon. He didn’t have to tell any lies or secretly purchase any poisonous substances. He had simply stopped paying the young man any attention. He had simply refused to acknowledge the young man’s existence. Until he no longer existed.

Nobody noticed the young man’s death. Nobody but Lucas actually knew him. The young man only appeared to Lucas, after all. He lived in Lucas’ room, slept in Lucas’ bed, and never felt the need to eat. The young man would only go out of Lucas’ room to watch Lucas sing and play his old steel-stringed guitar onstage every once in a while at a local bar or coffee shop. He was Lucas’ only real fan. He kept Lucas calm and increased by one the number of members in the audience who actually paid Lucas any attention. 

When the young man died, nobody noticed that anything was wrong. Nobody could tell that deep inside, Lucas was mourning. Yes, though it was Lucas who had decided to end the young man’s life, Lucas was deeply saddened by what had happened. The young man, after all, had once been one of Lucas’ best friends. The young man was more than a friend, as a matter of fact -- he was a part of Lucas’ person. He dreamed big dreams for Lucas, created a wonderful future for him in his mind, and counted on endless possibilities, giving Lucas the will to overcome all the frustrating obstacles that came his way. 

But the young man was never realistic. He never saw what Lucas had seen when barely anyone in the audience clapped for him. Or when he failed an audition for the umpteenth time. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough for this,” Lucas had admitted to the young man once.

Yes, you are. You just have to keep trying. It’s not exactly an easy industry to get into, the young man had said, so sure of himself. But you’re very talented.

Yes, Lucas was skilled at the guitar. He had, after all, started playing very young. It all began when, at eight years old, Lucas had grown fond of a musical TV show about a young singer-songwriter who wrote and performed the soundtrack to his own life as he lived an ordinary adolescent life. The protagonist would strum his guitar and sing, miraculously transforming his experiences and emotions into beautiful, heartfelt music.

Lucas was mesmerized. He didn’t know why but he was all of a sudden compelled to follow the young songwriter’s footsteps, create the soundtrack to his life, and share it with the world. And so on one historical afternoon, more than two decades ago, Lucas had picked up his father’s guitar and taught himself to play. He began to read his father’s old books on guitar playing and would play the instrument every night after school until his fingers would tremble in pain. He would even play for hours on the weekends, looking for new pieces to learn, watching and listening to his heroes play over and over so that he could imitate them perfectly. It didn’t take too long until his fingers could fly gracefully over the guitar strings on the fretboard. He would effortlessly strum the strings of his old guitar magically, producing unbelievable melodies and harmonies.

But Lucas hadn’t just dreamed of becoming a guitarist. He had wanted to be a singer-songwriter. The problem was, he wasn’t an amazing singer. Yes, he could sing songs in tune. But his voice didn’t stand out. And his face wasn’t what record labels could call the face of a celebrity.

“I think it’s time for me to stop, man,” Lucas had said to the young man. “I’m just...not going anywhere.”

But you could be so close, the young man replied, refusing to allow Lucas to give up. You can’t stop now.

You can’t stop now. Those were the words the young man kept repeating to Lucas. It was like he was at a casino, playing an addicting game of roulette. He’d place his bets every round, hoping and hoping that this time, he would finally be victorious. But he always lost. And he would always continue to lose. Lucas was sure of that. 

And hearing the young man go on and on about perseverance and Lucas’ supposed inevitable success hurt him very much. The best is yet to come. Keep practicing, keep making music. Try to audition for this. Sign up to perform at this event. You’ll get better. You’ll start getting good gigs...

Lucas was sick of it all. He knew what he needed to do and he had done it successfully.

Or so he thought.

The young man wasn’t dead. He stood in front of Lucas at this very moment, looking exactly like he did when Lucas had last seen him. He was even wearing the same clothes: a pair of maong pants, a plain white shirt, and a black leather jacket. The young man was smiling widely, almost mockingly saying: Did you actually think you could get rid of me so easily?

Hello? Earth to Lucas! the young man said loudly, snapping his fingers inches from Lucas’ face. Sit down, sit down.

Lucas didn’t know what else to do. He sat in front of his old friend, mortified, almost certain he was seeing a ghost.

Come on Lucas, say something, the young man prompted him. Aren’t you glad to see me?

Lucas  swallowed. “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes tightly and slapped each of his cheeks. He opened his eyes. The young man still sat in front of him.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were...”

Dead? The young man laughed out loud. To be honest, I thought so too.

“So...what happened?”

That’s what I’d like to know, the young man replied, shrugging innocently.

“You think I could tell you what happened?” Lucas asked, extremely perplexed.

I think you could clear out some things for me. And I could do the same for you. Hopefully, together, we would make sense of the whole thing.

Lucas heaved another sigh. He had already sighed so many times today. “Fine,” Lucas said. 

The young man grinned. Great!

“Why do you keep smiling?”

The young man laughed. He threw his arms into the air and cheered: It just feels so good to be alive again!

Lucas looked around consciously. The young man’s mannerisms had always been loud. Everything about him, in fact, was loud: his rockstar getup, his voice, his annoying smile. Fortunately, no one in the restaurant seemed to be paying them any mind.

“Keep your voice down,” Lucas hushed him.

What’s wrong? No one else can hear me. You know that. I can be as loud as I want to be.

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

For what? For trying to kill me?

Lucas nodded, feeling remorseful.

The young man cackled in laughter again. I didn’t have the time to be angry, did I? I was gone before I knew exactly what was happening to me. And when I regained consciousness, how could I be angry? Of course, I was absolutely overjoyed!

“But you knew that I once tried to get rid of you,” Lucas protested.

Yes, but you brought me back. And that’s what really matters. the young man explained. You realized that what you did was wrong. And that’s good enough for me.

“Brought you back? I didn’t bring you back.”

Who else could have?

Lucas didn’t reply. He was still so confused. How could he have brought the young man he loathed so much back to life, back into his life? Could the incident a couple of days ago have something to do with what was happening? 

Do you want to know how it feels like to die? The young man suddenly broke the silence and Lucas’ train of thought. The young man had always been very loquacious. He seemed to hate silence.

“Sure, why not?” Lucas groaned, rolling his eyes.

Actually, I don’t know if I really died. Maybe I did. But only for a little while. It was like falling asleep. At first, I could only see darkness, the kind that you see when you close your eyes at night before really falling asleep. Then I lost consciousness. I didn’t know it at the time, of course. I was in the middle of deep, dreamless sleep. I couldn’t think or feel anything. I didn’t even know whether I was breathing or not.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I just found that once again, I was alive. I didn’t know how much time had passed. Not until, I saw the month and year on the calendar your parents hung over a hook on the front door.

“You woke up in my old bedroom,” Lucas noted, staring blankly in the distance.

Yes. I did. But you were no longer there. Figured you must have decided to live on your own. You’ve always said you wanted to do that when you were still living with your family.

“How did you find where I live?”

The young man chuckled. I didn’t. But I remembered the name and the approximate location of the place where you worked. It took some time for me to find it, of course. And it took even more time to actually chance upon you. I guess I got...lucky. Because you didn’t think to switch jobs and because I ran into you today.

“Have you just been loitering around here, waiting for me to run into you?” Lucas asked, unable to believe the lengths at which the young man had gone to find him.

Yeah! the young man replied proudly. I was actually a little upset when the rain started pouring because I thought I had less chances of running into you. But lo and behold, here we are!

“Great,” Lucas said sarcastically.

Oh come on, Lucas. Can’t you at least pretend you’re happy we’ve been reunited? the young man said, pouting.

“I’ll try,” Lucas lied.

Good! the young man exclaimed, a grin returning to his face. Anyway, how are you? Doing pretty well for yourself, eh?

Lucas bit the corner of his lip and looked up. “I guess...I mean I am paying for all of my own expenses now. And I do at least have some money saved up.”

Are you happy?

“What do you think?”

Probably not.

“Why do you say so?”

The young man smiled wider than ever before before responding: Because I’m suddenly not dead.

Lucas clenched a fist beneath the table. The young man was right.

Anyway, since we already brought up the subject of my returning to life all of a sudden, something must have happened, right? Something important? the young man said with confidence. Want to tell me what it is?

Lucas clicked his tongue and slapped his forehead. Suddenly, he saw things clearly. There was no doubt about it. The young man had returned because...

“I started playing again.”

The young man raised his arms and looked up, as though he were thanking a higher being. Amazing! Just, amazing! he exclaimed. Tell me what happened! Tell me everything! he excitedly demanded, leaning forward in his seat.

“I don’t know...I mean I don’t understand what happened...” Lucas uselessly replied.

What happened!

Lucas recounted the events of an evening not unlike those that came before it. He had arrived in his apartment at around 7:30, ate leftover spaghetti from the fridge and took a hot shower. 

Lucas had once again brought home his laptop from work so that he could finish the task that was assigned to him -- a script to execute a database migration. The task wasn’t too difficult. But it did take some time to accomplish and since he’d had to attend many meetings during the day, he hadn’t had the time to make any progress on it. 

He didn’t know what else to do at home so he decided to do some work. But while reading through a long document about database user roles, he dozed off. And he dreamt a beautiful, vivid dream.

In the dream, he sat on a stool and held his beloved old guitar. A spotlight shone over him. Only him. A few feet from where he sat, there was nothing but darkness. Nothing but pure silence waiting to be broken. Without a single thought or hesitation, Lucas placed one hand on the fretboard skillfully and plucked the strings of the guitar. Sweet, gentle music filled the vast nothingness. It made his heart sing. In that one beautiful moment, nothing but the music and his continuous playing seemed to matter.

Lucas awoke from the dream in tears. He wept louder than he ever had in a long time. He was practically wailing. Never in his life had he felt so empty, so hungry. Without really thinking, he quickly stood from his seat, desperately grabbed his old guitar from a large, dusty wooden cabinet, and began to tune it. Once he was satisfied, he turned off the ceiling light, turned on a small lamp and began to play...

Hmm...so a dream made you do it, the young man commented after hearing the story. I’m not surprised.

"Why not?" Lucas asked, curious.

Dreams have the capability to reveal what has been hidden in the very back of people's minds. You chose to forget something very important to you. Did you actually think you could get rid of it completely?

Lucas frowned in response. The young man made a fair point.

It all makes sense now! This is wonderful! the young man said all of a sudden, clapping his hands. We're back in business then.

"Wait a minute!" Lucas protested. "Back in business? What exactly do you mean?"

You know what I mean. It's time to pick up where we left off, the young man explained, beaming at Lucas.

"I completely disagree! Yes, I started playing again. It doesn't mean I want to go back to the way things were!"

Well, that's a problem. Because I'm back and you don't have a choice, the young man said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I do. I do have a choice," Lucas said. "I can choose to get rid of you like I did before."

The young man cackled, clutching his stomach. Like you did before? Did you really do it? If you did, then how come I can laugh in front of you like this?

Lucas grunted in response.

My dear, dear, Lucas, if there is one thing I have become sure of after everything I have been through, it's that you can never ever really get rid of me. I will just keep coming back. Stronger than ever before, the young man said, sitting straighter and taller.

“Just because you came back once, doesn’t mean you’ll be able to do it again,” Lucas reasoned out. “Besides, what makes you so sure I’m willing to do what you tell me?”

Who said I was sure? the young man replied, shrugging. In all honesty, you’re the most difficult part of this whole situation. I don’t understand why you’re getting in the way of your own happiness.

Lucas shook his head. “You’re assuming you know what will make me happy--”

I do know. I believe it’s you who don’t.

“I know!” Lucas bellowed, slamming his fists against the table. Silence immediately followed. Several heads turned. A number of conversations turned to whispers.

Now, look what you’ve done, the young man said, sneering.

Lucas no longer said another word. He slung his knapsack over his shoulder and quickly left the restaurant. His head was bowed in shame. And his fists were clenched in anger. He didn’t dare look back. He kept walking on, even when heavy rain began to pour over his head and down his body.

What are you doing? the young man called out. He seemed to be not too far behind Lucas.

“Taking a walk!” Lucas replied furiously, not turning to look at the young man.

In this storm?

“Yes!”

Do you do this often? the young man asked, the sound of his voice much louder. Lucas walked on as fast as he could, not saying a word.

Where are you going? the young man bellowed, frustrated.

Where was he going? Lucas wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to go home. The young man would just keep following him. And he didn’t want him to know where he lived. 

So Lucas kept walking, letting his feet lead the way. Not much later, he had found himself walking down the narrow, shaded, pathway that he had traversed earlier in the evening. This time, however, he was going in the reverse direction. He was heading back towards his office. Unlike before, the path was nearly deserted.

You’re going back to work? the young man asked, still tailing him.

“None of your business. Leave me alone,” Lucas said through gritted teeth. His office was only a few feet away now. But he rushed past it, remembering the terrible day he had had to endure.

Are you trying to tire me out so I would stop following you? the young man asked yet another question.

Lucas didn’t respond.

Unlucky for you, I don’t get tired, the young man bragged. The rain can’t make me sick, either. Just saying, in case you’ve forgotten.

Lucas continued to stay silent, walking down the wet and muddy gravel path that cut through acres of trimmed grasses. It was starting to get even more difficult to see where he was going. The rain continued to blur his surroundings. And now he had strayed too far from where the office buildings stood. There were barely any street lamps around. 

Still, Lucas kept walking. He walked and walked until he stood at the edge of a lake. The wind blew more icily cold here. Just a few feet away, the dark water rose rapidly as the rain continued to pour. He took a deep breath and clutched his arms, taking in his new surroundings.

I’m gonna be honest, the young man spoke all of a sudden. I don’t know why we’re here. 

Lucas tried to catch his breath before responding. The young man’s voice had startled him. He had nearly forgotten that he was not alone. He just wanted to get away from everything. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t.

“Why don’t you ever get tired of following me?” Lucas groaned.

I already told you I don’t get tired, the young man replied.

“Don’t you have other things to do?”

Nope, the young man said.

“Ugh!” Lucas screamed in frustration, turning to the young man. “How will I ever get rid of you?”

I told you, you can’t.

Lucas crossed his arms and gazed at the dark lake. The sky continued to pelt cats and dogs into the mysterious waters. Lucas wondered how deep the lake really was. Even in the day, it had always been difficult to tell. Could the rising, troubled waters kill someone who didn’t know how to swim? 

“Won’t pushing you into this lake kill you?” Lucas thought aloud.

The young man laughed cacophonously. Why don’t you try?

Lucas darted toward the young man and grabbed his arms. He attempted to pull him towards the edge of the lake but the young man skillfully stood his ground. Lucas was barely able to move him an inch.

Didn’t I tell you? the young man said coldly. I grew stronger. You can’t beat me. You have nothing. The young man broke free from Lucas’ grip with a big tug and pushed Lucas down. Lucas painfully landed on his back with a thud. The stone floor beneath him was wet and cold and unbreakable. He tried to stand but he couldn’t. So he just dangerously lay there, near the mouth of a hungry, black lake.

You have nothing...Lucas repeated the young man’s words in his head. Tears began to cloud Lucas’ vision. The young man was right.

The young man looked down at him, beaming. I could easily kick you into the lake, he threatened. I could replace you completely. No one would suspect a thing. I could live your life better than you can--

“You can’t do that! You’re bluffing!” Lucas retorted, his voice trembling. But even he wasn’t so sure of his own words.

I haven’t lied to you about anything yet, the young man menacingly said in reply. Why would I do so now? I’ve prepared for this. I knew there was a chance you would push away.

There was silence.

Lucas gazed at the young man through tears. The young man had grown stronger. Lucas had once tried to kill him but he only grew stronger. He grew stronger because Lucas couldn’t live without him. Lucas had once breathed so much life and soul into him that he seemed to have nothing left. Whether he kept pushing the young man away or let him dictate the direction of his life, he would always be miserable. He could never be happy.

“Kill me,” Lucas finally said. “What are you waiting for?”

Y-you’re not even going to fight? the young man asked, taken aback.

“I don’t see the point...”

The young man punched Lucas’ right cheek. Fight me!

Lucas said and did nothing. The young man punched the same cheek once again. Why won’t you fight back? Fight me or beg me to come back!

No response.

Do something! the young man cried.

“I don’t see the point,” Lucas whispered, his sobs growing louder. “Just...kill me. Like you said.”

The young man fell to his knees. Covering his face with his hands, he wept, the rain pouring endlessly on.

[thefinalcinderella]

DIVE!! Book 3 Chapter 11-SS SPECIAL ‘99

The very last chapter! I have to be honest, this book went in directions that I did not expect, but it’s still as engrossing as ever. I always thought of Youichi as a little shit, but after reading through this book I realized how lonely his life has been up to now (still a little shit though). Anyways it’s too bad that there’s not enough Shibuki in this book (but he still proves in the last chapter that he’s best boy), but I almost forgot how great it is to see all three main characters together.

The amount of notes I have to make for this chapter is giving me a headache for Tsurune (do not look forward to that any time soon). I will start the next book after a break.

Full list of translations here

Previously on DIVE!!: Youichi proves himself to be the best older brother figure ever; the competition ends exactly how you’d expect it to

When Youichi invited Kayoko to the “Natural House” in the back streets of Higashikitazawa on a Saturday afternoon, almost a week had passed since the Sino-Japanese Goodwill Competition.

“Please eat whatever you like. Today I will also go along with you.”

It was an organic restaurant that had an interior of only plain wood and cream. Youichi, sitting at the seat by the window, presented Kayoko with the menu, which was listed with the names of bland-sounding dishes, and mainly organic vegetable-and-fish-focused.

Turnips and homegrown ganmo, thoroughly boiled. Bok choy covered in crab sauce. Daikon and mustard spinach with yuzu flavor. Salad with sweet potatoes and lemons. White fish and hen-of-the-woods steamed in foil. Homemade yose tofu…(1)

“I feel like I’m getting healthier just looking at this,” Kayoko said, without hiding her confusion at this foreign culture. “I can feel my blood getting thinner.”

“I can guarantee the flavor. I basically don’t eat out, but I come here sometimes. Because it’s my treat today, please eat whatever you like.”

After hesitating, Kayoko ordered a “lunch of buri daikon and mizuna with small fish dressing plus brown rice,” and Youichi chose a “lunch of grilled fish and heated vegetables plus cha soba.” (2)

“So, what is it today? Lately, it seems that you’ve escaped from the worst of the slump that you’ve mentioned before.”

“Thanks to you.”

Indeed, this person had seen through everything. Youichi spoke, while remembering the eeriness of feeling like he had been seen through to his stomach.

“Today is my gratitude for that, and I have a request afterwards…”

“Request?”

“First, with this, I wanted to say that I’m truly grateful for all your help. I think it was you, Coach Asaki, as expected, who opened the first breakthrough for me when I was driven into a corner.”

Youichi bowed formally to Kayoko. He set aside his disposition, and he, who had an impeccable figure, hung his head gracefully, drawing a curve that was as elegant as a moth orchid.

“The issue with the commercial before was wiped clean with your recommendation, right? Since that weird commercial doesn’t exist anymore, I was really relieved.”

“My opinion was just requested. All I said was that Fujitani Youichi seemed to be quite the eccentric oddball, but how would he be as an image character for Mizuki? And that it should be ended for both parties’ sakes. When you refused the nomination in the first place, I am sure that story spread all over the place, like that was the essence of it.” 

“I suppose.”

“Even with the uproar over the nomination cancellation, even if I wasn’t here, you surely would have done the same thing in the end. That’s why you shouldn’t be thanking me. What you did seemed rather stupid, but it’s also somewhat exhilarating. So isn’t that okay? Even if they don’t say it, there should be plenty of people who were thinking the same things. And besides…”

Kayoko rarely hesitated to say something. She sipped her blue-green colored tea.

“Besides?”

“Besides, on that day…after the competition when you and Okitsu-kun came back with Sakai-kun who disappeared, I thought something when I saw the three of you laughing while walking. You would never say it, and perhaps you haven’t even realized it yourself, but isn’t the reason for why you gave up the nomination is surprisingly simple?”

“What is it?”

“Well, I wonder.” Kayoko smiled meaningfully. “With that, the story’s already over. I was never very interested in what’s ended. I feel like I’m doing an evaluation meeting voluntarily after the competition. But more importantly, I’m interested in what your request is.”

Youichi, with an embarrassed face, tilted his head, having suddenly gotten nervous with that one sentence. He breathed in quickly. And then, as if to give himself a boost, he pushed out his elbows, and awkwardly began.

“I like self-reflection well enough, so I thought about this slump again on my own. I think it was exactly as you said, but I feel like that’s not all there was… I feel like that I was unconsciously protecting myself somewhere. How I made my techniques my own, how to dive perfectly—I always pondered over those things without feelings of attack, and forgot how to take on something new… That isn’t good.”

Youichi’s voice strengthened, as if he was telling himself that.

“First of all, I think that I will change from here on out. Like Tomo, like Okitsu, I want to take on something new again. And, if possible, I want it to be the event that I was never good at—reverse somersaults.”

“Reverse somersaults…”

“Surprisingly, no one noticed this, but I have never done reverse somersaults for my strong point, pikes. I always made do with the easier-to-dive tuck position. I was in an accident when I was little, and I’ve been dragging that trauma out, but I want to end that soon. So, what I mean is…”

Youichi breathed in heavily, and spoke.

“Could you teach me the reverse 2½ somersaults in pike position?”

Kayoko’s mascara-boldened eyelashes fluttered.

Reverse 2 ½ somersaults in pike position—

That event, which had a degree of difficulty of 2.9, was an extremely difficult dive even for divers who didn’t feel like they weren’t good at reverse somersaults. Since the success rate was so low in addition to the danger, one rarely saw it in a competition.

“I teach you the reverse 2½ somersaults in pike position?”

“There’s two weeks until the qualifying trials where the representation right could be obtained. If I am to master this troublesome technique in such a short time, you are the only coach there is for that.”

“It can be done if it’s me?”

“If it’s you, and me.”

Kayoko’s cheeks slackened to the revived self-confidence in Youichi’s eyes.

“Don’t say such funny things.”

“I was extremely serious. I must take back the representation right at next month’s qualifying trials, by all means. Otherwise, I can’t show my face to the MDC, and my home environment will grow worse and worse. If the MDC is forced to close down, that might even be what will sever the father-son relationship between me and the old man. Every time we pass by each other at home I feel an extraordinary bloodlust. My mother’s so stressed from interposing herself between us that her jaw hasn’t stopped clenching.  

“Oh my.”

“It’s a temporomandibular joint disorder (3). Anyways, I absolutely cannot lose next month’s competition because of this. I must perfect the new event, and I would like to face the qualifying trials with my body and mind in the best condition. And so…” Youichi declared with conviction. “I’ve named that reverse 2½ somersaults pike…’SS Special ’99,’ and I’ll work hard to carry it out successfully, and go to Sydney.”

“‘SS Special’?”

“The great pike position—it stands for the Super Shrimp Special.” (4)

“…”

Kayoko was at a loss for words. She then spoke with a tone that sounded like she was trying to find out how serious he was.

“The reverse 2½ somersaults pike has been called the reverse 2½ somersaults pike since forever, and even now everybody calls it the reverse 2½ somersaults pike. Was it necessary to specially give it a new name?”

“It’s to get me into the mindset. It’s a new type of image training.” Youichi said unreservedly.

Kayoko was speechless again, and looked around the restaurant like she was seeking help, but there was nothing there but things and colours that were good for the body.

Walls in an eye-pleasing cream colour. The plain wood ceiling that looked as though they would smell good if you approached it. The incandescent lamps that gave off a natural light, gently embraced by conical paper hats. Just like the ceiling, the plain wood floor looked like it had been carried in from the forest just a short while ago, and the tables—.

As Kayoko stared unblinkingly at each one of those things, at that moment, her mind recalled a phrase.

“‘So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name.’”

“What’s that?”

“A passage from the Book of Genesis. I was made to memorize it when I was a child. Because all things were named by man, they belong to man. So it is with ‘SHEEP,’ with ‘COW,’ and also with ‘SS Special ’99’…” Kayoko said the names with the beautiful accent that she picked up in America. “That might be nice. If that technique becomes yours because of that.”

“Then…”

“I will also cooperate. Of course, while teaching the other children as well, as usual.”

“Thank you very much.”

When Youichi vigorously brought his head down, a waiter in a vegetable-dyed-style apron appeared holding a serving tray, placing the different lunch sets down in front of them.

Kayoko had already scrambled for the chopsticks when he lifted his head up again.

“It’s true. This really does taste good.”

Influenced by Kayoko’s enthusiasm for the food like the conversation was already over, Youichi also reached for the chopsticks.

The two silently moved the contents of the tray to their mouths like they were plant sister and brother who were having a conversation with alpha waves.

After eating up her buri daikon, mizuna and brown rice, just before hurriedly getting up from her seat like usual, Kayoko spoke, like she had just remembered Youichi was there.

“One day, I would like to let you eat something like greasy spare ribs, or beef stew with plenty of demiglace sauce.”

“I’d like to eat them,” Youichi nodded.

“But, it looks like that day is still far away.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Driving yourself to your very limit again and again, in this extreme world.”

Needless to say, Youichi was shaking his head.

“It’s what I’ve decided for myself.”

The final decisive battle, where the victory was fought for with the additional harsh condition of earning 600 points and more. Facing the stage where his last hope for the Olympics was wagered, it was true that right now, Youichi was at the very limit. Pressure will rise with each passing day, and if he began to train extra hard for the “SS Special ’99,” it’ll be apparent that every night he was exhausted to the point of vomiting gastric juices.

But this is none other than the snow that I let fall myself, Youichi thought.

From now on, he would be rolling it with his own hands, and he would make his own, true snowman that didn’t belong to anyone else.

Even if the shape was somewhat bad, it will surely be cold when it is touched, and when it melts and gets washed away, it will surely leave a trace behind—.

Translation Notes

1. Ganmo is deep-fried tofu with thinly sliced vegetables. Yuzu is a kind of citrus fruit that grows in East Asia. Hen of the woods is a type of mushroom. Yose tofu is a type of tofu that has no water surrounding it, and a coagulant added to it to help it keeps its shape. It has a more “tofu” flavour.

2. Buri daikon is a dish where yellowtail fish and daikon are cooked with soy sauce. Mizuna is a type of mustard plant that grows in Japan. Cha soba is soba flavored with green tea.

3. The full name for TMJ disorder, where there’s pain in the jaw muscles. For some reason it cracks me up that Youichi knows this

4. Pike position in Japanese is 蝦型 (ebi-kata), which literally means “shrimp type.”

Next time on DIVE!!: The beginning of the end.

[thiswreckageivebecome]

As long as it takes. (”The Talks” - Part 20) (Sebastian Stan x reader)

Description: “I’ll wait for as long as it takes, as long as I get you at the end" You meet Sebastian Stan on the street in New York. What starts off as a fan encounter stretches to an unexpected coffee date and before long you’re caught up in a whirlwind and left with an internal struggle of what to choose.

Word Count: 6205

Warnings: Minor language. Tons of fluff...per usual.

Author’s note: Thank you for sticking it out with me. Hope you enjoy! I’d love to hear what you think!

When you re-entered the house, you found Sebastian and your grandfather laughing loudly with each other at the table. You adored your grandfather. He could always make you laugh with how crazy he tended to be. You were immensely grateful that you had become close in recent years as when you were growing up you rarely saw each other nor had much interaction.

The evening passed by and after dinner, the children opened presents. During this time, you noticed Sebastian's focus on the children and how elated he appeared while watching the kids open their presents. He was going to make such a great dad one day if he ever chose to pursue that. Around 11, you noticed his eyes were drooping and yours weren't too far off from doing the same. You gently nudged him and said, "let's go home." You both smiled, remembering the comment earlier. The two of you bid farewell to everyone and told them you'd see them tomorrow.

"How far is it again," Sebastian asked once you two were in the car. You had convinced him to let you drive. You knew the roads well and could get home faster.

"Not too far. It'll probably take about an hour or so. Maybe a little shorter with my driving."

"Yeah, I may go to sleep so if we die, I don't see it coming." You punched him playfully for this comment.

"I'm a good driver. Shut up. You can take a nap, though, if you'd like." You knew he had to be exhausted. His last job before this trip had wrapped at 3 am and he had flown out at 5. He had probably had only four hours of sleep in the past 36 hours or so. "In fact, please take a nap. I know you're bone-tired by now."

"I think I'll take you up on that, as long as you're sure you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind at all."

He was dead asleep in less than five minutes. You turned the music down just a touch and sped up a bit to try and get him to a more comfortable bed instead of a car seat. About halfway through the drive, the lyrics "You fell asleep in my car I drove the whole time. But that's okay I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine. I'm driving here I sit, cursing my government for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement" crossed your ears and made you chuckle quietly. It was true that had been exactly what you were doing. The curses definitely came out when you hit a pothole that had formed since you had last traveled to your grandparents.

Once you pulled into the driveway and came to a stop to park the car, Sebastian woke up. You guys went inside, changed clothes, and collapsed into the bed, sleeping heavily through until you were awoken on Christmas morning by the smell of bacon.

You rolled over to find an empty spot beside you. You heard a soft clank and a "shit" from the kitchen. The walls and doors of your apartment were paper thin so honestly, any noise could reach you. You chuckled, knowing what Sebastian was up to and that he was annoyed he had made a sound that may wake you. You stretched your entire body before getting up slowly, opening the door, and walking around the corner into the kitchen. As soon as his eyes caught sight of you, he muttered "shit" under his breath again.

"(Y/n), I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. I wanted you to sleep as long as possible." He finished turning the bacon and stepped to the sink to rinse his hands. You walked up behind him and hugged him, digging your face between his shoulder blades. You stood on the tip of your toes to kiss the back of his neck.

"Babe, it's okay. You didn't wake me up...the glorious scent of bacon did that."

The tension left his shoulders as he laughed at your remark. He didn't even grab a towel to dry his hands, simply turned around and enclosed the sides of your face in his hands and kissed you.

"Seb!" You pulled away and whined. "I haven't even brushed my teeth yet." He kissed you again with even more intensity just to prove that he couldn't care less. What parted you was hot grease popping out of the bacon pan and onto your arm, burning you. You yanked yourself away from Sebastian and simultaneously the stove.

"Owww! Fu-" you grasped your arm where the burn was. Sebastian was confused until he convinced you to move your hand and saw how red the spot on your arm was. He quickly stepped to the stove and turned the burner off, the bacon was ready anyway. He grabbed the rag on the sink and ran it under cold water and wrapped it around the spot the grease had hit. He walked you over to the kitchen table and sat you down in the chair as gently as possible.

"Okay, is that helping? I'm so sorry. How bad is it? It's pretty red. Do I need to get...hey, I think I saw some aloe vera in your fridge, right?" He quickly turned and opened the fridge, grabbing the aloe vera bottle. When he turned around he was surprised to see you suppressing laughter.

"What? Why are you laughing?"

"Seb. It's really not that big of a deal. I was a little over dramatic initially, but you act like I....like I just fell off of a train and lost an arm..."

He looked at the ceiling and sighed deeply in mock annoyance.

"Really?" You grinned and nodded. "Really? That's where you're going with this?" You giggled and nodded again, but quicker in order to at least attempt to conceal your laughter. "You're going to pay for that," he flashed a mischievous grin. The next thing you knew you were hanging upside down over his shoulder and being carried back to your room which for him was about five steps. He threw you onto the bed, pretending that he was being rough when in actuality, you knew he was using the skills he had learned in his fight scenes to ensure you wouldn't get hurt. He jumped on you, straddling you. You attempted to grab his waist in order to tickle him but he grabbed your arms before you could succeed and he went to pin your arms beside your head. You took in a sharp breath, making Sebastian stop immediately, letting go of you.

"I'm sorry! Did I hit the burn? Shit. I'm so sorry."

You sat there, face twisted in pain, and as quickly as you could, grabbed his sides again and tossed him off of you and flipped the positions. You pinned his wrists up beside his head and busted out laughing at the shock on his face.

"You're not hurt," he asked, bewilderment in his voice. You smirked, shrugging.

"That's not fair. I can't believe you played me like that. I also can't believe I fell for it."

"So what you're saying is, I'm possibly a better actress than you?" He looked at you momentarily, thinking of a response.

"Well, yes, definitely a better act-ress than me."

"Damn your wit." Now it was his turn to smirk until he scrunched his face and sighed deeply. You looked at him confused.

"What's wrong?"

"This is not how the morning was supposed to go. I...I mean, don't get me wrong, this has been fun, minus you getting burned, but...I didn't mean for the morning to turn out like this." Your gaze alleviated.

"How did you mean for it to be?"

"Well, I was...obviously...going to make you breakfast. I wanted to bring it to you in bed, have you wake up to it as a surprise- maybe even give you one of your presents..."

"Presents?? Seb, we said no presents."

"Yeah, well, I was crossing my fingers when I said that..."

"Sebastiannnn!!"

"You're going to tell me you didn't get me any presents? You're not going to honestly tell me, anyway." You looked away.

"Well...."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, but you're supposed to listen and not do it."

"(Y/n), come on. I was not going to show up with no presents for you for Christmas."

"Seb. You being here is present enough." You lowered yourself so that your face was on his chest.

"That's how I feel about it, in reverse roles." His words brought a smile to your face. He kissed the top of your head.

"Let me go finish breakfast."

"Okay, I'll help."

"But that's not the point."

"Well I'm already up and awake so why not?"

"Fine. Whatever." He huffed, partially frustrated.

You rolled off of him and plopped down on the bed.

"Fine. Whatever." You repeated, mocking him, crossing your arms in the process.

"What are you doing," he asked surprised.

"I'm laying in bed and waiting for my breakfast. Now shhh, so I can go back to sleep. You closed your eyes, pretending you were going back to sleep.

He left the bed saying "well fine, good, it's about damn time." You kept your eyes closed but stuck your tongue out at him. You couldn't see him so you couldn't be sure, but you were fairly certain he either stuck out his own tongue back at you or flipped you the bird. Once he left the room, you opened your eyes and rolled over. You turned on Netflix and started up White Christmas, your favorite Christmas movie of all time. You began to sing along quietly and by the time Major Waverly was taking his final walk out of grounds, Sebastian was walking back into the room with a piping hot cup of coffee. He set it down and told you he'd be right back with the food. When he entered he carried two plates. On one, bacon, eggs, and toast filled the plate. On the other stood two huge pancakes with a smiley face made out of fruit on it and a powdered sugar mustache. You laughed when you saw the face.

"I'm sorry I don't have trays to make life easier."

"No worries." He handed you the plates and then grabbed the hidden syrup from between his arm and torso. He left the room again, presumably to get his own breakfast. Once he returned back with the two plates for himself and crawled into bed, a lightbulb went off in your brain.

"Babe! Where did you get all of this food? I had bread, but I didn't have any of this other stuff."

"Crap. Just a second." He placed his plates on the bed and got up as quickly as he could without turning the plates over. When he returned, he had a bag of cheese.

"I didn't know if you'd want cheese in your eggs or not, so I just set it aside so you could add it if you wanted."

"Seb. You're the best."

"Far from it, love, but I appreciate the belief."

"So did you go to the store? Did you drive...my car...to the store?" You were very protective of your vehicle. You didn't mind Seb driving it, but it was still difficult to adjust. The only people who you typically trusted to drive your vehicle was your dad, mostly because you got your driving and navigation skills from him. However, you trusted Seb's driving skills most of the time, so you were okay with it after the initial realization.

"No, I walked..." Your eyes bulged, but then fell into slits, deciphering that he was joking before he continued "in the snow....uphill...with no shoes on...both ways."

"You turd." You slapped his shoulder playfully.

"That's how the saying goes, right?"

"Yes, something like that." He handed you the syrup and to start breakfast. You both enjoyed the food-thank the Lord Seb was such a good cook- and watched White Christmas until it finished and then you realized you guys needed to hit the road quickly.

By the time you guys arrived at your parent's home, the table was set and everything except for the turkey was ready. It was being carved as the two of you walked into the back door. Greeting everyone the two of you went ahead into the living room. Sebastian sat and you went into the kitchen to begin gathering ice for the glasses. You went around filling the glasses with ice at the two tables before double-checking who was drinking water and who was having tea. When you asked Sebastian from the dining room doors, his response made everyone in the room laugh.

"If it's like that sweet tea you make, go ahead and just place a pitcher at my spot, please."

You simply shook your head and chuckled a little bit. After fixing everyone's glasses, the turkey made its way to the table and the "kids" aka your younger cousins who were all high school aged and older, fixed their plates then moved to the kitchen table. The normal seating had been changed a small bit for Christmas lunch this year. Normally your youngest uncle sat next to your dad. Instead, Sebastian had been placed next to him and you beside him on the other side of the table you normally sit on.

After the prayer, everyone dug in and at the table, the sounds of chewing and silverware hitting plates were all you heard for a short while. When people finished eating, then the political and entertainment talk began. Luckily, your family didn't tend to say anything too embarrassing, but before you could stop it, they started in a little bit on Sebastian about life in the entertainment business. Thankfully, they didn't badger him too much, but you still really preferred they didn't ask him about this stuff. He handled it all in stride at least. He was always a gentleman, in every situation. You stared at him in awe and adoration as he answered a silly question from your youngest cousin. It reminded you of that question caught on film at one of the Salt Lake ComicCon he had attended a few years prior. A young child from the audience asked him how he had survived the fall from the train. He had handled it gracefully and it was quite humorous for anyone old enough to separate Seb from Bucky.

By the time he had finished answering, he noticed you staring at him. He looked over, widened his eyes as if to ask "what" as he smiled at seeing your own smile. You simply shook your head. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had seen you staring. When you finally dropped your eyes from his, you looked across the table and both your cousin and mother were looking at you, both grinning.

As everyone finished up, you rose, along with your aunt, mother, and cousin to begin cleaning up. The men, besides your cousin's fiancé and Seb, all headed for the living room. The two of them began to pick up things from the table and bring them into the kitchen. Your cousin and you both assured them they would survive the living room, thanked them for offering to assist, and took the plates from them, shooing them to the living room. As the kitchen and dining room slowly became clean you stopped glancing into the living room, getting caught up in conversation with family. After everything was finished, you all walked into the living room. Your eyes quickly scanned the room and noticed there were two individuals missing: Seb and your father.

"Where's Sebastian?"

"He and your dad are outside talking, I think," your oldest uncle replied, eyeing you with a bit of a smirk.

You stepped to the front door, seeing them over at the line of trees between your grandfather's home and your parents. About the time you got ready to open the door, your grandfather asked you a question. Knowing there was no way to help Sebastian because as much as you loved him, a conversation with your grandfather would take quite some time, you sat down to respond. After a little while, you saw your mom looking at her watch. You knew it must've been getting close to time for going to your other side of the family's, so you got up and headed for the door. When you reached it, Sebastian was getting ready to open it on the other side. When you saw him, you just looked curiously at him, but he gave you a small smile in attempts to comfort your nerves that were readable across your face. In a few moments, he helped you and your cousin hand out presents to the family. As everyone opened, Sebastian included as you had snuck in a present for him "from your parents", everyone seemed pleased with what they had received.  Soon after finishing presents, the rest of the family bid their farewells and headed for your grandfather's as your parents, Sebastian, and yourself got ready to travel again down the winding country roads. Once the dishes and presents were loaded, everyone headed that way. This time your parents didn't invite you and Sebastian to ride with them, it seemed understood you would be driving separately. Sebastian, once in the car, started going on and on about the food and the time spent with your family.

"Can I ask you something," he asked when he stopped the car at a stop sign about five minutes from your grandparents.

You turned to look at him, realizing the seriousness and nodded.

"Did your parents really get me that scarf?"

You looked away then up at the ceiling, your way to tell him you were about to lie to him.

"Yehhh...technically."

"What does technically mean?" You sighed.

"It means they wanted to get you something but hadn't really met you so they didn't know what to get you. They asked me to pick something up, they'd pay me for it, and then offer it to you when you came, as a present from them. Don't tell them I told you that, please."

He took his foot off the brake then and off you went again in the direction of your grandparents.

"I won't. I found it very odd that magically they had delivered the exact scarf I had been looking at when you visited over Thanksgiving." The two of you chuckled together.

The rest of the evening passed fairly quickly. You sat, slightly cuddled, with Sebastian on the couch and watched It's a Wonderful Life with half of the family. After the film and the remainder of presents were opened, you noticed Sebastian's eyes drooping once again. You squeezed his knee and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"C'mon. Let's go home and get you to bed." You went around to hug everyone's necks and tell them goodbye. Before you walked outside with your parents, Sebastian surprised you by whispering.

"Let's invite your parents over tomorrow for an early dinner before we fly out. I'll cook." You looked at him, shock and awe simultaneously flashing across your eyes. You smiled and nodded. Once outside, you went to hug your parents as they thought they wouldn't be seeing you again until the new year.

"Mr. and Mrs. (y/l/n), would you please join us for an early dinner tomorrow evening? Say four o'clock?"

Your parents were surprised, you could tell, but they attempted to play it off and graciously accepted. You hopped in the driver's seat and turned the heat on before Sebastian got in. As soon as you guys got home, it was back to bed for the two of you, falling asleep quickly.

In the morning, you both awoke early enough to go to the grocery store. You picked up some last few travel items as Seb shopped for groceries for dinner. By the time you walked out of the store, the cart was full as he planned on stocking your kitchen after apparently feeding a small army.

"Babe," you began, putting away the refrigerated groceries after arriving home, "how much do you plan on cooking? I mean...you act like it's both sides of my family coming over and not just my parents."

"I want to make sure there's plenty. I also know you won't be able to bring back leftovers from my family, so I want to make sure you have plenty here to eat when you get home."

"You act like I'm a child who can't provide for myself."

"Well..." he cocked an eyebrow and a grin appeared on one side of his mouth.

"Shut up, Sebastian," you said, rolling your eyes. Once everything was put away, you decided to start actually packing since you had put it off. Sebastian laid down on the couch and put on F.R.I.E.N.D.S reruns on Netflix. About 20 minutes later as you walked back to your room from the bathroom, you glanced into the living room and Sebastian was passed out. You smiled, shook your head, and continued packing. By the time you were finished it was pushing 12:30. You went to the kitchen and started making a couple of sandwiches. After you plated them with some Doritos and poured a couple glasses of tea, you went to the couch and gently shook Sebastian awake.

"Good morning, Starshine. I made us some lunch." As he sat up, you went and got his plate and glass. As you handed it to him and turned to retrieve your own, he exclaimed: Your famous artisan sandwiches! One of my favorites! Thank you, honey.

You nodded in acknowledgment and sat back down beside him Indian style and turned to the latest episode of Supernatural you two hadn't watched. After eating and finishing an episode, Sebastian looked at his watch.

"Dammit. I didn't realize it was this late. Here," he reached to take your plate to the sink. He headed for the kitchen quickly and put the plates in the sink and started pulling things out of the refrigerator to begin cooking. You crossed behind him and began unloading the dishes from the dishwasher and putting them away as best you could, trying to stay out of the way. You let Sebastian do his thing for the most part. If he asked for your assistance, you gave it. You tried to continually load the dishwasher as needed and clean up behind him if need be. You also finished some laundry while he cooked. The time passed quickly and soon enough your parents arrived.

After dinner, your dad and Sebastian stepped outside, against your wishes, again. You and your mom loaded up the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen. By the time you had finished cleaning, your dad and Sebastian came back inside.

"I do like the cold, but if it's that cold outside here, you better be taking multiple coats, (y/n)," your dad threw out there.

"I was trying to pack light, actually."

"You? Pack light? I'm sorry. Who are you and what have you done with my daughter," he chuckled.

You didn't know why your dad was in such a good mood all of a sudden. Honestly, it made you more nervous than before. Sebastian remained silent. He loved picking on you about your packing habits, what in the world was going on?

"Well, we better be getting on our way so you guys can finish getting things together so you can make your flight. You fly out at 9 tonight, you said," your mother offered.

"Yeah," you checked your watch, "I guess we do need to be hitting the road fairly soon."

You hugged their necks, Sebastian following suit with your mother, and then shaking your father's hand. After your parents left, you went to take a quick shower before heading out for the airport.

---------------

Upon your arrival to NY, Sebastian's Rover was sitting in the parking lot outside of the terminal. Susan had dropped it there for you. You hadn't met Susan yet, but you definitely had lots to thank her for when you did. She tended to pull all the right strings to get anything worked out for Sebastian that he needed or wanted. She was great at her job, for sure. Seb loaded the luggage into the back while you climbed in and turned the vehicle on to get some heat going. Luckily, it must not have been long since Susan had gotten the vehicle there. It wasn't quite cold inside yet. Sebastian pulled away and headed for the apartment. Once parked and unloaded, you went up the elevator and found Chloe waiting at the door. She was ecstatic to see her dad and after giving quite a bit of love to him, she saw you and practically attacked you with kisses.

"Chloe!! I missed you too!" You squealed in happiness as you sat on the floor so that she could jump in your lap. Sebastian disappeared down the hallway, but you didn't really notice, focus completely on Chloe. You sat there and played with her a bit after she brought you multiple different toys to throw or tug on. By the time she had worn you out, you stood and headed for the bedroom, noticing you hadn't seen or heard anything from Seb for the past half hour. When you reached the door, you saw him lying in bed, attempting to stay awake, but his eye lids had betrayed him. You were awake now, so you decided to turn the bedroom lamps off and go back to lay on the couch with Chloe to watch tv to avoid waking him. After a few hours, the exhaustion finally hit you. You turned off the tv, went to the bedroom, changed clothes, and climbed into bed, lightly as you could, beside Sebastian, and fell asleep.

You awoke early. Deciding to let him sleep, you got out of bed, got dressed, grabbed Chloe's leash and the two of you went out for breakfast. You hadn't even taken Chloe out by yourself so it almost felt like a bonding experience for the two of you. You decided to walk through the park a little bit and back so that she could get a little more exercise in considering you guys would be driving up later today to Sebastian's families. They had backed the plans up a bit after finding out you could be there earlier than New Years. They were having Christmas breakfast the following morning, but to avoid such an early drive, you were going to drive up this evening and stay overnight. After a brisk walk, you stopped in at a favorite breakfast cafe that allowed pets inside for to-go orders.

"(Y/n)! You're back! How are you?" The owner, Sasha, Sebastian had gotten to know well and since every time you were here, you typically stopped in at least once, you had gotten to know her decently well also.

"Hi, Sasha! I was hoping you'd be working today. I'm well, how are you," you asked, hugging her. She went into full detail about how things were going, but she was always so positive, even when things weren't so great in life. After a while of chatting and catching each other up on your lives, she caught you off guard.

"So, are you here for good now?" She winked at you. You didn't know how else other than to smile, slightly confused.

"You mean have I moved in?" Her features altered slightly.

"Moved. Right, yes." You giggled quietly due to the nerves creeping down your spine.

"No, I haven't moved. I love it in NY, but I still have my job and stuff back in NC...."

"Oh, sorry, I just figured...well...nevermind. Just hoping you two could be together more often. I know he misses you when you're not here. He talks about you every time he comes in. Of course, he could, of course, move there too." That made you laugh.

"Oh trust me, Sasha, if one of us was moving, it would definitely be me. I would definitely prefer to live here versus him moving to where I'm at. Besides," you trailed off slightly, "we haven't discussed moving in or anything like that." You paused, looking away before continuing, "I think we both realize that it isn't time yet. I don't know if we're quite there yet." She looked at you strangely and gave you a little smile and nod.

"Well, what is it going to be this morning?"

"I'll take Seb's usual and I'll have an egg, bacon, and avocado croissant." Sasha got everything fixed and together. After bagging it up, you went to hand her your card, but she wouldn't accept it.

"It's on the house today."

"Sasha, please don't do this."

"Don't do what? This is my shop, I think I know what I'm doing." You gave her a look, but knew it was no use.

"Fine. Charge Sebastian double next time," you laughed. "Thank you." She came around the counter to give you a hug.

"I hope this is your best trip up yet. It's the holiday season, magic is in the air. I think you'll enjoy your trip. Come back and see me before you leave, if you can." You hugged back, a little tighter at the end of her words.

"I definitely will."

You stepped out and down the street to the Dunkin Donuts beside the apartment. You grabbed two iced coffees and then headed back upstairs. You tried to enter the apartment as quietly as possible, but Chloe bounded towards the bedroom as soon as you took off her leash.

"OOF!" You heard from the bedroom. You couldn't help but chuckle. You grabbed some napkins, the food, and coffees and headed for the bedroom.

"Good morning," you said walking in and to Sebastian's side of the bed. You leaned down, placing the coffee on his nightstand and then leaning down to peck the top of his head. You pulled his breakfast out of the bag and handed it to him.

"Sasha sends her love." You smiled and walked around and sat down against the head board, stretching out your legs and unfolding the paper around your croissant. "By the way, she wouldn't take my money so I told her to charge you double next time you came in."

"Of course you did," he smiled. "However, thank you for breakfast, love. I didn't even know you had gotten up. When did you come to bed and wake up?"

"It's more like lunch," you couldn't help but laugh. "But, I probably came to bed around 3. Chloe and I played around for a little while then we just watched tv. I wasn't tired yet. Then I guess I got up about 10. Chloe and I walked around the park for a short bit and then I went to get food and coffee. You needed to sleep. I know you've got to be exhausted."

"I'm not going to lie. It was definitely nice to sleep for what...12 or so hours?" You looked at the clock and nodded, biting into your sandwich.

After breakfast, you laid around for a little bit, watching Supernatural before getting ready to head upstate. You let Sebastian drive. After you got out of the city, your curiosity could hold out no longer.

"Seb."

"Yes?"

"Sooooo, what....well....how was.....was my dad really harsh in those talks you guys had?"

"What talks," he tried to act like he didn't know what you were talking about.

"Sebastian. The two long talks you had. Don't mess with me."

"Oh those," he chuckled, "No, he wasn't harsh. We just talked." You waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

"....about?"

"Huh?"

"Seeba! Stop it," you punched him in the shoulder. Thankfully, like you, he mostly drove with his left hand.

"Okay. We just talked. We got to know each other a little bit."

"You're telling me you didn't talk about me?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Conceited, I didn't know every conversation I have has to concern you," he teased. You bit the inside of your jaws trying not to laugh, but instead attempting to look at him menacingly. He laughed, assuring you of your failure.

"Fine, don't tell me. I'm going to sleep so I don't have to talk to you."

You shut your eyes and turned your face and body away from him, crossing your arms. You didn't realize how tired you were and you ended up taking an accidental nap. You awoke just before arriving at his parents' home. You were greeted with tight hugs at the door before you could even think about knocking.

"(Y/N)!! Finally! We're so happy you're here," Georgeta took your hand and walked you into the house, completely ignoring Sebastian. She pulled you along to the living room and you two sat down on the couch, she never letting go, but instead grasping both of your hands in hers and began asking how life had been since she last saw you. Anthony and Sebastian sat down in two chairs opposite the couch, watching the exchange. They didn't have a chance to get in much to say between the two of you. Georgeta's enthusiasm always drew you in and you couldn't help but be enthusiastic right back. After quite some time passed, Georgeta proposed going out to dinner.

"I hope that you don't mind that we aren't cooking, (y/n). I may have made a little dessert, though." She winked at you.

"Of course, I don't mind. I don't expect to be cooked for every time I visit," laughing before you continued, "I surely don't mind either, though because it's always delicious. This said dessert, though...it wouldn't happen to be what I'm hoping it is?" She giggled at this.

"Maybe." You returned her laughter. She stood, signaling that you all were going to go ahead and head to dinner.

"I'll go crank the vehicle, mom, and let it warm up while you guys get your coats and everything," Sebastian offered. She nodded and you smiled at him.

After a few moments, everyone braved the cold again. The restaurant didn't take long to get to. It was a fifteen-minute drive and a local favorite Anthony explained to you. The dinner wasn't fancy, but it held some class about it. You'd expect nothing less from Anthony and Georgeta. They kept you and Sebastian entertained throughout dinner. Anthony let Georgeta do most of the talking, but as usual, he also, of course, put in his two cents and helped the conversation flow here and there. You and Sebastian mostly listened from the opposite side of the table and interjected when asked or needed.

"You guys are sure quiet tonight," Georgeta commented towards the end of dinner. She eyed Sebastian momentarily but flitted her eyes to you as well. You looked over at Sebastian, he shrugged, making you laugh.

"Honestly, I think we're just both pretty exhausted. Seb, even more so than I, I'm sure."

"Well let's head on back then."

"Oh Georgeta, I didn't mean-"

"Darling, I know you didn't. I just want to make sure you're all rested for the next few days!" You laughed before thanking her. Sebastian paid and back to his parents home, it was. When you arrived, Sebastian grabbed the luggage and carried it to the room. You bid Georgeta and Anthony good night and retreated to the restroom to change, brush your teeth, and wash your face. Sebastian was already in bed, since he had used the guest bathroom and finished before you. When you walked back into the room, your eyes were drawn to a small box next to Sebastian on your side of the bed.

You turned your head to the side, a smile curling your lips upward, your eyes tightening slightly, not missing the mischievous light flickering in his eyes.

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

He shrugged his shoulders, puckered his lips, and looked to the ceiling, hinting at the idea that he had no idea. You couldn't help but smile at him and walk slowly to the bed. The closer you got, the fancier the box looked...the more....high end and expensive the box looked. Unexpected nerves started crawling from your stomach up your spine. You tried to play things cool, but you knew it was pretty much worthless as the nerves had turned your face more and more pink with each passing second. He sat up in the bed a bit, moving the box and patting the spot beside him, beckoning you to sit. Once you did, he handed the box to you.

"Go ahead and open it...please? I've been waiting to give this one to you." You side-eyed him and he patted you on the back, reassuringly. You began to pull the ribbon to untie the box. When you opened it, there was another box. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Really?"

"What? I just took some wrapping tricks...literally...from you," he laughed. You unwrapped and opened, finding another box. This box had to be the final box. It was a black velvet box...the size of a ring box. Your eyes grew wide as you saw Sebastian shift beside you.

@pari0924 @yesixoxo @a-d-v-e-n-t-u-r-e-s @verymuchso-youknow@moniquefitzgerald@chmereaustin@rayonship07@buckyband@wydari@parisispretty@mylexlife@ivoryfoxfigliadeifiori@pepperspraymeiwillpeppersprayyou @crownie-sr@sebstan01@awinterloveuniverse@linksforlaylor@layoutmellet@theliarone@rebekastan98@discophony@inthenameofrock @glitterintheairblog@millie-saurus-rex@celinejfong@camerica96@emilyinbuffalo@seargantbcky@sebbysebbastan@iamwarrenspeace @jeelicious78@valentinachr  @badassbaker  @sebbystanlover-vk @mummastace @ssweet-empowerment

Part One             Part Two                  Part Three               Part Four                                Part Five               Part Six                   Part Seven              Part Eight

Part Nine              Part Ten                 Part Eleven              Part Twelve

Part Thirteen             Part Fourteen                   Part Fifteen                                             Part Sixteen                Part Seventeen            Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Colorful Kitchen Pot Holders

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